Forever (Eternity #1)

by Allyson Young

  “I’m not planning to hang around. I just want to see what that big blonde makes of the place.” As soon as the description left his mouth, Dean regretted it. He’d made her sound like a floozy from another era and that woman was anything but.

  “The birthday girl? You have “words” with her back there?”

  “In the hallway, actually. She blew me off.”

  “No shit. That’s a new one for you.” Randy’s tone wasn’t commiserating. There was an undertone of satisfaction Dean understood. He rarely struck out with a woman, and changed them out like his socks. His hunter’s instinct was aroused by one blonde Amy, something unfamiliar and very rare indeed.

  “I don’t play games. They put out or not. Their choice. I don’t chase.”

  “They put out and then you put them out. No chase.” A hint of censure now colored his lieutenant’s tone. Happily married and vocal about it, Randy forgot his own fairly recent man-whore status.

  Dean shrugged. “I’m nothing but honest with them, you know it.”

  “But not all of them were skanks. Some were nice girls.”

  “They all knew the score. And I’m done talking.”

  “Uh huh, and that’s why you’re heading to that tie ’em up and fuck ’em theatre-production-slash-nightclub. The blonde didn’t understand the score?”

  Dean throttled an absurd desire to punch Randy in the head. How could he answer the other man when he didn’t understand it himself? He settled for a non committal “curious.”

  “Take Enrico. If your mind is on Blondie you won’t be watching your back. You got that feeling, remember?”

  Indeed. He had a feeling. Hence the impromptu meeting at the bar to put a few things into place while the offices were swept for bugs. The whisper of danger was a cold trickle of warning hovering dead between his shoulder blades. He’d totally forgotten the sensation when he kissed Amy. Not a good thing. He nodded to Randy. He’d take Enrico.

  “I’ll drop you at the complex,” he offered.

  “I’ll grab a ride with Olsen. I want to see what, if anything, was turned up in the sweep anyhow. See you tomorrow.” Randy turned away.

  Dean motioned to Enrico, who obligingly climbed into the passenger seat. A man of few words, he was silent during the drive to the Masters, and Dean was glad not to have to respond to inane conversation. The serious stuff had already been said and he had a more pressing problem. His cock strained at attention behind the coarse weave of his jeans, imprinting on the zipper if not for the silk fabric of his boxers. The big blonde’s absence hadn’t mitigated his arousal one iota. He could still taste her, a mixture of tart lime and hints of sugar. And Amy. He could still feel the press of her generous breasts, the poke of her nipples. And her scent. Fuck. His cock tried to nod frantically within its cloth prison and he nearly groaned out loud.

  So she liked the Grand Masters. Mind you, lots of people did. Gorgeous bodies of either gender, a little bondage, a hint of kink, lots to tease and tantalize. He wondered if Amy knew of the rooms in the back of the nightclub. He’d gone a couple of times with adventurous women, under the tutelage of a very experienced Dominant, and learned a thing or two about himself and how to pleasure a woman to extreme heights. But he didn’t need the trappings or the protocol. Dean enjoyed sex, a lot of it. A good fuck, with nothing to cloud the main event. Long term wasn’t in the cards, and while he liked some of the women he fucked, as much as he got to know them, love wasn’t in the cards, either. Ever. That Amy puzzled him, or rather, his reaction to her did.

  Knowing himself well, he decided to take one more kick at the cat, rather than be distracted by memories of that torrid kiss and the stirring of an unfamiliar … something. He was uncomfortable, and if an “accidental” run in again with Blondie tonight got her into his bed, well, he’d fuck her right out of it, and life would go back to what passed for normal. It struck him that the woman might not even show up, and he and Enrico would be left sitting in a voyeur’s club, hot and bothered, with only each another for company. That didn’t sit at all well, although he could admit to finding some humor in the situation. Overhearing Lorraine’s enthusiastic agreement about going to the Masters didn’t mean they would actually attend. What was it about Blondie? He couldn’t have even described her friends with accuracy, and that, too, was outside the norm. He couldn’t afford to miss any nuance.

