The Princess Sub: Club Volare Boston

by Chloe Cox

  Watched that Dom get up, walk over to Sierra.

  Watched him put his hand on her arm. Watched Sierra jump. Watched her face as she realized that she’d been recognized.

  Enough.

  Conor Kelly was going to go deal with his sub.

  Thirteen

  Sierra Fiore had been to actual fancy televised awards shows. She’d been photographed at the most inopportune, underwear-related moments. She’d had her whole family dragged by the tabloids for literally weeks at a time.

  And she’d never been more nervous than she’d been standing outside Club Volare Boston, waiting for the enormous bald bouncer to finish inspecting her ID.

  She remembered tugging at the hem of her dress and shimmying a little, trying to get it to move back down her thigh. An old nervous gesture that was, in this case, pretty freaking futile. But it was a great dress. Simple, basically just a fancy black tube dress woven out of expensive materials, but somehow the thing made anyone who put it on look great. Sierra felt like a brunette Jessica Rabbit.

  And then, on the brink of actually going inside the Club Volare, she’d felt…God. She didn’t even know. When did excitement cross over into fear? How fast did your heart have to beat before you knew you were making a mistake?

  She remembered looking back across Beacon Street, only to see her bodyguard for the night, Ben, with his head bent over his phone, in another world.

  She remembered taking a deep breath.

  And then…

  The bouncer let her in. Her name was on the list, and the bouncer didn’t let on that he recognized her at all. She was just in.

  That freaking simple.

  Sierra almost laughed. But if she stopped to laugh at her own ridiculousness she’d have time to think. And if she had time to think, she’d have time to worry about what would happen if she was recognized inside the club. If she could trust any of the people she met there, regardless of reputation. Or if it was going to be…

  Nope. Power through.

  Sierra pushed open the double doors of the foyer, and walked through to…

  A gilded-age, candle-lit fantasy?

  There was an actual chandelier overhead, and sconces along the walls. Lots and lots of flickering candlelight that seemed to spread throughout the big rooms, giving everyone the kind of lighting that Hollywood stars paid big bucks for. Well, Sierra assumed. Her eyes were still adjusting.

  And her breathing was…not.

  She was holding it. Because she was scared.

  She closed her eyes. This was supposed to be the kind of community where she’d be safe. Club Volare’s whole thing was discretion and privacy and keeping their members safe, and these were supposed to be her people. Maybe they wouldn’t have everything in common, but they’d at least get why the thought of being tied down and teased to the point of insanity was her idea of a relaxing Friday night.

  You’ve come this far.

  And if you don’t keep going, you’ll be condemned to keep fantasizing about the bodyguard who thinks you’re an idiot.

  Sierra opened her eyes and forced herself to look to her right. It was the closest room, and there was a comfy looking lounge area, and a bunch of people in groups of two or three, all quietly laughing and talking to themselves with a kind of intimacy that Sierra suddenly envied.

  Or they had been. As Sierra looked around a familiar feeling fell upon her, like an old, moth-bitten wet blanket. She looked to one little cluster of groups, then another, and another. Each time the women would stop talking, their eyes lingering on her just a moment too long before looking away with a nervous laugh. The men would keep looking, not bothering to hide it.

  Sierra knew it was paranoid to think people were talking about her. But is it paranoia if it’s true?

  Had she already been recognized?

  She’d barely gotten two feet inside the door, and Sierra could feel her fantasy of Club Volare as this magical place where she’d somehow actually get to be herself begin to fade away.

  And then a large, heavy hand came down on her shoulder, and it evaporated entirely.

  Her shoulders shot straight to her ears, and she was turned around, forcefully. There, in front of her, was a grinning man who looked like he’d found some sort of…prize.

  “I always knew you were a sub,” he said.

  And he smiled again, his eyes lingering everywhere except her eyes.

  Sierra swallowed. Obviously, this man recognized her, so she had to be careful about how she reacted. He just as obviously didn’t see, or didn’t care, that she was profoundly uncomfortable, and did not appreciate his hand on her. Her skin was actually crawling. But this guy was still looking at her like he’d won something.

  “I’ll have a lot of fun showing you what a real Dom can do,” he said. “And showing you off.”

  Sierra blinked. Gross. Gross, gross, gross.

  Worse? She could feel eyes on her. Again. So she couldn’t tell him off the way she wanted to without knowing it would become a thing, and it would get back to the press. She was trapped, all over again.

  Until, just as suddenly, she wasn’t.

  “Back all the way off, Eric. Now.”

  Sierra didn’t even have to turn around to know who had said that. And she didn’t have to see the gross Dom called Eric’s reaction to know that whoever had said it was a lot more intimidating than any man had a right to be. She would have recognized that voice anywhere. Hell, she would have recognized just the effect the speaker had on the world around him.

  It was Conor.

  It was always going to be Conor.

  As if in slow motion, knowing what she would see, Sierra turned around. Something happened in her body first, some tightening in her core, a prickling on her skin, and Sierra’s mind ground to a screeching halt and her awareness fully shifted into her body. Not by choice. It was just something Conor did to her. Suddenly she could feel a slight breeze across her collarbones, she could hear whispered conversation in the other room, she could sense the pressure build as her blood rushed between her legs. She felt herself get wet and thought, maybe I should just give up on wearing underwear.

