The Princess Sub: Club Volare Boston

by Chloe Cox

A hand held the side of her face for a moment, then threaded its way through her hair, and took hold.

  And then she felt him.

  Soft and silken and hard all at once, the tip against her mouth. Salty precum on her lips. She opened without being asked, felt his thumb caress her temple. And then he pressed past her lips, the hard heat of him filling her mouth, pushing farther, farther. She moved her tongue over him as he did, feeling the pulse in his vein, hearing a grunt like it was a standing ovation. She wanted to swallow him whole, and he kept coming, until she’d taken more than she ever had before, until her eyes were beginning to water under the blindfold, until she was so full of him there was no more room for anything else.

  She thought that was as much as she could do. She was wrong.

  “Let me in,” he growled.

  Her jaw relaxed, then her throat. And Conor pushed in the last, fullest inch, past where she thought she could go. For a brief white-hot second she was overwhelmed, and then—she was open.

  Her body completely relaxed, in complete submission. Like her body knew she was really his, and was ready for him. Like that last little inch was everything.

  “Good girl,” he said.

  And then he was gone, sliding out of her mouth, leaving her gasping. He trailed a hand down her back as he walked around behind her again, until suddenly he grabbed a handful of her ass and pulled it aside. Quickly, forcefully.

  No more waiting.

  A cold wetness on her asshole, a shock as the tip of something pushed inside her ass. A yelp, maybe hers, as he pushed it inside her until the flared bottom rested against her flesh, another slap on her ass as she adjusted to the fullness. Her own gasps as she felt the head of his cock against her glazed pussy, certain there wasn’t room, and then just the sensation of pressure, pressure, pressure, of constantly being on the bubble of something that she wasn’t sure she could bear. He pushed into her, slowly, his hands spreading her cheeks and his cock filling her past the point of no return, until by the time he was fully seated inside her she was past the point of words. He pulled out slowly, moving the plug inside her, moving everything.

  A screamed moan as he plunged into her as she was still shaking, still convulsing.

  He had filled her every which way, and as he began to move to his own rhythm, she could feel her mind beginning to crack. One, two, three thrusts and she half-came, spasming around him haphazardly, too early to let the waves build. She groaned as she felt herself fluttering around him, feeling his thickness move in the deepest part of herself. She arched her back, still hungry, still spasming, totally not in control of herself.

  From behind her, she heard him chuckle, and then his hand was in her hair again, twisting it.

  “You’re not done ’til I say you’re done,” he said.

  That’s when he turned on the vibrator, and she came apart all over again.

  Twenty

  Conor held his twitching sub in his arms. He was fucking stunned. Or as close to stunned as a Dom ever got.

  Took a lot to surprise a man like him. He’d seen enough things for a lifetime. Growing up in the foster system, seeing addiction take out half the people he knew, combat. His whole family dying in the span of a few years.

  He’d gotten so braced for life taking a swing at him, but he still wasn’t prepared for whatever the hell this was.

  Sierra lay in his arms as he sat in one of the plush armchairs in the corner of the play room. She was still naked, wrapped in a blanket, her skin against his skin. She was so warm and so soft. So fucking soft. The softest thing he’d ever felt against him.

  He felt her stir, and his cock twitched against his leg. He could take her now, again, if he wanted. His cock couldn’t get enough. And Conor didn’t know what was different about Sierra, but it was different. He’d remember the way she’d twitched and shuddered around this cock for the rest of his damn life.

  But this limp, boneless kitten thing was pretty good, too. One of his favorite things, as a Dom. Evidence of a job well done.

  Sierra stiffened suddenly. So slightly it wouldn’t have been visible, but Conor felt it. He read her body so easily it was like he read her mind. She was coming out of subspace, and she was raw. Vulnerable.

  “How you feeling, Princess,” he said.

  Sierra laughed out a sigh, snuggling closer in, her eyes closed but still with that tension in her shoulders.

  He shifted her face close to his. Looked in her eyes and saw it.

  “Still embarrassed about your paintings,” he said. A statement, not a question.

  “I just remembered you saw them,” she said into his chest.

  Conor remembered she hadn’t done one since her “stalker” showed up.

  Fuck Jared Fiore, and fuck whoever he had hired to terrorize Sierra. Not only did he have her scared for her life, but he’d taken something from her. Something personal, something private, something that made her whole.

  Conor knew what that was like.

  “I used to have an elephant,” he said.

  There was a pause. Sierra half turned her head, one eye smiling up at him.

  “Please explain that statement,” she said.

  Conor grinned, and ran his hand along her stomach, under the blanket. She inhaled sharply. Just a little reminder.

  “I found a skateboard in the trash when I was like eight,” he began. “It was when I lived in the shittiest foster home, no privacy, everything crazy all the time. But I found that skateboard, fixed it up, figured out how to ride it. Kept it in an abandoned house out by the marsh. It gave me something to do, somewhere to be.”