  The city was hopping tonight, the downtown streets crowded with vehicles and foot traffic, and impatience had him drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they waited through yet another delayed light. He checked his mirrors automatically, aware Enrico was doing the same, although all headlights looked pretty much the same in the dark. His weapon was tucked away in a compartment beneath his seat, easy to get to, but he wasn’t carrying it into a place like Grand Masters. Amy hadn’t missed much with her covert glances, and he had no doubt she’d see the outline of a gun. Her ability to observe and unerringly assess should be telling him to keep his distance—he couldn’t afford prescient women—but he felt driven to see her again. However, there was no point in giving her a deeper window into his life when any connection with her was going to be short term, so he’d keep his firepower under the seat.

  Pulling into the crowded lot, he found a space big enough to park his truck, and he and Enrico joined the small group outside the club. The pulsing beat emanating from the partially open door had everyone moving to it, some subtly, others blatantly, the scant illumination doing little to hide the excitement and anticipation on the faces of both genders. The doorman looked their way and his casual stance stiffened. The man gestured to Dean and waved them through, past the hopefuls who’d probably been waiting to enter for hours. Sometimes it helped to be known in this city. Or as someone who’d purchased a block of shares in Masters.

  Dean slowed beside the doorman and dropped the word in his ear not to delay the entry of five women, spearheaded by a tall, beautiful blonde. He had no doubt Amy would be in the lead, despite her attempt to be self effacing. Intriguing.

  They were shown to a table not far from both the stage and the door, one clearly reserved for VIPs, and Dean tipped his chair back up against the wall, relaxing his body while scanning the room. Enrico swivelled his own chair to give him a better vantage point, but of the crowd. The kid knew better than to leave himself open to distractions, however exotic and tempting, obviously taking his assigned role as bodyguard seriously.

  The walls were painted a dull, flat black, and absorbed all available light, taking nothing away from the stage lit in various areas to showcase the activity. Heavy, crimson, velvet drapery panels framed faux windows intermittently applied to the walls with lengths of wrought iron tortured into intricate shapes. Dean knew how erotic those shapes were, having scrutinized them while touring the place and doing a deal with the owners. Sconces set at head height flickered ominously, each table boasting the same flickering light in the shape of a candle, the better to add to the mood. Heavy, baroque chandeliers dripped crystals and gave the patrons and serving staff enough light to negotiate the wide planked floors.

  The room was full, tables packed with patrons of all ages, from early twenties to early sixties, maybe older, and the atmosphere was heavy with lust. Sultry eyes on the women, and some of the men, seemingly casual gestures actually designed to entice and showcase the bounty of flesh on display. The air seethed with hormones and Dean could see hands tucked under the tables, the black and red cloth providing a barrier to what he assumed were illicit gropings.

  A well built fellow, his muscles encased in leather, hovered around a nearly naked woman hanging from a hook in the middle of the stage, her toes barely brushing the floor. He was binding her with red rope, and her spotlit face was beatific in expression, lips parted, eyes closed, relaxed. As the man’s hands drifted around her body, Dean could swear he heard her moan despite the pulsing rock music filling the club. Nothing really graphic—he’d seen more of a woman’s body in a strip joint—but the intimacy and the trust sh
e showed, the surrender, were incredibly arousing.

  Personal exhibitionism wasn’t Dean’s thing, but he was glad others enjoyed that kink because he got off watching it. He wondered what Amy’s private fantasies were and if one night would be enough to explore them. Didn’t matter. It would have to be one night, with maybe a casual other time or two, depending on if she understood his expectations. Saying no to him earlier was probably just playing hard to get.

  Knowing why he didn’t trust women didn’t change it. The old lady’s ravaged face swam into his vision, unbidden, and he impatiently blinked it away. Why was he thinking about her? Maybe this urge to hunt down Blondie was a mistake. He didn’t like where his thoughts were going, or the historical shit being stirred up. Dropping the front feet of the chair onto the floor with a thump, Dean made to motion away the waitress heading over to take their order, planning to exit. Then he saw Amy enter the club, hesitating as she did so, body poised to—flee? From his slight vantage point behind the thin body of the waitress, he watched as Amy scanned the room, much the same way he’d done earlier, before stepping aside to allow her friends to pass. Interesting. He forgot all about the fact he’d been about to leave.

