The Princess Sub: Club Volare Boston

by Chloe Cox

  Sierra almost wanted to laugh. How could she explain that the moment he’d touched her, the world had seemed manageable? It was nuts, and it made no sense. It definitely made no sense that she could still feel where his arm had been, that it still felt warm. There was cold, too, because he wasn’t touching her anymore. And that was how Sierra discovered that the combination of warmth and cold actually feels hot as hell.

  “Princess,” Conor said. His voice was gentle, but still somehow…insistent. He wasn’t asking.

  She blinked. Ok. Yes. Right. Reality. She was standing in the vestibule of a big ol’ mansion while twenty feet away people were mingling and pretending not to stare. She had a job to do.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Was that guy…?”

  “Event security will hold him, and I’ll follow up. No way to know if he was really a danger. The guys who are trouble tend to look just like the guys who aren’t.”

  “So they all get the stiff arm?” Sierra said.

  “They do if they’re coming at you, Princess.”

  A beat.

  Sierra made the mistake of making eye contact. Those eyes should be registered weapons.

  But it wasn’t just the eyes, or the way he was looking at her.

  It was that she believed him.

  She believed, for the first time in her life, that someone would protect her. It hit her deep, in a place that she hadn’t known still existed inside her, and for a second she couldn’t speak. And they’d only just met.

  Whoa, there, crazy lady. Pull on back.

  This wasn’t personal. Conor wasn’t protecting her because he cared about her. He was protecting her because it was his job, and he was good at it. Hell, from what Sierra could tell, he didn’t think much of her or her life, personally.

  And she needed to remember that.

  Suddenly, Conor grinned.

  “I warned you about that dress,” he said.

  Sierra laughed despite herself, covering her mouth as people in the party who were pretending not to look stopped pretending.

  “I do need to know that you’re ok,” he said, gentler this time.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I promise.”

  And yet she didn’t want to move from that spot, where Conor was looking at her, and she was looking right back.

  “Sierra!”

  Turning to see Gina Golden, the director of the Boston Children’s Society, making a beeline for her was way more difficult than it should have been. Sierra smiled into it even as Conor dropped back behind her, a silent, intimidating-as-hell sentry that was apparently just going to loom over her sexily so that she would never be able to fully concentrate again. Sierra was actually fine with this.

  “Hi Gina,” she said. “This is my bodyguard, Conor Kelly.”

  Gina swallowed, and looked up — probably everyone looked up when meeting Conor. Conor nodded at her.

  Sierra smiled. She liked Gina, she liked the Boston Children’s Society, and she was determined to help them out, both with cash and with whatever she had to do to get them some publicity. And now, for once, she felt kind of safe. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be too bad.

  And then, of course, her brother Jared ruined it.

  Five

  Situational awareness might be another word for hypervigilance, but whatever you called it, it worked. Conor saw Jared Fiore coming a mile away.

  The treacherous little shit.

  Sierra was reassuring the charity lady that the kids would never have to worry, and they wouldn’t have to grovel for help from her, they could just count on it every year — Conor’s brain stuck on that, something in his chest responding to it, but he’d have to come back to it later. Because Jared Fiore saw this woman treating Sierra like she was the important Fiore, and little dude just couldn’t handle it.

  Jared hadn’t noticed him yet. He wouldn’t until Conor wanted him to. And as Jared closed in, it turned out Conor wanted him to fucking notice.

  He almost stepped forward. Almost put a hand on Jared’s shoulder, almost bent down, let him know that he was not long for this world. This was the bastard who’d paid for Mikey’s murder, who’d betrayed his own father. Who Conor knew was planning to take Sierra out the same way, even if he couldn’t prove it yet.

  He could just take his revenge now. Quick, clean. He could do it.

  And there was something in his gut stopping him.

  Conor looked down, in the last few seconds before Jared arrived, at Sierra. It made him angry that Jared even breathed the same air as Sierra. He could feel it, deep in his bones, this itch to make things right. To make it so that she didn’t live with that.

  All of which was a goddamn surprise, because Conor hadn’t felt much of anything since his sister died, and Mikey was murdered, and Granny died. All of that in just a few years. He’d gotten used to not feeling much, and it had been fine with him. Then Jared put his hand on Sierra’s arm, and feeling bloomed in him like a mushroom cloud.

  “Hands off,” he growled.

  Conor grabbed Jared’s arm in a vice-like grip while Jared’s hand was still on Sierra. Everyone fell silent. Conor watched Jared pretend not to wince, and squeezed a little harder. Jared dropped his hand.

  Conor let him go. For now.

  No one spoke.

  “Hello Jared,” the charity lady finally said, trying to break the ice. Gina—that was her name. Gina Golden. Conor would remember that. She didn’t seem to like Jared much either, and with the way Jared was looking down at her, Conor didn’t blame her. That must be what she’d meant by groveling — Jared needed people to beg him before he’d give money to kids. Sierra didn’t.

  “Um, can I get either of you a drink?” Gina Golden said, trying one more time. “We’ve got champagne, and…more champagne. Several kinds of champagne, I think.”

