Her foot kept easing off the accelerator as she headed for the Club, all decked out in her fet wear, just a little coat hiding her attributes from those in the vehicles around her. It was as though a part of her desperately wanted to attend, to see her Dom and have her life move on with him, while another part, some instinctual piece, was trying to dissuade her. But eventually, she arrived, just before the specified time, and met Maurice’s steady regard.
“In the shit, sub.” His Cajun accent was pronounced, and despite her love for Jordan, her body responded to the big Dom’s assertion, her sex drawing up in arousal.
Master Maurice smiled, his dark features unexpectedly lighting up. “C’mon, honey. Face the music. Your Master wants me to provide the sole correction.”
“What?”
“He made the case. Said you disobeyed House Rules, mine in particular.”
Bastard. She thought she’d said it in her head, but when Maurice’s brows drew together, she realized she’d verbalized it. But she didn’t apologize.
“Emily. I won’t raise a hand to you. Susan wouldn’t like it. But you should know he’s in a mood.”
Wait. Didn’t Doms stick together? Or maybe they didn’t when one of their own wasn’t making good decisions. Emily set her shoulders and nodded her thanks to Maurice, then went in search of her Dom.
“Emily?” Jordan found her first, pacing down the corridor in front of one of the punishment rooms. “Where’s Master Maurice?”
“On the door.” She smiled prettily and pasted her most innocent look on her face.
“He’s to administer your correction.”
Surveying him, she noted additional lines bracketing his sensuous mouth and the strain around his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept any better than she had. Taking a deep breath, she put it out there. “I’m not letting any other Dom touch me, Sir, while our arrangement stands. If I’m due a correction for my behavior last night, then it’ll be at your hand.”
For a moment she thought she’d pushed too hard. Then he lifted a shoulder and reached out to take hold of her wrist, pulling her against him. He felt hot beneath his shirt, and the smell of him called to all her senses, familiar, soothing, and arousing all at the same time. “This way.”
The room held a St. Andrew’s Cross, something Emily had yet to be restrained on, and her breath caught in her chest. Jordan had planned to let Maurice discipline her in this fashion? She yanked her wrist loose and fixed him with a stare, hating how he clearly had to force himself to look her in the eye.
“What is this, Sir?”
“You know what it is, sub.” Ah, no longer Emily. Back to Club submissive. She set her teeth.
“I’ll accept my correction, but then you and I are going to have a frank and open discussion.”
“Submissives don’t tell Doms what to do,” he nearly growled, keeping his voice low.
“But they are expected to openly communicate, Sir.”
After a pregnant pause, Jordan nodded. “All right. Now strip.”
She removed her clothing with shaky hands, but was determined to see this through. He restrained her on the cross with his usual attention to detail and care, but with a certain stiffness in his movements. His touch didn’t resonate in the same way. Secured, with no mobility other than the squeeze of her fingers on the loops at her wrists and a certain capacity to move her head, Emily waited.
“Twenty, as I promised, and another ten for Master Maurice. For the worry and aggravation.” She detected the ambivalence in her Master’s tone, and her heart cracked.
The whistle of a crop filled the air, and the first strike caught the center of her buttocks, followed in rapid succession by five more before she could really catch her breath. Several after that were laid across her thighs, and the murmur of voices as members straggled in to witness her punishment vied with the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.
Jordan didn’t give her a chance to relax in between any of the blows, and her state of mind wasn’t geared to allow the usual flood of endorphins to take her out of the pain and free her. But then she wasn’t feeling particularly guilt ridden or responsible for the prior evening’s events, other than choosing not to stay and fill in for Olivia. Tears stood in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, enduring her correction until it quite suddenly ceased.
She didn’t think it had been a full count of thirty, but perhaps she’d been in enough discomfort not to notice. She never considered using her safe word, fearful it would signal the end of everything. Jordan took her down carefully, not touching her sexually, and someone handed him a robe he immediately enveloped her in. She bit her lip when the silky fabric stroked against her affronted buttocks and upper thighs, but made no sound. Nor did she look at her Dom, afraid of what she would see. It was bad enough feeling the diffidence in his touch.
When he carried her away from the Club proper and climbed a set of stairs, she forced herself to relax in his hold. As she did so, Jordan, too, shed some of his tension. He shouldered through a door and into a spacious apartment filled with masculine furniture she recalled from when he had flu and she’d cared for him.
“This is your place.”
“Yes. The member rooms were booked and you wanted to talk. But first I need to take care of your welts.”
God. He’d been forced into letting her into his personal space after she’d rejected his offer last night. It wasn’t like when she visited to help him when he was ill. This was all going so wrong. Contenting herself with a nod, she allowed him to lower her onto her belly on his really huge bed made up with dark, luxurious linens. She worked hard at remaining calm, trying to marshal her thoughts in preparation for what was to come.
The soothing coolness of arnica snagged her breath before the sting faded and the welts became a dull sensation. Jordan’s big hands massaged her from her shoulders downward and up again, striving to loosen her tense muscles. When he withdrew, she heard the rustle of fabric and understood he was removing his clothes, not just freeing his cock, and her heart lurched at the implication. Not just about fucking then…
The bed dipped, and he lay on his back beside her. She lifted her head and met his eyes, falling into their depths, searching for what she desperately wanted to believe was available—to her. If only she could recognize it. Jordan blinked, and the moment was lost.
