The Princess Sub: Club Volare Boston

by Chloe Cox

  Time slowed down.

  Conor remembered this feeling from the field. It was like whiplash. The slight shock of your body switching gears on a dime, going from joking around with your buddies to life or death in a split second. His heart rate picked up, his senses slid into overdrive, and all feeling went offline until all that was left was the hyperarousal of adrenaline. It was like a numbness, a coldness creeping back into his body, cutting off everything except the voice that tells him to take that fucker out. In that split second, he went back to being the man with the dead heart.

  And he only noticed it because it was a switch. He’d been in that constant low-grade fight response for a long, long time. Pretty much since everyone he cared about had died in the space of a couple years. There’d been no room for anything else. Until recently.

  That was fucking weird, and something he would have to deal with later. But right now he needed to deal with Jared.

  The little traitor was pretending not to look at Conor as he approached. Fixing his cuffs, looking down.

  “Where is my sister?” Jared said, abruptly. “Off doing something stupid?”

  When he spoke of Sierra, Conor saw it again. That flash of contempt. He wanted to be professional, but where Conor came from, you didn’t pussy-foot around with polite smiles and manners. You said what you meant, and you took an eye for an eye.

  The only thing holding him back was Sierra.

  You pull the trigger now, she’s the one who pays.

  If Conor was right and Jared was behind the “stalker” because he was planning to kill his own sister, he was doing it for money. Which meant there might be other people in on it, other people who wanted that money. And if Conor took out Jared now, without proof, Sierra would never know, and she’d be unprotected.

  Conor stood up a little taller and grabbed those reins. Jared’s day would come. Just not yet.

  “Well?” Jared said into the silence. “Where is she?”

  Conor didn’t even bother to look directly at him. Just stared ahead, on duty.

  “None of your business,” he said.

  Jared glared up at Conor, working his jaw in impotent rage.

  If you knew who I was, you’d run screaming.

  Conor was a Dom, but he wasn’t superhuman. There were limits to what he’d tolerate. And Jared was testing them.

  “Go back to the party,” Conor said quietly. He leveled a look at the other man, one that said everything. “Or I’ll send you back myself.”

  Jared blinked a few times, rapidly. Then he huffed and turned on his heel, pretending to straighten his tie as he walked back in the other direction, towards the landing. Conor watched the little monster walk down those stairs on his own functioning legs and tried not to get mad about it.

  And then, somewhere inside, his internal alarm went off.

  No window sound. It had been too long. Which meant he’d missed it.

  Conor turned around, knocking on the door behind him as he swiveled.

  “Princess, you have five seconds to answer me and then I’m busting in there.”

  He counted it off, his body switching gears one more time as he did so. It was more than enough time to figure out a few things.

  One, Jared had distracted him. That’s why he was about to open the door and find an empty bathroom and an open window, instead of an open window with Sierra’s beautiful ass hanging out of it as she tried to climb around in those heels. And it was the last time that was going to happen.

  Two, something about that woman got to him. He didn’t know what. But he was damn well going to find out.

  Five seconds was up, and he was in the door and out the window before the sixth. The fire escape swayed as it took his weight, the cool, rusted metal flaking slightly under his hands as he jumped up, grabbed a metal rung, pulled himself up. There were stairs, stairs that Sierra would have carefully climbed in her heels. That was actually impressive. But Conor’s way was faster.

  In less than five seconds he had vaulted onto the roof to the adjacent building, where a bunch of college kids with red solo cups in hand and dumbfounded expressions on their faces were busy crowding around Sierra Fiore, the life of the party. Conor landed with an audible thud, and those dumb expressions turned, saw him, and got even dumber.

  But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at one woman, and one woman only.

  Sierra locked eyes with him. For a second it was like something passed between them, like a jolt of energy, a frisson that moved down Conor’s body like a bolt of lightning to land right at the base of his cock. He could have fought an army to get to her after that. And he would swear he saw the same feeling pass through her, the same slight shiver, the same electricity.

  Then she bit her lip and shrugged, slightly, as if to say, what consequences?

  She was about to find out.

  Sierra had been at the frat house roof party for all of two minutes, taking selfies and giving autographs and just generally trying to be fun, when Conor just…

  Made a freaking entrance.

  Part of her was almost jealous. She’d never made an entrance like that in her life, and she’d tried. What had been a fairly unremarkable if on-brand party “stunt” — if you could even call it that — turned into something else the moment Conor vaulted himself onto the roof with that look in his eyes. It turned into something that might just break the internet when it got out.

  And into something absolutely panty-quaking.

  Sierra couldn’t look away as he walked towards her. Neither could anyone else, but Conor was only looking at her. His eyes locked on her like he was on a mission, and no one and nothing was getting in the way of it.

  Except that mission didn’t look entirely like a bodyguard’s mission. The way he walked, the way his eyes traveled up and down her body, the way he breathed as he looked at her. She’d seen all that before, too.

  And it was right about then that Sierra realized she was wet. Again.

  He’s your bodyguard, not your Dom. Don’t enjoy this!