  Sierra laughed, and Gina relaxed just a bit.

  “Maybe just water if you have it?” she said.

  Conor noted that too. Sierra’s whole thing was being a party girl. Sober party girl was more interesting.

  “Champagne,” Jared said shortly, apparently irritated that Gina had spoken.

  Goddamn. Conor didn’t exactly need another reason to dislike the guy, but Jared was handing them out like Halloween candy.

  Gina took her cue, got the hell out. Sierra took a deep breath and turned to face her brother. Conor was very interested to hear what she had to say to him.

  But he didn’t get a chance.

  “Do not fucking embarrass me, Sierra,” Jared hissed.

  “Jared, they invited me for a reason,” Sierra said, gentle as could be. “They just hired a new social media director, and—”

  “I don’t give a flying—”

  But Conor was done.

  “Sierra,” Conor said. “We have to move.”

  And he didn’t wait. He stepped between Sierra and her turd of a brother, feeling Jared bounce off his back like a gnat. He didn’t much care if Jared found his footing or took a face plant in front of the entire event. He was just looking for Sierra’s eyes.

  He caught them and what he saw there quickened that same something in his chest. She was slightly stunned, grateful—but she was also afraid. Conor had seen that before, too. His dead sister used to look like that when Conor got in her abusive ex’s face. Conor had been too young and dumb to know why, at the time. But he was older now. He knew better.

  Sierra had probably been managing Jared’s anger her whole life, and now Conor had stepped in and made him even angrier, made it unpredictable. And Sierra didn’t know that her brother was already a lost cause. Didn’t know that all the strategies she used to manage him so he wouldn’t hurt her or whoever else had stopped working, had maybe never really worked. But Conor knew.

  And while technically it was only his job to protect her from immediate physical threat, he would be damned if he stood there while Jared abused her.

  “Come on, Princess,” he said. “Let’s get you in, out, and home.”

  Sier
ra blinked up at him, a million questions in her eyes. But she nodded. And smiled.

  It was a great fucking smile.

  Conor put his hand on the small of her back, feeling the heat of her as he guided her through the party, scanning everyone who approached to chat with her, keeping an eye on the whole room while his cock screamed for more contact. He wanted more of Sierra’s skin under his hands, more of her body wrapped around his. A steady drumbeat in his head, in his cock, the longer they spent together, the more he saw her move through the world. More.

  Down, boy.

  It was the contact that did it. He didn’t know how it worked, but it did. He knew immediately when something had gone wrong.

  They’d made it through five minutes of networking as he walked her all the way across the great room on the second floor, back to where the bar was. She’d been on, that whole time. But now Sierra’s face was gray, getting grayer.

  “This way,” he said.

  And he pulled her into a—a fucking servant’s staircase?

  He looked up, down. Didn’t like this for the threat model. Too many exit and entry points, and it hadn’t been on the specs he’d been given. That was a problem. But it wasn’t his immediate problem.

  “What’s wrong?” he said. “Your brother?”

  Sierra opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it, and looked at him thoughtfully.

  Conor was going to have to be careful with this one if he didn’t want her to find out the real reason he took this job. She knew it wasn’t kosher for Conor to bounce her brother the way he did. But so far, at least, she didn’t mind it.

  “Funny you should say that,” she said, finally. “But no, this is just…standard.”

  “Standard? You look like you’re going to throw up.”

  Sierra looked up at him, sharply, and then laughed. It was the most they’d talked to each other since they got there, but it was easy to forget they hadn’t already known each other a long time.

  “You really are a sweet talker, aren’t you?” she said. “That’s just what every girl wants to hear when she’s all dressed up at a party.”

  “If you want, I could tell you about your dress again.”

  “How come it doesn’t feel like you’d actually be talking about my dress?”

  Conor grinned. “‘Cause I wouldn’t be,” he said. “Stop dodging. What’s wrong?”

  Sierra’s little smile fell, which was a damn shame, because it made Conor think about all the things he could do with those lips, and she sighed.

  “Stage fright,” she said.

  Totally earnestly. Conor made sure he didn’t laugh.

  “There’s no stage out there, Princess.”

  “Only a man would say something like that,” she said. “My job is weird, ok? It’s performative. So I have to go out there and…perform. And I’ve always had horrible stage fright, so for about ten minutes each time, I feel like I’m going to be sick. It’s not my favorite thing in the world, but I manage. It’s fine.”

  It really wasn’t. She looked like she was in the beginning stages of a panic attack.

  “You do this every time?” he said.

  “Most times,” she said. “My brother doesn’t help. But it’s not a big deal. I’ve been to this event before, and there’s a bathroom up on the second floor. I just need some cold water on my wrists, and a minute or two and I’ll be fine. Really.”

  Conor shook his head. He had no frame of reference for dealing with stage fright at a party, but he could get her to a bathroom. He liked actionable goals.

  The stairs were empty, and by the time they got up to the next landing he was playing it up. He checked the hallway, then the bathroom, then announced, “Clear!”

  She laughed. Good.

  “Oh my God, just let me get to the bathroom.”

