by Rachel Clark
Mastering Melody
Melody Jeffers has a secret.
She craves a lifestyle she doesn’t even understand, but she has to know, needs to find out where the strange urges come from before she marries her best friend, Bradley Griffin.
When Ryan discovers his brother’s fiancé has wandered into his BDSM club he’s momentarily shocked. Since announcing their engagement he’s been careful to avoid the happy couple. He may have been Melody’s first, but her future is with his brother. Yet, when he realizes she’s a lost and confused natural submissive, he has trouble letting go.
Bradley can see the attraction between his fiancé and his brother and asks Ryan for help to train her as a submissive. He knows he’s risking his future, but if sharing her will make Melody happy he’s willing to try. But can a relationship survive between three people with very different needs?
Note: There is no sexual relationship or touching for titillation between or among siblings.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 35,621 words
MASTERING MELODY
Rachel Clark
MENAGE AMOUR
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
MASTERING MELODY
Copyright © 2012 by Rachel Clark
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-068-1
First E-book Publication: December 2012
Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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MASTERING MELODY
RACHEL CLARK
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
My heart is pounding. My hands feel clammy. I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Good god, I just want to run, screaming.
But I have to know. I have to understand. I need to face my demons before I can move on.
The deep throb of the music pounds through me as I sneak in the door, but it’s the brightly lit reception area that throws me. I didn’t expect it. I thought only to wander through the displays—the scenes, as they call them—and finally be able to admit I was wrong.
I don’t crave this lifestyle. I don’t. Just the thought of a man taking pleasure from hurting me is appalling, but there is something, something I don’t understand, something I need or at least think I need. I’m here to prove to myself that I don’t need it, that my cravings are nothing more than the product of an overactive imagination.
But I need to be sure.
“Can I help you?” I startle slightly when I realize the woman is addressing me. I’d planned to be anonymous. I hadn’t intended to talk to anyone.
“I…um…” What the hell do I say? Sorry, I wandered in here by mistake? Or do I pretend I don’t know what sort of club this is?
But the woman gives me a kind smile. “Curious?” she asks.
I nod nervously, unwilling or perhaps unable to say the word out loud.
The woman looks me over, seeing something I cannot even imagine. She nods decisively, as if I’ve passed some sort of test. “You’ll need a guide, a Dom.”
I shiver at the word “Dom.” I know what a Dom is. I’ve done my research. Damn Internet. Without it I would never have known places like this even existed.
“Do you prefer men or women?”
“What?” I ask, feeling my face fill with color.
“I know this can be overwhelming, but you’ll enjoy yourself more if you’re honest with me.” She gives me a friendly smile. “Men or women?”
I shake my head. “I–I have a fiancé,” I whisper in a strangled tone of voice.
“Still doesn’t answer my question, sugar.”
“Men,” I say quickly, “but…”
She lifts the phone, presses a single button, and hands me a yellow piece of plastic that looks similar to a hospital tag. “Hi, Mitchell. It’s Stephanie. I have a new sub here who needs a guide. Could you send a Dom to the front desk?” She listens for a moment, smiles at something the man says, and then hangs up. “Mitchell will escort you around the club.” She points at the yellow plastic. “That tells everyone that you’re not here to play, only to observe.” She hands me a sheet of paper and points to a row of lockers at the far end of the room. “Reset the access code with your own,” she says, pointing to the instructions in front of me, “and then place everything inside.”
“Everything?” I ask with a squeak. I know many clubs expect the subs to be scantily dressed or naked, but it’s not what I expected tonight. I’m only observing. I only want to watch. I’m only here to convince myself that I don’t need to be here. Shit.
“There’s a list of banned items on the bottom, sugar,” the woman says, pointing to a group of words separated by asterisks. I nod a little shakily when I realize she means to place the banned items into the locker—my cell phone, car keys, any photographic or recording devices, basically everything except my clothes. “Quickly, Mitchell will be here in a moment, and he is one Dom you don’t want to keep waiting.”
I nod and rush to do as she says. I’ve read some stuff about hard-ass Doms. I r
eally do not want to upset one on my first night here. First? No, no, no…My only night here. Ever.
