The Reclamation (The Club Trilogy Book 2)

by Lauren Rowe

  “No, Sarah,” he says simply.

  Exactly the reaction I expected. He was unequivocal in his application that bondage of any kind is a non-starter for him. “Non-negotiable,” he called it. But that was before he met me. Before I jumped off a waterfall in a dark cave for him. Before we became mutually stricken with a serious mental disease. Before I became Orgasma the All-Powerful. Before he checked in with Stacy the Faker behind my back and made me doubt him.

  “Yes,” I purr. “Come here, baby.”

  “Not this,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

  I get up off the bed and go to him. I grab his hands and pull him toward the bed.

  He resists. He’s immovable.

  “I’ve never done this, either. But I want to do it with you.”

  I begin unbuttoning his jeans.

  He takes a step back. “I won’t tie you up, Sarah. Absolutely not.”

  I smile. “Oh, baby, no. You’re not gonna tie me up. I’m gonna tie you up.”

  He inhales sharply. That’s not what he was expecting me to say. His face turns pale.

  I step toward him again. I touch his lips, his beautifully sculpted lips. “I allegedly own you? Well, tonight, you’re going to prove it.”

  His chest heaves.

  “Do you trust me?”

  He closes his eyes. “Ask me to do anything else for you. Just not this.”

  “Trust me,” I say. “Come on.”

  He sighs. “I have no interest in this, Sarah.”

  “I had no interest in jumping off a thirty-foot waterfall into ink-black water in a darkened cave. But you gave me no choice—and it changed my life. I’m not giving you a choice, either. This is your waterfall.”

  He lets out a long, controlled exhale.

  “Jonas, contrary to my every instinct, I jumped—literally and figuratively. And my body thanked me for it later. And so did my soul. Well, now it’s your turn.”

  He shifts his weight. He shakes his head.

  My ire rises. “It’s your penance for what you pulled tonight.” This is my trump card. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got no other way down.”

  His gaze is defiant. “‘Knowledge which is acquired under compulsion obtains no hold on the mind.’”

  He doesn’t need to tell me that’s yet another quote from frickin’ Plato. Screw Plato. “I’ve got a Plato quote for you, too,” I say. “I looked it up, just for you.”

  He squints at me.

  “‘Courage is a kind of salvation.’”

  He scowls.

  “Come on, baby,” I say softly. “Madness. Detach your mind from your body. You’ll thank me.”

  He looks over at the bed. “Sarah . . .”

  “Madness,” I repeat.

  He pauses for a long beat and finally takes off his shirt. His muscled chest rises and falls with each anxious breath.

  I take in the glorious sight of him—man, oh man, I’ll never tire of looking at him with his shirt off. I touch the tattoo on his left forearm. “For a man to conquer himself is the first and noblest of all victories,” I whisper, quoting his own tattoo back to him.

  He nods.

  I pull at the waist of his jeans and he takes them off.

  He stands before me naked, his erection defying whatever misgivings his brain might be having.

  I look him up and down. He’s spectacular. The sight of him never gets old. Day-am.

  “Lemme take a quick shower,” he says. He swallows hard.

  “Hurry.”

  He’s gone.

  I crawl back onto the bed, cue up another song on my laptop (“Fall In Love” by Phantogram), and wait—losing myself in my dream again. Wine, poltergeist-Jonases, licking, fucking, spectators. I love Sarah Cruz. The throbbing between my legs is excruciating.

  I feel his warm skin against mine. His lips on my breast. His hand on the inside of my thigh, creeping up.

  “No,” I whisper. “I’m in charge this time.”

  “Let me make love to you,” he whispers, his lips trailing down my belly.

  I’m tempted to give in, to let go and let him pleasure me all night long.

  But holy hell. I put a lot of effort into this bondage setup, and, by God, I’m going to use it. I sit up and push him back. “You do as I command. You’re no longer allowed the luxury of free will from this moment forward.”

  He smashes his lips together.

  “I’m serious.”

  His eyes move from my face down to my naked body. “You look beautiful,” he whispers. His erection twitches. “Can’t we just make love?”