  Conor grinned down at her. The bathroom was clear, but it also had a window, and a fire escape outside that window. And Conor’s instincts were firing on overdrive.

  He stopped her, his hand on her arm one last time.

  “Before you go in there, I want to be real clear, Princess,” he said. “I was dead serious when I said I would do whatever I needed to do to keep you safe. So if you pull one of your stunts, that’s on you. But there will be consequences.”

  Sierra’s eyes flashed up at him on the word “consequences.” As the fear receded and was replaced with arousal, her skin flushed a deep, bronze red, and her nipples hardened into very visible points in that damn dress.

  That’s what he liked to see.

  If this woman wasn’t a sub, Conor would hand in his Dom card. And for the first time in his life, Conor found himself thinking about all the ways he could break a newbie in. Good thing he had rules.

  “No kidding, Princess,” he found himself growling. “Consequences.”

  “Understood, Caveman,” she said.

  Then she waltzed right past him and into the bathroom.

  Sierra barely got the bathroom door closed behind her before she lost her mind. She leaned against the blessedly closed door, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth in a silent “what the fuuuuu—”

  Well, at least she wasn’t dealing with stage fright anymore. Now she was just dealing with the terminal hotness of her bodyguard. She hadn’t been this turned on in…ever? Ever. Literally any woman who liked men, and probably some who didn’t, would want Conor Kelly. But then he said things like “consequences,” and she just…

  Her eyes flew open. Was there a way to get nipples to stand down? No?

  She was just going to have to do this event obviously aroused.

  Which was actually way better than what would have happened if Conor hadn’t been there to deal with Jared, when she would have had to do the event obviously distraught. Still, that was going to be a problem later. Sierra knew her brother, and he’d stew in the humiliation for a while before trying to take it out on her. But she would deal with it. She always had.

  And she only had to make it to their birthday, and then she’d be free for good.

  “Ok, time to get to work,” she muttered to herself.

  Sierra checked herself in the mirror. So it might not be totally appropriate, but she had to love what this constant level of horniness did for her complexion. And, well, maybe it almost was appropriate? While Conor had stared down Jared, Gina Golden had confirmed that they really did want Sierra to just do her usual thing. They were looking to rebrand, become relevant to younger people, the whole thing. Which seemed like an odd choice for a children’s charity, but Gina knew more about how the world of charitable giving was changing than Sierra did, so…

  Sierra would do her job.

  Which meant pulling some crazy stunt that would make for good social media coverage, and then the rest would take care of itself. Even if “the rest” included some, um, “consequences.”

  The only question was…what?

  She looked around. Oh Lordy. She thought she remembered this, from the last time she’d been to an event here. There was a fire escape outside the bathroom window. And if Sierra remembered correctly…

  Yup.

  The next mansion over was a fraternity. Boston University, maybe, or one of the other gajillion schools in Boston. And, as fraternities liked to do, they were having a party on the roof.

  Not a big party. But enough of a party.

  Sierra sighed, even as she felt the now familiar mix of dread and excitement course through her. Stage fright, stalker fright, and general discomfort with her job notwithstanding, there was a part of her that liked this. Like, she dreaded it, and she hated having to be fake some of the time, but she did also have a wild side. That wild side was mostly concerned with big, powerful Doms who would, in her fantasies, probably look like Conor Kelly from now on, but it wasn’t like she got to express that side of herself either. Pulling silly stunts at parties was the closest she got.

  Sometimes she wondered what would happen if anyone ever saw the real her, all of her, and then she’d ha
ve to think about something else because it made her too sad. No one had ever been interested in the real her, and she’d gotten used to it. Instead she packaged parts of herself and performed them, and she tried to have fun doing it. Like she was about to do right now.

  I mean, there’s a fire escape, and a roof party. I basically have no choice.

  Sierra opened the window.

  Six

  Conor grinned to himself as he stood outside the bathroom door, hands clasped in front of him, waiting for the sound of a window opening onto a fire escape.

  He’d been real careful to let her know there’d be consequences. And he’d known this was coming. Hell, Kane Lyons had told him most private clients did some version of this in the beginning—they needed to test the boundaries, see what they could get away with.

  Which in Sierra’s case would be absolutely fucking nothing.

  So he knew she’d try to use the fire escape to get to that frat next door the second he saw it. There was always going to be something.

  The only complication was the one he’d asked Kane about.

  Is she a sub?

  Is she a member?

  No answer on the first question, but Conor hadn’t expected one. If Kane knew, he wouldn’t out anyone, and the man didn’t know. But she wasn’t a member of the Club. He’d been very clear about that. And Club Volare was the only place a kinky woman like her would belong.

  So. Either Sierra was so far back in the kinky closet she was practically in Narnia, or she didn’t know what the hell she was. But Conor knew. She was a bratty sub.

  And as long as Sierra didn’t know what she was doing, he had to use kid gloves.

  Too bad Conor hadn’t owned a pair of kid gloves in his entire life.

  That was why he was smiling as he waited for the sound of that window opening to let him know the game was on. And it was definitely the only damn reason he was smiling as Jared Fiore came up the main staircase looking for his sister.

  This time it was different. No one else around, no one else to see.