He pressed a finger against her lips, and she involuntarily parted them. He pushed inside, and she closed on it, automatically sucking the digit. It soothed her in some indefinable way.
“Very good, little one. Now remove your clothing, fold it, and place it in the basket on the table over there.”
Her mouth dropped open, and he pulled out, drawing the tip of the dampened finger down her chin and throat. Emily snapped her lips together and drew another deep breath. Her nipples were hard, and there was a tingling sensation in her pussy. What was this? He hadn’t pried further or attempted to debrief her. He’d just praised her honesty and rewarded her with, well, she wasn’t certain what that was, but she felt compensated somehow. And aroused.
Her hands seemed to move of their own accord to cross at her waist, tugging and lifting up her top, pulling the scrap of fabric over her head. Master Jordan didn’t say anything, but his dark-brown eyes tracked her movements and looked at her breasts behind the lacy support of her best bra. The flare in those eyes gave her courage. He found her attractive, although Emily was aware most men were grateful when women took off their clothes. The fact she was doing it herself was disconcerting and unfamiliar, but she knew from all her studies of this lifestyle that it was ultimately her choice. Master Jordan wouldn’t force her. He would let her leave, and that didn’t sit well. She did the leaving.
It was altogether conflicting. She shouldn’t want to please someone she had just met, studies or not. But she did. They were connected now because of her emotional outburst and his response. She felt a twinge of despair. She didn’t want Master Jordan’s pity.
“Tell me.”
Shit. He hadn’t missed her busy thoughts. Not wanting to displease him again, she hurried to reply.
“I don’t want your pity.” She wished she hadn’t sounded so defiant.
Master Jordan’s lips thinned for an instant, but his voice reflected nothing other than acceptance. “I don’t pity you, Emily. Hard to pity bravery.”
She wasn’t brave. Was he nuts? She opened her mouth to dispute him then thought better of it. She was still adept at reading people if powerless to always react appropriately, and Master Jordan wasn’t going to tolerate an argument. Her survival skills were well honed, and she knew disagreeing with him might end whatever it was they had going on. Something she thought she might actually want. He raised an eyebrow, and she realized he was waiting on her again.
Folding the shirt, she reached down to pull off her boots with one hand. She hopped to regain her balance and caught a hint of amusement in his eyes. She wished she had thought her clothing choices out more clearly. The boots dealt with, she pushed her short skirt down stepped out of it, then stood uncertainly. He waited and watched, so patient. She collected herself and her clothes, hurrying over to the basket to set them inside. The impetus abruptly faded. She wanted to please him, but she couldn’t make herself take her underwear off.
“Come here.”
He was a man of few words for sure. Forcing her feet to carry her to where he stood, she shivered in front of him, grateful for the shield of her bra and panties. She wore less at the beach but still felt incredibly exposed. He pulled a large pillow from the bed and tossed it at his feet.
“Kneel.”
Emily dropped to the pillow in an eerie parody of all those years of childhood prayer. She hadn’t prayed since she was ten, there being no point in it, but she knew how to kneel. She rifled through her memory bank and imitated the stance of the women in those pictures on the net. She widened her knees and straightened her back, lowering her head, resting her hands, palms upward, on her thighs. Master Jordan walked around her and seemed pleased with her position, stopping only to press her head an inch lower.
“You paid attention in the orientation and followed up with your homework, Emily. Tell me why you backed off originally.”
Tell me. Tell me. Emily had some questions of her own to deflect him, her protective bitchiness surfacing. But the need to acquiesce was stronger, and she sucked it up.
“I got scared. I always get scared of new situations. And I don’t know what I’m scared of.”
“Pick a reason you believe fits.”
God, this was therapy. She wasn’t here to do therapy. She was here to learn about D/s. Here to explore her sexuality and hopefully take her out of her fucked-up head, because he would make her do it and make her forget, take care of her. And if she got too scared she’d say “uncle” and it would all stop and she’d leave. And be right back at square one.
