by Mari Carr
Jack released a breath after her third lashing. The thick denim and her light swings were ensuring he felt no pain. Once he relaxed, she moved in for the kill.
Raising her arm again, she remembered Travis’ lessons as she swung hard—and brought the flogger down on Jack’s bare back.
Jack jerked and, for the first time, he fought against the bonds at his wrists. She didn’t pause, didn’t lose the beat as she lashed him five more times. Tiny red marks crisscrossed his smooth skin, slick with sweat. She felt her own arousal grow as she imagined those same marks, that same pain on her own back. What wouldn’t she give in that moment to trade places with her lover? She couldn’t think of a single thing.
As the song neared its end, Emma dropped the flogger to the stage, turning her captive back toward the audience. She’d expected surprise, perhaps even a bit of anger in Jack’s gaze. What she wasn’t prepared for was the unconcealed hunger.
She heard several women in the audience cheer loudly, appreciating that look as well. She was going to have to keep a closer eye on her boyfriend after this.
Stepping closer, Emma rose on tiptoe to kiss her captive lover. If she’d had any illusions of being in control, Jack wiped them away in an instant. His lips claimed hers, devouring her, letting her know in no uncertain terms he’d allowed everything that had occurred on this stage to happen.
It was that knowledge that changed the tide for Emma.
The dancers moved into position for the final beats of the song. During rehearsal, the plan had been for Emma to raise her flogger one last time, the lights flashing off with her frozen in that frame.
She changed her mind. As the last pulse of the song played, Emma dropped to her knees, signaling her own submission.
The Dominatrix became the dominated as she knelt before her new Master.
The stage went dark, the music silent. For three heartbeats, not a sound was heard—and then the crowd went wild.
As the house lights came up, two dancers came over to release Jack. Emma stood slowly, turning, amazed to see every clubgoer in the place on their feet, giving them a standing ovation.
She didn’t have time to acknowledge their applause before she felt Jack’s arms engulf her. Much to the delight of the audience, he picked her up and carried her off the stage. He didn’t release her until they’d entered the dressing room. He placed her on her feet and she watched him turn to close and lock the door.
Suddenly, her bravado left her. “I can explain,” she said.
Jack whirled quickly, cutting her off. “No. Not a word. Take off that outfit.”
Her heart raced at his deep-voiced command. Was he angry? Upset?
“Now, Emma.” Crap. He sounded beyond angry—furious, pissed.
Had she fucked up? Gone too far? She tried to find some ounce of guilt, some shred of penance, but she simply couldn’t muster the emotion. He’d brought this on himself. For two weeks he’d held her at bay, refusing to give them what they both so obviously wanted.
Her own temper rising, she struggled with the zipper at the waistband. She wanted out of the outfit too. Impatiently, Jack took two steps forward and helped relieve her of her too-tight pants. Before she could lift her hands, Jack was there, working free the clasp of her bra, pulling it off her as well.
Though she’d been naked before him countless times before, this time was different. She felt vulnerable and exposed. Irritated. Hot.
He was still shirtless and, despite the anger that seemed to radiate from him, she couldn’t miss the hardness of his cock, waging a battle against the material of his jeans.
“Jack,” she started.
“Goddamn it, Emma. I don’t want to hear one fucking word from you. Turn around and bend over that dressing table.”
She snapped. “What? No. I’m not about to—”
He gripped her upper arm, turning and propelling her toward the table. She tried to fight, but her struggles were nothing compared to his strength at that moment. A strong hand at the back of her neck pushed her forward until she was in exactly the position he’d demanded.
She lifted her head to look at his face through the reflection in the mirror.
“I’m about to explode,” he said, his fingers working the zipper of his jeans. “Jesus, baby. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, ever felt in my life.”
She was confused. “You’re not mad at me?”
He was struggling to shed his jeans, but her words drew him up short. “Mad? Are you kidding me? I can’t believe I didn’t come on that stage in front of everyone. God knows it was a close call. When you dropped to your knees…” He visibly shuddered.
He’d liked it. All of it.
This time, he didn’t stop, didn’t give her a chance to respond. He placed the head of his cock at the opening to her cunt and pushed in with one hard, fast thrust. She cried out—not with pain, but in sheer, utter relief.
“I want it all, Jack,” she said as he moved inside her. “The sex in public, the whips, the bondage, the dominance. I want all of it. And I don’t need any more fucking time to think about it.”
He stopped moving, his gaze capturing hers in the mirror’s reflection. “You realize I plan to be the one wielding the whip next time.”
She grinned. “I hope so.”
He leaned forward to press a kiss on the back of her head. “I love you, Emma.”
Her throat clogged with unshed tears of happiness. She pushed back against him and he resumed his motions, both of them reaching the peak together. For several moments after, they simply stood together, connected, one. Then Jack withdrew from her body and helped her up.
She turned to face him, cupping his cheek with her hand. “I love you, Smacker, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Jack’s smile brightened the room. “You sure you don’t want to take some time to think about that?”
Her gaze narrowed, but his laughter cut off any chastisement she might issue.
“I’ll take the lifetime,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her.
