My hands curl into fists.

If she welcomes his advance, I’m going to lose my shit. I won’t be able to stand here and watch someone else give her what I know she needs. Fuck him. He hasn’t watched her for months; he hasn’t logged away countless hours discovering what she yearns for.

And he sure as shit doesn’t know that she doesn’t want to be touched. But I do—and I’m two seconds away from breaking his hand.

I keep watching, regardless. If she’s ready to play, finally, I’ll make sure she’s safe. I’ll watch over her, protect her.

She’s shaking her head, trying to get away from him. She’s rattled. He’s not what she wants. She’s here to watch, not play. She’s not ready.

Relieved, I slowly back away. I’m pissed hot that he interrupted our moment, but there will be another. There’s always another. She’s getting bolder.

And so am I.

Only when I glimpse the distress on her face, her panic mounting, I immediately stop.

The guy touches her again, this time on her waist. He’s leaning over her, trying to persuade her to join him. He grips her around one thin wrist and forcefully pulls her against him.

That’s breaking the rules, fucker.

I’m storming toward him before Onyx can alert the bouncer.

His hand slides around her stomach as she pushes away from him, fear marring her gorgeous face.

“She said no .” Towering over the guy, I bring all of my six-foot self forward, a dominant shadow cast over him. I haven’t touched him. Yet. But my fists are locked, every muscle corded tight.

The guy—who’s wearing a dark-gray business suit—straightens his back to bring himself fully before me. “She wants it. She’s just shy.” He glances down at her. “Needs a little persuading.”

Hot breaths saw in and out of my nose. “The lady wants to watch. No means no , asshole. In any establishment, but especially here.” Hiking my thumb over my shoulder, I say, “I think you’ve played enough for tonight.”

His eyes narrow, but he shrugs, deciding it’s not worth the consequences if he wants to take this matter further. He gives me a once over, sizing me up, before he walks around and leaves.

Releasing a strained breath, I let the adrenaline ebb, gaining my composure before I look down at her.

When I finally do, my muscles go lax. She’s mortified. I can see it painted clearly all over her beautiful face, splashed with red, even in the darkness.

I kneel down, my whole body strung tight with the need to touch her. I’ve anticipated this moment—when we’d first look at one another; when I’d hear her voice—but I hate that it’s like this. With fear in her deep-green eyes. At least, fear that I didn’t put there.

“He’s a douchebag,” I say. “Are you okay?”

Her burgundy layers fall to conceal her face, and I want so badly to push them aside. It’s a wig—I realized this before now. I’ve imagined what her real hair looks like; dark, to match her eyebrows. Soft, silky, long. I want to strip her of the fakeness and curl my fingers around a thick hank of her real hair. Pull her head back, look down into her eyes. I push the enticing thought away.

She nods a couple times, her movements jerky. “I’m fine. Just embarrassed, I guess.” Lifting her chin, she fixes her penetrating gaze on me. All logic flees my brain. “But what did I expect? I mean, look at where I am. I overreacted, that’s all.”

Blinking hard, I break the hold she has over me, searching for the right words. I need to please her in this moment, but god, I’m already so lost to her.

“You should expect members to behave appropriately, at the very least,” I say. “You’re not doing anything wrong by being here, watching. That’s what this room is all about. He knows the rules.” I nod my head toward the black wall, where submissives are lined up in knelt positions. “You’re not on your knees. You’re not asking to be dominated. There’s always a bad apple, and it just looks like one found you.”

Long eyelashes frame her widening eyes. She’s staring right into the depths of me. “Don’t blame the victim,” she says, her voice throaty. “I know that by heart. You’d think I’d believe it by now.”

I feel my brow furrow slightly. It’s as if she’s talking more to herself than me, but I tuck this interesting morsel of information away. “That’s right. Now,” I say, moving a fraction closer. “I’m technically off work. So I’d like to help you get back to enjoying yourself.”

The slender column of her throat bobs on a swallow. “I’m not into…”

“Shh,” I say. “I won’t lay a hand on you. I won’t touch you. And I can leave…if that makes you more comfortable.” I pause, praying that my goddess doesn’t send me away.

When she doesn’t speak up immediately, I push on. “I only want to see that look in your eyes, that passion on your face—the one you wore just moments before that rude interruption.”

I watch as her breathing quickens. The tremble of her red, red lips. “No touching?” she questions.

My pulse speeds. “Only if you ask. Always, only if you ask.”

She continues to stare at me in guarded fascination, the seconds suspending us in our own sphere of heat and caution. When she gives a sure nod, I’m lit with fire.

As she swivels her stool to face the stage, I peer down at her, amazed at this stunning creature I’ve somehow discovered. I pull another stool up close behind her and take my seat.

Her shoulders tense as my thighs and body cage her in from behind. I can feel her body heat radiating off her, caressing me, beckoning me. Her fragrance of sweet-scented shampoo and body lotion fills my senses, tantalizing.

Slowly, carefully, I lower my head next to hers. As close to her as I can get without touching. With difficulty, I aim my attention toward the stage. The Dom is placing nipple clamps on the sub, her high-pitched moans piercing the charged air between us.

“Do you know why he connects the chain to her mouth gag?” My words slip past my lips in a whispered plea.

She remains silent, her gaze steady on the scene. A slight shake of her head invites me to continue, and my dick swells.

“It heightens her desire. Her awareness.” I breathe her in, a glutton, needing to satisfy my senses. “It also heightens her suffering, increasing his pleasure.”

As the flogger makes contact against the sub’s stomach, she jerks her head, pulling the chain taut. “He’s punishing her for moving,” I continue, “but that sharp spike of pain gives her so much pleasure, that she can’t help but be disobedient. She needs the punishment almost as much as she needs the release, the gratification.”

My gaze flicks lower as my goddess squeezes her thighs together. I bite down on my bottom lip, inducing a slight pain to keep my emotions in check, my head clear.

The need to slip my arms around her and hike up that damn dress…spread those legs wide…is almost unbearable. I grip my jeans near my knees, clenching the rough material, to keep my hands from roaming.

This—it’s not nearly enough. But as the wisps of her hair caress my cheek, hinting at her trembling body, I revel in this profound moment my goddess is gifting me. To indulge in her—to enter into her sanctity. She’s my temple and I’m her slave, willing to kneel before her on command.

And as she tentatively runs a finger along her thigh, drawing up the hem of her dress, sliding her hand between her thighs…god, the anguish is pure hell. A torment so divine, I nearly come undone.

I will beg for more.

I’m not ashamed to own it—to confess what I’ve been craving for months.

“Can you feel what she feels?” I ask, my voice husky with restrained want.

I watch her tongue slip out to wet her lips as she gazes at the scene, and I grit my teeth. The sub—now sated from her penance—throws her head back in bliss. The Dom hikes one of her legs over his shoulder as he kneels before her, devouring her, taking her into his mouth with unguarded vigor.