  The women squeezed around a table offset in a corner, clearly the least appealing of the seating, but the only thing available. “Take two jugs of margaritas to that table in the alcove, the one with the five newcomers,” he ordered the still hovering waitress. “And a couple of beers for us.”

  Nodding, her eyes passing over his face and then obviously dropping to his crotch, the server pushed her breasts out before turning to sashay a nicely curved ass away.

  “Asking for it.” Enrico missed nothing, although the come-on had been blatant.

  Dean shrugged. “Not interested.”

  “But you are interested in the tall rubia who just came in. From the other club.”

  Give the man a cigar. And maybe a cigar was just a cigar. Shades of fucking Freud. He needed to get this new conquest done. The five heads he scrutinized across the way bobbed in concert, two dark, one red, and two blond. An interesting combination, although Amy’s multicolored strands captured his sole attention. What would one call that color? Cream and gold? Whatever—she had masses of it. It framed those purple blue eyes that had so carefully inspected him. Any sounds they made, even Lorraine’s, were masked by the music and the crowd response to the scene on stage. He flicked his glance back in that direction.

  The female star was totally swaddled in the red rope now with the exception of her breasts, wrapped and cradled, presented for view as they swelled with the constriction. One strand passed between her widespread legs, a knot strategically tied at the apex of her pussy, and as Dean watched the Dom tugged that strand, making the woman shudder and pulsate. He leaned in and kissed her before reaching up to release the binds at the hook. The sub, if that’s what she was, or maybe a volunteer from the audience, sagged into his arms and he shifted her weight, carrying her away, stage left. The audience erupted in applause and a few raucous calls and suggestions. Dean’s cock protested its lack, suggesting Blondie might welcome some of what was doubtlessly going to take place backstage.

  Observing the waitress making her way towards the little table, balancing those jugs of margaritas, he waited for the reaction. Five faces turned in his direction at the server’s gesture and he sketched a negligent wave. Lorraine waved back, enthusiastically, followed by the red head and the other blonde. Amy and the brunette looked at each another before nodding his way in tandem. So the brunette was her best friend and the one who’d give her the advice Amy would listen to. Good to know. Enrico was watching them, too.

  “The brunette? Beside my blonde? Might need you to run interference, ’Rico.”

  “She is average, boss. I would wish for the red head. But for you…”

  “Not asking you to marry her. Just distract her if need be.”

  “Okay.”

  Their beer was set on their table with maybe a little more firmness than necessary, each bottle making a little snapping sound as it hit the polished surface. “They weren’t going to accept them, sir. At least not the big girl. But her friends convinced her.”

  God, women were such bitches. Wasn’t enough they sucked men dry with their demands, guilted them out, and fucked them over. They had to take a crack at one another, too. Giving the waitress a disparaging look, Dean nodded and scratched his signature on the check. Little waitress-bitch had presumably found out who he was, probably from the bartender. She smiled her thanks, a brittle, false smile, nothing like the seductive one she’d bestowed on him earlier. His reputation had preceded him. Good.

  ****

  “He came here because he knew you were coming.”

  Lorraine’s complacent comment made Amy want to smack her. Seeing Dean Chambray’s handsome visage across the room after the margaritas were delivered had blown her away. Last chance, eh? I don’t play games. Well, no second chances for him. She accepted and acknowledged the booze when her friends put up a fuss, but didn’t have to like it. Sandra got the implication, if they hadn’t. But then Sandra knew where Amy was coming from. Recklessly pouring another full glass, she sucked half of it back, hoping the next scene on stage would distract Lorraine. She managed to keep her face inscrutable as the flavor burst over her taste buds—these drinks were far superior to the ones at the previous place. She surreptitiously filled her glass again.

  “If you don’t want him, I’ll be happy to stand in.” Lorraine just wouldn’t leave it alone.

  “He wants a quick fuck, Lorraine, a wham bam, thank you ma’am,” she shouted back, past caring if anyone else listened in. “You want that, you go right ahead.”