  “Jonas, I just said you’ve got no free will. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

  “I can’t help it. You’re too beautiful. Mesmerizing. You’re the goddess and the muse, Sarah Cruz.”

  I ignore him and scoot off the bed. “Come here.”

  He rolls his eyes but reluctantly rolls off the side of the bed to join me. He comes to a hulking stand in front of me, his erection straining for me, his muscles tensing in all their glory.

  “From here on out, don’t speak unless spoken to. My will shall be done.”

  He sighs.

  “If you wig out or something, I’ll stop and untie you. Just say… um…” I stop. I’ve never done this before. Jeez, I’m a terrible dominatrix.

  “You’re trying to come up with a ‘safe word’?” he asks, incredulous.

  “Yeah. A safe word.” My finger traces a deep ridge in his abs, just above his erect penis. The throbbing between my legs intensifies.

  His breathing hitches when I touch him. “Sarah, come on. Just let me taste you. I’m gonna make you shriek like a howler monkey, and then I’m gonna fuck your brains out and make you come again.” His fingers lightly graze my breast. “Come on.”

  I swat his hand away. “I can’t stand here buck naked looking at you anymore, Jonas. You’re too beautiful. I’m gonna start dripping down my thigh. Are you gonna get on the bed and let me tie you up or what?”

  “Sarah,” he sighs. “I don’t do bondage. You don’t understand. I can’t.”

  “You think you can’t, but you can—with me, you can. With me, anything is possible.”

  He grunts with frustration. “You don’t understand.”

  I’m getting testy. “You owe me one goddamned waterfall, Jonas Faraday. One waterfall, that’s all I ask.” I cross my arms. “This shouldn’t be that hard. Any other man would be leaping onto the bed right now with glee. Juepucha, culo.”

  He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. He shifts his weight. He exhales. “If I do this, it’s gonna be just this once. And then we’re done with bondage bullshit forever.”

  I’m noncommittal. We’ll see.

  “Sarah, you don’t understand why this is a hot button for me.” He rubs his eyes. “Fuck.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “What? Tell me,” I say. I’m suddenly unsure.

  “Never mind.” His jaw is clenched. “I’ll do it.” He marches over to the bed and sits, his erection belying his internal struggle. “Let’s do it.”

  “Jonas?”

  “It’s fine,” he says. “You want proof you own me, here it is. Let’s go. Tie me up and do what you want to me.”

  I pause, assessing him. This isn’t how I envisioned this going. I thought he’d be apprehensive, sure, but he seems downright pissed. “Okay,” I finally say slowly, not sure how to navigate this situation. “So what’s the safe word?”

  “I’m not gonna need a fucking safe word. What could you possibly do to me that I’d need a safe word?”

  “We’re supposed to have one.”

  “Who says?”

  I throw up my hands. “I don’t know—blogs. I’ve never done this before.” I shake my head. “So you’re gonna fight me every step of the way? For the love of Pete, you are the worst submissive, ever. You’re totally ruining this whole fantasy for me right now. Damn, I was so turned on, too.”

&
nbsp; He glares at me. “Fine,” he concedes, but his eyes remain hard. “We’ll have a safe word.” He looks up at the ceiling, thinking.

  “Plato?”

  That brings out a half-smile. His eyes soften. “Fuck no. Don’t bring fucking Plato into our bed of bondage. Jesus. Have some respect for the forefather of modern philosophical thought.”

  I smile at him. “Okay. How about we keep it simple, then. Stop?”

  “No. I always tell you to stop when you hijack me, but I never mean it. I can’t resist you, you know that.” He motions to one of the tethers on the bed. “Case in point.”

  “Fine. You pick it, then. It can be anything. Cat, dog, watermelon, Pixie Stix, Dumbledore, whatever.”

  His smile broadens, despite himself. “I really don’t think it’s necessary.” He has a sudden thought. “You’re not planning to actually hurt me, right? Not for real?”

  “Of course, not. I don’t fantasize about pain any more than you do. I’m just gonna, you know, get my rocks off by getting you off.”

  “You’re gonna get your rocks off? Who says that? You’re so adorable, I swear to God.”

