Enough [Club Pleasure 7] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Allyson Young

  The conversation was desultory, and he’d be hard-pressed to relay what they actually talked about. When he witnessed the joy in his fellow Dom’s eyes as Susan called him Master, Jordan couldn’t remain basking in their obvious happiness any longer.

  “Long night. Good to see you both.”

  Refusing to see the pity that would no doubt be apparent on their faces, he hustled to his quarters, needing privacy to explore this evening’s revelation. Not that he didn’t accept it for what it was. All the prior months of being with Emily, training her, connecting with her…yet withholding the one thing she’d known to be true. He was a fucking idiot and an utter coward. Oh, and blind. And stupid. He’d been afraid of not being enough for Emily and used the excuse of avoiding heartbreak to withhold. He’d never been in love with Olivia. In love with the concept of Olivia, aware, deep in his gut, of her unavailability, welcoming the safe challenge. Fuck. This was all about him and that sneaky, crippling belief he wasn’t good enough.

  There was no tangible reason for that conviction, no horrible childhood incident, unlike what Emily had suffered, no neglect or abuse by his parents. Merely the horribly pervasive indication that his sister was the long awaited child, his birth ranking incidental because of his gender. Obtaining the degree was for the sole purpose to analyze and cure what ailed him, and it helped him to understand his need for control in all aspects of his life, but he didn’t feel worthy to practice in the real world. Intellectually, he accepted he’d been powerless against being conceived as male, of being the first born, but his brain couldn’t convince his inner self. The belief was too deeply ingrained by people who should have loved him for him, instead of not at all. So the degree wasn’t otherwise helpful because one didn’t provide therapy to the public that included erotic pain, let alone some serious fucking.

  Jordan snorted out loud. He was done with self-analyzing. Emily thought he was enough for her. Because she loves you despite her own past and despite your efforts to hold her at bay. He was done resisting how that defined him. It was time he trusted his sub—the way she trusted him. Trusted. Past tense. Fuck. Maybe he could retrieve this. It wasn’t too late. Maurice had called him on it in time. He had to believe that. Because if she wouldn’t come back, there was nothing in this life for him, and if that wasn’t love, he had no idea what he might call it. Grabbing a jacket and his cell, he stalked out, taking the stairs two at a time, striding down the hallway past Club members. He registered their speculative stares, but ignored them, just as he avoided any attempts at conversation. He had a sub to find and some serious explaining to do.

  * * * *

  But Emily wasn’t at home, her parking spot empty. Jordan pounded on her door anyhow, drawing the attention of her neighbors who shook their heads as to her whereabouts. Where the hell would she go? He was concerned. She was in fet wear, and her short coat wouldn’t cover her long bare legs if she went somewhere public. And she wouldn’t be able to walk far on those heels. She shouldn’t even be driving in them. His worry built.

  He knew Ross and Elise were away for a few days, consulting some medical specialists, so she couldn’t be there. Lois was pregnant and Emily wouldn’t impose, and everyone else in their group was at Pleasure. An old boyfriend? Jordan shook his head. Emily’s past relationships wouldn’t have carried forward because she hadn’t really connected. Not like she connected with you, asshole. Fuck. His heart and body knew Emily for who she was, but he just hadn’t allowed his brain to acknowledge it.

  Sitting in his vehicle, he wracked his brain for any possible place she might have gone to, and came up with nothing, so decided to wait for her to return. She had to come home sometime. That cat of hers would expect it. Lord knew she’d hustled home to take care of the animal every morning they’d taken a member room for the night. His Emily wouldn’t leave someone or something vulnerable without proper care.

  His cell vibrated, and he dragged it from his pocket. Maybe she was calling. But it was a number he was all too familiar with. Club Pleasure.

  “Jon? Did she come back? Is she there?”

  “You wish. She’s at Vice. Jamison’s contact over there called him. He called me.” Jordan shut his eyes. Jamison had met Ivone at Vice, and the Dom compared the two Clubs unfavorably. The lack of protocol suited the man at the time, but Jami had changed his tune after marrying Ivone and introducing her around Pleasure.