“Can you shift over me? Are you too sore?”
“No.” She rose to her knees, and he helped her straddle him, his heavy erection flirting with her moistening pussy folds.
“We’ll let last night pass, sweetheart. Move on.” Jordan toyed with her collar. “I’m not certain it even deserved a correction, although your safety remains paramount.”
The condition of my heart is paramount, Master. Emily managed to nod, dropping her eyes to survey his developed chest. His hands moved to cover her breasts, lifting their weight and gently squeezing them, trailing his fingertips over her nipples. She rocked against his cock, and the smile she coveted lit up his face.
“Put me inside you.”
Levering upward, she guided the wide head to her gate and slowly, tantalizingly, took him into her body, relishing the way he stretched her to capacity, until he bottomed out at her cervix. Pacing herself, she raised and lowered over the stiff, thick length of him, occasionally swiveling to grind against the hidden nerve-laden patch high in the front of her sheath. Lights sparked behind her eyes each time she made contact with that special place, and her cream flooded down around Jordan’s cock, creating that certain, rich, fluid sound of sexual connection.
He continued to play with her breasts, tweaking the nipples, sometimes to the point of pain, sometimes merely to sensitize her, and she slowly built to a pinnacle, yet was afraid for it to end. She thought she’d lose whatever they had if she climaxed, that little death, and stared down at him, tossing her hair out of the way. His face was strained with pleasure, and he met her eyes, his iris almost liquid chocolate with need. Her hips faltered in their rhythm, and he grip
ped her waist to turn with her, taking over their congress, powering in and out with practiced thrusts. Her G-spot responded with a vengeance, and Emily went over, wrapping up her Dom within a desperate clutch of her sheath, arms, and legs. Jordan moaned his release into her shoulder, and she spoke into the ensuing silence, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“I love you.”
Rolling away, their combined fluids spilling out to coat her thighs, Jordan flopped onto his back. He rubbed a hand across his face and spoke the words she feared the most. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t love anyone. I’m sorry.”
His rejection made her woozy, and pain splintered in a radius around her heart. Maybe she’d chosen the wrong time to say it. But there’d never be a right one. She clambered off the bed and hurried to the attached bathroom. It took a few minutes to clean up, but Jordan didn’t join her and she accepted he’d stated his case. She didn’t plan to give him more time to mouth platitudes and remind her that love was never in their arrangement. As if love could be dictated by a contract.
Entering the bedroom, she found her little pile of clothes beside the robe he’d covered her in downstairs. With true Jordan thoroughness, no matter his obvious discomfort earlier, he’d brought her outfit along with them, and she’d never been so grateful for his dependability. Turning her back to him, she pulled them on quickly as he did what she feared—said and did things to squeeze her heart and rend it further asunder. She rebuffed his offer of finding her another Dom, and then regretted having an outburst about Olivia. Two for two.
The look on Jordan’s face when she challenged his feelings about Olivia told her just how far she’d stepped over the line, and she decided to cut her losses. She wasn’t sure how she’d cope, but he wasn’t her Dom any longer, wasn’t meant to be in her life. She’d figure it out like she always had, and she was a better person, a stronger woman after her time with him. Enough was enough. Onward.
“Good-bye, Jordan.” She slipped out the door and allowed it to shut quietly behind her.
It wasn’t difficult to find the stairs and descend them, hanging tightly to the railing for support, but once she was in the hallway, she had no idea where she might go. It was as if Club Pleasure’s blueprint had turned into a labyrinth in her brain, and she struggled to find the way out. Casting her eyes left, then right, a familiar arch caught her attention, and she made her way in its direction. Her body didn’t seem to belong to her. It moved sluggishly, without impetus, and Emily realized it was because she’d left her heart behind in that room. With Master Jordan.
Well, what had she expected, really? He’d been clear from the start. No matter the way he’d caught her fleeing that second night and enticed her inside, it had all been about training her, releasing her twisted pain, and helping her establish herself. Not about a long-term relationship. Not about love. That in itself had initially been reassuring, and his honesty had inspired her to take the chance, to become the someone she might have been if not for the attentions of her uncle. Peeling all those horrible, confining and blurring labels away without strings. Because she’d known better than to lose her heart. So tell that particular organ the facts then—it had functioned independently from her brain, and now resided in the unwelcoming grasp of Master Jordan Sterling.
A sob tore up her throat, and she swallowed against it. No sense in dwelling on it. He had feelings for her—she believed he loved her, as much as she understood that emotion, but for whatever reason, he lied to himself. And that made him a coward. She didn’t have time for cowards, having only just conquered that weakness herself. Laying it on the table, that famed D/s honesty and communication, had only garnered her the pain of humiliation and the agony of loss. Enough. Enough. Jordan’s edict, way back in beginning, resonated in her head and it straightened her shoulders, focused her mind, and gave her the strength to haul her empty self straight through the Club, past the scene rooms, the meet and greet area, and through the foyer. Mallory passed over her little bag without comment, although the worry was clear in her eyes.
