Page 230 of Masters of Control

The feeling that something was very wrong had gotten under his skin and wasn’t going away.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked around. It only took him a moment to locate Connor—he was the biggest man in the room other than Jared, who was his equal. They were already on the far side of the room at a St. Andrew’s cross.

Unclenching his jaw again, Asad strode through the Dungeon, ignoring the scenes that he was passing. Leather, whips, cries of pain and pleasure, all of it went by in a blur. He was too focused on where he was going. By the time he reached Connor and Morgan, Morgan had stripped off everything other than her thong and was stepping up to the St. Andrew’s cross, placing her hands on the wood.

With her back to the Dungeon, she couldn’t see him.

Asad came to a grinding halt and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Connor get into place behind her, holding a flogger in his hand. Plain leather with thick strands, no knots, it was hardly the kind of implement that would give Morgan the satisfaction she needed. It didn’t look like Connor was restraining her to the cross, either. She was just going to be holding on to it.

Not at all what she needed. Especially if she was in a place where she’d asked for a scene rather than just playing.

Gritting his teeth, he managed to keep from calling out as he glowered from the sidelines. Interrupting a scene was against the rules. Even if it had barely just started and wasn’t going to be satisfying for either of the people involved. Several other members of the club drifted up to watch. Asad glanced at them. No one he was friends with. All of them appeared curious and anticipatory, just checking out another scene being performed in the Dungeon, nothing special to them.

Connor raised his arm and brought the flogger down on Morgan’s upper back. Then her ass. Then her upper back again. His form was good, his aim was good, but there was no visible mark on her pale skin from the blows. Stepping forward, Connor put his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, and they exchanged a few words. When Connor stepped back, he looked around, his expression troubled, as though appealing for help.

His gaze met Asad’s, and his eyes widened.

Which was when Asad realized he not only had his arms crossed over his chest, but his jaw was clenched again, a muscle ticking in his cheek, and he was glaring at one of his best friends as if he wanted to murder him.

Shit.

He should go. He should leave Morgan to Connor. She wasn’t actually his responsibility. He didn’t need to be here.

Except Connor was walking toward him, appearing worried but also… relieved?

“Can you take over the scene?” Connor asked.

Asad stared at him. The urge to say yes and grab the flogger from him—so he could replace it with something rougher—and jump in was overwhelming. But Doms didn’t just hand scenes over like that. Connor couldn’t possibly be saying what it sounded like he was.

“What?”

“Can you take over the scene? I… she needs more than I can give her. She said she wanted to try something different, softer, but she’s not actually happy with what I can do, and I don’t think I can give her what she really wants.”

Well, shit. Connor was saying exactly what Asad thought he was, and his expression had turned pleading. He might be one of the biggest, most intimidating guys in the club, but he was a complete softie on the inside. All the subs knew it. Connor knew it. Morgan knew it.

So, why had she chosen him?

He looked around Connor to see Morgan still holding her position. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see what was going on. She just stood in place and waited for her Dom to return to her. The way a well-trained slave would because that’s what she was. A lot of submissives wouldn’t have been able to resist looking, or at least peeking, but not Morgan.

“We need to talk to her first,” he said firmly. Morgan would have had some reason for choosing Connor, and he wasn’t going to make the switch without asking her. Even if he knew he would be the better choice to scene with her.

Little warning bells were going off in his head, but he ignored them. Connor needed him. Morgan needed him. What other people might think wasn’t part of the consideration. Neither was the fact that normally being ‘needed’ would make him run screaming into the night. This was different. If anyone asked him to explain why it was different, he would punch them.

It just was.

Connor nodded and turned. Asad’s chest tightened, but he stepped up after his friend, both of them heading toward Morgan. He ignored the sighs of disappointment from the watching audience and the way they dispersed when they realized the scene wasn’t going to be starting back up again. The fewer people witnessing, the better.

“Morgan.” All he had to do was say her name, and something inside him reacted. He didn’t have time to study the reaction, though, because Morgan was already looking over her shoulder at him, her green eyes widening in surprise.

“Master Asad?” There was a slight tremor in her voice, confusion threading through it. “What are you doing here?” She was looking at him as though he was the last person she’d expected to see, which he didn’t understand, but it didn’t really matter. He was here. That was what mattered.

“Morgan, I’m worried I’m not able to give you what you need in a scene,” Connor said seriously, his deep voice almost mournful. It was clear he felt bad, even though it wasn’t really his fault.

Asad hoped he wasn’t getting a complex. Sometimes, he felt like Connor didn’t even enjoy being a Dom, that he just came to the club because that’s where his friends were.

Something for him to worry about later. Right now, his entire focus needed to be on the increasingly concerned-looking submissive, who was still clinging to the St. Andrew’s cross as if it was her anchor in a storm. Shit. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she didn’t want to scene with him again.

Disappointment and hurt hit him like a physical blow to his chest.