Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  She nodded.

  “Then you’re allowed.” He smiled slightly. “Z handles the employee applications much like membership ones in case a person decides to participate.”

  “That’s very foresighted of him.” Downright cautious to boot. She glanced at Holt, felt the impact of his eyes, and looked away.

  “Perfect. So, Josie?” Peter prompted.

  But, but, but… With relief, she spotted someone waiting for a drink at the other end. “Let me take care of that person. I’ll be right back.”

  She took orders from a cute male submissive with big brown eyes and netted time to think as she mixed the two gin and tonics.

  Admit it, Josie, you want to see what a scene would be like.

  However, she’d be in front of everyone. Not so good. Of course, a bartender was always on stage.

  The bondage stuff would be rather unsettling. Still, she wouldn’t mind trying it.

  But…she hardly knew Peter.

  “Here you go.” She handed the drinks to the young man and watched him prance back to a tough-looking Dom. Upon receiving an approving smile, the submissive glowed with delight.

  Huh. She couldn’t imagine being overwhelmed at a compliment from Peter, although he was a likable man. She sure hadn’t realized he was a Dom. She had noticed, however, when he and his friends were drinking in The Highlands, he was always the one in charge.

  A man who was confident—a boss type—was quite attractive.

  The young submissive with the drinks knelt in front of his Dom. Happily. He sure acted as if he found his Dom to be more than just attractive. He really showed that whole dominance-submission stuff. Like… She could see he had an overpowering need to do as told. The way he took so much pleasure in his obedience was eye opening.

  She sure couldn’t be much of a submissive since she didn’t automatically obey any order given—well, not always. In fact, these Masters here had managed to circumvent her customary think first, act if agree habit.

  Moving down the bar, she gave a Domme a Diet Coke and bottled water. Politely, she answered a younger Dom’s request for another beer by saying he’d reached his two-drink limit. Giving him a sympathetic smile, she offered a Red Bull and was pleased when his scowl turned rueful and he thanked her. Members here responded far more politely to getting cut off than her nightclub customers had.

  She saw Peter was patiently waiting for her return. Decide, Josie.

  Why not try a scene? It wasn’t as if this would be a date or anything. She’d watched lots of what they called “pickup scenes.” Face it, she was dying to see what it was like. Maybe she’d even find out if she really was submissive.

  When she reached Peter, she put her forearms on the bar. “I’d love to have an actual introduction to this stuff. Yes.”

  When Holt’s pretty neighbor agreed to a scene, he frowned. Sure, he’d stepped in to clarify the paperwork, but he hadn’t thought she’d agree to play with Peter. He’d figured her for being more conservative. As he sipped his Mountain Dew, he studied her.

  A flush nearly hid the scattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Her gorgeous green eyes held a hint of wariness. So fucking appealing. He wanted to explore those emotions with her, heightening the excitement, easing the wariness…at least for the first scene.

  No, he knew better than to mess with a neighbor. Don’t be an asshole.

  He did notice she showed no sexual interest in Peter, which wasn’t uncommon. A good scene didn’t require sex. However, the Dom had a definite interest in Josie.

  Holt tightened his jaw, trying to conquer the need to warn the guy to watch his step or better yet, tell Josie to say no. Getting a bit overprotective here, dumbass?

  She was fine. Even if the two didn’t negotiate, she’d been quite clear she wanted only an introduction. Smart girl.

  Sitting beside Holt, Marcus said under his breath, “This should be interesting.” He raised his voice. “Darlin’, I’ll cover your break.”

  She glanced around the bar. “It’s pretty busy. I don’t—”

  “I can draft Holt to help out. He needs to move some.”

  Hands on on delightfully curvy hips, she scowled. “No, he doesn’t. He should be taking it easy, not working.”

  Now, just listen to her. As the sweetness of her concern warmed him, Holt smiled and gave his Aussie buddy’s favorite retort, “No worries, love. I’ll let the lawyer do most of the work.”

  “I guess that’ll be all right.” She frowned at Marcus. “You’ll watch him?”

