The Princess Sub: Club Volare Boston

by Chloe Cox

  Dreams didn’t actually come true, right?

  You know they don’t.

  “Look at me, Princess,” he ordered.

  And of course she freaking did.

  “What are the club safe words?”

  Automatically, she repeated them from memory: “Red, yellow, green.”

  “Good. You’re not new to this,” he said. “Newbies don’t get admitted with full privileges. So you know you have the ability to call this off at any time.”

  And with that, his hands moved. They left hers where they were on the table, and somehow she knew she wouldn’t move them herself unless he told her too. She was more thinking about what he was going to do with his hands next.

  One of them came up under her chin and settled on her throat. Gentle, but still large. Still strong. Sierra swallowed as her pulse thundered between her legs.

  How the hell did he know that was one of her kinks?

  How did he know?

  Sierra closed her eyes, thinking it would help. It didn’t. Her body was yelling at her, screaming at her, to just fucking give in. Her brain, on the other hand, was a scared little killjoy.

  “This is just part of the job to you,” she heard herself whisper.

  Her eyes flew open as Conor tweaked her left nipple—hard. Sierra gasped, somehow shocked that he’d actually touched her. This was real. This was happening.

  “I’m not on the fucking clock,” he growled.

  He let go of her throat and moved his hands to her wrists, picking up her hands from where they had been glued to the table and moving them behind her back.

  “Stay,” he ordered.

  She did.

  She even automatically looked up into his eyes. Ice blue, hard, practically glowing. Her nipple still throbbed, the sensation dissolving into a tingle that wouldn’t let her concentrate.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “I’m going to take you as my sub, Princess, here in the club. And I’m going to work you until you don’t need to act like an idiot anymore. I’m going to keep you safe and fucked, and you’re going to obey every single one of my orders. But only if you beg for it, Princess. Only if you beg. Understood?”

  Conor locked eyes with her as he said that. Sierra was aware of every inch of her body, and every inch of his. God, his body. She could smell him. Male, musky. Animal.

  She felt helpless already. Totally under his physical control. His power.

  But he wanted more. He wanted her to say it. And if she gave in…

  “I don’t beg easily,” she heard herself say.

  “Yeah, that’s what makes it fun,” he said. “But you don’t get to come if you don’t beg, sub. And in the meantime, I’m going to do what needs to be done.”

  And with that, he settled one big hand around her throat and held her still while he pulled her dress down over her breasts.

  Sierra gasped, and that breath caught in her chest, frozen like it too didn’t believe what had just happened.

  He’d pulled her dress down in the middle of the bar. The bartender had come back at some point, and he was there, behind the bar, now with a full view of her naked breasts. Just like anyone else who might come into the bar.

  She felt, more than saw, the bartender look their way for a second. A long, long second, while her cheeks burned and her pulse pounded between her legs. And her eyes never left Conor’s.

  He was putting her on display. Which should make her insane with fear and paranoia and freaking out about being recognized and the rest—everything that had freaked her out before. But it wasn’t like before. Conor was there. He would protect her.

  Because she was his.

  And she really, really liked it.

  “Oh God,” she murmured.

  Conor ignored her. He slid his hand from her throat to her jaw, tilting her at the neck so he could see her breasts better as he played with them, squeezing them, rolling her nipple between his fingers, pinching, kneading, just doing whatever he wanted.

  “Responsive,” he said. “Very nice.”

  Sierra moaned, her back arching to present them to him, even as she chafed at the humiliation.

  Conor laughed.

  “That’s not begging, Princess,” he said. “You’ll know when you’re begging. But let’s see how you’re coming along.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Conor kept hold of her throat, the gentle pressure there a constant turn on, and pushed her legs apart with one of his own.

  “Eyes on me, Princess,” he said.

  And then he dropped his hand between her legs, and under her dress. She blinked helplessly at him as his fingertips teased her, just brushing against the fabric of her last remaining thong. The thong itself was already soaked. He had to know that. He had to feel that. Sierra bit her lip, her body beginning to shudder again. And just as she did, Conor ruthlessly pulled the thong to the side and slid a finger inside her.

  He pumped it once, enough to make her gasp, and then it was gone. Sierra wanted to cry out in protest.

  Hell, she wanted to beg.

  Conor held up his finger so she could see it dripping with her own wetness.

  “Anything to tell me yet?” he said.

  Sierra didn’t know what possessed her, but she shook her head no. Some part of her still fighting. Still not trusting.

  Conor growled.

  Suddenly he pulled her off the table and crushed her to his body, his hand grabbing a handful of hair and tilting her head back before his mouth took hers.

  It was quick, but it was deep, and wet, and ravishing, and she’d never been kissed like that in her whole life.

  He left her literally breathless.

  She stood there for a second after he pulled away, shocked and smiling and kinda stupid.

  The Conor snapped his fingers. She started, like he’d woken her up from a daze.

  “Other side of the table, Princess,” Conor ordered. “Bend over, forearms flat, tits out. Now.”