  “What’s she doing there?” As if he didn’t know.

  “Looking to do a scene. I don’t know what’s going on here. Seems I keep finding out stuff after the fact. No wonder Patrick felt we were driving him insane.”

  “Jon. For God’s sake.” He urged his fellow Dom back on track.

  “Oh, yeah. She told this Master Lee she wanted a beating.”

  “Can you tell that Dom her Master is on his way?”

  “Already did. Good luck. Don’t fuck it up.”

  Chapter Seven

  The decision to attend Club Vice was an impetuous one, hardly well thought out. But she found she couldn’t go home and stew over Jordan. She needed something to purge her painful emotions. In a way it was like mixing it up with all those kids at school who were bigger than her and could deliver an ass kicking if she pushed hard enough. Emily needed someone to teach her a lesson, to help her break past this frozen state she was caught within, something to serve as a reminder not to be so fucking stupid again.

  Vice had a less prepossessing look about it than Club Pleasure. The lot wasn’t as well lit, and it looked a little…run down. Kind of like the way she felt. Emily carefully locked the doors on her vehicle and stuffed the keys in her purse, wrapping the strap around her forearm. The walk to the front door took forever, and was like every other time she’d tried something new. A dull foreboding filled her mind, and she welcomed it.

  A huge man, bigger even than Master Maurice, lurked at the door, the coal of his cigarette glowing in the dark. She felt the weight of his eyes on her and ate up the fear and worry it ignited. Time to feel something other than this horrible cold sensation.

  “You a member?” She scented his musk behind the burning of tobacco.

  “I’m not. I’m a member at Pleasure. I thought there was a reciprocal arrangement.” She was certain she’d heard others talking about it.

  “Uh-huh. There is. But you’re collared.”

  With a deft flick of her fingertips, Jordan’s collar came loose—he hadn’t bothered with one of those tiny locks all of the other submissives’ collars were secured with—and she dropped it in her purse where it tinkled against the keys.

  “Not anymore.”

  A harsh bark of laughter sounded, and the bouncer’s hard face softened for an instant. “You’re a feisty sub. Well, you’re in luck. Not a lot of single submissives around tonight, and a surplus of Doms. If you want a scene, fill out the form, park your things, and head on in. Master Lee is dungeon monitor tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Emily walked past him as he hauled the door open, and he patted her ass. Definitely different that her Club. Make that her former Club.

  Gritting her teeth, she approached the small cloakroom area, deciding all Clubs probably held the same premise if not the same class. A buxom redhead sporting a collar and not much else, cast a glance down her body as Emily shrugged out of her coat and handed it over, taking only the small membership card from her purse before giving the other woman that as well.

  “Pleasure? Oh, okay. Ray passed you through. Fill this out and take it to Master Lee. Ladies’ choice.” The submissive dropped one heavily shadowed eyelid in a wink, and Emily mustered a smile.

  The application was complicated. She filled out the personal information as briefly as possible and ticked nothing off but the section for beatings. After dashing her signature across the bottom, she set out to find this Master Lee.

  The smell of aroused bodies and the sweat of exertion and sex filled the air, as did the cries and moans of those involved in play, presumably on the receiving end of the smac
ks and blows resounding to her now-trained ear.

  “Are you looking for me?” A handsome blond man wearing the ubiquitous leathers and a fine linen shirt smiled down at her.

  “Master Lee?”

  “That’s right, honey. And you are?”

  “Emily Prentiss.” She handed over her ID.

  “This says Brown.”

  “I was Brown. I’ve gone back to Prentiss.” Brown had been a disguise, and she no longer required one. Jordan had stripped that away from her, and it no longer gave her any comfort. Nor did Prentiss, for that matter, but her birth name felt like it fit her perfectly now—she should have known better than to try and outstrip her past.

  “And you’re here for a beating.” Master Lee scanned the form. “Nothing else.

  “Yes, please.”

