by Eden Summers
Her lips quirked as she pushed from the wall. “I need to borrow your cock for a minute.”
He raised a brow and came up beside her, stopping close. “You’ve finally realized I’m a better option than Leo?”
Her smile turned coy, those long brown eyelashes batting up at him. “Not even close.” She pivoted on her toes and sauntered toward the dancing bodies, crooking a finger over her shoulder. “Come on.”
He growled and followed, pretending he didn’t appreciate the way his sexy subordinate ordered him around. She led him through the thick crowd to the Vault entry, guarded by a lone member of security.
“Why are we going downstairs?” He raised his voice over the thud of music. “I’m supposed to be watching the bar tonight.”
“Stop bitching. The staff can do their job without you breathing down their neck for a while.” She pulled open the door and disappeared into the darkened stairwell.
He gave the security guard a dubious look and contemplated what lay ahead. The barely controlled twitch of the guy’s mouth announced loud and clear that the hell-raiser of the club was likely to shank him with a steel dildo once he was in seclusion. “If I don’t come out within twenty minutes, call Leo for help.”
“Will do.”
Bryan strode inside and pushed the door shut behind him. With the click of the latch, the club music disconnected, the soundproofing replacing the loud beat with static. “Hold up.”
The eager way Shay bounced down the steps toward the private sex club increased his apprehension. She was excited about something.
Something that involved his dick.
“Shay,” he grated, unmoving. “What’s going on?”
She turned to him, the overhead lights shining down on her with a heavenly glow that didn’t fool him in the slightest. “There’s a woman who needs your help.”
“Help? Are we talking about a maintenance problem or a woman-wants-to-get-laid issue?”
He had no problem with the former. The latter was entirely different. Apparently, he’d earned a name for himself within the sordid walls of the club. A name that had him at the front and center of every woman’s spank bank.
“This situation leans more toward the latter,” she said in a rush. “But hear me out.”
He glared. “You know my position on this.”
“I know. I know. But this is different. You haven’t been with her before. It won’t break any of your precious rules. She’s also not the clingy type.”
He’d assumed the same about the majority of women who visited the Vault. Unfortunately, he’d been proven wrong time and time again. No matter how brutally honest he was with his intentions, they always expected more from him once he effortlessly pushed them over the line of orgasmic bliss.
“I’m not the helping type. You should ask Leo or T.J.”
She shook her head. “I’m not willing to share Leo. And T.J. is far too sweet for this role.”
He trudged toward her, the enthusiastic glow in her eyes lessening with each step he took. “What role, exactly?”
“I need you to work your magic on someone who’s having trouble in the orgasm department.”
His frown was an adequate response.
“Don’t look at me like it’s a hardship.” She swung around and continued bounding down the stairs. “Hurry up.”
“Wait.” Shay knew better than to play matchmaker, which meant curiosity now had him by the balls, pushing him to catch up to her at the bottom landing. He grabbed the crook of her arm and encouraged her to stop. “Why can’t someone else handle it?”
“She’s tried everyone. Nobody succeeded.”
“Then tell her to come back next time the Vault is open. There’s always fresh meat to sample.”
“She’s been attending for months. Probably years. She’s ready to cancel her membership.”
“Then maybe that’s for the best.”
Shay’s expression morphed from hope to anger. “Don’t be such a selfish prick. I know you’ve got what it takes.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I’ll repeat—I’m not the helping type.”
“Then consider it a challenge. Leo told me you have plans to organize a development night focused on women’s pleasure. This would be a great test to your skills.”
“I don’t need to be tested, sunshine.”
“I disagree.”
The corner of his lips twitched. “Then drop those panties and allow me to demonstrate.”
Her laughter was light and infectious. That was the problem with Shay—she made him feel different, less abrasive, when he much preferred to remain distant and caustic.
“You know that’s not going to happen. But I will encourage you to prove yourself with this chick. Every other man here is incapable of making her climax. I’m sure you could outline her problems in some sort of case study and make this the perfect opportunity to show patrons you’re fit to teach.”
He leaned in, his face inches from hers as he smirked. “I’ve seen you watching me down here. You know I’m fit to teach.”
“Pleasuring innumerable women who are already primed from the Vault atmosphere isn’t a valid indication. I doubt you’d have the same results with someone who’s highly specific in her needs and no longer wants to be here.”
“Highly specific?”
“She wants to be controlled. To be mastered. She doesn’t want to draw a road map for every guy who gets between her thighs.”
He straightened, trying to fend off the catnip piquing his interest.
She narrowed her eyes and grinned. “Come on. You know you want to. It’s a trifecta. You get to pleasure a beautiful woman during work hours. You’ll gain a great case-study for your class, while also proving you’re the most talented man in the club.”
The title wasn’t up for debate.
“Please.” She clasped her hands together and raised them to her chest—begging with an added hint of cleavage persuasion. “Do this for me.”
“I won’t make any promises. I need to meet her first.”
