Connie hadn't been down here in a few weeks. Skipping monitor duty a few times and hunkering down in the social area had kept her away—even the buzz about the new rooms hadn't been able to stir her interest sufficiently enough to poke her into coming for a sneak peek. That might have been a big mistake, now that she was about to experience the newness for herself.
Atticus turned her to face the polished wooden door with its shiny brass plaque stating Private Room #1. Carefully, he unwound her hair from his hand, then hooked his fingers over her shoulders. “Close your eyes and open the door, Connie. Follow my instructions to the letter.”
She heard voices spilling into the room they'd just left. She gripped the door handle, feeling the brass warm in her palm. On a deep breath, she obeyed. Eyes shut, she shoved the door open and waited, feeling Atticus's presence at her back like a heated blanket. The man sure did pump warmth out from that massive body.
“Forward, three steps,” he murmured against her ear.
One. Two. Three. Chest tight, Connie stopped and waited. The door clicked quietly behind her, the lock turning over with a snap that made her heart lurch. Jesus, what the hell was she doing? She couldn't submit to one of her best friends, for God's sake. Why did she think she could—
“Sidestep to the right, forward five steps.” Atticus interrupted her thoughts.
Concentrating on where she put her feet, she did as she was told without thinking. It was only when she stopped again that her thoughts berated her. This was so wrong. She wasn't a submissive anymore for a reason. Her line of work required someone strong and dependable; submissive Connie wasn't either of those things—
“Kick those boots off, sweetheart. I like my subs barefoot.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach, glad she hadn't had time to eat before she left the house. Nerves scurried in her belly like a nest of rats scrabbling to get free as she toed off one boot, then the other. The removal of one of her main Domme defenses was enough to make her feel small and vulnerable.
Atticus prowled around her, humming under his breath. “No blindfolds, no hoods. Gonna be hard to trust you not to open your eyes, little sub. If you open them, you're gonna run, and I can't have that.” His humming grew thoughtful. “What are your safewords, Connie? Might as well set your mind at ease that the system works.”
Her head tilted, trying to follow his path around her. “Red and yellow.”
Silence. Worse, disapproving silence. It dragged on for an age before he cleared his throat pointedly.
“Sir,” she gritted out. “Red and yellow, Sir.”
A fist pounded on the door, making her twist and jump.
“Stay exactly as you are, Connie. Make a move, open your eyes, and I will know.” Atticus's immense presence faded, his boots thudding on the soft carpet. She curled her toes into it, fighting her instinct to do exactly what she pleased. The lock snapped open, a waft of cooler air invaded the heat of the room. “Evening, Saul.”
Oh fuck. Connie froze in position, desperate to duck her head, to curl up in a ball, anything to hide herself from the Dom at the door. Saul wasn't one of the Masters, at least not yet. Braun and Jasper had been making noises about inviting him to join the ranks, which she didn't have a problem with—he was a really nice guy, with a lot of experience under his belt. She just didn't want him to see her like this.
“Atticus, sorry. Didn't realize it was you. The alarm went off behind the bar and Liam's hands are full with the crowd out there, so I thought I’d give him a break and check it out. Someone safeworded?”
“Just doing some pre-scene checks,” Atticus replied easily. “You know the drill.”
“I do, indeed. You mind if I check with the sub that everything's okay?”
Goddamn him, why did he have to be such a nice fucking guy? Connie's hands trembled with the urge to bury her face in them. Saul liked to check all the T's and always, always followed through on whatever task he was assigned within the club. He was the physical embodiment of thorough. She wanted to throttle him for that quality right in this instance.
“Can't let you in, Saul. My sub for the night is nervous about doing a scene, but feel free to ask her what you like from here.”
Connie couldn't see the Dom's face, but she imagined it was a mask of suspicion. She knew hers would be. Would he force his way into the room? She'd be surprised if he managed to get past the sheer brute mountain that was Atticus, but it would be worth watching.