  She shifted in his arms again, her eyes softening as she looked up at him.

  “Anyway, there were older kids in the neighborhood, kids who’d been living there a while,” he said. “One of ‘em tried to take it. I said I’d fight him. He laughed.”

  Conor half closed his eyes, remembering.

  “He took it, obviously,” Conor said. “Dude had like forty pounds on me. But I went back the next day, and challenged him.”

  “What happened?”

  “I kicked him in the balls and took my fucking skateboard back,” Conor said. “They couldn’t catch me on that thing, and after that, I started carrying a pipe. Didn’t matter, because soon after that the wheels cracked anyway. My buddy Mikey got me a bike, and then…”

  Conor caught himself. It felt wrong to say Mikey’s name if he couldn’t talk about him. If Sierra couldn’t know about him.

  “That is a whole other story. But my point is I only had the guts to do that because of the elephant.”

  This time Sierra giggled. She propped herself up on an elbow that was in turn on his arm, her fingers threading through her hair, and gave him a look.

  “You keep saying that like it makes sense,” she said. “It does not.”

  Conor grinned. “Well, I didn’t say it was gonna make sense,” he said. “The elephant was imaginary. My imaginary elephant.”

  “Your imaginary elephant,” she repeated.

  “Yup,” Conor said. “And he was awesome. The skateboard didn’t matter in the end. But the fact that I stood up for myself? That fucking mattered. And that was because of the elephant. I just needed to feel like someone had my back, even if only I could see him. And nobody could take my imaginary elephant from me, no matter how many pounds he had on me.”

  “Conor, what…”

  He shifted again, quicker this time, slipping his hand between her legs, pulling her flat on her back against the arm of the big chair. He leaned over her and their eyes locked. The jolt that hit him was almost starting to feel familiar.

  “I’m saying, Princess,” he said, “that whatever those paintings are to you, if you talk to them or whatever the fuck, don’t let this guy take them from you. Don’t let anyone. Let them have your back instead. Be on your own damn side.”

  It was just one of those memories he carried with him, a moment that taught him something he wanted to keep. Be on your own damn side
. He’d never told anyone that story. Not because he was ashamed, but because he never expected anyone else to get it.

  Sierra got it.

  Looking right back into his eyes, she got it. The jolt between them came back and woke up the thing in his chest.

  “What was his name?” Sierra said.

  “Elephant,” Conor said. He shrugged. “Sometimes I called him Eli.”

  “That’s actually really, really cute,” she whispered.

  “Eli was a full grown war elephant.”

  “Still cute.”

  Sierra looked into his eyes for another beat before blinking away, her cheeks reddening. Yeah, he’d felt it too. That wasn’t supposed to be happening.

  You’re gonna break her heart, Kelly.

  Conor frowned. This was a fucking mess. A mess.

  And it was all one man’s fault.

  Conor was going to nail Jared Fiore to the goddamn wall.

  “So what’d you find on the morning show caller?” Conor asked.

  Conor cast an eye down the hospital hallway where he was waiting on Sierra’s visit with another sick kid. He was outside the room on his phone, but he had Kane’s feet to the coals anyway. He’d keep them there as long as he had to, too.

  “Pulling it up now,” Kane said over the connection. “How’s the security detail working out?”

  Kane had made good on his promise since one of his guys had sold Sierra out. There were always another two guys on duty, guys that Kane knew personally. Conor didn’t know how Kane knew so many giant men, but he did. Two of them were on either side of a hospital bed at that very moment, while Sierra sat on the bed with a sick girl and did her makeup for her. It looked fucking ridiculous, but it was safe. Plus Conor was by the door.

  “Adequate,” Conor said.

  He took advantage of the pause while Kane got his information to size Sierra up from a distance. She looked better than she had before, when she’d realized, half an hour after the scheduled start time, that her friend Tiffany was flaking on this candy-striper deal. She’d seemed both unsurprised and worried at the same time, and like she was trying to hide both reactions. Which told Conor there was some history there that he didn’t know about.

  “We got a number,” Kane said. “The number the producer was told to let through.”

  “Give me details.”

  “Untraceable,” Kane said. “Burner phone.”

  Conor cursed. “Tell Rourke to get his cop buddies on it,” he said. “I want to know where it was purchased. I’ll do the rest.”

  “On it,” Kane said.

  Conor hung up. It was only the day after the morning show incident. If they tracked this down quick enough, they might be able to get something solid.

  And if they got something solid…

  Would he tell her?

  Conor turned, watched Sierra saying goodbye to the young girl she’d been hanging out with. Both Sierra and the kid were glowing like a couple of lightning bugs. There was something about little things, someone caring about how you looked or what you had, that made you feel fully human. He wondered if that girl had gotten to feel pretty since she’d been in the hospital. Well, she did now. Sierra had done that. She’d done it without recognition, or cameras, or any of that nonsense. She just came here as often as she could, and helped.

