Chapter Eight
Tamara sighed happily as Penn Black stood and zipped his pants. “That was incredible.” It was the third time they had met, always at the club, always on his terms, but Tamara didn’t care. She wanted to be his sub, wanted to be told how to dress for him, how to position her body for his pleasure. The truth was there was nothing Penn Black could do to her that she wouldn’t enjoy. He was a masterful, almost violent lover, pinning her back against the wall, sometimes painfully across a hard-wooden bench. Even spread eagled on the St. Andrew’s Cross, the cat ‘o’ nine tails being forcibly struck against her skin, Tamara was in heaven.
Today, he had just wanted to f**k, though. He had taken her hand in the bar, and pulled her towards his usual room, room four, where the management