  “Jonas, this is not going the way I envisioned it at all.” I sit next to him on the bed. “I’m trying to bring you to your knees here, make you surrender to me, drive you crazy. And you’re not cooperating at all.” I pout.

  “Baby,” he says, putting his arms around me. “Just let me lick your sweet pussy and make you come and I promise on all things holy I’ll surrender to you. You’re my goddess—I don’t need a fucking necktie around my wrist to prove it. Come on, baby.” He brushes his hand between my legs. “Your pussy is calling to me like a siren. I can almost taste it now.” He gently dips his finger into me and brings his wet finger to his mouth. “Mmm.”

  I shudder with arousal.

  “Let me make up for what I did tonight by getting you off like a freight train.” His hand brushes between my legs and his tongue licks my neck. “You’re so ready for me, baby, holy shit.” His mouth moves to my mine.

  I summon every bit of willpower in my body and pull away from him. I stand.

  “Goddamnit, Jonas, this whole relationship isn’t about what you want. Sometimes, it’s about what I want, too.” I feel heat rising in my cheeks. “And I want this.”

  He’s incredulous. “All I ever think about is what you want. Your pleasure is mine. Always.” He stands, his face earnest.

  “Well, this is the pleasure I want. Just this once.” I jut my chin at him. “You lured me up a waterfall with only one way down. So that’s what I’m doing to you. This is your waterfall. Are you gonna jump or not?” My crotch is on fire. I’m not going to be able to hold out much longer without saying to hell with it and jumping his bones.

  He sighs. “Yes, I’m gonna jump. You know I am. I can’t resist you.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s figure out our safe word already. Jeez.” I grab my phone off the nightstand and sit down on the edge of the bed again. He sits next to me, looking over my shoulder at the screen. A Google search of “What is a good safe word?” yields instantaneous results. “Oh, brother,” I say, shaking my head. “The trusty ‘green, yellow, red system.’ That’s not obvious or anything.”

  “Ah,” Jonas nods. “People are so clever, aren’t they?”

  I toss my phone onto the nightstand. “Okay, so green is ‘full steam ahead.’ Yellow is ‘I’m not thrilled but don’t stop yet.’ Red is ‘Stop right now, you fucking freak, I’m totally wigging out.’”

  He laughs. “You sound like a pro already.” He looks around the room with mock concern. “You don’t have a big bag of dildos lying around here, do you? This is just gonna be me and you, right—no foreign objects?”

  I smirk. “You’ll just have to wait and see. You never know what I might do to you.”

  “Seriously?” He looks genuinely wary.

  I roll my eyes. “Jonas, no, not seriously. I’m not gonna shove a giant dildo up your ass or burn you with cigarettes or pee on you. Just lie down on the bed and trust me. Any time you want me to stop, just say red and I will, I promise.” I look at him expectantly. “But after I get started, I guarantee you won’t want me to stop.” I smile.

  He sighs. “Sex should be about pleasure. Nothing else. Not pain.”

  “Duh, Jonas. Big, fat duh. Have some faith, for the love of Pete. Your pleasure is mine, baby. This is all about pleasure—your pleasure. This is just gonna be you and me.”

  He exhales, yet again. “Okay.” He scoots to the middle of the bed. “For you.”

  “Thank you, Baby Jesus!” I raise my hands to the heavens in gratitude. “Okay, starting now, I’m in charge.”

  “Just be kind, baby. That’s all I ask.”

  “I know of no other way.”

  Chapter 19

  Jonas

  “Too tight?” she asks.

  I pull on the restraints. “No.”

  I can’t believe I’m letting her do this to me. If she only knew about the last time I was restrained like this, albeit under completely different circumstances, she’d never ask this of me. Fuck. She’s the only person I’d ever let do this to me. Fuck. I never should have said yes.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  “No.”

  “Let me rephrase. Do you need an adjustment to your physical environment in any way?”

  “No.”

  “You’re a terrible submissive, you know that?”

  I sigh. “I should hope so.”

  She pulls out yet another necktie and places it over my eyes.

  “No, baby. Please. Seeing you is what turns me on. Your skin. Your eyes. Your hair. Please.”

  “Shh,” she says. “No more talking.”

