by L. A. Witt
“Not your kink? We’ll come up with something else.” HIs fingers brushed a sensitive spot on my neck where I was pretty sure a bruise was about to blossom, if it hadn’t already. “I, um, have a good friend with close ties to the local scene. Want to have lunch with him tomorrow?”
Him? Instant jealousy tore through me. “Who are we talking about?”
“I can’t tell you his name without his permission, but you’ll probably recognize him. He’s pretty well known in his field.”
“So he knows how to be discreet?”
Jase nodded.
“How’d you meet him?”
“He’s hosted private parties at his house off and on the past few years.”
“If he’s so discreet, how did you get invited?”
“Same way you will—through a friend.” He leaned in for a kiss. “Anything else you want to know?”
“Did he, um…” Fuck. How was I supposed to talk with my face growing hotter by the second? “I mean, were you—”
“You trying to ask if he was my master?”
An image flashed through my mind—Jase, on his knees, naked except for a band of leather locked around his neck. Damn, now I was shivering.
Jase grabbed a throw blanket and tucked it around me. Always taking care of me. It was his job, but I got the feeling he enjoyed it. “I wore his collar for a while, though he was really more of a mentor than a master. He taught me a lot. We’ve got a few more weeks at least until the band heads back out on the road, so I thought you might like to meet him, maybe go up to his house for a party.”
Meet the man powerful enough to dominate a guy like Jase? Holy shit. “If he invites us.”
“He will.” He smoothed my hair back from my face and kissed me again, slow and deep.
What wouldn’t I give to lock out the rest of the world, take some time to rest and recharge? God knew I needed it. Five years of damn near constant touring had left me creatively dead, if the shitty lyrics I’d been scribbling the past couple of weeks were any clue. “You deserve a little fun. So let’s have some.”
“Why not?” I smiled and kissed him again. In another few weeks... no, I didn’t want to think about that. Right now Daniel was safe and taken care of, and Jase and I had each other, for as long as it lasted. We might as well enjoy it.
* * *
I’d forgotten what it was like to eat out in a restaurant like a normal person. On the road we usually ordered room service or sent someone out for food. Anything else was a security nightmare, especially if the whole band wanted to go. I was used to heads snapping around whenever I walked through a door, but for once no one paid us any attention, except the maître d’, who smiled when he saw Jase.
“Mr. Hewitt, how good to see you. It’s been a while.” He picked up a pair of leather-bound menus. “I assume you’re joining Mr. Carr?”
Jase nodded, and we followed the man back.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, but this spacious open-beamed dining room wasn’t it. The maître d’ kept walking, leading us through a set of wide double doors onto a patio overlooking the ocean. I rarely strayed from my own little corner of Malibu, but how did I miss hearing about this place? A sprinkling of other famous faces explained why the maître d’ hadn’t made a fuss over me, and—
There was the man we’d come to see. He stood as we approached the table, holding out his hand to Jase, and—
He was short. A couple of inches shorter than me, at least. Salt and pepper hair and beard, clad in a tailored gray suit, just like one I had hanging in my closet. Distinguished-looking—even hot, if you liked the professor type. And yet, I couldn’t stop my heart from sinking.
Jase had willingly submitted—on his knees—to this guy?
I’d dreamed up an image of the man—physically imposing enough to toss Jase aside with a flick of his pinky, muscles on top of muscles—but this guy didn’t come close—
Until he turned his gaze on me, and Jesus Christ, it was like I’d been bolted to the floor. I couldn’t fucking move. Couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were—a mixture of green, blue and gray flecked with gold—but they went through me like razor-sharp ice.
“...And this is Jordan,” Jase said, his hand skimming my shoulder. “Jordan, meet Robert Carr.”
Never mind the man’s eyes—his handshake nearly undid me. Firm, with just a hint of pain, as if saying, “I could drop you to your knees right now.”
Of that, I have no doubt. “Great meeting you finally,” I said, silently kicking myself. What kind of fucking inane opening was that?
Those amazing, freeze-you-to-the-spot eyes crinkled. “How much has Jase told you about me?”
Jesus, his voice—low-pitched, with a smooth, borderline cruel undertone that took me out at the knees. “He’s hit the highlights. Which make you sound pretty intriguing.” He laughed, thank God. Which hopefully meant he didn’t think I was that big of an idiot. I pasted on a smile as we sat down. The maître d’ poured ice water and left us to look over the menu.
The view distracted me, though. I could see the ocean from my house, but there was something about seeing it sitting in a public place with Jase at my side that made it seem... different. Shiny and new.
A strong breeze wafted through, but we were sitting back far enough that it only ruffled our hair—well, okay, mine. “Gorgeous place,” I commented.
Robert looked up from his menu with a smile. “Thank you.”
“Are you the owner?”
“Just the architect.”
“Robert’s designed a number of prominent buildings around town,” Jase said. “What was your last project? That new exhibit hall over at the Norton Simon Museum?”
The waiter scurried over to take our order the second we set down our menus, then scurried away when we were done.
Robert waited until the man was out of earshot before saying, “I understand you’re relatively new to our community.”