  It took her a second to understand, and that was after her body was already moving. Obeying, automatically, again. She tottered around to the other side of the tiny two-person table he’d had her sitting on and carefully, precisely, bent over it. She bent at the waist, laying her forearms down on the cool metal, flattening her palms as she arched her back to keep her tits out. As ordered. And as she raised her head, she realized.

  She was facing the way they’d come into the bar, with a full view into the lounge, which was now even more full of people. Which meant anyone in the lounge could see her, too. And some of them had. Bent over a bar table with her tits out.

  She shuddered.

  “You still have your safe words, Princess,” Conor said, as though he could read her mind. “But you’re not using them, huh. Funny.”

  She closed her eyes. Some part of her still wanted to fight, and she didn’t even know why. But he was right. She was too turned on to call this off.

  Which was crazy. This was the thing she should be freaked out by. And yet somehow he knew he could make it…

  This.

  “Hey Aaron,” Conor called out as he walked around the table, resting his hand on Sierra’s hip as he got behind her.

  “What’s up?”

  She blinked. He was talking to the bartender.

  Talking. To. The bartender.

  While he had her bent over and…

  And he was pulling her dress up over her ass.

  “Want to bet how long this will take?” Conor said. He was still talking to the bartender, but his hand was on her bare ass cheek, smoothing over the skin, under her dress. Pausing to feel her skin, to graze her with his thumb.

  The bartender laughed. “I don’t bet against the house.”

  Sierra’s head dipped a little. Hearing the bartender’s voice, knowing he was right there. Seeing it all. Smiling about it.

  Her whole body tingled with it. The ache between her legs was growing urgent. The
pulse in her clit beginning to hurt.

  “You’re not so afraid anymore, Princess,” Conor said. He finished pulling her dress up over her bare ass, bunching the whole thing around her waist like a ridiculous belt, and he cupped her pussy from behind. Sierra’s fingers dug into the cool stainless steel table, and she couldn’t stop her hips from arching, pressing herself into his hand. Feeling the heat of how much she wanted him against his palm.

  He laughed.

  “Still can’t use your safe words, huh?” he said. “Don’t want it to stop?”

  “No.”

  “Still don’t want to admit you lied, and beg me to be your Dom?”

  “No.”

  It came out as a ragged gasp.

  “It’s only gonna get worse,” he said, and thankfully, mercifully, moved his hand.

  And used it to pull her thong down around her ankles.

  She hadn’t spread her legs when she bent over, only because he hadn’t told her to. But it didn’t matter. She was still…exposed. Vulnerable. Totally bare to him.

  She felt his knuckles brush against her, casually, lightly. As if he were petting her.

  “Last chance, Aaron,” Conor called out.

  All she heard was the bartender’s laughter.

  And then she heard nothing at all, because Conor’s hand came down on her ass with a meaty slap.

  She started forward, her nipples pressing into the cold metal of the table. Sierra had been spanked before, but not like this. Not with people watching. And not by Conor Kelly.

  “You’re going to count these off, sub,” he growled in her ear. “Understood?”

  Sierra closed her eyes and nodded. She was losing it. She was losing herself.

  “One,” she said.

  As soon as she said it, he spanked her again, open palm, same spot. Her ass vibrated with the force of it, sending ripples of sensation to her clit.

  “Two,” she rasped.

  Another one. His palm rested on her for a second, his thumb grazing her entrance again. She was throbbing, she wanted him so much. Needed him. She could feel her cooling wetness on her inner thighs, a drip down her leg.

  Why was she doing this to herself?

  What last fucking semblance of her pride let her think that if she lasted…she’d prove…that he really wanted her…that this wasn’t just…

  “Count, sub.”

  “Three!”

  Another one, this time jolting her forward. She heard the bartender say something, some low laugh again. She could barely fucking form words and…

  “Your pride’s gonna get you in trouble,” Conor said in her ear. “But I bet that’s not the first time that’s happened.”

  Sierra silently shook her head.

  It was not.

  “Well the good news,” Conor said, easily, his hand rubbing over the spot that would certainly be bruised in the morning, “is that you’re not gonna need it anymore when I’m done with you.”

  Oh fuck.

  He spanked her again, just as the words came out of her mouth, all on their own:

  “I did it!”

  “Did what?”

  “I provoked you,” she said, sputtering. “On purpose. I wanted you. I don’t…I lied, when you asked…I…please. Please. Please.”

  Conor chuckled again, sliding his hand up her spine until he reached the back of her neck. Then he pushed her down until she was flat on the table, and kicked her legs apart.

  “Good girl,” he said.

  And she felt something drive into her hot, wet pussy.

  Not his cock. Not big enough to be his cock. His thumb. Oh fuck, his thumb, from behind, while his fingers wrapped around her pussy to put pressure on her clit.

  Just his fucking thumb, and she was trying to climb up off that table, her hips bucking as he held her down.

  He fucked her like that, with his fucking hand, in full view of half the club and the bartender besides, his hand squeezing off a rhythm that scrambled her brain and kept her blubbering fucking inanities until he decided that she was done, and ordered her to come.

  Ordered her to come.

  And she did.

  She came all over his hand, screaming, half-naked, for all the club to see. For a second, all she saw was white. And then the next moment she was being hauled back up over Conor’s shoulder.

