His sharply pointed eyebrows lowered. “It impairs judgment,” he explained, his gaze studying me as he spoke, “and in turn, impairs consent.”
Ah. That made sense. “I’m good,” I told him, willing my nerves to chill.
“Then we’ll move on to the tour.” Edge held out his big hand, signaling for me to walk in front of him.
Alrighty then. Jumping in feet first, no life vest.
I forced my feet to move, my eyes continuously scanning every inch of the club just as I’d done while I had waited for Edge to join me.
This floor wasn’t much different than any vanilla—as my brother referred to non-BDSM-related things—nightclub I’d been to. The music was loud, the people were louder, and everyone seemed to be having a good time despite the fact there was no alcohol served.
“Would you prefer to see the theme rooms first? Or the dungeon?”
Was he still trying to intimidate me? It felt as though he was, so I figured I could give him a taste of his own medicine.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get a little taste of everything,” I said, peering up into those cool blue eyes.
God, he had pretty eyes. They were a stark contrast to his tan face, brightened all the more because of his jet-black hair and the dark slashes of his eyebrows. Although his nose was a little narrow and long, it didn’t detract from his attractiveness in the least.
“Is that right?”
His smile was both sexy and mischievous and that tingling in my belly intensified.
He didn’t wait for me to answer before he added, “Then let’s begin, shall we?”
Master Edge’s hand moved to the small of my back as I continued to walk. I inhaled deeply, shocked by the sensation. Similar to his inquisitive gaze, his touch stirred things inside me. I did my best not to focus on how his fingers grazed the thin sliver of bare skin between the corset and my boy shorts.
“We’ll take the stairs down.”
I nodded, then headed in the direction he gently nudged me. As we descended, the music changed. While upstairs had a club feel with techno music, this was more industrial. Darker, sexier.
I tried not to act completely surprised to see so many people in various states of undress. After all, I had read plenty of erotic romance novels that had depicted a dozen or two different clubs. While the descriptions varied in many ways, there was always one common theme: someone was undoubtedly naked.
More than one as was the case here.
“Worried you might end up naked?” he goaded, the words spoken low in my ear.
“No, actually.” Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the truth although the thought didn’t freak me out the way I expected. Of course, it was something I’d considered for some time. After debating as to whether or not I could go through with it should the opportunity present itself, I’d finally come to a firm decision. Yes, I could. After all, from a clinical perspective, it would be good research.
There were only a couple of people who were playing, one woman strapped to a spanking bench, another to a St. Andrew’s cross. I only knew what those were because I read so much—blogs, research papers, magazines, and yes, erotic fiction—and anytime I came across a new kink toy, I Googled it, curious as to what it looked like. Fair warning to those who hadn’t yet used their good friend Google to look up kink club apparatus: some of them weren’t for the faint of heart.
With strong fingers curling over my shoulders, Edge stepped up behind me. The position felt distinctly possessive and ridiculously sexy, but again, I knew it was another attempt to intimidate.
His voice, dark and seductively rough, rasped against my senses. “She’s completely at his mercy. Bound, gagged.” He inhaled, exhaled. “Naked and vulnerable.”
Yep. She was.
“She belongs to him tonight. Only him,” he whispered.
I found it hard to pay attention when he was so close. His hands were warm on my skin, his body solid at my back, and he smelled so freaking good.
I hadn’t expected it, to be honest. I had expected Edge to do his due diligence, to steer me through the club, point out what was what, and then take me back upstairs and leave me to my own devices.
I hadn’t considered I’d become the game.
Strangely enough, I liked the idea.
More than I would ever admit to my brother.
CAV
“MASTER CAV, IT’S AN HONOR TO HAVE you here.”
As I entered the dimly lit club, I slowly lifted my gaze, meeting the eager eyes of a petite blonde I’d had the pleasure of spending time with during previous visits.
“An honor?” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment at the blatant disregard for club protocol. And thirty seconds in, to boot. Perhaps a new record.