Emily felt his hand on her hair and wondered if he’d pull it, but instead he smoothed his big palm over the crown of her head. She relaxed, and the words bubbled up and spilled over her lips.
“I’m afraid of letting anyone too close.”
“Why?”
She sighed. This was like pulling emotional teeth. “Because they either reject me or I push them away.” And because people can’t be trusted. “It gets old after awhile.”
She thought she heard him murmur, “And it hurts, too, baby.”
She tried to lift her head, but his hand kept her in place.
“Think about the biggest issue with that, little one.”
Emily thought. She thought hard, not wanting to come up with something that wasn’t true because Master Jordan would know. He just would. He was looking inside of her. But she honestly didn’t know the answer. She stared down at his boots for inspiration.
“I don’t know,” she finally breathed.
His fingers wreathed through her hair, and he tugged her head up to look at him.
He stared deeply into her eyes, and she felt like a rabbit before a clever fox. What was with her and the animal comparisons?
“Trust.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” she blurted. Where had that come from? She already knew that. It couldn’t be an epiphany. She felt it differently though, telling him. It made it more real, like there might be a way to approach it, expunge it, instead of it crouching inside her, festering and polluting.
“No one?”
“Well, maybe Elise. A little.” Although she hadn’t opened up to her friend, and wasn’t really even nice to her.
Master Jordan didn’t ask any questions about that. Why wouldn’t he ask about her family? Her parents? Especially her mom? That was what therapists did. But he wasn’t a real therapist, and maybe it was because he heard the truth in her voice. No one. Tears sprang to her eyes again, but she blinked them back. Enough.
“That’s right, Emily. Enough. Brave girl.”
Had she said that out loud? She had, and it was also true, at least for now. Because she wasn’t telling him about her uncle, no matter if he strung her up to beat it out of her, not that she wouldn’t welcome a beating. Her eyes flickered shut again at the thought of external pain, and how it equalized and then distracted her from how shitty she felt inside. But she didn’t do that anymore, because she’d promised. Don’t go there.
“Why are you here?”
It got easier. “To take a risk. I guess to see if I can learn to trust someone with me.”
“And at the end of that?”
“Maybe I’ll know myself and find someone for me who completes me.” You knew about trust and betrayal before. But you had no control. How is this going to be any different? She shuddered involuntarily, and he immediately soothed her with another stroke through her hair, fingertips drifting across her temple and down the curve of her cheek.
“That’s a start, little one.”
Master Jordan released her and smoothed her curls into place. “Get dressed. I’ll see you here tomorrow night at the same time. The door code is on the side table with your clothes.”
Emily found herself gaping like a fish. Another animal! He opened the door and walked out, shutting it quietly behind him. It took her a few minutes to compose herself before she stood and got her clothes. She hadn’t failed. She’d just made it through the first day of school, and without a correction, too.
That part made her feel unsure because she instinctively knew Master Jordan’s punishments would make her hurt and then she’d feel better. But no doubt she’d earn one in time. She could hardly wait until tomorrow night.
* * * *
Jordan made his way to Patrick’s office, where his boss was sure to be at this time of night. He was feeling unsettled, something that made no sense to him. This was his job, and he was good at it. He trained subs for a living, spanked pretty asses, clamped perky nipples and watched women fall apart in his arms in the throes of climax. He helped many women explore their sexuality and submission, peeling any nasty layers back. He taught them how to submit and please Doms, to serve them, and ultimately serve their own needs well. Sometimes he worked with a sub and her Dom, training them both, but mostly he worked with female subs. He mentally ran through the options in his head, wondering if he should find that little blonde a different Master to train her, because there was something out of whack…
Jon Spence worked with male and female subs. This was an equal opportunity club, although Jon was totally hetero. Jordan filled in when Jon was busy, and he was busier than ever now. Jon had been hired to replace Graham, who was doing the corporate life now, married to a feisty gal who submitted on occasion.