  “Certainly.” After Josie had exited the bar space, Marcus glanced at Holt. “I do like this one.”

  “Z did well.” And Holt liked her a bit too much for his own comfort.

  He followed Marcus through the pass-through and started filling drinks on one side. He was doing fairly well until one submissive ordered a mojito. For fuck’s sake. He didn’t have the time to squish up mint, mess with the sticky shit, or do the shaking crap. He gave her a frown. “For that, you’ll have to wait for the real bartender.”

  “Sure,” she said. “She made me a couple last night, and they were the best.”

  Holt eyed her. Two drinks at once? “Did you play afterward?”

  “No. Josie said if I even looked like playing, she’d rat on me to Master Z.” The subbie grinned, so Josie had apparently delivered the warning without upsetting the young woman.

  “Good girl.” Holt smiled at the subbie, saw Marcus had overheard, and they exchanged satisfied glances.

  Holt understood Z’s affection for the socializing effect of drinking; however, alcohol was a risk in a BDSM club. When Cullen—who had a cutting-edge memory—decreased his hours, they’d had a few problems.

  But apparently, pretty Josie could and would police the bar.

  Finished with open drink orders, Holt looked around. Where had Peter set up with Josie? He wanted to be sure the Dom wasn’t pushing her too much.

  Hey, she was a neighbor—under his protection, in a way. All right, that might be over the top, but dammit, she was.

  And he wanted to see how she reacted to a scene.

  No, be honest. He wanted to be the one tying her to a cross…dammit.

  Near the dance floor, a handful of people watched a Domme doing knife play with an older male submissive. Next was a standard spanking scene on a sawhorse-type bench. Then wax play, a caning, a…

  “North wall,” Marcus murmured as he walked past to deliver a drink.

  Holt moved to the other side of the bar. Near the munchie area, Vance and Galen were playing with their submissive, Sally. Holt watched for a minute. Although he’d never been interested in sharing a woman, the two Doms made co-topping look like a dance. Very nice work.

  The next scene was a Master with two slaves. The two females waited on their knees as he chose the toys he’d use.

  In the adjacent roped-off area…there she was.

  She’d removed only her vest and shirt.

  Well, that probably made sense. She and Peter weren’t on intimate terms.

  She had gorgeous shoulders and upper arms. Creamy skin. Did she have freckles sprinkled over the tops of her shoulders?

  As Marcus joined him, Holt muttered, “Did you see? She still has her shoes on.”

  She was talking to Peter as he tied her wrists to the upper bars of the X-shaped St. Andrew’s cross. Her head was up, posture erect, eyes bright with interest.

  No signs of submission.

  “Interesting dynamic,” Marcus commented.

  “She’s not anywhere close to the right headspace.” Holt glanced around the bar, saw no one waiting for a drink, and continued watching.

  Peter did a hasty warmup of her skin before starting in with a fairly heavy flogger.

  Holt exchanged frowns with Marcus, before shrugging. “He is on a time limit.”

  “True enough. A half-hour timeframe won’t give her more than a taste.” Marcus frowned. “Is he more to her than a casual friend?”

  “Doub
tful. Her great-aunt told me today our little bartender hasn’t dated anyone in years. Not since her son was a toddler.” And hadn’t that been a surprise? What the hell was wrong with his fellow males that they’d let her isolate herself?

  Marcus glanced at him. “How is it that you’re acquainted with the great-aunt of our new bartender?”

  “Stella lives in the other half of my duplex, and I drop over now and then to check her blood pressure.” Damned if he’d let the sweet old woman stroke out on his watch. “She worries about the lack of men in Josie’s life.” Holt grinned. “From what I’ve seen, Stella isn’t lacking for male admirers. She could probably teach Josie how to get on.”

  Marcus chuckled. “And why doesn’t our Josie date?”

  “She has a son.”

  After a second, Marcus glanced at Holt. “That’s it?”

  “It’s the reason Stella gave me. I figure there’s more to the story.”

  “There must be.”

  As they watched the scene, Holt’s frown returned.

  Marcus shook his head. “She’s getting a taste of impact play, but I see no submission going on.”