“Yes, Sir,” she said sweetly, her fake lashes fluttering. “I’ve been hoping you’d arrive.”
I’d heard that line before. A few dozen times, in fact.
Kink clubs—hardcore, bondage, fetish, didn’t really matter—each had its own distinct ambience, a certain aura, if you would. It consumed you from the moment you stepped inside, got into your blood, thrummed in your veins, hardened your muscles, heightened your senses. Perhaps the easiest way to describe it was anticipation fueled by adrenaline and lust. A heady concoction, one that tripled when I walked into this particular kink club.
Dichotomy was probably my favorite of all the joints I’d visited over the years. Roughly a decade ago—twenty-five and full of myself—I’d stumbled onto the BDSM scene. A few short hours after learning what it was, I sauntered into a club thinking I was hot shit, acting as though I knew what the hell I was doing. For the record, I didn’t. Not by a long shot.
But that was then, this was now, and in the last ten years, I’d honed my skills to a fine point, accepted the role I’d opted to play.
Rather than respond, I pinned her in place with the expression I knew most submissives dropped their eyes from. Showing zero respect for the fact I was a Master at this club, the submissive before me continued to make eye contact, clearly not realizing her mistake.
“Liz?”
Her pencil-thin eyebrows rose, hope, clear and bright, shining in her eyes. “Yes, Master Cav?”
I doused that hope when I said, “Did I ask you to approach?”
Her tone was slightly hesitant when she said, “No, Sir.”
“Did I ask you to speak?”
“No, Sir.”
“Did I ask you to look me in the eye?”
She answered with, “No, Sir;” however, her gaze didn’t lower.
During my time in the scene, I’d visited all types of places. Some that focused solely on bondage, others that catered to the hardcore, even some that were merely brothels disguised as kink. Dichotomy was on an entirely different level from those places, and I was proud to be a part of it. I’d been a member since inception, had spent time in both the Dallas and Chicago locations.
What I liked about this one most was that Trent Ramsey, the owner, wasn’t a novice and his clubs reflected that. And the man he’d hired to manage this location ran a tight ship. Gregory Edge paid attention to every minute detail—atmosphere, hygiene, safety. He ensured the Dominants understood the rules, followed them, made safety their main concern. He insisted any and all submissives underwent the training necessary to interact with the experienced Masters of the club.
Evidently, Liz needed a refresher course.
“I’m going to ask you again; did I ask you to make eye contact?” I wondered if she was too eager to even remember the basic rules of D/s.
“No, Sir.”
As though it clicked, her eyes widened suddenly. A second later, her chin tilted low, her arms fell to her sides. Long blond hair slid like silk over her shoulders, covering pert tits cupped by a leather bra.
Even if she had a momentary lapse, she knew the rules. Speaking to me without permission was the fastest way to find yourself cut from my lineup for the evening.
Too bad, too. We coul
d’ve enjoyed ourselves. For a little while. Unfortunately, her need for attention ruined it for her.
“Nice to see you, Liz,” I stated before walking past her. It was a definite blow-off, but in this scene, it was a move that was often necessary to maintain the upper hand in the constant shift of power.
I’d met more than my fair share of submissives who believed a partial glance was a sign of what was to come, but I had a reputation inside these walls, and most, if not all, of the club submissives knew who I was. They knew I didn’t roll that way. The submissives I’d played with in the past, of which there were many, knew I didn’t tolerate topping from the bottom.
I didn’t live the lifestyle twenty-four seven, likely never would, so I enjoyed the time I did get to spend here, though thanks to my schedule, it wasn’t much these days.
A couple of submissives cut their gazes to me as I moved toward the Dom lounge. I gave them a quick once-over, tipping my Stetson slightly, ensuring I showed a modicum of interest but not enough to invite them to come over. A cute brunette started my way, but her redheaded friend saved her with a firm hand on her arm and a few whispered words in her ear.
