Broken Submission

Master

Derek barely waved to his friends as he bolted out of the house, Amelia over his shoulder. Her laughter floated on the breeze, the people they passed joining in. Tucking her into the car, Derek started the engine and pulled onto the road. He couldn't stop grinning. She loved him.

They made it to the apartment in record time. When unbuckling her, Derek couldn't help but pull her in for a deep kiss, reveling in the heat—the intimacy—between them. He tugged her out of the car. The sun hit her face, and his breath caught.

Her happiness was palpable, glittering in her eyes, gracing her lips. He'd never noticed before that when she laughed, the apples of her cheeks crowded her eyes, her smile revealing one canine that was a little longer than the other. Beautiful.

They ran inside, not waiting for the elevator and instead bolting up the stairs, giggling like teenagers. When they reached the door, Derek swept her into his arms bridal-style and carried her over the threshold. She traced his jawline with light kisses.

He bumped into the furniture in his distraction, finally stumbling into the bedroom. She squealed when he dropped her onto the bed, still holding his shirt in such a grip that she pulled him down with her. Face hovering above hers, Derek fell into her eyes, sharing her breath in the sudden stillness.

An impish gleam entered her eyes. Before he could question it, she grabbed his shirt and—with strength he  hadn't known she possessed—yanked it open, buttons flying. He let out a surprise laugh before reaching forward to do the same to her dress.

But she scrambled away.

"Uh uh," she said, wagging her finger. "I like this dress."

"I liked my shirt," he said, eyes narrowing now that his prize was out of reach. He started around the bed with predatory intent.

Her eyes widened. "Wait!" she said. She bit her lip, thinking of ways to get out of this. "A strip show!"

He paused. "What?"

She nodded to herself. "I'll give you a strip show. Just don't break my dress."

He sat back on his heels, a smile creeping back over his face. "Alright little one. You have a deal."

Flashing her teeth, Amelia hurried to set up the music. Express, by Christina Aguilera glowed on the phone screen. She glided into a pose, and he leaned forward into the chair he'd dragged to the middle of the room. Her head dipped, rising again with the music.

Her gaze burned into his. She popped her buttons to the beat, striding forward, sensuous and slow. Her bare skin came into view in tauntingly small increments. His breath caught as the fabric dropped, only to groan when she pulled it back around herself with a spin and twirl of her hair.

When did his sub switch bodies with a stripper? And a sadistic one at that?

                                 . . .

Amelia kept her focus on the steady motions of her body. She'd practiced this routine in private years ago. Nerves threatened to tangle her feet, but she pushed them away. She could do this.

With a deep breath, she allowed the dress to drop to the floor, standing now in deep blue lace panties and a miracle-worker of a push-up bra. The panties had strings that cross-crossed all the way up to her waist. She'd even donned thick, black heels for the occasion.

Moving with the music, she trailed on hand up through her hair, the other caressing her skin, drifting down her stomach and between her legs. The beat shifted, and she spun, dropping her upper body with a flourish, giving him a fantastic view of her ass.