Epilogue
“Ah. I love our little island. Love these long, lovely days.” Emma sighed as she stretched out on the blanket, soaking up as much of the glorious sunshine as possible. She peered at him with a sinful gleam in her eye. “And the even longer, sweeter nights.”
Jack lay down next to her and grinned, deciding he liked the rich brown tan on her skin. Porcelain-skinned women were overrated in England. He’d take a healthy-looking woman with color on her face any day. “You’re spoiled.”
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I’m spoiled? Oh no, my dearest Black Jack, if anyone is spoiled it’s you. I’m far too accommodating to your desires.”
He turned on his side, resting his weight on his elbow. “My desires are tame compared to yours, wildcat.”
Emma rolled toward him, her hand drifting languidly down his bare chest. He held his breath as her fingers roamed closer to his breeches and the hard-on residing there. “I don’t want to be disciplined with you,” she whispered. “I only want to be wicked, to be free.”
He bent forward and kissed her—the strength of their passion growing with each passing second. Jack suspected they’d feel this incredible bond even when they were old and gray. He’d never tire of Emma, never have his fill.
She worked loose the ties on his pants, pulling his cock free as he slowly lifted her skirt, letting his fingers dance along her soft skin. Her legs parted, offering him easy access to his own personal Eden. He drew his hand along her slit, savoring the slippery feel of her juices. She was always wet, always ready to welcome him home.
She moaned as he dipped two fingers inside, her inner muscles clenching tightly. Typically he took his time with her, driving her to climax several times before entering her body. This time, he found his patience gone. He wanted her too badly to wait. Rising to his knees, he pressed his erection to her opening.
As he was about to enter her, he was distracted by a flash of br
ight sunlight—reflected on several drawn swords. He heard the pounding of many feet in the sand.
Glancing up, he realized they’d been surrounded.
Strong hands grabbed him and, though he tried to fight back, he was quickly captured, bound and trussed tightly by five savage-looking men.
Emma screamed and, as he watched, she too was confined by the brutish rogues.
“Let her go,” Jack demanded in as firm a voice as he could muster. They were in trouble. He’d been a fool to let down his guard, but when he was with Emma, the rest of the world seemed to disappear from his view.
One of the villains punched him in the stomach, the blow telling him only silence would be tolerated.
Emma continued to struggle against the hands holding her and Jack was suddenly grateful he hadn’t taken the time to undress her. She was decently covered. He may not be able to protect her at the moment, but at least she was spared that indignity, that humiliation.
The man who’d punched him walked over to Emma and Jack fought to escape the hold of the men, their grips punishing. The bastard ran his hand along Emma’s cheek and Jack felt a surge of pride as his fiery love spit in the man’s face.
The man calmly wiped her spittle off, seemingly unmoved by her insults and anger.
“You will bring us a fair price in the slave trade,” he said.
Jack’s heart skipped a beat, fear surging through his veins. “I’ll die before I let you use her so!”
The leader glanced over his shoulder, his gaze telling Jack that was a likely scenario. “She’s ours now, pirate. The sheik will pay a fair price for this beauty to become a member of his harem.”
Travis watched the unfolding scene from his office above the stage. Emma was struggling against the silken ties at her wrists, binding her to the headboard of the large bed. According to the script, she’d been captured and transported to this Arab country in the hold of a rogue’s ship, along with a dozen other frightened women. Now she was an enslaved bird in a luxurious cage, awaiting her initiation into the sheik’s harem. She’d been washed and pampered by two muscular eunuchs—men Emma had hired in hopes of rousing Jack’s jealously. She was scantily dressed in flowing silk and satin.
Tonight, the club was embarking on a new fantasy, but Emma’s costar was the same as always.
She and Jack had become regulars on the Scoundrels stage, their performances never failing to sell out. This evening’s event was no exception. Emma glanced to the window above the stage and threw him a covert wink. He chuckled.
“Where is she?” Jack bellowed just off-stage. His deep, firm voice sent a visible tremor of excitement through his captive. Travis glanced out into the crowd and suspected every other woman in the club was turned on too. The fairer sex considered his best friend pretty fucking hot when he was in fantasy mode. If that truth didn’t make Travis so much money, he’d have a lot of fun teasing Jack about it.
Jack walked onstage in flowing pants and an open robe that displayed his bare chest. Emma closed her eyes though it was hard to mistake the undeniable lust on her face.
She struggled against her bondage when the sheik lover approached her. Jack was an expert at assuming domineering roles. Travis had been told on countless occasions by women attending the shows how lucky he was to have landed Jack as one of his actors.
“Hello, my lovely slave,” Jack said, his voice oozing with sensuality. He placed his finger under Emma’s chin, studying her face as if inspecting his new property.
She twisted her head, shaking loose of his grip. “I don’t belong to you,” she proclaimed strongly. “And I never will!”
Jack gave her a wicked smile. “Is that so? Perhaps we should reevaluate that statement later. Much later.”
Travis grinned at the hidden meaning behind the threat. No doubt his friend would spend extra time after hours making sure Emma remembered exactly who she belonged to.