I met Jase’s gaze over the rim of my water glass. “Not new so much as unconnected, I guess.” I shrugged. “It’s a hassle going out in public when everyone knows your face.”
“Several of my friends have the same problem.” Our waiter came back to pour the wine Robert ordered. Robert swirled his glass, sampled it, then gave the nod for the man to fill my and Jase’s glasses. Again, he waited for the waiter to walk away before saying anything. “Which is why they come to my house to play.”
My breath caught. Was he actually inviting us? “How long have you been…?”
“In the scene? Most of my adult life. Long before BDSM became so trendy”—the sour quirk of his lips told me exactly what he thought of that—“and so difficult to keep under the radar.”
“Which you do, right? Otherwise I would’ve heard of you and your parties before.”
God, he had beautiful hands. Slender, tapered fingers sliding up and down the stem of his glass—and if that was a come-on, I was ready to drop to my knees right here.
“I’ve been giving parties in this town for close to twenty years,” he said. “No one’s ever found out about them, apart from the people I chose to invite.”
Which should’ve been encouraging, except for the skeptical glint in his eyes. Was he trying to figure out if I was for real?
“Look, I’m not some idiot thrill-seeker. This is my... it’s the only thing that…” I lowered my tone, shooting Jase a “little help here?” glance. “I’ve tried normal, um, I mean, vanilla sex, and it just doesn’t—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Jase said. “Robert already knows.” He slid his hand over mine, and for a moment I was too busy holding my breath to scan the room making sure no one was looking.
“I wouldn’t have told you as much as I have if I didn’t intend to invite you,” Robert said quietly. “Not that Jase would ever bring anyone objectionable to the house, but it’s Renee’s and my steadfast rule never to invite anyone we haven’t met in person.”
“Renee?”
“My wife. She
’s a Dominant as well.”
Really? How does that work?
Thank God I had the presence of mind not to say it aloud. Instead, I said, “Guess she doesn’t object to the parties?”
“They were her idea, actually.” Robert reached for his wine. “You’ll understand why when you meet her.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jase
On the way out of the restaurant, Jordan was quiet. That didn’t surprise me. Though he’d never said as much, I always had the impression he was ashamed of his kinks, or was at the very least extremely self-conscious about them. It must’ve been weird for him to have a matter-of-fact, unabashed conversation about those things.
“It’s more common than you might think,” Robert had casually said as he watched the red wine swirling in his glass. “I can’t even count how many people have asked about breath play at my parties.”
Jordan’s eyes had widened a little, but he didn’t reply.
“Is it allowed at the parties?” I’d asked quietly, knowing the answer but wanting Jordan to hear it from Robert.
My friend shook his head. “Sadly, no. It’s just too dangerous.” Over the rim of his glass, he’d met Jordan’s eyes. “I get the kink, and I’m not judging, but we had a close call at a party a couple of years ago. The liability is…” He grimaced, and then sipped his wine.
And as we walked out after agreeing to take Robert up on this weekend’s invitation, I could only imagine the thoughts running through Jordan’s head. He hadn’t even reacted much to Robert explaining that breath play was banned from the parties—I’d hoped for at least something to let me know how he felt about it, but either he was still processing everything, or he’d seen it coming a mile away and wasn’t surprised. He’d still agreed without hesitation to come to Saturday night’s party. Maybe he was just curious what went on at these things. Maybe he wanted to be around like-minded people enough that he was willing to forego his own kinks for a night.
As we inched down the freeway in the tail end of rush hour, I glanced at him. “So, you’re game for this weekend?”
“Yeah.” The leather upholstery creaked softly as he shifted in the seat. “You, um, go to these things a lot?”
“I haven’t been to one recently, but I’ve been to a few.”
Jordan turned toward me, a playful smirk on his lips. “Is that ‘a few’ like once in a blue moon? Or ‘a few’ like Grandma only has ‘a few’ drinks at Thanksgiving?”
A laugh burst out of me. “I used to go fairly regularly. Stopped when I got more involved with music and being on the road, though.”
“Lost interest or no time?”
“Both. Mostly time, but I was also with someone who was way too fucked up to be involved in that stuff.”
“Oh really?”
I glanced at him again, and saw the unspoken question in his eyes. Facing the road again, I rested the heel of my hand on top of the wheel. “We’ve all got our issues, but Eric… he was barely lucid half the time. There was no way we could get into anything kinky. Hell, sometimes I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or high.”
“You couldn’t tell?” There was an odd edge to the words. Not just disbelief, but a hint of horror.
“Not always, no.”
“Oh.” Jordan’s voice sounded hollow.
“Eric was really good at hiding it,” I said quietly. “Really good. If he went on a hardcore bender, obviously I could tell, but if he’d just snorted a little blow or popped a couple of pills…” I shook my head. “He could hide it too well, so I didn’t dare do anything even remotely kinky with him.”
Jordan said nothing. He stared out the window. As the silence went on, I berated myself for even mentioning my ex’s drug problem. That was just what Jordan needed to think about after seeing Daniel at the rehab center. If he was anything like me, he was running through every sober memory he had of Daniel, scrutinizing everything he could recall to figure out if his friend had been high or not. And if he was anything like me, he’d drive himself insane before we passed the next milepost.