  Holt leaned his forearms on the bar. No, she wasn’t in a submissive frame of mind. She was simply satisfying her curiosity. Tugging on the restraints. Feeling the flogger. Testing the cross. The excitement she’d shown before had disappeared. She was having fun—a degree of fun—but it sure wasn’t what he’d call a successful scene.

  Damn. She wasn’t his, and Peter wasn’t doing anything that required intervention but… “It’s sad to see a submissive not receive what she hoped for,” he murmured.

  She’d hoped for more, Josie thought, as the flogger fell across her back, although the physical sensations were interesting. The flogger thudded over her bare shoulders like tapping fingertips.

  The sensation changed when the strands hit her pants instead of bare skin. She hadn’t stripped down like most of the “bottoms”. At Peter’s urging, she’d removed her shirt and vest. Her bra and everything else stayed on.

  He’d restrained her arms upward to the X-shaped equipment in a high V. Earlier, she’d seen a naked submissive whose ankles were cuffed to the lower part of the X, and the Dom had taken advantage of his submissive’s widespread legs to play with her pussy. Watching the Dom work the woman had been hot.

  A non-self-induced orgasm might’ve been amazing, but Josie wasn’t interested in going there with Peter. She did appreciate how nice he was being.

  He was talking with her, telling her about the flogger, and asking her every few strokes how she felt. His attentiveness was reassuring…also awfully distracting. She had to keep assessing herself, then turning her head to answer. The constant interruptions took her out of…well, whatever she should be feeling.

  The stuff she’d read about BDSM made it sound as if she should be floating around in her head or something.

  Not.

  How long had they been doing this, anyway? Surely, it was time to be done. Funny how she’d started all revved up, and now a dull sense of disenchantment weighed her down—like she’d expected a smooth Glenmorangie 18 scotch and gotten moonshine instead.

  “We still have a few minutes left. Did you know there are private rooms upstairs?” Leaning against her from behind, Peter pressed his chest against her back and his erection against her ass.

  Oh, ew, that wasn’t good. She hadn’t wanted to get him interested in sex; she should have known better. Guys were awfully predictable that way. But sheesh, even if she was interested, she needed to be back to work within five minutes. Seriously, Peter?

  Gently, Josie. Sure, she was disappointed in the scene, but she mustn’t be rude. “I’m really sorry, but I need to get back to work. I don’t want to make my boss unhappy.” She smiled at him. “Thank you for letting me see what it’s all about.”

  “Ha, I knew you’d like it. Subbie.”

  Subbie? What she felt wasn’t submission; it was impatience and a craving to be safely ensconced behind her bar again. Seeing the arousal in his reddened face, she closed her eyes.

  Finally, her arms were free. Stepping away, she pulled on her shirt and vest.

  When Peter sprayed down the cross, she grabbed a paper towel and helped clean.

  “I could hold you for a couple minutes, do some aftercare,” he offered.

  She’d noticed that post-scene, many submissives were sweaty and shaking. Some were even crying. Almost all of the Doms provided blankets, water, and cuddles. Carefully tended the bruises or cuts. A few lucky submissives even got chocolate.

  Josie hadn’t even broken a sweat. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine. I should get back. Thank you again.” She kissed his cheek lightly and headed for the bar.

  Well…at least she’d tried something new. She gave herself two points for being adventurous. Could she give herself a few points for—what would it be called—self-discovery? She’d discovered watching BDSM stuff didn’t necessarily mean she’d like it herself. She now knew she didn’t have a submissive bone in her body.

  As she neared the bar, the two Masters were watching her.

  When Holt’s slow perusal sent heat shooting through her, she stiffened. “What? Did I forget to button my shirt?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her defensive tone, then answered mildly, “Unfortunately not.”

  An embarrassed flush warmed her cheeks.

  Chuckling, Marcus told Holt, “She’s got a sassy mouth on her. Reminds me of my Gabi.”

  The corners of Holt’s mouth tilted up. “God help us. If she starts sounding like Gabi, I’ll find a gag. Bartenders don’t need to talk, right?”