She struggled with the heavy door, and Maurice was instantly there, a concerned look on his face.
“You’re not driving. You’ll wait until I speak with your Master.”
She tested her dissembling skills. “He knows I’m leaving, Master Maurice. And he’s not my Master any longer by mutual accord. I’m released. And now I’m running behind, Sir.” Making an airy gesture, she smiled widely, believing it to be true, and carried it off. So maybe her maladaptive coping skills weren’t all bad after all.
Maurice narrowed his eyes on her, then gave an abrupt nod. “You drive safe. No more speeding tickets.”
She managed a convincing laugh, squeezing out the humorous reminder of that costly ticket. “I won’t. Thank you.”
As she slipped past him and hurried down the steps, he called out, “Maybe give Susan a call. She was saying how she’d like to connect with you.”
Somehow, she kept her gait steady, and called back over her shoulder. “I’d like that.” Not a lie, but no intention. Susan seemed a very nice person, and she had to be special to be with Maurice, but Emily was done with Club Pleasure and anything involving the place.
Her little car crouched in the lot under good lighting and Maurice’s careful eye. She slid into the seat and stabbed the keys at the ignition, missing the first time, the metal scraping along the steering post in a grating sound that made her nerves thrum. But she succeeded on the second attempt, and the engine turned over, thanks to the regular tune-ups Jordan had insisted on, and she threw it in gear, barely remembering to pull out with decorum. She had her pride, after all, battered once again, but maybe the only thing she had left from this debacle, and no way was she giving Maurice a reason to follow up.
Eyes burning, but dry, she drove carefully and steadily in the direction of her apartment, wondering how she was going to face the future without Jordan in it.
* * * *
“She put it out there?”
Jordan stumbled to a halt and realized Maurice was scrutinizing him from his position near the door. Jordan glanced into the bar area where he knew a bottle of Scotch had his name on it, before he answered. No games. Maurice was on top of most of the situations in Pleasure and well versed in gossip. Not that the other man dealt in rumor—he simply was aware.
“She did. After I administered the correction you failed to provide. And I don’t do ultimatums.” Although it hadn’t been one, he reminded himself. Emily had been honest. She needed more from him than he could give. He wasn’t enough for her.
Maurice shrugged. “I’m not her Dom. You using Olivia to hold her off?”
What the fuck? Did everybody think that was true? He forgot where they were standing, forgot the other members within earshot. “Hardly using her. I…care for Olivia. Emily deserves someone who loves her, for her, and not as a substitute. So she moved on. Maybe you’ll help me find a Dom that suits.”
Maurice shook his head. “Months and months. You turned all the single sub training over to the brothers. Focused on couples, something you never liked to do before. You’re pretty much exclusive with Emily aside from the specific job demands. You pretty much see one another every night, do shit together, actually let her into your bed tonight. What’s enough, Jordan?”
A throat cleared behind him, and he whirled to see fucking Fraser. Well, didn’t that make his evening complete? He stared past the man to where Olivia stood, tall and slender in her bustier and thong, simple collar catching the light. Affection swirled through his being, and despite Fraser’s presence he smiled at her. She smiled back, but the rush of desire and desperate need he had experienced when working with her was replaced by something…comfortable. Just like that night he saw her sitting with his submissive. His Emily. It took all his control not to reel back at the discovery, but he tore his eyes from Olivia and looked again at Fraser.
“Excuse me. My apologies.”
Maurice stepped into the breach. “Join Susan and me for
a drink, Jordan. She’s been cooling her heels all evening, and I promised her some time with other members.”
Numb, Jordan inclined his head and stepped aside to allow Fraser to escort Olivia down the hall in the direction of a member room. They lived a fair distance from Austin because of Olivia’s business, and stayed the night if they visited Pleasure. He remembered Olivia telling him about Fraser needing to see Trevor about the business occasionally, and nothing else, because they hadn’t had much to talk about. Theirs had been a…business arrangement, nothing more. Epiphany.
He accompanied Maurice to where Susan waited. The lovely blonde went to her knees before her Dom, face alight with pleasure upon seeing him. Maurice rested his hand with infinite gentleness on the crown of her head and then urged her to her feet, guiding her to a comfortable corner seating arrangement where he bade her sit while he fetched them drinks.
Despite his whirling thoughts, Jordan noted how carefully Susan eased her buttocks onto the cushion, and she met his assessing stare with a rueful glance. Butt plug. Or a sore bottom hole. Maurice made no apology for his desires and expectations of a woman, yet Jordan had never seen anything but love and joy on Susan’s face whenever Maurice was around. She was content in her role, well served, protected, and loved. As Emily might have been, if only he hadn’t worked so hard at rejecting the fact she’d become more than his Club submissive.
“Scotch, neat.” Maurice handed him a glass then sat to help Susan onto his lap, holding a glass of clear liquid to her lips. She sipped and gave him a smile, curling into his broad chest. Jordan ached at the sight, beginning to appreciate and suffer actual, real loss.
Enough [Club Pleasure 7] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 10