Mason believed her story, and no one said it couldn’t be used as more than just a cover for this mission. She smiled, thinking of practicing her skills on him. There was no reason why she couldn’t bring her supplies with her tonight and try her talent out on the big, bad Dom. Maybe his tongue would loosen as fast as his muscles did.
She pulled it out to see if she still had all of the supplies and a tiny scrap of material fell to the floor.
The ridiculously tiny uniform from the parlor.
God, she’d hated wearing that thing on the assignment. It had felt both slutty and culturally insensitive, but it was what all the workers—regardless of nationality—had worn if they’d been assigned to provide extra services for men. She picked it up and caressed it as she contemplating donning it again, and the thought of wearing this for Mason caused a nervous thrill to course through her, her body humming with possibilities. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t worn this in front of strangers. He’d already seen her in much less. She never thought she’d have to wear this again for work, but here she was, practically giggling at the irony as she jumped into the shower.
This would either go well or smack her in the face. Only one way to find out.
Chapter Nine
When Shelby reached the front door of Scene, she paused as she heard the muffled music filtering through the walls of the club. Her nerves kicked up a notch at actually going through with this. Not just the scene with Mason, but with her clothes. She hoisted the shoulder strap of her bag, looked down at her dress, and tugged at the hem before pushing in.
She could do this. She would. Whatever it took to get this assignment rolling.
No longer hindered by walls, the music thumped as unabashed as some of the subs who were dancing to it. God, didn’t these people have jobs? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever gone to a club in the middle of the week. No way would she be able to party all night and be able to focus first thing in the morning. She couldn’t even give them the excuse of youth…she was only in her mid-twenties. Plenty young enough by society’s standards to be sowing her wild oats.
Maybe she was in a way.
She bit her lip but then immediately stopped, remembering the cherry-red lip color. Oh yeah, she’d gone all out all right. Not only was she in a short-as-sin dress, but she had her hair twisted up in sticks. Her red lips accentuated her heavy eyeliner. But her legs? She’d left them uncovered. In fact, she bent over, kicked off her slippers, and stored them in her bag. Tonight, she was going barefoot.
When she’d researched BDSM, some sites had commented how subs would remain nude, including going without shoes, while in the presence of their Doms. Mason wasn’t really hers, but as far as this mission—and the scenes he was training her on—he was close enough. She needed him to talk tonight and hoped the token of her submission would soften him to the possibility.
He’d commented before how she’d dressed like a Domme. Hopefully, her appearance was less harsh than before. The lack of shoes…and panties…would hopefully pass his appraisal.
“Hello, Ms. Landry.”
She jumped and turned to the side where the bouncer from the first night she’d shown up here was standing.
“Hi,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “I’m supposed to be here. I’m meeting—”
“I know. Mr. Showalter said to have you meet him upstairs in the room you were in last week. Do you remember where it is?”
“Yes.”
He raised an eyebrow and studied her. She straightened her shoulders and leveled her glare on him. Just because she was on assignment didn’t mean she’d let just any man do or say whatever he wanted. She knew how to take down guys this size. She wouldn’t come away unscathed, but at least he’d be worse off than she.
The brute chuckled. “Head straight back. Don’t talk to anyone. If a Dom stops you, say, ‘My Master awaits.’ Any Dom at this club knows that’s code for ‘leave me the fuck alone’. It’s like using your safe word in a scene. Understood?”
“Understood,” she repeated before grabbing the strap of her bag to ensure it wouldn’t slip off as she waded through the crowd.
My Master awaits? Had she traveled back in time to some English manor where her duties included milking Betsy and stuffing her lord’s straw bed with this morning’s clippings? My Master awaits? In his damn dreams. It was one thing to play in the bedroom, but no way was she comfortable taking any of this BDSM stuff outside into the world. Hell no.
Laughter drifted out of the room as she neared, taking her ire with it. She knew the person behind the joyful voice, but the laughter felt foreign. Mason had been so serious on the two occasions they’d been together, and their phone conversations hadn’t netted a reaction like this. She liked that he felt at ease with the other man in the room.
Dread punched in her gut. She’d forgotten they wouldn’t be alone. Her steps faltered as she gazed down at her dress. Insecurity swamped her again, but the jovial sound coming from room reassured her the man at least had a sense of humor. She pushed through the door and the joyful camaraderie that had been shared seconds before died.
She stared at Mason, who gaped at her wordlessly. Her nervous smile shook in its place to the point she had to draw her lips in and bit them both to still the quaking.
“Damn,” the other man in the room muttered. He blinked at Mason. “You didn’t say anything about role playing. You know I love that shit. Why didn’t you save this for