  She was definitely enjoying this.

  Her whole body perked awake as he approached, even as time seemed to slow down. She had all the time in the world to feel the sensation smooth over her, like a gentle rain that brought her back to life everywhere it touched. Soon every nerve in her body was awake, alive, and screaming for one thing. His touch.

  So when they locked eyes one more time, she couldn’t resist. She bit her lip and shrugged.

  After all, what had he expected?

  She watched his lip curl up in one of those cocky grins, even as his eyes got hard. Jesus. That was her kryptonite. A flash of panic went through her as she realized all of this was happening on camera. Every college kid had their phone out, and most of them were recording. Which had been the plan. Except Sierra wasn’t used to actually feeling things on camera. Usually it was just a performance. Just a show.

  But this…this felt…

  Real.

  “Princess,” he said in that rough voice. “This isn’t a game.”

  He was still a few feet away. By some sort of communal instinct, the entire throng of college kids had backed off and given both Sierra and Conor a wide berth, even as they all watched.

  Which meant she was still on camera.

  And still in character.

  “Prove it,” she said.

  Conor inhaled, deeply, and Sierra felt herself go weak in the knees. He closed the distance between them in one big stride, his hand going for her elbow. He held her there, not too hard, but strong. She half closed her eyes, and let his scent wash over her.

  He must know what he’s doing, right? This attraction isn’t just me?

  But he thinks you’re a frivolous moron…

  “I warned you, Princess,” he whispered.

  Sierra bit her lip, and leaned into him, the touch on her arm burning like a brand.

  “I’m doing my job, Caveman,” she said. “Don’t let me stop you from doing yours.”

&
nbsp; For a second, the grip tightened. She saw a smile flash across his lips, and when she looked down she thought she saw—

  “If you’re too messed up to stay in the right building,” he said, loudly, “you’re too messed up to walk.”

  And with that, he bent down, and the next thing Sierra knew, she was over his shoulder.

  Seven

  Sierra nearly lost her damn mind.

  There was something about the feeling of being under a man’s full physical control that would always do it for her, and there was no quicker way to get that feeling than having that man lift you up and carry you over his shoulder like an actual, real-life caveman. Under the right circumstances, it was one of the biggest turn-ons in the world.

  And somehow Conor Kelly could make a rooftop frat party feel like the right freaking circumstances.

  He lifted her up and flipped her over his shoulder so quickly that she barely had time to react, her breasts crushed against his back, her ass up in the air. Her breath went out in a whoosh, her hands landing on his back, her thighs squirming together as Conor held her in place. All the blood in her body defied gravity to rush to her core, and in the next instant, her awareness narrowed to the swollen, pounding pressure between her legs.

  She blinked, remembering that they were surrounded by college kids and that this would absolutely make its way online just as the cool night air hit her exposed ass. Her dress was definitely not designed for its current usage, that was for sure, and her thong wasn’t really taking up the slack. And then there was Conor’s hand — his free hand, since he was apparently the kind of guy who could carry you around over his shoulder with one arm like it was nothing at all — grabbing hold of the hem of her dress and pulling down, the weight of his fist resting against her inner thighs, pressing on her lower lips in a way that was guaranteed to make her moan if he kept it up.

  Or if he moved too much. Or too rhythmically.

  Like by carrying her down the stairs.

  Oh, God.

  Sierra couldn’t help herself. She moved her hands down his back, feeling the hardness and the bulk of the muscles there, the way they bunched together as he moved. She could feel how built he was, even through a suit jacket, and it did not help.

  He was walking already, a stride or two and she heard him open a door while the college kids cheered. Welp, that was embarrassing. And somehow that made it even more of a turn on.

  Conor paused at what must have been the head of the stairs.

  “Don’t move, Princess,” he said.

  It was only then that she realized she’d still been feeling up his back.

  Sierra shut her eyes and pursed her lips together. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. If she tried, it would come out a moan.

  Conor carried her down the stairs with ease, every step bouncing her breasts against his back, her thighs together. Rhythmically. Sierra had never been so turned on in her life, each step like a stroke, edging her higher and higher. So it wasn’t until they were all the way down to the basement, walking through the kitchen, where a surprised bro was making a drunken grilled cheese for his equally surprised girlfriend, all the way to the back door that opened onto an alley that Sierra realized he knew very well that she was sober as a judge, and he could have put her down at any time.

  He just didn’t.

  And she didn’t want him to.

  He carried her out the back door, and Sierra squirmed to look over her shoulder. The alley was, well, an alley. Garbage cans, random junk, and the shiny bulletproof new car that she was leasing as part of this security contract. She vaguely remembered Conor talking to the valet on the way in — he’d had them park the car here, away from everything, hidden.

  They were alone.

  And he still hadn’t put her down.

  Conor’s arm tightened around her waist, and Sierra inhaled sharply. Oh Lord, the pressure. She closed her eyes as Conor took the last few steps to the car, wondering if he could tell how wet she was.

  She heard the car door opening, and then Conor slid her down the front of his body, catching her in his arms until he held her like…well, like a Princess.