She nodded and walked backward until she reached the locker room doorway. “Bryan, I’d like you to meet Pamela.”
Pamela?
Fuck.
He didn’t need to step forward to see what she looked like. A gorgeous blonde with ample curves and deep brown eyes. He’d been drawn to her the moment he’d double-clicked the membership photo that slid into his inbox.
Then he’d read her name, and all interest had vanished like condoms at a frat house.
“Brute,” Shay warned. “Hurry up and get in here.”
He glared as he walked through the doorway and watched the blonde beauty stand from the bench in the middle of the room. Her limited clothing showed off a figure that hadn’t changed since her induction. The dark navy corset clung tight, the breast cups supporting a lush chest while the waist curved to promote a perfect hourglass. She met his feral stare momentarily, then just as quickly, she lowered her gaze.
Submission.
Nice.
Usually, the women in the Vault were overly eager. Bright eyes. Visually defiling stares. The type who expected more from him than he ever planned to give. Rarely was there an opportunity to be with someone less enthusiastic. Sometimes it felt like he only had to blink in the wrong direction and the females started to take off their panties.
Not that he could blame them. He had sexual groupies for a good reason.
He cleared his throat, the deep sound a test to how she’d respond. And just as quickly as her gaze fell, she straightened her shoulders and met him with a narrowed stare, taunting him.
Interesting.
Her defiance conquered the desire to submit.
Maybe she wasn’t the easily boxed woman he’d initially thought.
“Have the two of you spoken before?” Shay hovered in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame.
“Very little.” He’d made sure of it, always happy to distance himself from triggers of his past
. “But I processed Ella’s application, so I’m familiar with her reasons for being here.”
“Pamela,” the woman murmured.
He ignored the correction and prowled around the bench seat. From the rebellion in her eyes and the stubborn set to her shoulders, he could tell she wasn’t a natural submissive. She wanted the fight. Might even crave it more than the physical pleasure.
“You can leave, Shay.” He kept his focus on Ella, taking in the stories her body willingly whispered. She was confident, her posture straight, her chin high and proud. She also came from money. Her shoes were polished and clearly designer. Her corset was made from expensive material, not a cheap knock-off. And her blonde hair was immaculately cut and pulled into a neat ponytail.
“Are you sure?”
“Leave,” he grated.
“Pamela?” Shay questioned.
He shot the bartender an incredulous stare. “Leave. Now.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m going. I’m going.”
She muttered something under her breath—an expletive, he was sure—but he let it slide, choosing to focus on Ella instead.
They stood in silence, a few feet apart, sizing each other up. She was trying to predict his failure before he’d even begun. The added challenge made his pulse increase. There was no excitement in her features. Not even a hint of hope. The walls of pessimism were firmly erected, and he’d take pleasure in knocking them down.
“Shay claims no man can get you off.”
Her chin lifted. “That’s right.”
“I beg to differ.”
She scoffed and gripped the strap of her handbag, hitching it higher on her shoulder. “Look, this isn’t going to work. We’re both wasting our time.”
“Why is that?”
She swallowed, fear or manners holding her back.
“You can be honest.” He wasn’t a pussy who could dish out brutal honesty without taking it in return.
“Really?” She quirked a brow. “In that case, I’m not interested in being with someone driven by arrogance. This isn’t a game to me. And I refuse to coddle another guy who thinks he’s skilled, when reality would prove he’s delusional.”
“You think I’m delusional?” Her disinterest was cathartic. A breath of fresh fucking air. Maybe he needed to get Shay to start a rumor about him loving the thrill of the chase. That way women would stop stalking him and he could go back to enjoying his time in the Vault.
“I think you’re like everyone else here who expects me to give them a quick thrill and a boost to their ego. I assure you, you’ll get neither from me.”
Feisty. This woman continued to grow in appeal.
“Look…” She sighed. “I apologize for being rude, but this is pointless.” She made for the door. “I’m sorry Shay interrupted whatever you were doing.”
“Leaving would be a mistake.” He didn’t turn to her. He didn’t need to. Although she was abrasive, her hope was palpable. “I promise I’ll give you what you need, but I won’t chase you. You walk out the door and I won’t follow.”
Her footsteps paused and a deep breath whispered into his ears. “How can you promise that?”
“Because what you interpret as arrogance is actually experience. Unlike other men, I know what I’m doing.”
Her wide eyes spoke of silent disbelief. He let her mull it over, predicting a number of responses before she finally spoke.
“A long list of conquests won’t help. My appetite is more specific than most.”
“Have it your way.” He strode for the door, eating up the space between them.
Her throat convulsed. Her fingers twitched. “Wait.” She held out a hand, her heated palm connecting with his chest, the delicate touch powerful in its gentleness. “How?”
He quirked a brow. “How?”
Her hand fell and she huffed. “How would you make me come?”
“Chitchat isn’t really my thing. Why don’t you just let me show you?”