So Jon was pretty much overwhelmed, and Jordan decided against asking his colleague to take another sub on. He mentally reviewed the single Doms who attended, and rejected them all because they hadn’t been awarded training status here. Except for Trevor, and the antipathy flooding his gut at the thought of the Club’s infamous third working with Emily made his catch his breath. What the fuck? Nope, the man whore was in it for the control and side benefits while he supposedly sought his One. Jordan snorted. Like that would happen. The little blonde needed…something different…more.
Hell, he needed more. Oh, not twenty-four-seven. But for certain in the bedroom, and he would definitely be the man of the house. Not that he’d ever have the opportunity. Fucking Fraser. The fact of losing Olivia still nagged like a sore tooth. It was his own fault, thinking he was enough for her. He paused outside one of the play areas to soak up the sound of a paddle on vulnerable flesh, the ecstatic cries of the sub filling the room. Just like when Olivia—Fuck, he was wasting his time and tormenting himself to boot. With an effort, he put the memories aside.
His thoughts immediately filled again with the little piece of work he’d just left after her first lesson. Emily. She was a mess. God knew what happened to the girl, but she was fucked up. Well, she’d come to the right place. She was submissive, if well guarded, and probably lied to herself about that, too. If she stayed, he’d need to train that right out of her and take her burden away while he was at it. It might be a slow process because her trust couldn’t be demanded. She wasn’t like those subs who came to him knowing their proclivities and realizing they wanted to be dominated. Emily was fumbling her way, probably trying anything and everything to deal with that pain he sensed living inside her.
He’d taken her on as a favor to Ross, Elise’s Dom, because Elise had asked so prettily, but he wasn’t sure he was the right choice. Jordan smiled at the thought of Ross and his sub. That relationship was cemented. They were to be married and Elise probably claimed at the club, too. He loved a happily ever D/s.
Except for goddamn Cameron Fraser and Olivia. Shit, he just couldn’t leave it alone. His heart still ached when he thought about her. She’d been a mess, too, and he knew the name of the truck that had hit her. Hit and run. Fucking Fraser. Jordan had taken Olivia on after Fraser initiated her and botched the job. She’d blossomed under Jordan’s tutelage. He’d accepted the fact that there was a deep core of sadness within her, but hoped he would be the one she’d turn to when she’d healed, maybe been the instrument of her healing. He hadn’t even gotten inside of her, although pleasuring her had, well, been his pleasure. He loved her. And then Fraser turned up like the proverbial bad penny and swept her away, right from under his nose.
Taking a week off back then, indulging in wine, women, and bashing other men’s faces in pointless fights had helped him accept having a relationship with Olivia was not in his cards. It didn’t mean he accepted the loss.
“Finished early, Jordan?”
He’d made it to Patrick’s office on autopilot, lost in remembrances and fruitless planning. There wasn’t anybody else for Emily, so he’d just have to man up and do the job himself. He shrugged and lowered himself into a leather chair facing his boss’s desk. His leathers creaked against the chair’s fabric, and the sound made him smile. There was something about leather that called to him. That and silk and lace. He was no longer tumescent and could sit comfortably. Emily’s nice little form had affected him. In fact he’d been aroused the moment she entered the room, again something a bit unusual for him, and the way she looked in those little scraps of white lace, kneeling at just the right level…Jordan dragged his mind back to the matter at hand. His cock sulked, already rising again to the memory.
“Yup. Sent her home early. She’s pretty fragile. And messed up. Do you know her story?”
“Not the whole deal. She applied some time ago. Pure submissive beneath that confused exterior and she really needs being taken in hand for her own sake. Never saw a woman who wouldn’t benefit more from discipline in a very long while. She did the orientation, and I didn’t pick up on anything of note that would preclude her joining, unless high anxiety counts.”
