Three minutes was an eternity when she couldn’t count the seconds. Ben had a watch but it was under the cuff of his sleeve. She had no doubt he was counting it down in his head like a freaking NASA computer.

I serve my Master, I serve him, I serve you…

She didn’t realize she was whispering it until she saw Ben’s eyes darken, his mouth tighten. She was fighting with all she had against the orgasm. Noah was incredibly insistent. It was a battle of mind over matter. She imagined her clit encased in stone, all those sensations ricocheting against the inside, unable to be released, so she was imprisoned in this frenzy of need. Her fingernails cut into the chair, her thighs shaking under Noah’s hands so that the chair made staccato noises on the metal balcony floor.

“I serve you…please, Master…let me come for you…”

Ben set down his wine, picked up his fork, took a bite of the salad, chewed. He necessarily took his eyes from her for the moment he had to do that, but then he studied her with a detachment that was anything but. His whole focus was on her, a heated intensity coming from him that vibrated against her body like that tongue stud. He continued to eat the salad, obviously considering the taste and texture as he monitored her reactions. The Knights were the only men in the world she knew who could multi-task, and they did it as if Lucifer himself had given them the ability.

She was whimpering, her whole body making tiny little jerks. Her nipples were so hard she could feel the way they stabbed the inside of her bra, constricting the barbell piercings so they added to the sensation.

Noah got creative, doing swirls and flicks, kneading the inside of her thighs, his thumbs tracing the crease of her buttocks beneath her pussy. It was too much…she couldn’t hold on, yes she could. She would. She fiercely concentrated on all those masturbating fantasies, where she’d made herself wait longer and longer, until Ben’s imagined command to release.

Ben slid the fork from his lips. His mouth was glistening from the oil of the salad, and she wanted to suck on that. Instead, he shifted forward. Plucking the blouse away from her body, he eased the fork into the bra cup, brought it over the nipple and pressed down, caging it behind those tines. She couldn’t hold on any more. Fuck…

“Come for me, Marcie. Come now.”

She would have screamed to raise the dead throughout New Orleans, she trusted him that much, wanted to surrender to him that much, but as she opened her mouth to do so, Ben covered it with his. He dropped the fork, cupped her head in one hand, his tight hold making her keep her position, bound by his will. She screamed into his mouth, shuddering, convulsing as Noah kept working her, holding her open with those surprisingly strong hands. Involuntary reaction took over and she struggled against their combined hold like a wild animal.

She came down in fits and starts, pleading nonsense in Ben’s mouth, which he answered with unintelligible rumbles of response. Noah cleaned her up with strong licks of his now non-vibrating tongue, and then she felt the gentle pat of the wine towel he’d had. When he came back up, as graceful as he’d gone down, his hair was a tad rumpled and his face was flushed. He was also sporting a nice erection behind his slacks that didn’t seem to discomfit him in the slightest. He nodded to her, turned his attention to Ben. “I failed, sir. My apologies.”

Ben palmed some money from his coat, handed it over. “I wouldn’t call it a failure. My compliments on your perseverance. Tell the maître d’ others can be seated up here now.”

Marcie was too dazed to do more than watch Noah go, but when she looked toward Ben, she somehow found her voice. “How…did I do?”

“Six minutes, twelve seconds. You’re still a slut.”

“But I proved I’m your slut, didn’t I?” Her voice had a rasp from the strain to her vocal cords.

“Time to eat your salad,” he said in quiet reproof, but he didn’t deny it. Picking up his fork, he fed her. She needed that, because she was sure she wasn’t steady enough to coordinate eating utensils. Her swollen folds were pressed against the wood, sending aftershocks rippling through her.

She wished she could stay mindless. As rationality returned, she was thinking of the seamless choreography of that scene. He’d done this before. Brought another woman here, maybe had her perform the same way for him.

She stopped chewing, pulled her face away, ostensibly to get a drink of wine. He reached to steady the glass for her, but she shook her head. “I can do it.” She took it in about three swallows, but when she reached for the bottle to refill it, he moved it away.

“Enough,” he said. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

“How did I do against the others?”

Why did she say that aloud? She couldn’t be petulant and jealous. He wasn’t a monk. For heaven’s sake, she’d seen him fuck three women less than two weeks ago. It wasn’t that. It was that he’d done to her something he’d done before, like she was some kind of mimeograph.