  Again?

  Fifteen

  Conor was a Dom, through and through. But even Doms have a breaking point.

  His was seeing Sierra Fiore bent over a table, coming to his command.

  He gave her just barely enough time for her blood pressure to regulate, to make sure she hadn’t fainted. And then he couldn’t fucking wait one more second.

  Because she was his sub, now. His.

  With a growl, he lifted her over his shoulder. Felt her body relax into it this time, limp and boneless against him. Submitting.

  He took the back stairs, two at a time, his arm tight around her waist, her bare breasts on his back. By the time he got up to the private play suite he was using as his quarters he was on the edge of breaking.

  He’d had plans for this. First submission. Slow, controlled, building, and total. Didn’t matter anymore.

  Then, as he slammed the door behind him, Sierra whispered in his ear.

  “Caveman.”

  He didn’t even let her feet touch the floor.

  Conor walked straight over to the bed he’d made that morning, threw a half-naked Sierra on the mattress and caught her legs on the first bounce. He plucked her thong from around her ankles, bent over, grabbed hold of her bunched up dress and stripped it off her in one motion.

  Naked.

  In his bed.

  The way she should have been since that first goddamn day.

  Conor kept hold of her ankles in the air with one hand while his other hand freed his cock, hard and hungry. He found her eyes and held them.

  For a moment time stopped.

  Then, with his eyes locked on hers, his cock glistening and wet, he spread her. Slowly, deliberately. Taking as long of a look as he fucking wanted. Seeing how wet she was for him.

  And then, with a snarl, he grabbed her hips and dragged her onto him, driving into her in one hard, fast stroke.

  Sierra gasped as he sunk into her, his aching cock finding home inside her wet heat. He growled as he felt her stretch to take him in. Her eyes widened as he pushed in even deeper, all the way to the hilt. She was a perfect fit, like her body was made for his. He watched her beautiful face every inch of the way, saw her cheeks redden, her lips part, her chest flutter.

  Felt her squeeze around him as he hit the deepest part of her.

  That was a moment he was going to remember for the rest of his life.

  And then he lifted her legs onto his shoulders, pinned her wrists up by her head, and rolled his hips. Just once.

  “Please,” she begged.

  He fell on her like an animal. He fucked her exactly like he wanted to, at his leisure, his pleasure. When she started to come again he held himself back just because the feeling of Sierra coming around his cock was too fucking sweet, and he wanted it again, and again, and again. The last time she milked his cock he had to thrust in hard, deep, his teeth grabbing her by the neck, growling as he held back.

  By that time she was screaming his name, and he was fucking lost.

  He remembered flipping her over onto her stomach, grabbing her hair, entering her again before she could even catch her breath. He remembered slowing down, taking his time, feeling every sensation as she begged, pleaded with sounds and moans.

  After that he lost track. But by the time Conor let himself go, by the time he’d had his fill, the most beautiful little sub in the world had come apart in his hands. He started to come inside her, looking into her eyes, in control and on top.

  And then that thing in his chest screamed, alive and burning, and it had been the whole time. Conor was aware of it long enough to know he wasn’t entirely in control anymore.

  And t
hen he exploded into a million pieces, past caring.

  Sierra had no idea how much time had passed.

  She had no idea if the rest of the world even still existed.

  Coming back to reality, naked and nestled in black satin sheets with Conor Kelly’s arm draped over her, his hand nestled between her breasts and his cock warm against her ass, reminding her how she’d just been fucked…

  Surreal.

  She felt her brow furrow, even as she wiggled into him and his arm snuggled tighter around her. This felt…

  It felt tender. Not like traditional aftercare, that was for damn sure. Not even a traditional scene, or a negotiation. None of it had the formal boundaries she was used to.

  And it felt…better.

  And that was dangerous.

  “Princess,” he murmured into the back of her head.

  She didn’t answer right away, and Conor responded by turning her over to face him.

  Doms.

  Of course, then he nailed her with those ice blue eyes, and she was practically helpless all over again.

  “You’re in your head,” he said.

  “There’s a lot to think about,” she said.

  His response was a kiss.

  A deep, slow, yet thoroughly dominating kiss that reminded her of just how he could make her feel whenever he felt like it. Sierra felt her mind begin to melt away, leaving her with just the sensations in her body, the swirling, rising glow that started deep in her chest and circled outward, setting everything it touched on fire.

  When he pulled away to fix her with those eyes again, she was breathless.

  “There will be no bullshit,” Conor said. “I’m your Dom. There will be ground rules.”

  Sierra couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Yes, sir.”

  Conor was unimpressed. He tweaked her nipple.

  “That is not fair.”

  “Pay attention, sub,” he said, gentler this time. “Two rules: you obey orders. And we play at the club only.”

  Apparently she also couldn’t stop herself from looking disappointed about that second rule. Conor smiled at her.

  “I need to be concentrating on your safety outside the club,” he said. “But you will still pay for orders you disobey outside the club. And not in the fun way. Not like tonight. I’m talking letting every Dom in the club have a whack at your ass and not letting you come for a week if you put yourself in genuine danger again. Understood?”