“It's not that I don't trust you, Atticus.” Saul muttered something she couldn't hear, and both men laughed. “Let me get this over with so you can get back to things.”
“Little sub,” Atticus called out, weakening her knees with relief when he avoided using her name. “Color please, sweetheart.”
Shit, she had to speak? It was two words—she could say two damned words without giving herself away, right? Trying to make her voice higher, she choked out, “Green, Sir.” Her shoulders tensed when Saul didn't reply.
“You know, it’s none of my business, Atticus, but she sounds an awful lot like—” Saul's voice cut off abruptly, and the door slammed shut.
What just happened? Stunned, Connie stayed exactly where she was for the next sixty seconds before her inner Domme grew impatient and took over. Rolling her shoulders back, it felt as though she could breathe again. Opening her eyes, she blinked as she looked around the room. It was no bigger than Braun's office, but it was certainly large enough and well stocked enough to keep a lot of members happy.
She was standing a few feet away from a four-poster bed. Carved wood, lots of tie rings and suspension opportunities, she noted. There were several cupboards against the wall, a rocking chair in the corner, and a spanking bench by the door. Everything smelled clean, new. Braun had spared no expense in furbishing the expansion.
Tempted to go sit in the rocker, Connie decided against it. She'd only fall asleep, and her system had taken too hard a knock tonight to stay in the club. She'd made a mistake in agreeing to submit to Atticus, she could see that now she had control back in her hands. Submission and orgasms weren't going to fix the shit in her life, so she'd just have to deal with it on her own.
Bending to slip on her boot, a cold voice from behind her turned her blood to ice. “That would not be advisable, Constance. Not advisable at all.”
Atticus was not a man, she decided. He was a fucking ninja who just slid through solid doors without a sound. “I'm not playing along with this stupid game, Atticus.” She tugged her boot on. “I appreciate you taking the time to help me, but I'm fine now.” Her foot slipped into the second boot, and she straightened with her Mistress face switched on. “I'm sure there's a submissive who'll satisfy your urges tonight…” She trailed off, finally looking at his face.
The beast is off its chain. That was her first thought, followed swiftly by, I'm not going to make it out of here alive.
Master Atticus was livid. She bared her teeth as she automatically used the honorific in her head. His eyes were green steel in a face colder than stone, and she felt herself shrink from the directness of his gaze. It took her several seconds longer than it should have to ram an iron rod through her quivering spine. The submissive in her was already on her knees, head bowed, muttering for forgiveness.
He snapped his fingers, then jabbed his forefinger at the bed. “Boots off. Clothes off. This isn't a fucking game, little sub. This is us trying to sort your life out before you crash and fucking burn. You are not fine, Connie. You're standing on the edge of a very long, very hard fall.”
Locked in a stare-out with him, she ordered herself to stick to her guns and not back down.
A smile curved one corner of his mouth, but he said nothing as they continued to glare at one another. Two Dominants, both as strong in personality as each other, and neither willing to back down. The longer they stared, the more determined she became to win.
Atticus jerked his chin at her. “Pants next, little sub.”
She snorted derisively. “In y
our dreams, Att.”
God, she hated it when he grinned that way. It completely summed up the arrogance of a Dom, along with the cocky flick of his fingers toward her. “Your shirt's hanging on by a thread, sweetheart, and that very pretty lacy bra isn't far behind. Might as well get it over with and finish doing as I ordered.”
Very slowly, she let her eyes drop to her chest, barely stifling a gasp. While she'd been busy stomping her metaphorical foot and holding a staring match, her hands had obeyed his commands and deftly undone all the buttons on her damn shirt, not to mention the front clasp of her bra. With a curse, she yanked the edges of her plum-colored shirt back together, then crossed her arms over it.
“You're fighting yourself more than you're hating me, Connie. This would be far easier if you'd just relax and accept that the Domme can't give you everything you need. She's served a purpose, but she's changing. The more exhausted you are, the deeper you fall into depression, and the more you're relying on her to keep you afloat. But she's part of the problem, not the solution.” Atticus walked over to her and pushed her arms down to her sides. “Don't move them. You're already getting a spanking before we move on to the main event.”