Smart girl. Maybe I’d have to go in search of the little redhead later on. She might be fun to strap down and spank until she was begging for both mercy and my cock.
Of course, that would have to wait. I wasn’t that easy.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
I pivoted around to see who the sexy voice belonged to, my gaze landing on the petite Dominatrix everyone referred to as Mistress Jane. I couldn’t hide my smile. “I tend to be the one doing the dragging,” I assured her.
Jane chuckled. “I’ve heard that about you.”
She offered a quick hug and I had no choice but to hug her back.
When she looked up at me, she was grinning. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“On the contrary”—Jane cocked a hip—“I’m here more often than not. But it’s been a long time since you’ve graced us with your presence.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been busy.”
“I heard you moved back to Chicago.”
“That’s a nasty rumor,” I teased.
Her expression said she approved of my attempt at humor. “So, it’s not true?”
“Not completely. Yet. Provided all goes well, I’ll likely settle in for a bit.” At least, that was my plan as of this morning. I was one of those guys who went where the action took me. And for whatever reason, it had brought me back to my home away from home this time around.
Jane’s smile widened. “Any chance you’re seeking employment at Chatter PR?”
“As a matter of fact…” I cocked my head to the side, tried to read Jane’s mind, to no avail. “I have an interview with Zeke on Monday.”
I’d learned a long time ago that the clubs were a gossip mill. Word spread fast, and although I hadn’t officially taken a position with Chatter PR, I was entertaining the notion thanks to Edge giving me a good reference. Since Jane was employed by Chatter also, she evidently had a direct hotline to the information.
“I think he might’ve mentioned that. Good luck.” Jane chuckled. “He’s hired two others and they seem to be working out, but I think he’s looking for someone to manage them.”
“He having an issue?”
Jane shook her head, causing her long onyx hair, pulled back in a sleek tail, to slip smoothly over her shoulder. “Not at all. You know how he is. Zeke doesn’t like people.” She laughed. “But we’ve advised them of Zeke’s…” She tapped one blood-red nail on her lower lip. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Idiosyncrasies?”
“Ah, yes. That’s a good one.” Her eyes glittered. “They’re adapting.” Jane nodded toward the far side of the room, her black bangs swaying, then falling back into place as she did. “I assume you’re looking for Edge?”
Jane Fellows had an uncanny ability to read me like a book. I wasn’t sure why that was, and I’d long ago stopped questioning it.
“I am.”
Her gaze shot toward the stairs. “I saw him go down a few minutes ago.”
“To the dungeon, huh?” I asked, my interest piquing. “Work or play?”
“Considering he’s got a guest tonight, I’m thinking play might be on the agenda.” Jane’s tone reflected something that sounded a lot like amusement.
“Training class?”
“Nope. But she’s definitely a newbie.”
“Is that right?”
The glimmer in Jane’s gray eyes hinted at something mischievous. “You might know her.”
That sounded promising. “Who is she?”
Jane’s red-slicked lips curled up, her white teeth flashing. “Zeke Lautner’s sister, Jamie.”
Oh, hell.
I frowned. “And what the fuck is Edge doin’ with her?” I lowered my voice, realizing my Texas was showing. “Does he have a death wish?”
Jane chuckled. “Believe it or not, cowboy, he’s showing her around at Zeke’s request.”
I didn’t know Zeke well, but I’d consider him an acquaintance. Being a Master here at the club, I didn’t have to befriend a member to know quite a few details about one. For instance, I knew for a fact that Zeke Lautner was extremely protective when it came to his little sister.
“Did Zeke hit his head?”
Jane chuckled. “That’s exactly what I wondered at first.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the stairs as I imagined what might possibly be taking place down there. “Well, color me intrigued,” I said beneath my breath.
Jane laughed, clearly hearing me. “I won’t keep you any longer. Good luck.”
Luck was my middle fucking name, but I didn’t need to tell Jane that. Most people who knew me knew that. I worked hard and played harder, but there was no doubt some higher power had me in their sights. Otherwise I wouldn’t have made it this far in life.
