This is the last longer snippet I can do, but I’ll try to torment you with little NaNo snippets throughout the month. First draft, etc. etc.
“What I want,” he growled out, turning to face her with his most intimidating glare, “is for you to quit playing with me.”
He cursed his poor word choice as soon as they left his lips.
Laughing softly, she stood and began to gather up her presentation. “I haven’t even begun playing with you yet.”
Damn it all to hell, she gave him her back. To him! Uncaring, unafraid, with a little flirty glance over her shoulder, she walked toward the door with her storyboards tucked under her arm.
He pounced, seized her in unforgiving hands, and slammed her against the wall. He pinned her with his body, using every inch of his taller, stronger, muscled frame to punish her for such audacity, grinding her against the wall. Storyboards tumbled to the floor.
And the little saucy wench arched into him with a welcoming sigh.
Dropping his forehead against hers, he sucked in a breath and held it for a count of ten, tightening the reins of his control. “Save it for the show, or I’m going to drag you off to my dungeon and torture you to my heart’s content.”
He couldn’t help but laugh then. God, her spirit was unflappable. “You don’t know what kind of player I am. I’m on the edge, baby, and as heavy as you can take it. And then, since I’m a selfish, cruel bastard, I’m going to take you even further.” He swallowed hard and forced the words out. “I want to hurt you real bad.”
“Good,” she purred.
“Damn it, don’t you know the difference between sensual pain and downright injured? Give me some space and time to–”
He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. Had he been away from serious play for so long that he’d forgotten the most basic elements of a scene? Of course she’d rather have his orders. “On the show, I’m Master V.” She nodded, staring at him intently. “Your Master.”
Her body sagged against him and she buried her face against his neck. “Thank you, sir.”
“Off the show, I’m Victor, your boss and the producer of our show. No playing, no taunting, all business.”
“And after the show?”
Reluctantly, he backed away, keeping his hands on her until he was sure she was steady on her feet. She looked up at him with such hope and longing in her eyes that his throat closed off. He couldn’t breathe. It’d been so long since a woman had looked at him like that, as though he was her entire world. As though she’d die if she failed to please him.
“If I haven’t scared you away yet,” he replied, his voice gruff with emotion, “then, God help you, you’re mine.”
Bending down to pick up her scattered boards, she flashed a smile that melted his heart. The curve of her slim spine and the rounded swell of her buttocks outlined by her skirt made his hand clench in longing for his crop. “I don’t scare easily, Mr. Connagher.”
“You don’t know me yet, Ms. Holmes. Now make your escape before I change my mind.”
“If nothing else, you’ve certainly given me incentive to make sure we’re taping as soon as possible. Don’t be surprised if you get a call to begin this afternoon.”
“Tomorrow is soon enough for taping. Use Mal to help you get the resources you need, and if either of you have problems, call me. A few scenes at Silken will be fine, but see if Mal can get creative with a set here. I’d prefer to spend as little time at the club as possible.”
“All right. Anything else?”
“Stop by this evening around seven o’clock and fill me in on where everything is. I live here in the penthouse, and I’ll tell Léon to let you in.”
He could see the conflicting thoughts flickering in her eyes: a rush of raw lust that she might get him alone in his home warred against uncertainty about another man. He didn’t fault her for being wary—she couldn’t possibly know his sexual preferences. Something he hoped to correct very, very soon. “Léon is my personal assistant and chef. He’s a friend and employee, nothing more.”
“Sorry, I don’t have any right to question you.”
“Yes, you do. I have no intention of sharing you, Shiloh, not with another man, not with another Dominant, no one. I warned you I was a selfish bastard.”
Relaxing, she laughed. “That kind of selfishness I approve of.”
She paused at the door, her teasing laughter fading to something much more serious. In a slow, sensuous perusal, she ran her gaze over him. He could feel the passing of her chocolate gaze like a flaming physical touch, lingering on his throat, shoulders, biceps, and hands. He knew exactly what she was doing: Assessing the strength of his arm, his ability to deliver a blow exactly where he wanted it, and the formidable might of his will. He squared his shoulders, widening his stance and shifting his weight back on his heels so the heavy bulge in his pants was prominent and obvious.
With her eyes locked on his groin, she asked in a husky voice, “What if I don’t win top sub for you?”
“You will, or I’m no Master.”
She jerked her gaze up to his face, her eyes smoldering, her lips as soft and full as though she’d been kissed thoroughly—or had put her mouth to good use. “To the Victor belong the spoils.”