The two Doms laughed. Their lifestyle tended to elicit that reaction from new subs and no wonder. The theory was always quite different from the practice, and seeing the equipment and goings on in a BDSM club made things pretty real for most. The orientation weeded out the wannabes, and the required study was an additional check and balance. Patrick then demanded thorough medical workups and did his own form of psych profiles. Most everyone in the lifestyle could be considered a bit warped by so-called normal standards. But Patrick believed, as did Jordan, people needed a safe private place to enact their wants and needs, both for support and in many cases, safety. His boss protected the vulnerable where he could, and Jordan knew he’d straightened out any number of Doms heading down the wrong path. And dealt with those who only wanted to abuse women under the guise of domination.
“She said she didn’t have a stellar childhood and wasn’t really connected with her family any longer, but that was only because I insisted on an emergency contact. She gave me Ross’s sub’s name the second time around.” It was Patrick’s turn to shrug. “I guess I saw potential, and probably gave into the urge to save her from herself. She can be pure bitch, despite being terrified of me. I think it’s self-defense.”
That was good enough for Jordan. He well understood a Dom’s need to fix a submissive. He had no reason not to train Emily, and released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Jordan saw potential, too. Now he could tell Patrick how the evening unfolded. The other man wouldn’t likely challenge him, but he was second-guessing himself with the little miss.
“I’d say she doesn’t trust a soul. Not even Elise, at least not fully.”
“Uh-huh. You’re gonna have your hands full.”
“Nothing new, Pat. But it’ll be a process.” And now he was anticipating this? Looking down the road a piece? When he’d thought to find her another Master? What the hell?
“I saw that. First time you let a sub, even a potential sub, hold on to her underwear.” Patrick gestured at the screens in the corner reflecting all of the goings-on in the club. It was a quiet night with only two scenes and one member room occupied. Jordan noted the scene he’d eavesdropped on was winding down, the sub in his Domme’s arms, wrapped in one of the soft blankets the Club provided.
He put his eyes back on Patrick. “She would have used her safe word. What did she look like when she left?”
“She seemed fine. A little bounce in her step, actually. I wondered if she had refused you and that’s why you left. The audio wasn’t great.”
“Nope. Just skittish.
She’s coming tomorrow night.” Jordan wondered how he could be so sure. He impatiently pushed Emily to the back of his mind. If Jon was working tonight, then Jordan could probably help out for the rest of the evening and relieve Pat, because his boss would have to find someone to cover for him tomorrow. That was why he’d come to see Patrick in the first place—he’d told Emily he’d see her then. And the unsettled feeling was back. He didn’t like it, primarily because he couldn’t describe it.
“I’ll cover for you, Jordan.” There was something in Patrick’s voice and he looked at his boss sharply, but Patrick’s visage didn’t give anything away. He made a great Dom. Or a poker player. “You can monitor tonight. Madi will be pleased to see me home early.”
“You got it. Say hello to your wife for me.” Jordan nodded as Patrick pushed to his feet and grabbed his phone. Patrick was also a family man now, with two kids and a stunning wife. Madison had been a model, and kind of neurotic and needy, but she had Patrick now and was a happy, satisfied woman. He was nuts about her, too. Having those kids nearly killed her, but she was as determined as her Dom in her own way, because Patrick made no secret about wanting a big family. Jordan knew for a fact Patrick didn’t leave anything to chance now. He was planning to get snipped, refusing to allow another “unplanned” pregnancy to risk Madi’s life. She had deliberately flushed her birth control for the second child. Jordan bet Madi hadn’t sat down for a couple of days after that little power play. Maybe not for a week.
He played the reluctant voyeur for the next couple of hours with periodic glances at the screens. There were some volunteer dungeon monitors wandering around, and the security guard would watch more intently and call him if he needed to intervene, so he primarily sat and thought about his new project. Emily. He liked the name. He was sure he’d like her, too, beyond the physical attraction. Jordan knew that when she felt she could trust him she’d doff those little undies, and he’d bet on sooner than later. Besides, he’d know when to push her, just as he’d known tonight when to send her on her way.
Enough [Club Pleasure 7] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 2