I nearly leap from my skin when the door beside the reception desk opens. The man who comes through is huge, scary huge, man-mountain huge. Oh hell. He’s wearing black leather pants and heavy boots, the type that a biker might wear when riding his Harley. But it’s the chains crisscrossing his chest, the leather cuffs hanging from his belt, and the nearly naked woman holding his hand that declare him a Dom.
I swallow nervously as he comes to stand in front of me.
“What’s your name, little sub?”
I consider lying—I don’t plan to come back here—but there is just something about this man that rattles my composure. I don’t think he’s even trying to be intimidating, but I can’t for the life of me think of another name to give him. The only one in my head is my own.
“Melody,” I blurt out nervously.
“Well, Melody,” he says as he takes the yellow plastic out of my hand and secures it around my wrist. “Tonight you will watch and learn and do exactly as I tell you.”
I glance nervously at the woman, the sub, behind him. She gives me an encouraging smile and a small nod. Apparently she trusts this giant of a man and thinks I should, too.
“What happens if I break a rule accidentally?” I’ve read about all sorts of painful-sounding punishments for badly behaved subs. I’m not ready to be one, and I sure as hell don’t want to find myself being punished for not understanding the lifestyle.
“Nothing, little sub,” he says, reaching over to touch my cheek affectionately. “But I won’t tolerate bratty behavior, either. Defy me and you will find yourself escorted to your car and your welcome revoked. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” I say, trying not to react to the way he touched my face. My fiancé touches me like that quite often. It makes me feel loved and cherished and special to him. The same touch from a stranger should not affect me the same way.
“Keep your gaze lowered, speak only when spoken to, and you will address every Dom with the proper respect.” I nod my head, but I’m not certain what constitutes proper respect. I’m practically dancing from foot to foot wondering what the hell I’m supposed to say. God, I’ve never been this nervous in my entire adult life. How can one man make me feel like an inexperienced, awkward, socially inept teenager? Shit, I’m almost on the verge of hyperventilating and I haven’t even made it into the damn club.
A firm grip on my jaw lifts my gaze to his. “Last chance to run, little sub. Now or never.”
I swallow hard. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here. The fact that I am almost scared witless should be enough to convince me that I need to go home and forget everything about this place, this lifestyle, this intimidating man. But I’m frozen to the spot.
He searches my face, apparently seeing what he wants to see, because he drops his hand from my jaw, turns his back, and issues his order. “Come, little sub. Let’s go see if we can find what you’ve been looking for.”
I follow him instinctively, grateful for the other sub’s friendly smile as we step through a doorway and into a world I’ve only ever dreamed of.
Chapter Two
The music is pounding right through me, the deep bass and the dim lighting, the shrieks of both pleasure and pain, making me feel like I’ve stepped through a portal to another dimension. People all around me are naked, or nearly naked, some on display, some just watching.
We stop in front of a raised dais. A naked woman is draped over a man’s knee. She’s just lying there, waiting, her eyes closed, her expression one of simple peace. I can’t hear the man over the music, but it’s obvious he’s talking to her as he caresses the naked cheeks of her ass. She nods once.
The Dom I am with—I think his name is Mitchell, but since he didn’t tell me that I dare not use it—pulls his sub to stand in front of him, his hands roaming over her nearly naked breasts as they wait for the scene to begin. He glances toward me and sees me inching away from him slightly. I’m not frightened he’ll try to do that to me as well. I just feel like I need to give them some privacy. Considering where we are, it’s a ludicrous instinct. The entire club is designed with voyeurism in mind. Watching and being watched is what this part of the club is about.
Mitchell leans over, snags my wrist, and drags me back to where I’d been moments ago. He places my hand on his belt, encouraging me to curl my fingers around the stiff leather. “Do not let go,” he says in a voice I have no intention of ignoring. “Understood?”
“Yes,” I say as he leans down to hear me. He seems to be waiting for something, and I’m already worried that I’ve done something wrong. “Yes, Sir,” I say a little bit louder, hoping that what I read on the Internet is correct. He nods, gives me a smile that suggests that I’ve pleased him, and then goes back to caressing the woman in front of him.