“I don't rely on anyone,” she hissed, shoving at him.
“Again, part of the problem.” He ran his rough hands over the swell of her breasts, up and over her shoulders, and pushed her shirt away. It slid down her back, material skimming down her arms, until it fluttered to the carpet. “Tonight, you're relying on me whether you like it or not, little sub.” He hooked a single finger under each bra strap and peeled them down her arms. “See, you can do as you're told.”
Oh, this was bad. Despite the warmth of the room, her nipples were already hardening into rigid peaks, the full flesh of her breasts tightening. She squirmed, pressing her thighs together against the ache between them. It had been too long since she'd been half-naked in front of a man, and she hadn't expected Atticus to be the one who broke her dry streak. “I didn't know I was doing that.”
Big hands cupped her, thumbs rasping over the reddening buds. Her breath caught as he bent his head and the roughness of his beard set her skin on fire. Wet heat surrounded her left nipple, pulling it into a vacuum as he sucked. In a matter of seconds, her panties felt damp, and her pussy squeezed on emptiness. On her right breast, his thumbnail flicked rhythmically over the tender nubbin in time with the flutter of his tongue over the left.
“Atticus, please.” She jerked as he admonished her with a sharp nip of teeth.
He lifted his head for the briefest second. “You were stripping because I told you to. You kept your hands where they were because I told you to.” He ran his tongue over her. “Now you'll take those boots off a second time, and remove the rest of your clothes because…”
Submission grabbed her by the ankles and hauled her under the waves. Unable to fight any more, she whispered, “Because you've told me to, Sir.”
“You're catching on, little sub.” Atticus returned his attention to her breasts.
Her legs were weak when she fumbled her boots off again and kicked them aside. Her fingers dispensed with the button and zipper of her slacks, hesitating before she pushed the material down. It clung to her hips for a split second, then pooled around her feet, leaving her exposed.
Atticus kissed the tips of both breasts before he straightened and held her face in his hands. “That's what I expect from my good girl, Connie.” He smiled at her, then stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. Hot green eyes scoured over her from top to toe, bringing a blush to her cheeks. “Christ, you're a sweet little thing when you leave yourself defenseless.”
Her hands slid toward her most vulnerable spots, only to freeze when he lifted an eyebrow at her. She'd forgotten the difference between the adoring gaze of a star struck submissive male and the hungry stare of a dominant alpha male.
“You can't keep rescuing all the women in Avalon, Atticus,” she murmured, immediately dropping her gaze when she noticed he'd heard her. But it was true, wasn't it? Maybe not so much with Bodie, but he'd definitely played white knight with Anarchy, stepping in as her Dom when Jasper pulled a disappearing act. He'd taken care of her like she'd been his own, and had come close to losing his heart to her.
A laugh rumbled from him. Risking a peek, Connie felt her mouth go dry as the Sahara when he yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it to one side. Muscles rippled, and she saw what looked like a fresh scar on his lower abdomen gleam under the lights. He flicked open the button on his jeans one-handedly, then stepped forward and leaned down to touch his mouth to her ear.
“Who says I'm rescuing them, Connie?”
Chapter Two
Leaning back against the porch pillar, waiting for Avalon to open, Thane Isaacson checked his watch and frowned. He was sure the opening hours of the BDSM club he'd been scouting were from twenty-hundred hours on a Friday night—at least, the place had already had cars in the lot and people in the bar the last time he came. It was now almost twenty-forty-five, and the doors were still locked.
He glanced over to the lot and noticed that aside from his jeep, there were three hefty trucks and a car parked in the glow of the security lights. More headlights were coming slowly down the drive, so he figured he wasn't going to miss out on his first night of play in a month. A very long, frustrating month.
This was his third night at Avalon, and he'd finally taken the plunge, applying for membership earlier in the week—finding it suited his tastes better than any of the clubs in Phoenix. When he got the time to play, he wanted to do it in friendly surroundings, knowing the people around him. Phoenix clubs just didn't have that vibe, and he'd seen some shady shit going down that didn't sit well with him.