He’d never confessed to his friends the role he’d played in their debut on the Scoundrels stage. He figured somewhere down the road he’d let them in on the secret, tell them how he’d convinced both Marshall and Jennifer to call in sick.
Travis sighed and walked away from the window as the play continued, his two best friends finding bliss in each other’s arms. Ordinarily he enjoyed the shows, not shy about finding his own release with his hand as he watched his two best friends perform. Tonight, however, he felt restless. Caged. Alone.
It was simple for Jack to portray the dashing, commanding heroes the women in the audience loved so much. His friend was confident, handsome, and the world was his for the taking.
What would the crowd see in Travis, should he take the stage? A shattered soul seeking forgiveness and understanding? A broken, scarred baron living in eternal anguish in his lonely, dreary castle?
There wouldn’t be any bright spotlights on his stage. Only darkness. Always darkness.
Travis sank down onto the couch and closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, watching wasn’t enough…
The End
Preview the next book
White Knight
Scoundrels, Book 2
Mari Carr
Prologue
Travis Knight turned away from the two-way glass in his office, the performance on the stage no longer filling that empty place inside him. Tonight’s fantasy involved a harem girl captured by a dominant sheik. The talented actors—his best friends—had never failed to capture his attention and enflame his imagination, but tonight the show left him cold.
Dropping onto a chair, he rubbed a weary hand over his face, his gaze traveling from one end of the room to the next. His desk was an experiment in disorderly conduct, papers stacked high, covering every horizontal inch of oak surface on the antique. He’d acquired the desk at an auction, the overly large piece appealing to him at the time. It was a desk that spoke of power and purpose, two attributes he’d worked hard to maintain throughout his life. Like the piles of shit teetering precariously atop it, he suspected all his hard-won control was about to topple as well.
His gaze moved to the walls lined with bookshelves, overflowing with countless novels. An avid reader, Travis’ tastes ran the gamut from horror to poetry. Books—like the fetish fantasies enacted in his club—allowed him brief escapes from reality. Glancing at the table beside him, he studied the dust gathering on the cover of the last book he’d attempted to read. He hadn’t picked it up in weeks, the words failing to pull him out of his stupor, his depression.
Darkness had finally descended and Travis was helpless to hold it at bay. He was too fucking tired of the fight. Enough was enough. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and succumbed to it. Clenching his fists, he considered his next move. It was clear he couldn’t remain in this club, couldn’t escape the demons roaming the rooms.
Maybe he’d leave Scoundrels to Emma. Give it to her and Jack as an engagement gift. After all, they’d found each other on the stage below. He knew their happiness and love shouldn’t leave him with this ache in his gut, but he couldn’t shake it. It was selfishness, pure and simple. He could admit that shortcoming. It’s not like he was proud of it. He wasn’t. Even so, that didn’t make it go away.
His friends had discovered love after years of standing right in front of each other. Love had a funny way of showing up in moments when you least expected it. At least that’s what Emma said. Travis had never felt the emotion. Not once. He grimaced and rubbed his side. Fucking ache was back again. He was screwed up—no two ways about it. Thinking about love shouldn’t cause physical pangs. Jesus.
He likened himself to a gentleman soldier, wounded and home from war. He could picture himself, scarred from too many battles, hardened by killing and bloodshed. He’d lock himself away in a dreary, cold manor, letting the chill and dampness settle into his bones as he waited for death to claim him. He’d shut himself away from the balls, the ton, the matchmaking grande dames, keeping everyone at arm’s length to live out the rest of his days in misery.
The absurd daydream faded. It was Emma’s fault. She’d given him a Regency romance novel for his birthday as a gag gift, claiming he needed a few lessons in chivalry and true love. In a fit of boredom, he’d actually read the fucking book cover to cover. Now he was addicted to the things—read them voraciously—and had taken to daydreaming in historical times. As if he wasn’t crazy enough…
Reaching beside him, he picked up the glass of whiskey he’d poured earlier and downed it in one long drink. Slowly he breathed in and out, waiting for the booze to take off the edge. When it failed to take effect, he reached for the bottle and poured another glass. And then another. And another. Only when the tumbler fell from his hand, bouncing on the plush carpet without breaking, did he feel the numb peace take over.
The club had long since closed, the office illuminated only by the flickering security screens that showed him an empty bar, a dark stage, quiet nothingness.
Always nothing. His eyes drifted shut on that thought and he felt the chill of his Regency manor prison form once more.
Nothing.
I have nothing.
I am nothing.
Chapter 1
Three months later
Shea Landon finished clearing up the last of the dirty glasses after the fetish show. She glanced toward the stage, remembering exactly what she’d witnessed there only a few hours earlier. She felt her face—and her body—flush, a purely ridiculous reaction given her upbringing. Still, there was something about the show that had sparked a definite thread of arousal.
Her new boss, Emma, had been the night’s star, performing with her incredibly handsome fiancé, Jack. When she’d interviewed for the waitress job at the club, Shea never could have imagined the no-nonsense, all-business woman who ran Scoundrels in the provocative schoolgirl outfit, bent over a desk getting her ass spanked. It was shocking to see Emma in that light. However, the whole act, while not a personal fetish for Shea, had been hot.