Primal

by Sasha White

  The mattress next to her sinks in a little with his weight, and she feels him leaning over her. Her heart kicks in her chest as light fingers skim over her body. First over the curve of her hip, the planes of her belly, then upward to firmly cup her breasts before lightly running a fingertip around a rigid nipple. Her back arches, and she thrusts her breasts forward, pleading for attention.

  Hot lips suck hard on her nipple before he blows cool air across them. Firm fingers hold, cool metal touches her hot skin then a sudden pinch has her crying out and arching up, pulling at her restraints.

  He chuckles, and the pain eases to a constant pressure that burns so good. He repeats the process with the other breast, and she feels lightheaded for just a moment. She wants to beg, to plead, because she knows he’d enjoy it, but words can’t compete with the sounds of her pain/pleasure.

  Her insides tremble, and her mind starts to float as he scrapes something hard and sharp around her clamped nipples and down the center of her torso. The spikes press deeper into the soft flesh of her belly, and he growls. “So soft, so womanly,” he says. “Built to give a man pleasure.”

  Her buttocks clench and her hips flex when the spikes are run across her upper thighs. He runs the spike closer to her slick sex, at the same time something soft tickles her throbbing nipples, and she gasps.

  Colors are born behind her covered eyes to match the sensations. Bright reds that blend into pretty pinks and light greens and robin’s egg blue that signify the sharp needles of pain and the gentle strokes that follow behind them.

  Then the sharp needles stop, and the air stills. A light touch skims over her swollen and aching clit, and she cries out, her body arches, and the velvet pulls at her wrists and ankles once again as pleasure explodes through her core. The bed shifts beneath her, and she feels the hair-dusted skin of his muscular thighs against her legs. Just as she starts to come back to herself, he thrusts home, his cock filling her up and shooting more ripples of pleasure through her system. His deep grunts of pleasure fill her ears as he wants no more time. Hips pumping, he fucks her fast and hard, giving no care to how deep he’s hitting her, and she cries out pain and pleasure mixing. Soon, she’s coming again, and he swells even bigger inside her. There’s a tug on her nipples, and pain rips through her body, straight to her cunt. The pain hurts so good that the blindfold dampens with her tears, and her lips part in a mixture of moans and sighs as his hot cum shoots deep into her core.

  Seconds later, a gentle thumb caresses her cheek and the blindfold is removed.

  “You did so good, my girl.” He places kisses on her neck and jaw, then her lips.

  Olivia jerked awake in bed, damp sheets twisted around her. She lifts her hands and checks her ankles and realizes her body might be unbound, but her heart is not.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Olivia took her time getting ready before heading out on Saturday night because, unlike earlier in the week, she wasn’t going straight from work and ending up panty-less. Especially since he’d called that afternoon and left a voice mail on her phone, suggesting she bring an overnight bag and some comfortable clothes. She wasn’t sure if that mean he wanted her there all weekend or just overnight, but she was going to be prepared either way.

  Since rush hour was over, the drive to his place went much quicker, and before she knew it, Olivia pulled into the parking lot next to Adam’s building. The lot was pretty full, which made her heart race. Instead of walking around to the front, she headed for the back this time, to the entrance for the club. She smiled at the black X on the doors, recognizing it as a St. Andrews Cross from her earlier research.

  Smart to have a simple symbol there. Those who were looking for the club would know they’d found it, yet it was discreet enough to prevent looky-loos from finding it.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she pulled open the doors and went in. There were two more doors in the entryway. A set in front of her and smaller, single one off to the side. She recognized the one on the side probably went upstairs to Adam’s living space, just like the one at the front of the building before the gym’s doors. She tried the single door, thinking to maybe put her overnight bag up there, but it was locked solid.

  Just then, the door behind her pulled open, and a tall, handsome man strode in carrying his own black duffle bag. He stopped, blue eyes sharp as he gave her a once over, missing nothing, including where her hand was still on Adam’s door.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Mouth dry, Olivia stared at him. He was several inches over six feet of solid muscle. It wasn’t the muscle, or even the scar running under his chin like someone had tried to slit his throat, that scared her. It was the flatness of his gaze.

  She opened her mouth, forcing words past a desert-dry throat. “Adam invited me.”

  His eyebrows jumped, and something like delight came over his face, completely changing his countenance. “Really?” He drawled. “Isn’t that interesting?”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just smiled. He was really good-looking when he wasn’t pinning her to the floor with a look. Thick blond hair that made her fingers itch to touch and a beautiful smile that brought the butterflies to life in her belly made her wonder if she’d been imagining the air of menace from a moment ago.

  “Let’s go in, then, shall we?” He pulled the club door open and gestured her ahead of him.

  She walked in, unsurprised to find yet another entryway. This one had two more men in it, both tall, fit, and sharp-eyed. One stood behind a high reception desk, and the other directly in front of another set of doors. She could hear music now, and it somehow made her relax a bit and take a better look around.

  “Grant,” the man in front of the doors said, stepping forward. “Ma’am.”

  “This little lady said she’s a guest of Adam’s,” Grant, her escort, said as he moved to the reception counter and reached for the clipboard the man there held out to him. “You have some paperwork for her?”

