Chapter Four

When we finally set foot inside the club itself, I can't help but drink in each and every one of Janet's reactions.

She's chosen a quieter day to visit, a Tuesday, and so the club is not as busy as it might be at the weekend, but there are a good number of regulars here, and my sister stalks the upper dais. When Janet catches a glimpse of Aoibheall, she pauses and I find myself strangely beset by an envious feeling I've not felt much, but her face displays curiosity and not much else. Certainly not the waves of desire she's felt at my laugh. That soothes my ego somewhat, and I lead her further into the room.

There's a bar in one corner, which serves only non-alcoholic drinks, and I take her here first, demanding two glasses of water with a wave of my hand.

"Drink," I tell her, and she does, glancing curiously at me. "What?"

"Am I supposed to call you something else? Madam? Or Your Highness?"

Many in the club call me Mistress, but I find myself loathe to hear it from her lips. "I think I should like to hear you beg using my name," I tell her, and am rewarded with the slightest hitch of an inbreath.

"Clíodhna?" My name on her lips sounds like a prayer, and I've never wanted to be worshipped more.

"Exactly." I take a step closer and her mouth parts slightly. Pink lips beckon and I want to kiss, by all the Gods do I want to kiss her, but I won't take that first step. That first step, the beginning of the scene, needs to come from her. This time.

Next time I'll have her as mine the moment she steps foot through the door.

Her eyes fluttered closed and I realise that she's waiting, waiting for me to kiss her, for me to take her.

I lean forward and whisper in her ear. "If you want me, Janet, you're going to have to beg me."

That little gasp again and then this guttural moan that has my cunt clenching. "Fuck Clíodhna, just kiss me already."

I fist her hair, wrapping dark tendrils around my hand and pull her head back until her eyes fly open and meet mine. "Bossy little thing, aren't you? How do you think that's going to go for you?"

"Seems to be going just great," she murmurs, and she's already slipping into subspace. I can see it in the way her eyes soften and the tone of her voice hushes to a whisper. Damn if this woman isn't just made for submission.

"Beg me, Janet," and I don't need to put the slightest hint of suggestion into my voice because I know—I know—that she wants this more than any woman I've ever met.

"Please, Clíodhna. Please, do with me as you will."

And then I'm kissing her roughly, a bruising thing that paints all my desire for her, all my longing, across the touch of my mouth. She moans, open-mouthed, into the kiss and it's enough to set me on fire. I can feel my hair raising the way it usually only does before I keen.

When we break apart I know that I look as stunned as she does.

I've planned on taking it slow, building her up until she's in such a frenzy that the flogging would come as a relief, but now I'm looking at her shining eyes and I decide that there's no time like the present.

"Dress on or off?"

She swallows, but her answer is unfaltering. "Off."

"Go on then."

I watch as trembling hands reach the hem of her skirt. Janet sneaks a peek at me, but I keep my face blank. If I were a leannán sídhe, then perhaps I'd take this as my due, feed upon her desire, but instead I just watch, astounded by her unwavering trust in me.

She has no reason to be so trusting, and it brands her as the nice girl she disavowed herself as.

That's okay. I can make a nice girl bad.

As her skirt lifts, the tops of her thighs come into view, and then the hint of black lace between her legs when she pauses, and looks at me, a challenge in her eyes.

"Are you sure you want my dress off?" The hemline of her skirt dances, flashes of that black laces coming into view and then disappearing again.

Cheeky minx. "Yes." One word, so it can't be mistaken.

"Say please."

I growl, my displeasure and she squeaks and pulls the garment up and over her head in one swift movement.

"That's better, kitten. I much prefer it when you do as you're instructed."

She looks back at me then, eyes wide, panic filtering in. "I'm sorry, Clíodhna, I was only playing, I—"

I stopper her mouth with a kiss. It's not rough, but gentle this time. Reassuring. When I lift my head, her breathing has evened out. "I like seeing how you react, Janet, whether that's submissively or in bratty disobedience. You do not need to apologise. I would use the safe words we agreed upon if I needed." Her shaky sigh of relief makes me want to fight anyone who made her feel like this. Destroy them with my scream that could tear them to shreds.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I pull her flush against me, and run my fingers down her spine. Her underthings match, black lacy garments that barely contain her ampleness. Her breasts are threatening to overflow and the swell of her belly is soft against me. "There's a reason I called you kitten. You're unbelievably adorable, with a flash of claws when necessary. And I can always—" I lean in so my mouth is against her ear "—always put you in your place."

I feel the shiver that runs through her entire body, pressed as it is against my own, and suddenly I long to do the one thing I've never done here in the Golden Apple. I long to disrobe and feel her skin against mine.