  “No, you don’t.” Red-headed Julie vigorously shook her head and Noreen added her disapproval. “You get drunk and fall into some hot guy’s bed ’n never see him again. Then beat yourself up for doing it for weeks. You go home and call Malik if that’s what you want. At least he loves you.”

  Lorraine slumped in her chair and scowled. “Yah, sure. He loves me. That’s why he won’t introduce me to his family. Because he loves me so much.”

  Amy shut out Lorraine’s continuing complaints, and now, maudlin protests. Julie and Noreen had pulled the bandage off, and they could deal with the outcome. She couldn’t let herself think about love and sex and everything in between. It hadn’t been, and never would be, for her. Witness what she’d attracted tonight.

  “He speak to you at the other club?” Sandra spoke quietly, close to her ear, the alcohol buzz probably burned off some by concern. Shit.

  “Speak to me? As in “my name is, and I want to do you, once.” That kind of speak?” Her bitter tone nearly masked the sadness.

  “Oh, Amy. I’m sorry. What is it with men? Don’t any of them want a relationship?”

  “Depends on what kind, I guess. You know it’s me. I just attract the wrong kind. No surprise.” She shrugged and poured another glass, no longer tracking well. Viva the mind numbing agent of alcohol. “Let’s just suck these back and enjoy the show. There’s always B.O.B. for those one-nighters.”

  “It’s not you,” Sandra whispered fiercely. “You have to stop thinking that way.”

  Amy shook her head and Sandra shut up, knowing better than to fight a losing battle at that moment. Not that her friend wouldn’t take up the cudgels tomorrow, and the next day… They turned their attention to the stage, ignoring Lorraine’s tears and recriminations until Noreen touched Sandra’s arm. “Lor’s had enough for the night and we have to work tomorrow. We’ll take her home. Sorry to put a damper on your birthday, Amy.”

  “Not to worry. It was nice of you to come.” She wondered if she’d see Lorraine again. Tonight had ended in a spate of pain for the other woman, and Amy felt like she’d goaded her. Seeing as Julie and Noreen were tight with her, they might not like Amy, either. But they all smiled sweetly at one another and each took one of Lorraine’s elbows to help her up. Weaving a path to the door, they vanished fro
m sight. It occurred to Amy that it might look as if the other women had left to pare down the field—two men, two women. Shit.

  Sandra must have thought the same thing. “Wanna go?”

  Hell, no. It was her birthday. Besides she was a little afraid to stand, would probably fall on her ass. “In a bit.”

  The lights flickered and an enormously broad man strode onto the stage. It was constructed in a half circle to allow for the placement of the different apparatus and stage sets. Blood-red draperies, hanging in swathes, created a sensuous backdrop, optimally displaying naked flesh. Two huge television screens flanked either side, allowing patrons in the back a good view of the entertainment, and there were a variety of different lighting systems to be utilized. It reminded Amy of the stages in Vegas, and she fought the nostalgia, because other memories inevitably followed. While able to manage them now, there was no sense in being triggered and totally ruin her evening.

  The MC wasn’t that tall, maybe up to her shoulder, but obviously fit, with muscles on muscles. His leather pants strained to contain tree trunk legs, and his bare chest shone beneath the spot light. “If all of you are sufficiently loosened up for the evening, it’s the volunteer section of the entertainment. Looking for a woman, one who’s never been on the stage before. Can’t be falling down drunk. Lowered inhibitions is okay because we won’t be pushing boundaries—at least not too much.”

  Laughter coursed through the room, full of anticipation and arousal. Amy shivered. It was her birthday and there’d been no cake and no present. Fuck Dean Chambray.

  “Clothing’s optional, but okay for this demonstration. Master Eric is going to restrain the volunteer—” Another man stalked forward to join the MC, also clad in leathers, blond hair caught back in a ponytail, Nordic features reminding Amy of that guy from the Thor movie. He didn’t cut as imposing a figure as say, Dean Chambray, but he wasn’t bad, oiled and sculpted chest gleaming under the lights. Not bad at all. She swallowed another gulp of her drink.