I flinch with the woman on stage when the first harsh slap hits her ass. I can almost feel the sting as her Dom rubs his hand over her abused flesh. When he smacks her again I imagine the warmth of it spreading over my ass, the pain and the pleasure morphing into one amazing feeling. My pussy pulses as I watch, entranced. My clit swells. My breathing quickens. My hands are shaking when I try to push my hair out of my eyes. Arousal swirls through me, gripping me with need.
Good god, what have I done?
* * * *
Ryan Griffin watched the Saturday-night crowd with a jaundiced eye. Maybe he’d been doing this too long, but he hadn’t come across a sub who truly appealed to him in a very long time. Maybe he should take over training the new subs like his friend Doug had asked him to do. Apparently Doug had fallen in love, and ever since he’d found his current sub, Alicia, he’d refused to take on any new contracts. The fact that he shared his sub with another Dom was actually quite surprising. Ryan knew both men well enough to know they were both a lot like him—demanding, bossy, possessive.
He tried to shake off the thought.
The only woman he’d ever loved was now engaged to his brother. Sharing was not an option, and he wasn’t going to waste another moment fantasizing over a woman he couldn’t have, especially when she didn’t have a submissive bone in her body. Hell, if Bradley even thought about ordering his beautiful fiancée to kneel at his feet she’d likely knee him in the balls instead.
The thought made Ryan smile. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that Melody would always make her own decisions. She wasn’t the type to sit back and let the people around her decide her future. It was one of the things he loved most about her.
Maybe that was why he was feeling jaded. Most of the subs he’d come across lately had been looking for a full-time master-slave relationship. Being in charge and making every decision or treating a woman almost like a child had never appealed to him. He’d always hungered for an equal partner, someone capable of making decisions on her own but at the same time willing to submit to him in certain circumstances.
It was a lot to ask, especially in the middle of a BDSM club, but a part of him still hoped to find his perfect match. Doug and Lachlan had found their perfect woman. Surely there was a chance that he would someday find the same type of part-time Dom-sub relationship.
“Are you ready for the whip demonstration?” Callum asked, stepping closer to be heard over the loud music.
“As long as you still are,” Ryan answered with a grin. Whipping another Dom’s sub wasn’t unusual for Ryan, but it was the first time he’d been asked to whip a new wife as a wedding present.
“Of course,” Callum said, touching his wife and full-time submissive, Sandra, lovingly. She smiled, and even with her gaze lowered Ryan could see how happy these two people made each other.
It gave him hope. Callum and Sandra were perfect for each other, their needs and attitudes meshing seamlessly.
Somewhere out there was the perfect submissive for Ryan, too. He just had to keep looking.
Chapter Three
I’m still shivering in reaction to
the spanking scene when the Dom I’m with leads me and his sub to another scene. This time the woman is tied to a wooden cross, a corset of sorts covering the middle of her torso, the rest of her completely naked. I know the name for the cross, but I can’t for the life of me remember it. It seems unimportant, though, when a man steps closer and begins peppering her skin with what looks like a soft leather flogger. The strips leave pale pink lines on her skin, her Dom creating an almost hypnotic rhythm as he works her over. Back and forth, moving slowly up and down her thighs and bottom, the light touch seems to be soothing as I watch the woman relax into her Dom’s care.
I’m wondering at the love I sense between them, the genuine affection that seems to telegraph so loudly, but it’s the entrance of another man that has me quaking in my shoes. He’s wearing nothing but leather pants and a full-face mask. Only his eyes are visible through the black leather, but I begin to throb all over when he takes the stage. What the hell is wrong with me?
I close my eyes, trying to picture my fiancé, desperate to remind myself that I love the man dearly. Hell, we grew up together. He’s my best friend. All of my childhood memories revolve around him and his brother. I love my fiancé. I know I love him.
I want to leave. This is wrong. I shouldn’t have come here.
The loud crack of the whip startles me. My eyes fly open to watch the stage, my gaze glued to the small welt on the woman’s naked buttocks. The whip cracks again, the movement faster than my eyes can follow, another red welt appearing on the woman’s ass as she groans. Her skin is already crisscrossed with faint lines, her legs and arms, ass and thighs all red from her earlier flogging, but it’s the genuine pain I can hear in her groans that scares me. I can easily imagine myself in her place.