  Laughing, she joined them behind the bar. “You should stop now while you can still get a drink that lacks arsenic, Master Holt.”

  His expression darkened. His step forward put him right in front of her. “Did you just threaten me, pet?”

  His proximity made her realize how tall and muscular he was. Her pulse quickened.

  Her quick retreat halted with her spine against the bar. He simply followed.

  She stared up into penetrating slate-blue eyes, seeing the dark gray ring around the iris. His body radiated warmth—and sparked an answering surge from her own.

  Expression stern, he curled his big hand around her nape, holding her in place. His tone lowered. Darkened. “As it happens, I like gagging little subbies.” He ran a finger over her lower lip. “Listening to the helpless sounds, the whimpers, the begging they can’t voice.”

  As her mouth went dry, she stared up at him, feeling a quiver deep in her core.

  “Would you like to apologize?” he asked ever so softly.

  She wasn’t sure her voice would even work. She swallowed. “Sorry, Sir.” The breathy sounding words were barely audible.

  “Very nice.” Humor lightened his eyes to the mesmerizing color of sunlit fog. Leaning down, he kissed her lightly. “Get to work, subbie.”

  As he followed Marcus out of the bar, she stared after him.

  Because when he’d called her subbie, every bone in her body had turned to jelly.

  Chapter Six

  On Sunday evening at Oma’s dinner table, Josie watched her son fidgeting with his silverware. Her heart ached for him. For her.

  He finally pushed his plate away. “I gotta go do homework.” When his great-great-aunt lifted her eyebrows, he recalled his manners. “May I be excused, please?”

  “Of course, Carson,” Oma said.

  With a sigh, Josie watched her sulky boy slink out the door.

  As usual when she bartended, Carson had spent the night and next morning with Oma while Josie slept late. Unfortunately, at breakfast, Carson had begged Oma for permission to go to his friend, Isaac’s, after church. The rascal had known she wanted to talk with him. He didn’t return until suppertime, and from his behavior, he was still angry with Josie.

  What should she do? Force him to listen to her explanations? Her excuses? Trash talking about Everett could make his son feel as i
f he came from bad seed. Josie took a sip of water, hoping to dissolve the lump in her throat. Maybe tomorrow night he’d be ready to talk this out.

  “What in the world is wrong with that boy?” Oma asked.

  Josie looked across the table at her great-aunt with a loving smile. Oma was white-haired and a bit stooped, complaining she’d shrunk at least four inches as she approached eighty. Her skin was creamy white despite all the gardening hours, because she slathered on the suntan lotion. She was the sweetest, most even-tempered, and sociable person Josie knew. And those sharp blue eyes didn’t miss a thing.

  Josie only hoped she’d be as amazing when she got to her senior years. “Carson found a note from his birth father. It was the one Everett wrote when I told him I was pregnant. It says he wasn’t the father, that it was obviously one of the other men I’d been with, and he was happily married.”

  “Covered his bases, did he?” Oma pursed her lips. “It’s a shame we humans don’t geld our males as ruthlessly as we do horses and cows.”

  A castrating knife, Everett’s balls… “Don’t tempt me, Oma.”

  “Carson wants a father, so he can’t get angry at Everett, which means he’s blaming you instead.” Oma gave her usual succinct summary.

  “He’s definitely blaming me. He feels I should have tried harder to get Everett to accept fatherhood.”

  “Ah.” Oma gave Josie a sympathetic look. “Children who want something rarely have empathy for anyone else involved.”

  “I know.” It still hurt that her son had lashed out—and hit his mark. She’d been raised to believe sex outside of marriage was wrong—and Carson’s accusations brought the guilt back full force. “Maybe he’s right. I could have tried harder. Or tackled Everett again after Carson was born.”

  “Josie, you’d barely turned seventeen, and he threatened you with the law. A more experienced youngster might have managed better but not an innocent from Podunkville, Texas.” Oma considered. “When I found you after I returned from Europe, and we talked, you told me why you didn’t go after him for child support. Do you remember the reasons you gave me?”