I didn’t waste time as I worked my way down to the dungeon, greeting a few people I hadn’t seen in quite some time. The second my feet hit the polished concrete floor, I stopped, my eyes locked on the scene before me, and it did not include the woman strapped to the spanking bench.
I saw Edge first.
His wide, muscled back was to me, but there was no mistaking the tattoo inked just below his hairline—the familiar BDSM symbol, which was a derivation of a triskelion shape within a circle—or the bulge of his shoulders, the ass encased in leather pants, or the way he stood with his legs spread wide. He was a mountain of a man, an alpha everyone in this club looked up to.
I took a moment to admire him, a treat I rarely had the opportunity to indulge in these days. It wasn’t something I tended to do in public. Not because I was ashamed of my attraction to the man. No, I tended to keep my interest on the DL for the sole reason that I was a Dominant, and it wasn’t within the norm for one Dom to want another. Which meant my overwhelming desire for him was something I kept to myself. Always. I was fairly certain Edge knew I was interested, perhaps he’d even entertained the idea a time or two, but as of yet, we hadn’t explored that avenue.
One day.
Maybe.
Edge shifted and I caught a quick glimpse of his guest. Standing there in a wickedly hot corset and boy shorts was a woman who was comfortable in her own skin. Just looking at her, you wouldn’t guess she was related to Zeke, but I knew she had to be because Edge was guarding her like his life depended on it.
Perhaps it did.
Wanting a better view, I moved closer until I could see every glorious inch of the goddess in bronze.
She was tall. Much taller than most women, in fact. With my height of six foot two, we would be almost eye to eye. She had nice shoulders, smooth and tanned, her breasts the perfect handful. With her shiny dark hair, sleek, trim physique, and golden skin, she could’ve been a model. Perhaps for Victoria’s Secret or even Sports Illustrated�
�the swimsuit edition. But her legs were what captured my attention most. I could practically envision those mile-long limbs wrapped around my waist, riding me like a prized stallion.
Since Edge and Jamie were watching a scene, I sauntered up and stood quietly behind the big man I hadn’t seen in three months. We talked on the phone at least once a week, traded texts far more than that, but I hadn’t actually laid eyes on him in far too long. He looked good, smelled even better.
While I was tempted to tap him on the shoulder, I wasn’t about to interrupt. It was rude and it pissed me off when others did it to me. So, I took a step to the side, which gave me a much better view of both of them together. They fit. Like puzzle pieces. With her beauty and his brawn, I’d say they complemented one another rather well.
My gaze strayed to the female and once more that heady feeling—anticipation laced with lust and adrenaline—fizzed in my veins.
I was rather eager to see how this night would play out.
TWO
EDGE
THE SCENE I’D CHOSEN FOR JAMIE TO observe took roughly ten minutes to play out. Nothing overly complicated or particularly unique. Submissive strapped to a spanking bench, Liam Murphy—a popular, unattached Master—using a crop and his fingers to bring her to orgasm.
Once Liam accomplished his goal, people began dispersing but I hesitated. Since Chris Cavanaugh was standing not two feet behind me, I had good reason.
It’s only appropriate he shows up. You’ve been thinking about him enough lately.
I ignored the voice even if he was correct. I had been thinking about Cav, wondering when he’d grace us with his presence.
For the record, he had the worst fucking timing.
As if I needed something else to deal with right now, Cav had to make an appearance tonight. The last time I’d talked to him—two days ago—he’d said he wasn’t sure when he would be back in Chicago. I should’ve known he’d pop in at the most inconvenient time.
For you, maybe. Looks like he’s got other thoughts on his timing.
While I could’ve easily acknowledged him, then come up with some excuse as to why Jamie and I had to go, I knew Cav would see right through it. Considering I’d known the guy since college, considered him my closest friend, not only would he see through my lies, he would call me on them, too.
Their Naughty Student (Office Intrigue, 6) Page 2