“Never mind. Sorry. Mentor-sub thing, no commitment. Forgot.” She tried to keep the acid out of her tone, but of course she was unsuccessful. She was going to screw this up so badly if she couldn’t sit on her mouth. Hell, she’d held out six minutes against Noah’s tongue. It shouldn’t be harder to sit on her emotional reactions than her physical ones, right?

“Noah is a regular at Progeny. He has a couple Mistresses who favor him, but he doesn’t belong exclusively to any of them yet. Occasionally he’s assisted me with a session there. This is the first time I’ve asked him to help me outside those walls, in this particular way, though I have come here for dinner before.”

“Oh.” She nodded. Picking up the napkin, she tried a quick dab at her eyes, to take care of the stress tears from the climax. She probably looked a sight.

“Marcie, did I tell you that you could remove your hands from the chair?”

Fuck, he hadn’t. She’d been so dazed by the past few minutes, she’d just blanked on it. Setting aside the napkin, she returned her hands to the chair. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’ll let it pass, but only because you’re still disoriented. I like it. Flushed and dazed, nipples still hard, and I can smell your cunt. Just the way I want you.” He took his own napkin, dipped it in water as she’d done for his fingers. While she trembled from an entirely different reaction this time, he dabbed at her mascara. He stroked the cloth over her cheeks, the corners of her mouth. Even swiped at her nose, teasing her as she started to giggle and tried to squirm away from him. Then he lifted one of her hands from the chair, tucked the napkin into it so she could do that part for herself.

“Now that we’ve handled the appetizer course,” he said, “eat the rest of your salad. You can lift both hands.”

She had to get back on her game, but she remained unsettled, hyperaware that she was still exposed, open to him as he desired. In fact, as he was eating his salad, he settled his other hand on her thigh, stroking it up high. Her pussy was as attentive to him as if she hadn’t just come. He was going to have her ready again in no time.

“Why anal sex?” she asked, just as the maître d’ topped the stairs with another couple. Marcie bit her lip, but fortunately, it didn’t seem they’d been paying attention. So she decided not to be deterred, particularly when the maître d’ seated them at the other end of the balcony. “I’ve always wanted to ask. Will you tell me?”

Finishing his salad, Ben leaned back, picked up his wine. She continued to eat, giving him time, but his silence was encouraging. Usually he said no right off if he had no intention of answering a question.

“Most women have had sex by the time they reach legal age,” he said at last, “at least in the usual ways. A lot still haven’t had anal sex. Or, if they have, the guy had no clue what he was doing, so it left the woman feeling pretty neutral or, worse, it hurt like hell. She’s nervous about that region for that or a variety of other reasons, unaware of what a pleasure zone it can be.”

“There’s also a lot of emotional reaction trapped in that area,” Marcie observed. When Ben gave her a look, she shrugged. “Penetration would unlock it. I’m guessing that’s a big draw for you.”

“Really? How so?”

She ignored the trace of sarcasm as he invited her to tell her about himself. Wiping her lips delicately, she raised her gaze to his. “Getting a submissive to trust you, make herself vulnerable that way, challenges your ability as a Dom, and you like a challenge.”

He flashed her that feral smile, a baring of teeth. “Actually, the main perk is not giving her a chance to claim I knocked her up.”

“Yes. Having a little Ben running around is a scary thought.” She considered him. “You want her to trust you, but you don’t trust her. Doing it face-to-face makes it more emotionally naked for both participants. With the anal, you’re stripping her down, taking her to a more vulnerable place, but you’re staying removed. Untouched.”

His expression flickered. “A fair point. But it’s a conscious decision. I’m not looking to be touched.”

She knew it was an attempt to tease, but the edge to his voice made his play on words a mockery, a warning to back off. She should leave it there, but she wasn’t one of his club subs, or some trainee groupie so overwhelmed by him she’d be driven away by that formidable exterior. Be who you are. Jon’s voice was in her ears, giving her enough courage to really fuck this up.

“When my brothers and sisters were little, you acted like a clown with them, wrestling, playing games. Matt and all of you took us to carnivals, ren faires, things like that. They loved it. But in your own life, you don’t really go for relaxed fun, do you? I mean, you go out with the K&A guys, drink, do the male-bonding thing, but have you ever gone to a carnival and held your girlfriend’s hand? You seem really focused on your career, the next goal, the next project. You play hard, but you don’t play fun.”