  A smile melted the frost in pale-blue eyes. “A polite little piece. But, no sex, Emily? Not any kind of sexual touching as a reward?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Well, that narrows your options. There’s one Dom who is interested only in letting his sadist out, and he hasn’t scened tonight. You interested?”

  “Please.” God, couldn’t he hear how badly she needed this? Her chest was so tight her lungs couldn’t draw in air and her heart was shriveling with every second that passed. He seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time.

  “I’ll introduce you then, but first, who’s your Master at Pleasure?”

  “I don’t have a Master.”

  He snapped at her, all hint of a lighter, softer side vanishing. “Don’t prevaricate, sub. Or you’ll be put out.”

  “Master Jordan Sterling.” Emily thought never to have to say that name again, and her throat burned as dry as her eyes.

  “One of the House Doms?”

  There was no point in trying to explain the convoluted relationship, so Emily nodded.

  “Didn’t give you what you needed? The training didn’t suit you?”

  “That’s right.” No lie.

  “Hmmm. Haven’t heard that before. Well, wait here while I register you.”

  She stood, shifting from foot to foot while the dungeon monitor went into an office just off the entryway, catching a glimpse of a desk and chair before he shut the door. Her need to be taken from this reality escalated, and she resolutely didn’t think about Jordan.

  “Okay.” She flinched, wondering how long she’d been waiting, lost in her cold fog, as Master Lee stepped to her. “Come along, Emily Prentiss. Master Dominic is hanging around the punishment room.”

  Keeping her eyes trained on Master Lee’s nice ass, she followed him past a darkened lounge area, just visible from the corner of her eye on her right, and down a winding hallway. She ached so badly, and wished for him to hurry and find her this sadist.

  Entering what was little more than an alcove, he nodded to a tall, powerfully built Dom, probably on the far side of fifty, but who retained a full head of dark hair. The man straightened up from his lean against a piece of equipment and ambled over to where Emily and Master Lee stood.

  “Lee? Looking for me?”

  “Brought you a sub, Dominic.” Master Lee thrust her application at the other man, who skimmed it, raising his head to look her over in a frighteningly thorough manner, before turning his attention back to it.

  “Tawse or single tail, sub?” There was no mercy in his tone, merely cool interest.

  “Master’s choice.” At least she remembered the right thing to say.

  “Your safe word?”

  “Uncle.”

  “Strip.” Well, that was getting right to it, exactly what she wanted. And hopefully what she needed, but she should have specified the need for clothing on the damn form. Master Lee raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. Master Dominic looked thunderous.

  “Leave on whatever you’ve got covering your sweet pussy, Emily,” the dungeon monitor decreed.

  “No.” Master Dominic waved the paper clutched in his huge hand.

  “Take it or leave it, Master D. She’s a newbie here and her training at Pleasure wasn’t to her taste, so tend to her request and save the rest for negotiation at a later date—if you please her.” Master Lee was adamant.

  “Depends what she’s wearing. I’m not going to risk cutting her up if her ass is covered by silk or satin.”

  “I’m wearing a thong,” she offered, and the two men looked at her as if a figurine had spoken. Whoops.

  But Master D inclined his head and gestured. Emily stripped quickly, pretending she was elsewhere, and when his hand touched her elbow, she went willingly to the cross. She felt his eyes on her but couldn’t go there.

  He restrained her on the huge X with the skill of considerable practice, and she fought against making unnecessary comparisons to a certain other Dom. Rubbing every inch of exposed skin with brisk expertise, Master D ensured she was prepared for his beating, waking up all the nerve endings present in the top layer of her skin. He remarked on the welts she already sported but didn’t comment further when she said nothing to explain them. Emily stayed in the moment only with considerable effort, afraid she’d weep and deter him.

  The whisper of something shaking out brought her to the height of extreme awareness, and then a crack split the air. Master D had made a practice throw, and she was about to get what was coming to her. Never having experienced the single tail, she felt a frission of concern, but it couldn’t hurt any more than the state of her chest.

  “Stand down.” Master Jordan’s voice wasn’t raised, or even very loud, but the authority in his tone required neither. Emily closed her eyes tightly and wished to be transported somewhere, anywhere. She couldn’t do this any longer.