  And then he was close enough that she just stopped breathing completely.

  He wasn’t in his usual suit. She was vaguely aware that the other people in the club, those out of focus blobs in her peripheral vision, were all dressed up in latex and leather. Her own dress was appropriate without being showy. But Conor was just in black jeans and a black tank top, his hair all messed up, his muscles sliding under bare, tan skin as he came closer. The tattoos on his arms seemed to writhe as he moved. Or maybe that was just because of the overall blue-eyed trance effect.

  She couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to.

  And then, as he came close, she saw something flash in those pale blue eyes. For a second it was like she could sense what he was thinking, or feeling. A whole bunch of things fell into place all at once: Conor was a member of the club, obviously, like she’d foolishly fantasized he’d be when she hired Kane Lyons Security. It was the whole reason she’d picked Kane’s firm, which seemed like such a dumb, dumb decision now.

  Because the look on Conor’s face told her that he hadn’t known that she was a member. Probably because she hadn’t been, technically, until about an hour ago.

  But now? Conor knew.

  And it looked like he had definite opinions about what she’d said in that elevator.

  It made her heart beat right on the edge of fear. She was about to say something when Conor’s eyes flickered from her to the man now standing just behind her—the gross Dom called Eric who’s entire existence she had just momentarily forgotten about.

  “You’re supposed to be a Dom, Eric,” Conor said. “So I know you can see how uncomfortable she is.”

  His voice was very quiet, but somehow it was also very serious. And very threatening. Sierra didn’t turn around, but she could feel Eric back off another step.

  She was still staring, transfixed
, at Conor.

  “But you don’t care,” Conor went on, as if he had actually read Sierra’s mind. “Because you still get to tell your little buddies that you bagged a celebrity, right? That was your plan. Except you don’t. And you won’t. Because if you tell anyone a goddamn thing about Sierra Fiore, or anyone else in this club, without a signed release, it won’t be just your club membership that you have to worry about. You’ll be worrying about me. For the rest of your life. Am I clear?”

  Instinctively, Sierra moved closer to Conor, turning towards him the way flowers turn toward the sun.

  Did he have any idea what hearing him say that did to her? Would do to any woman?

  “Sorry,” she heard Eric mutter, from somewhere behind her. “Didn’t know she was yours.”

  Yours.

  The word was still echoing in Sierra’s mind as she watched Conor’s very unforgiving eyes.

  “You’re done, Eric,” Conor said. “Either you leave right now under your own power, or you get thrown out of the front door under mine. Choice is yours.”

  Sierra opened her mouth as if to apologize, or protest. Just a reflex, always apologizing and making excuses for other people’s bad behavior. But then Conor’s eyes fell on her and she found she was suddenly breathless.

  “You had nothing at all to tell me, huh?” he said.

  Sierra looked into those ice blue eyes and blinked. She was most definitely caught. And she had no idea what to say to the intimidating Dom who now knew that she’d lied to him.

  “Follow me,” he said. “Now.”

  Was this real life?

  It must be. Because Sierra did just that as he led her out of the soft, orange glow of the lounge, and into the cool darkness of an empty bar in the rear of the mansion that was Club Volare. Somehow it took forever. Everything moved around in her in slow motion while her thoughts moving at a million miles per hour, her body following close behind.

  It was like she was hyper-alive. Hyper-real. Even if everything but Conor felt faded and far, she could feel every single nerve in her body, and they all wanted one thing: him.

  Which was going to make this really freaking difficult.

  Because Sierra Fiore was no one’s fool. And she had her limits. And one of them was not giving in to men who had so little respect for her that they thought she was her admittedly silly job. No matter how sexy or Dominant they were.

  And no matter how much she may have accidentally-on purpose lied to them.

  Because, she reminded herself while staring at Conor’s ass, it was for a damn good reason.

  With the way her life was, Sierra needed to hang on to every little last scrap of self-respect she had. Which meant she couldn’t be with a man who thought she was an idiot. Even if he was a Dom.

  Conor turned around abruptly and motioned to one of two tables in the bar. There were also three booths along the wall, and a long, shiny metal bar that looked like it would be cold against bare skin. For that matter, so did the tables.

  “Take a seat,” Conor said.

  Sierra waited for him to pull a chair out for her, the way he would have outside the club. Silly. Conor didn’t move.

  “You don’t get a chair yet,” he said. “On the table.”

  Sierra was moving before she was even aware of it. By the time she realized she’d obeyed another order, it was too late. She had to jump up, just a little, to sit on the edge of the table, her feet not quite reaching the floor. Her legs naturally spread a little like that, and she was busy trying to find a way to keep them closed when Conor crowded in.

  Her brain short-circuited then. Thoughts were gone. Replaced by sensations. The sight of Conor’s abs, visible through that thin tank top. The fine hairs visible on his chest. The heat of his body, so close to hers. The scent of him.