  “Yes, sir. He said to expect her.” He met Olivia’s gaze and gestured toward the counter his partner stood behind. “Dr. Hamilton, if you’ll step over there, when Grant’s done signing in, Jones will get you set up, and then I’ll take you to the boss.”

  She glanced from the doorman to her escort, and Grant nodded, a reassuring smile touching his lips. She put the board back down on the counter. Funny how only seconds ago he’d scared the pants off her, and now she was looking to him for reassurance.

  Shaking her head at her own nerves, she stepped up and smiled at the young man behind the counter. Jones. When he smiled at her, she realized how good-looking he was. In fact, she noticed with a quick glance over her shoulder again. Both men were very attractive. It wasn’t so much about their hair color, or eyes, or even the noticeably hard bodies. It was the air of confident command they had. It reminded her of Adam, just not as potent.

  “Just a couple of things for you to read and sign, ma’am, since it is a members-only club and you’re not currently a member.”

  “Call me Olivia, please,” she said with a small smile.

  The paperwork was unexpected, but it made sense. She set her bag down and looked over the pages he slid in front of her, not paying any attention to the opening and closing of the door behind her as Grant went deeper into the club. It was a non-disclosure agreement and liability waiver. She’d just finished reading it and was about to sign when the doors opened and a couple walked in.

  The man was tall, leanly muscled, and quite clean cut despite dark hair that brushed his collar. The woman at his side had shiny sable-colored hair, smooth skin, and one arm completely covered in colorful tattoos. He wore expensive gabardine slacks and a button-up shirt, while she had on a short, frayed denim skirt and a tight tank top.

  Olivia signed her name quickly, put down the pen, and stepped back so they could get to the counter. The man glanced her way and, even though is look was quick, she felt like he’d noted everything about her. He stepped up and reached for the c
lipboard Jones once again held out.

  They’d both nodded, each giving her a smile, but saying nothing. Which was interesting because she could see the questions in their eyes.

  “Olivia?” The first doorman asked.

  She turned to him, brows raised. “What’s your name?”

  He flushed. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m Chris. I’ll take you inside now.”

  Without another word, he pulled open the door, and she followed him into the club.

  The lights were dim, but the first thing that struck her was how busy the club was. The club still had the warehouse look with exposed brick, high ceiling, and plenty of open space, and it was packed full. Chris urged her to the side, and pointed. “Head up the stairs, please.”

  She went up and saw Adam talking to a very large, very good-looking man, but looking at her. He held out a hand, and she went to him, putting her hand in his large one. He pulled her right up against his body, lowered his head, and covered her lips with his. His tongue slid between her lips in a surprisingly gentle move, reaching deep, claiming her unmistakably.

  Desire hit hard, and her knees almost buckled before Adam lifted his head and shifted her to his side. Leaning against him, she was still trying to catch her breath and calm her heart when he gestured to the doorman. “Thanks.”

  Chris left them, a bemused smile on his lips, and she turned to Adam.

  “Hello.” Why she suddenly felt shy she had no idea. Maybe it was because after that kiss, she wasn’t so interested in the club anymore. She just wanted him to kiss her again.

  He smiled down at her. “Hello, Beauty. How was your day?”

  “Uneventful,” she replied. “Which means it was a good day in my work. How about you?”

  “It was a good day. You ready for the night?”

  Her insides quivered at the heat in his gaze, and she pressed closer, rubbing against him just a little. “More than ready.”

  His hand slid up her back to cup the back of her neck, lifting her until she was on her toes, full body pressed against his. He pressed his forehead against hers for a moment before sliding his nose along her cheek and inhaling deeply. “Christ, you smell good.” He nuzzled at her neck, and goose bumps popped up all over her flesh. She ran her hands up the muscled wall of his chest and over his shoulders, pulling herself even tighter against him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rubbed her chest against him, the friction sending little shocks of pleasure from nipple to groin.

  He groaned and sank his teeth into her neck. Not hard enough to break the skin, but not gently either. She whimpered, her hips jerking forward involuntarily. The hard bar of his erection pressed against her stomach, and her sex dampened. Suddenly, she was spun around, her back to his front.

  “Hands on the rail,” he growled, pushing her forward. “Keep them there while I show you the club, or you’re not going to see it.”

  It took her a couple of seconds to realize that they were on upper floor viewing level, in public.

  Opening her eyes, she could see everything that was happening on the club floor. “Overwatch,” she whispered.

  “Exactly,” he said, his voice husky. His body cradled hers, keeping them in constant contact. “For soldiers, when someone has Overwatch, it means someone has our back. We’re protected while we do what we need to do, by someone who is farther back or higher up. Someone who has a view of the whole picture and not just what’s in front of them. It gives a feeling of safety, and that’s what we give here.”

  Excitement and arousal swirled through her body as she took in as much as she could. It was intimidating, but the crowd was what surprised her. Unlike any she’d ever seen. It was a blend of old and young, fit and fat. Some wore leather, lace, and latex, while others wore nothing but a collar around their neck or leather cuffs on their wrists.