I cleared my throat. “So, um, this weekend. You’re still okay with going? Even if”—I hesitated for a second. “Even if I can’t choke you?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m curious about the whole scene.”
Lengthy silence threatened to set in again, and that would give Jordan time to think, so I kept the conversation going as best I could.
“Out of curiosity, have you ever tried any other kinks besides choking?” I asked. “Pain play? Any of that?”
“Not really. A little bit of pain, but I guess it’s probably tame compared to the things people do at these parties.”
I shrugged. “Everyone likes different things. I’ve seen one guy who couldn’t deal with more than a pair of nipple clamps, and there’s a woman there who pretty much can’t even come without being caned until her skin’s raw.”
“Caned?” He turned to me, and when I glanced at him, his eyes were wide.
“Yeah.” I grinned. “You’ve never heard of it?”
“I’ve heard of it, just never knew anyone who did it.” Though I was watching the road, I could feel him watching me.
“Some people do.” My heart beat a little faster as I added, “Would you want to try it?”
“I… um. Maybe?”
“We can work up to it.” I reached across the console, and though I didn’t look, I found his thigh without fumbling around. “Maybe some flogging first. A singletail. Something like that.”
Jordan shuddered. In a good way or a bad way? I glanced at him, and the way he bit his lip when he met my eyes, and the slight unsteadiness of his hand as it rested on mine… yeah, it was a good shudder.
Facing the road again, I swallowed hard and wondered when my mouth had gone dry.
Jordan’s fingers slipped between mine. “What makes you think I’d be game for that kind of thing? Pain?”
Besides the way just saying it has you out of breath?
“Call it a hunch.”
He laughed quietly. “Something must’ve tipped you off.”
I shrugged. “I guess I’m just wondering what it is about being choked that gets you off.” I glanced at him again before focusing on the road. “And if maybe there’s something else that’ll scratch the same itch without being quite so dangerous.” I paused. “Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not judging or trying to tell you there’s something defective about what you want. But if there’s something safer that can do the same thing for you…”
Jordan didn’t speak. I didn’t try to fill the silence this time. I wasn’t sure I could. Not with his warm, slightly damp hand almost trembling on top of mine. And sure as fuck not with thoughts of him bent over, shirtless, with welts scoring his back and shoulders. Fuck, he’d probably even let me draw blood.
This time, I was the one who shuddered.
Jordan didn’t say anything for a long moment. I still had no idea what to say.
Finally, he asked, “How much experience do you actually have with all of this?”
“I’ve… been around the community. Quite a bit.” I gripped the wheel a little tighter with my free hand. “I’ve had a Dom. Couple of subs.”
“And they were into, uh, pain?”
God, yes, they were. So into it.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, so I just nodded.
“You have a favorite thing?” he asked. “To do to your, um, subs?”
Besides making them scream?
“Caning.” One word had never required so much breath.
His fingers twitched on top of mine. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” I busied myself with changing lanes and getting around some jackass who thought the speed limit was fifty, which gave me something to do besides looking at Jordan. “I haven’t done it as often as I’d like. A sub has to… he’s got to trust me fully before I’ll start messing around with stuff like that. But if we’re on the same wavelength, and everything goes right?” I whistl
ed. And shifted a little because goddamn my brain for showing me Jordan’s lean back crisscrossed with angry red welts. I gritted my teeth to keep from making a not-so-subtle adjustment below my seatbelt.
“Sounds hot,” Jordan said.
“It is. Believe me.” And that train of thought was going to turn me into a drooling idiot before too long, so I gave a quiet cough and said, “One of these days, I’ll have to show you my collection of toys. I have a feeling you’d enjoy some of them.”
Well, so much for doing something about that hard-on.
“One of these days?” Jordan said playfully. “Why wait?”
I glanced at him.
Jesus Christ. He wasn’t kidding.
Oh hell. Why not?
“Uh. Okay. My place isn’t far from here.” Another glance. “You really want to?”
He flashed me a toothy grin. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I parked at the foot of my apartment building. We walked up to the second floor, and holy fuck, Jordan was at my doorstep. At my apartment, waiting for me to let him inside so he could see my collection of kinky implements. This was too weird for words, but hadn’t everything between us been that way?
I hesitated before I turned the key, wondering for a panicked second if the place was presentable. I wasn’t a slob by nature, but I didn’t spend a lot of time here anymore, and I had been known to use my sofa as a laundry basket when I was too rushed—or lazy—to fold everything.
Oh well. Too late to turn back now.
I unlocked the door and opened it, and thank God, I had cleaned the place up last time I was here for more than a few hours. Aside from the stack of bills and statements I hadn’t gotten around to shredding, and a few sets of gym clothes—clean, of course—draped over the back of a chair, it was in a state I could almost show to my mother.
With the door closed behind us, I watched Jordan look around, wondering what he thought of the place. It was small, maybe six hundred square feet all told. Microscopic compared to his five thousand plus square foot house on the hill, but it was perfect for me.