  “Two things are going to happen, Princess,” he said, his foot sliding between hers, his hands planting on the table on either side of her. “First thing is you’re going to admit you lied to me. Second thing depends.”

  Sierra licked her lips.

  “On what?”

  “On how well you beg.”

  Fourteen

  Conor was aware that he was not, technically, on duty. He was aware that everyone else in the club was watching them while trying not to look like they were watching. He was aware that the Dom behind the bar had been smart enough to give them some privacy.

  It was just that none of it fucking mattered.

  He wasn’t a bodyguard in that moment. He wasn’t even just a man.

  He was a Dom.

  And what he had in front of him, perched on the stainless steel table in the Club Volare bar, was a sub who needed him.

  Sierra was shaking, slightly, all over. Trembling. Overrun with the energy she’d been fighting this whole time. She was still hanging on by a thread, but it was threatening to snap.

  Conor admired the fight she had in her. Another thing that made him rethink his assumptions about Sierra Fiore, American Princess. She was fighting herself so hard she was shaking, and she was determined not to let him see it. All that energy wasted for nothing.

  Because Conor was done playing games.

  She was going to admit that she’d lied, and why. And the longer she took, the longer Conor would take with her punishment. And they’d both enjoy the hell out of it.

  But first things first.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  She did, immediately. Those big brown eyes looking up at him even as her head kept angling down, her little hands gripping the edge of the table, her lip quivering with the rest of her. Christ, she looked soft. Supple. Her body in that dress was a fucking weapon. He wanted to see what he could do with it.

  “You knew you were doing stupid, reckless things because you weren’t getting what you needed,” he said. “And you lied about it when I asked.”

  Simple. State the facts.

  He watched her breathing speed up.

  “It wasn’t any of your business,” she said.

  “Incorrect,” he said. “If it puts you in danger, it is my business, Princess.”

  She didn’t have an answer to that. Licked her lips instead. Conor inhaled deeply.

  “You’ve been provoking me on purpose,” he said.

  “I was not doing it on purpose.”

  “You would have found a way to keep provoking me until you were bare-assed and cherry red,” he said.

  Sierra’s breath hitched at that, a little color rising in her cheeks. But that was nothing compared to watching her nipples tighten and rise, almost on command. Jesus. Conor felt his cock start to swell just watching it.

  Sierra moved her hands as if to cover up. Conor grabbed them with his own, feeling how tiny her hands were in his, and put them back on the table, covering them, again, with his own.

  No more fucking hiding.

  “That’s not fair,” she whispered.

  “Life isn’t fair, Princess,” he said. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

  That got her.

  Her eyes flashed up at him, angry, really angry, for the first time since he’d met her.

  She was so close.

  “I do know,” she said. “I know you think I’m some sort of spoiled brat who doesn’t know anything about anything, but I’m not. I mean, maybe I am. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. But whatever I am, I’m not just that. But all anyone ever sees is this stupid privileged little rich girl, and I…”

  She stopped, just short. Holding back. That wasn’t good enough. Conor leaned down, slid his leg between hers.

  “Finish,” he commanded.

  Sierra took an unsteady breath, her eyes flickering down to the floor, her chest shuddering. Conor knew she’d obey. She was already in it, whether she knew it or not.

  “I know what you think of me,” she said, finally. “So no, I didn’t exactly want to tell you my deepest darkest secrets. Because you think I’m a moron.”

  “That’s the only stupid thing you’ve ever
said.”

  Sierra looked up, her brown eyes hitting him like two soft pools. Conor was going to enjoy making her feel better, right after he made her feel worse. He added another thing to the mental tally of things he’d discipline her for, and smiled slightly.

  “I’m not blind,” he said. “I see what you’ve built. I had my assumptions, and you blew up most of them. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m too stupid to see what’s right in front of me, even if everyone else is. Or you’ll pay for that, too.”

  Sierra swallowed, licked her lips. She was almost here. Almost.

  “I don’t know why it bothers me so much,” she said. “Everyone else thinks I’m a moron and it doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I care if you do, too.”

  Conor nodded. He was done. His cock ached, his whole body twitching with the need to get moving, to close the gap and make her his. To stop all this bullshit, strip her naked, and take her the way she was meant to be taken. The nonsense stopped now. He moved his hand to her face, tipping her chin up to look at him.

  “Because I’m your fucking Dom, Princess,” he said. “That’s why.”

  Sierra didn’t just hear those words.

  She felt them.

  She felt them everywhere.

  Because I’m your fucking Dom, Princess. That statement echoed all the way down her spine, through her chest. She felt it move like a frisson of electricity over the surface of her skin, to her already obscenely visible nipples, down over her belly, right to her core. She squeezed her muscles, and those words curled up inside her like a living thing, making her heart beat too fast and her breath come too shallow.

  His hands still covered hers on the edge of the table, his leg still between hers. Letting her know he could do whatever he wanted. His eyes watching her as she melted into a freaking puddle right in front of him.

  God damn.

  “You’re my…”

  She stopped, licked her lips. Her mouth was dry. She wasn’t even sure she’d heard it out loud, now. It seemed too incredible. Like, she’d been feeling this, this whole time, she’d been fantasizing about this. Dreaming about it.