“Because every other man who’s received the opportunity has crashed and burned.”
“It’s not my fault you’ve had bad taste in lovers.”
Her eyes narrowed, the callous slits of spite making his cock twitch. He had her. She may not know it, may not even approve of it, but he’d definitely won.
“Drop the bag.” With the jut of his chin, he indicated the leather strap hanging over her shoulder.
She puffed out her chest, and the rebellion spurred his pulse harder. Faster. He was fully invested now, wanting her to continue the game because most women barely tweaked his interest.
“Drop it.” His voice was low, the command unmistakable.
She didn’t move. Refused to comply.
Silent laughter filled his chest at the obvious way she demanded punishment. Her eyes begged. Her body hummed.
“All right, sweetheart. Have it your way.” He encroached, leaning into her. His gaze never wavered as he placed his hand on her upper arm, gliding it over the exposed skin of her shoulder, toward her neck.
He latched onto her throat, her body heat burning his palm. She sucked in a breath, fast and deep, her acquiescence coming in harsh exhalations. Those brilliant eyes sparked before him with flames of annoyance as he held her at his mercy. And still, she didn’t back away, didn’t even flinch when he tightened his grip.
Any other man might’ve been put off by her lack of verbal consent. But he didn’t care. Not one little bit. He received her permission from the unwavering stare, the lick of her tempting lips, the thrust of her chest.
Her bravado had begun to fracture. It wasn’t a large break, merely a fissure to expose how well he’d worked his way under her skin. He wasn’t immune either. The increased beat of her carotid against his fingers and the delicate swallow of her throat had his cock twitching against his zipper.
“Drop. It.” The words grated from his drying mouth.
She lifted the strap from her shoulder and dropped the weight beside her feet with the clink of loose change.
“Good.” He caressed her neck with his thumb and stared into those beseeching eyes. She told him everything he needed to know with that look. She was laid bare. Transparent. “You want this to happen. Want to know how I know?”
Her throat expanded under his palm, her heavy swallow like nirvana through his veins.
He leaned closer, his mouth less than an inch from her ear. “Because I’m listening, Ella. I can hear you. I can read you like a book.”
She shook her head. “That’s not my name.”
He growled at the reminder. “It is tonight.”
Chapter Three
Pamela closed her eyes, sinking into the thrill of the tight grip around her throat. She hadn’t had this—the commanding presence, the compelling dominance—in a long time. It filled her with relief, along with other sensations she was truly thankful for. Even if this man did fail to bring her to climax, he’d do it with the slightest achievement.
“Tell me what you like,” he whispered.
She stiffened, the hard punch of disappointment hitting her without warning. So much for slight achievements. With the opening of her eyes she was back to square one, not willing to draw a road map.
“Forget it.” She shoved at his chest, her hands colliding with unyielding muscle.
He laughed, the humor brightening his harsh features. She didn’t care if he could pull off his tailored suit like a GQ model, or that his chin-length hair made her itch to run her fingers through it. Hell, she even craved the rough grate of his close-cropped beard against her breasts… But he was a jerk.
A goddamn asshole.
“Move.”
He continued to chuckle, the sound fraying her sensitive nerves as she shoved him again. His hands fell, his palms snatching her wrists tight and yanking her into his chest.
“You’re touchy,” he growled. “All this spite over a rhetorical question.”
“It wasn’t rhetorical.” She tugged in vain to free her wrists.
It wasn’t a nice smile. It was vicious. Nasty. And God help her, it made her chest constrict for all the right reasons. Or maybe they were the wrong reasons.
So very, very wrong.
She didn’t want to swoon over a guy who could laugh in her face with undiluted smugness. She shouldn’t swoon over a guy like that. Should she?
“If I were a smart man, I’d pose opportunities for you to show me exactly what you want without asking. Wouldn’t I?”
She shook her head in denial. “You’re messing with me, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re looking for a fight.” His fingers pressed into her wrists, his power holding her captive in more ways than one. “That’s what you like, isn’t it?” His gaze searched hers, back and forth, back and forth, each swipe reading things she didn’t want to admit. “Don’t tell me other men failed to get such an easy reaction out of you. You’re practically shoving what you want in my face.”
“Stop it.” He was right. So right it hurt. She wasn’t usually like this. The need to spar was an anomaly he’d picked up on with flawless precision.
His strong hands turned her around to hitch one arm behind her back, the other forward between her breasts. He pinned her against him, his heated breath brushing her neck.
“I’m only going to say this once,” he spoke harshly in her ear. “I don’t do safe words. If you want to stop, all you have to do is repeat what you just said and I’m gone. I won’t stand here while you kid yourself about your dirty little perversions. If you want me to make you come, you need to own it.”
She whimpered. Lucas never made her admit the naughty things running through her mind. He never demanded that of her. To him it was roleplay, a fantasy, while this man made it reality. Being forced to vocalize her desire was torture—punishment of the most delicious kind.