  The music was loud, but not so loud that she couldn’t hear him talk. The sounds of sex, pain, and pleasure blended with the music and called to her in a way that the naked and nearly naked bodies throughout the club didn’t. Of course, Adam’s hardness pressed against her might’ve had something to do with it, too.

  She wiggled her butt back against him as she tried to focus on what was on the floor below.

  There was a bar in the middle of the floor, with two bartenders working it. The floor space in front of the bar was full of a blend of round tables with chairs and groupings of deeply cushioned loveseats, sofas, and club chairs. Then there was a dance floor and a small stage. Stations and cubicles with equipment and chains and all sorts of things she didn’t understand lined the periphery of the club, occasionally broken up with club chairs.

  “For viewing,” Adam said, scraping his teeth lightly across her cheek to her ear. He nipped at the fleshy lobe, and a small moan escaped.

  The wall behind the bar, the one they were standing over, had no stations or conversation areas. Instead, it had rooms, four of them, but no ceiling.

  “Theme rooms,” Adam explained. His hand slid under her shirt, cupping her breasts and squeezing. He pulled down the cups of her bra and played with her nipples.

  She found it funny that no one else came up the stairs, yet, and said so, gasping the words as she watched a couple below her bump and grind on the dance floor.

  “Every member goes through an orientation and training class when they join. They’re told the stairs are off limits.” He shifted, and she immediately missed his heat at her back.

  “And that stops them? Simply telling them that?” She found that very surprising. People were always testing rules and pushing limits. It’s why people rolled through stop signs and took baskets with twenty items through an express checkout that was only supposed to serve people with twelve items or less.

  He put a hand on her back, pushing gently until she leaned farther forward, and then he ran it down her spine to her butt. “It’s made clear to every member that if they break the rules, any of the rules, there will be consequences, the least of which is revoking their membership.”

  She arched her back, lifting her butt for him. Thank God she’d gone home and changed. She’d worn the flirty cocktail skirt for exactly this reason, she thought as Adam lifted it and cool air brushed over her bare legs.

  “Very nice,” he said when her white lace panties were exposed. “White is so damn sexy.”

  “Club virgin,” she whispered. “I thought white would be appropriate.”

  He growled. “It’s fucking sexy as hell.”

  “You’ve got a gorgeous ass, babe.” Adam ran his hands up and down her legs, and then over her rounded butt, lifting and squeezing her cheeks. He slid a hand between her legs and groaned. “And you’re fucking soaked.”

  Embarrassment hit when he pulled his hand away and flipped her skirt back over, covering her up again. He reached around, grasping her chin with fingers that smelled of her, and turned her head so she couldn’t hide from him. “I’m only stopping because if I don’t, I’m gonna fuck you right here, and you’ll never see the rest of the club. You want to see the club, right?”

  Did she really? It wasn’t as if the club was going anywhere. She could always see it another night, right?

  “You’re trying to decide if you really want to see the club, aren’t you?” He laughed, low and rough. “Christ, you’re fucking perfect.”

  She smiled. “Show me your club, Adam. Then let’s go lock ourselves in your loft.”

  He kissed her, hard and fast, then led her to the stairs.

  It should surprise her, how excited she was to be there. Especially after telling Jazz that sex wasn’t enough to build a relationship on. Here she was, doing exactly that.

  No, she glanced at Adam as he led her down the stairs. They weren’t building a relationship on sex, no matter how good the orgasms were. If she hadn’t liked other things about the man next to her, she would’ve left his place after eating dinner on Wednesday and never agreed to go deeper with him.

  Instead, not only had she stayed and let him do things to h
er that no other ever had—dirty naughty things—she was back for more.

  Although he didn’t speak, she felt him watching her carefully as she took in the happenings around them when they reached the main floor.

  “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” she said softly.

  “What is?”

  She looked to where a nude woman was chained down on a table, and a man holding a candle in each hand dripped wax on her in some design only he could see. “That people can come to a place like this and lay themselves wide open.”

  “Not everyone does that. Lets themselves open up, I mean.” His eyes hardened. “Some do though, and it makes them vulnerable. Too vulnerable.”

  There was more there. The therapist in her sensed it and wanted to probe, but the woman in her wanted only to soothe.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he wrapped his arm around her waist and led her in another direction, both figuratively and literally. “You’ll have to go through orientation and training like every other member, but for tonight, you’re my guest.”

  A shiver ripped through her at the thought of training. “Do you do the training?” she asked as they came up to the bar.

  A gorgeous brunette in a corset and long flowing skirt of tulle turned from the bar to greet them. “No, he prefers to watch from above and protect all the new lambs like a good shepherd,” she said with a light laugh. “I heard we have a special guest tonight,”

  “Oh, my God, I love your boots!” Olivia said when she saw the patent leather thigh-high boots that covered the woman’s legs. The tulle skirt was pulled back, like a bustle that covered her backside, but left the front completely open so people could see her short leather shorts, the bare skin of the tops of her thighs, and those luscious boots.

  She laughed, sticking out a leg and showing them off while Adam made the introductions. “Olivia, this is Eden Morgan, the club’s manager and one of the club’s trainers.”