This place? It checked all his required points, and then some.
Hopefully, tonight he'd get a chance to integrate with the members more. While everyone had been friendly on his previous visits, welcoming even, he hadn't been included yet. He couldn't blame them—new faces couldn't always be trusted for numerous reasons. Visit number three, with a security clearance passed and a membership card in his wallet, might prove to be a more fruitful night.
Thane wondered if the curvy brunette whose hair was a tawnier shade of brown would be here tonight. She'd caught his eye the last time he'd come, and she'd hit his radar with all the right notes. He'd only managed to catch a glimpse of her eyes—she'd been sitting with her friends most of the night, withdrawn and unhappy—but the shade of gray fascinated him.
After tonight, it would be another week before he could come again—relocating was taking forever, or so it seemed. He just wanted the whole thing over with. His career as a sniper for hire based out of Chicago had been brought to a close after the car accident in which his truck had been written off had also fucked up his leg. Limping around like a one-legged duck had made him realize he was too old to be flying around the world at the behest of other people, navigating the shadows and dodging authorities, to put bullets in bad guys.
Eighteen years in the military had been enough for him. Thane admitted without hesitation that the army had made him the man he’d become. Rigorous training had shaped him from a knock-kneed adolescent with pencil arms into a fit, healthy soldier with muscles designed for a purpose.
At eighteen, Thane had worked his ass off to ascend the ranks, from lowly private until he finally made it into the special forces—thanks mainly to an exceptionally sharp eye and steady hands. Eighteen months into his stint as a Green Beret, he’d been selected for a top-secret project at the age of twenty-eight, fulfilling a dream.
By the time he turned thirty-four, he’d had enough. The travel, the killing, the lack of control he had over his own life couldn’t be glossed over by the friendships he’d made in his unit anymore. They’d become his family, but he wanted more—strange pussy in quantities every few months didn’t cut it anymore, and he found himself craving a solid home base. If it had a yard and a dog, even better.
So, he’d t
aken his leave of the institution that raised him and used the skills they’d provided him to strike out on his own as a sniper for hire. Settling in Chicago, he’d found his home—minus the dog—and his bed no longer hosted one-night stands…until the accident.
Now, at forty-six, he felt too old to be starting again. Life in Chicago had changed after the accident, had become…stale. So after a great deal of thought, he’d made the choice to sell his house, distance himself from his past, and head somewhere where his goddamn leg wouldn’t scream with pain from the cold.
Two cars pulled up in the parking lot. Thane watched three females alight from one, and a middle-aged couple disembark from the other while another set of headlights were heading down the drive. Apparently, there'd been a change of opening times he hadn't been made aware of, but no matter. He found he liked it out here—quiet, open skies, and the peace that came with being out in the country.
The club doors opened, spilling more light onto the porch, haloing the tall man framed on the threshold. Thane recognized him as the bartender-slash-manager. Blond, shaggy haircut and full beard. Young, maybe thirty at a push. “Hey, there. Sorry for the later opening,” he said, stepping back as Thane stretched. “Just a minor complication we needed to sort out.”
“No worries,” Thane said gruffly, reaching for his wallet and his membership card as he followed him into the club foyer. “Liam, right?”
“That's me.” The blond slid into the desk chair and logged into the computer. “I'm short-staffed for the next ten minutes, so if you need a drink, I'll be there as soon as I've checked everyone in.” He took the membership card, brand new and shiny apart from a couple of fingerprints, and swiped it. “Isaacson, Thane. You're all done, thanks.”
Taking his card back, Thane nodded and wandered into the club as the trio of women behind him began to flirt with the blond Master. There was no one in the club. All the lights were on, but even the background music was absent. Whatever had gone on, whatever minor complications had transpired, it had thrown Liam off his game for the night.
Talk For Me: Club Avalon Book 3 Page 3