  The song on her laptop ends and the sound of rain pelting the windowpane bleeds into the room.

  She secures the blindfold. I can’t see a fucking thing. I bite my lip. My heart pounds in my chest. My stomach twists. I feel sick. And yet my dick is rock hard. Go figure.

  “Yellow,” I whisper.

  “I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

  “Just... the whole thing. Sarah, listen.”

  There’s silence.

  “I’m listening,” she says softly.

  I pause. The rain has gathered strength outside the window. “Never mind.”

  I can’t tell her about The Lunacy. Not now, not like this. She knows I’m fucked up, yes, but she doesn’t know I’m that fucked up. She wouldn’t want me if she knew.

  “Did Josh leave?” she asks.

  “Please don’t mention my brother at a time like this—you’re gonna make me puke.”

  “I need to get something from the kitchen and I’m naked, you big dummy.”

  “Oh my, aren’t you the sassy little dominatrix now? Yeah. He went to the airport.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She’s gone. I’m alone with the sound of the rain. Why did I let her to do this to me? I’m fucking blindfolded and spread-eagle with a raging hard-on, trussed up like a calf at a rodeo. There is no other woman I’d do this for in the entire galaxy.

  She returns. She places something on the nightstand. Sounds like a cup. Or cups. Something rattling around? Ice cubes in a glass.

  Music begins playing. The song is “Magic” by Coldplay. Good song. Surely, she’s chosen it to send a lyrical message to me.

  “Yellow,” I whisper, sending a lyrical message right back to her. I’ll see her one Coldplay song and raise her another—my favorite one, in fact—the one in which Chris Martin of Coldplay offers up his very lifeblood to the woman he loves. I’d give my blood to Sarah, too, all of it, every last drop—or, as it turns out, let her tie me up. For me, they’re one and the same thing.

  “Don’t use one of the safe words unless you’re serious. No crying wolf.” There’s a beat. “Wait, are you serious?”

  “No, I was just commenting on your choice of Coldplay songs—remarking on the one I’d play for you if I were in charge.” Oh, how
I wish I were untied right now and making love to her to “Yellow.” That song would tell her I love her in the way my own mouth can’t—and my body would emphatically prove it.

  “Jonas.” She’s annoyed with me. “No talking. And no Boy Who Cried Wolf with the safe words. As your dominatrix, I have to honor the safe words unflinchingly—I take my vows very seriously.”

  “Your vows?”

  “My dominatrix vows.”

  I can’t help but laugh, even in this situation. Sarah can always make me laugh.

  “Okay, Mistress, proceed,” I say. “I shouldn’t have interrupted your brilliant strategy.”

  “Based on your gigantic hard-on, it doesn’t appear you mind my brilliant strategy all that much.”

  “My dick has a mind of its own. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

  She kisses me. “Seriously, are you okay?”

  “Will you just take off the blindfold, please? It’s making me claustrophobic.”

  She sighs. “The blog I read says what I’m about to do is most effective when you’re blindfolded—it enhances the sensation.”

  Her voice is so earnest. I can’t resist her. “Fine. Do what you will, Mistress. You own me.”

  She kisses my lips and giggles.

  I instinctively reach for her and the restraints tighten around my wrists. My chest constricts. Talk about sense memory. Déjà fucking vu. My mind hurtles back to that night when they first had me tied up like fucking King Kong. A virtual army of orderlies, or whoever the fuck they were, bum rushed me when I started flipping out. They pumped me with so many drugs after that, I don’t remember every detail clearly—but I sure as hell remember the restraints around my wrists and ankles—the ones that felt exactly like these—and how I begged and pleaded with them to untie me so I could put an end to my lifelong misery once and for all. For weeks, my wrists bore deep bruises from how violently I’d thrashed against my restraints during that first horrible night of The Lunacy.

  The lyrics to “Yellow” float through my mind. Just like the song says, I’d give her every last drop of blood in my body.

  Her soft lips are on my neck, my nipples, trailing down to my stomach.

  I reach for her and the restraints pull on me again. I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself, but the ties around my wrists keep pulling me back to the dark movie playing inside my head—to the night my mind finally, painfully succumbed to a decade’s worth of torment.