  Sierra looked up into his pale blue eyes, shining even in the dark, and stopped breathing entirely.

  I am so screwed.

  The look on his face was hard, determined. And as he bent down to place her — place her — in the back seat of the car, she thought she felt something incredibly hard and impossibly big brush against her leg.

  Then she felt the cool leather against her bare thighs and had to suppress another shudder. Apparently when Conor Kelly touched her, everything became a freaking turn on.

  “Princess,” he said, his voice thick. Sierra looked up, one more time, to see him leaning over her, his hands resting on the roof of the car, his big body blocking out all light except his own freaking eyes.

  “Pay attention,” he said, and she did. He pinned her with those eyes as surely as if he’d held her down.

  And then very slowly, very deliberately, he asked a question.

  “Is there something you need to tell me, Princess?”

  Sierra stared back at him, mesmerized. Trapped. She didn’t want to look away, not as long as he was looking at her like it was just the two of them in this private, intimate bubble, like they were in the middle of this invisible dance that they both knew even when the music wasn’t playing. Like he saw through all the masks.

  Like he already knew who she was, and how much she wanted him.

  Worse: she wanted to tell the truth. If she hadn’t had so much practice performing, pretending to be whatever version of herself worked the best for any particular audience, it would have come out. She could feel it, rising in the back of her throat, wanting to be spoken.

  Yes. Yes, I did it on purpose. I wanted to see what you’d do. I wanted to provoke you, I wanted a Dom, I wanted this. I need this.

  I need you to Dominate me.

  This was the closest she’d felt to sane since this whole mess started, and she couldn’t tell the truth.

  Because Conor Kelly, even as he stared down at her like that, was her bodyguard. He didn’t care about her, not really. He thought she was a silly flake, a shallow idiot. He might fuck her, but he wouldn’t respect her. And if Sierra knew anything at all, she knew she could not handle being rejected by someone who saw her like that, not on top of everything else. Not now.

  So she lied.

  “No,” she whispered. “There’s nothing I need to tell you.”

  Conor’s eyes narrowed. There was a beat. Then, for a second, it almost looked like he might be smiling.

  “Then there’s something you need to hear, Princess,” he said. “I don’t care who are. You pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll have you over my knee.”

  And then he closed the door, leaving Sierra to melt in brief privacy.

  The next second he had gotten into the driver’s seat, slammed the door behind him, and locked every door with a promising click. All Sierra could hear was her breathing, and his. The tension between them pulled tighter against the sudden silence, and Sierra knew that if she looked at the rearview mirror, she’d see those eyes again.

  And if she saw those eyes again, she might break down, and beg.

  God, what was next?

  Conor leaned back into the driver’s seat, grabbed the steering wheel, and squeezed.

  This fucking woman.

  His whole nervous system was redlining, his brain lighting up in all the old, ancient places. He could feel the animal sensations building. The need to have her. Take her. Make her his. Whatever this attraction was, it wasn’t normal.

  Worse: when he’d told her he’d have her over his knee, he’d seen the look on her face. The way her pupils dilated. The way she’d flushed.

  The way she’d denied there was anything she needed to tell him.

  Because she was fucking lying. If she knew what she was doing, if she was a sub playing games, Conor needed to know that. If she was
n’t, and she didn’t understand what the hell this attraction between them was, he needed to know that too.

  After a silence — a minute, two, ten — he looked up into the rearview mirror.

  Sierra Fiore was practically glowing. Her big eyes looking right at his, a trickle of sweat glistening between her breasts. That dress not helping.

  “I wasn’t lying,” she said, suddenly. “When I said I didn’t feel well. The stage fright, I mean. That’s actually a thing that happens when I have to do…work events. I just thought you should know that. I wasn’t lying.”

  “I know,” he said. “And I wasn’t lying when I said there’d be consequences.”

  He watched her lick her damn lips.

  “No, you were not,” she said, softly.

  Conor turned the ignition key, ignoring the ache in his cock. The engine purred to life, and in a few short seconds, they were cruising the relatively empty streets of Back Bay. It would be a short drive. He’d get her home, check out the security there one more time, and get the fuck out before he made a mistake.

  He’d never wanted a woman like this before.

  “I still have to work,” she said from the back seat. “We have to work out some kind of compromise.”

  Conor looked into the mirror as the first drops of rain splattered on the windshield.

  “No promises,” he said.

  She covered a smile, made herself look out the window.

  “Thank you for getting me away from Jared, by the way,” she said.

  A red light. Conor looked at her again, eyes narrowing, higher brain functions gratefully kicking into gear.

  Did she know how dangerous her brother was?

  It was a question his research hadn’t been able to answer. She seemed to avoid her brother and all family ties, especially to the people who would be considered dangerous. She knew enough to do that.

  But how much did Sierra really know?

  “Will it provoke him?” Conor asked, finally. “Anything I should be worried about, in terms of retaliation?”

  Sierra turned sharply, her eyes hitting his in the mirror.

  “You’re pretty perceptive for a bodyguard, huh?”