  “Sterling.” Master D acknowledged Jordan much in the same way her Dom spoke Cameron Fraser’s name.

  “Emily is my submissive. I have no idea what she’s doing here or what she thinks she needs, but it won’t be provided by your hand.”

  Who the fuck did he think he was? They no longer had an arrangement! He’d rejected her as effectively as any termination of their contract. She was at a disadvantage, restrained, and with her back to him, but she still had another extremely effective means of communication. Opening her mouth to deliver a blistering assault, Master D beat her to it.

  “She told Master Lee she found her training lacking, and she wears no collar. Came here for a beating. So she’s obviously not your submissive—if she ever was—and you can haul your ass out of here and back to your perfect Club.”

  Jordan’s angry growl was nearly lost in Emily’s realization she’d been caught in the middle of a pissing match. The two Clubs were obviously in competition, and it wasn’t pretty. She’d obviously made a huge faux pas in the unwritten rules about BDSM Club hopping. About to demand their attention, and her release, the dungeon monitor arrived to forestall her, his voice a beacon of calm that quickly deteriorated into a challenge.

  “You got here pretty quick, Sterling. I kinda envisioned your sub getting a taste of what we offer.”

  “I appreciate the heads-up, Orchard. But she’s my submissive, wearing her collar or not, and I’m taking her home with me now.”

  “He’s not my Dom.” Emily interrupted the conversation, not finding it at all exciting today to be discussed as property.

  Master Lee Orchard skirted the cross to consider her. Jordan accompanied him, but she refused to look in his direction. The dungeon monitor nodded, turning to Jordan and gesturing to the other side of the room. Jordan reached out to catch her chin so he could stare into her face, his eyes filled with anger and something else. Something she had hoped for. But now, not so much. Some of the old Emily was back, the lack of discipline undermining the need for honesty and self-control. She was pushing people away again, unwilling to take the risk. She closed her eyes against him, opening them only when she felt him move away.

  She couldn’t hear the conversation, but it appeared less than amiable. Jordan’s tall, broad frame was stiff and loomed over the shorter dungeon monitor
, who, nevertheless, didn’t back away. She looked at Master D, who now stood before her, a long, heavy whip coiled in his hand. “I need to leave. Please, Sir.”

  Master D’s face didn’t change, and she read his need to finish what they’d started, except there was no way she could do that now. His burning eyes softened a tad, and he nodded, reaching to release her binds. “Don’t fuck this up, sub.”

  Emily blinked back the sudden rush of tears and swallowed. “He fucked it up, Sir. I’m done.”

  “We Doms aren’t perfect, Emily. Sometimes our subs need to cut us some slack. Give us a chance to make amends.” The abrupt gentleness in his tone, such a contrast to his harsh, unforgiving exterior, pulled the tears to the forefront. They brimmed and spilled over, but she resolutely kept her voice from trembling. He rested a big hand on her shoulder.

  “I can’t.”

  “Maybe not now, but begging isn’t an affront to pride. Not in this Lifestyle. Maybe not in any lifestyle.”

  She shook her head and bit her lip. Master Dominic shrugged and stepped back, allowing her to make her way to pull on her clothes and rush from the room while Jordan was occupied. It seemed he was easily distracted from her, and she refused to consider the fact Master Lee now had a hand wrapped in the fabric of Jordan’s shirt and their conversation was obviously close to erupting into violence. She regretted causing trouble between the two Clubs.

  The journey of a few dozen yards to the front door stretched out like a hundred miles, an extremely lonely distance. Emily felt a number of eyes on her and kept her own on the floor until she gained the relative safety of the cloak room. Another sub followed her in but said nothing, and Emily was grateful. She knew the other woman had been sent to ensure she was okay and watch over her. Vice might be a rougher, less discreet club that Pleasure, but people still cared about one another. Quickly using the facilities and putting herself to rights, grabbing her coat and purse, she nodded to the other woman and left, past the redhead and Ray the bouncer, out into the night.