  She was that kind of woman.

  Telling her about her brother would break her heart.

  And he’d still do whatever he had to to keep her safe. Goddammit.

  “All done?” Conor said.

  Sierra was wiping a tear away from her eye, carefully out of sight of the little girl. Silently she nodded.

  “Where’s your partner in crime?” Conor said. “Hear anything?”

  “Who, Tiffany?”

  “Yeah, Tiffany.”

  Sierra shook her head, evading Conor’s gaze as they made their way back to the parking garage, one of the extra bodyguards ahead of them, one behind.

  “She’s just…Tiffany,” Sierra said. “Sometimes she does this.”

  Conor watched the valet pull their car up, ready for inspection by the two muscleheads that were accompanying them for the day. Security protocol said he would drive Sierra to her next appointment, and they’d tail behind.

  Conor stepped forward, opened the door for Sierra. And nailed her with a look before she got in the car.

  “I need to know if she’s a security risk,” Conor said, plainly. Only a hint of an edge to his voice.

  “She’s not,” Sierra said. “She’s just…Tiffany. That’s all. It’s fine, I promise.”

  Conor’s eyes narrowed. Sierra sensed it. She didn’t look away, but there was something, some level of pain or worry that she was not talking about. Whatever it was, she genuinely believed it was fine.

  Still. Something she wasn’t talking about.

  “Get in the car,” he said.

  Conor was quiet as he drove them out of the garage, on to a private luncheon for something or other rich people. Not anything he cared about. He was still mulling over the Tiffany mystery, the possible angles, liking it less and less. But liking more and more that he didn’t have to think about how to break Sierra’s heart.

  That’s the only reason she caught him by surprise.

  “Why’s that phone out?” he said into the rearview mirror.

  Sierra was grinning at him, but her eyes were soft when she looked out from behind her phone.

  “You didn’t ask where I got Rachel’s look,” she said. Rachel had been the last girl in the hospital, the one who got a full makeover.

  “Not gonna lie to you, Princess, I don’t even know what that means. Are you filming me?”

  “A look is like…a face,” she said. “A makeup map, sort of? Like the portraits.”

  He eyed her in the mirror, still with her camera up.

  “That mean you did another painting?” he said.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe another video too. How do you feel about being on camera?”

  Conor caught her eye.

  “No.”

  “But the camera loves you,” she said. “My fans love you. Half of Boston loves you.”

  He heard the smile in her voice and had to stop himself from smiling back.

  “No.”

  “They all want to know when you’re going to throw me over your shoulder again,” she said. “I can’t disappoint them entirely.”

  Conor suppressed a growl. It was hard enough to keep a rein on his own desires, his own…whatever the hell it was inside him that switched on around her. That felt things again.

  This brat had the audacity to make it harder.

  “Princess, are you recording me?”

  “Also maybe.”

  Conor made a split decision.

  Sierra slid across the back seat as he made the sudden turn, her phone flying.

  “Put your seatbelt on, Princess,” he said.

  They were there in less than five minutes, their security tail booking it down Storrow Drive to keep up. Still plenty of time for Conor to think about how she was hiding something from him. To think about how it mattered to him more than it should have. To think about what he was going to have to do.

  And plenty of time for Sierra to figure out where they were going.

  He parked right on the street, not giving a damn.

  Got out. Yanked open her door.

  Sierra looked up at him from where she was perched in the back seat, her eyes huge, her phone in hand. Conor took it, tossed it into the back seat as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The other security detail pulled up to his left, and he raised his hand, giving the all-ok sign. No problems here. Just a sub in need of some reminding.

  “Get out,” he said, his voice thick. “And get inside.”

  He saw her swallow as she looked down to find her footing, saw the little shudder thrill through her. She stepped out, looking back up as she did, her eyes meeting his. Softness there. Electric softness. He didn’t fucking understand it. />
  A moment, where she paused, her head close to his. He bent down as she passed, smelled her hair.

  He growled.

  He watched her walk ahead of him, in the late afternoon, late enough that the light was getting soft, and told himself to remember what was real. The case, the threat, the way they didn’t fit into each other’s lives. Because every step he took closer to her, up those steps, felt more and more real. Watching her ass sway in that dress, smelling her perfume, feeling the breeze on the back of his neck.

  Time moved slowly. Too slowly. The thing in his chest scrabbling at his rib cage, snarling. Hungry.

  He felt his pulse in his fingertips as he opened the outer door to the club. His fucking fingertips. His cock ached with each beat.

  And then she was inside.

  He closed the door behind them, grabbed her elbow, spun her around. Fuck the club, the foyer worked. The foyer had a wall. He pushed against it, pulling the neck of her dress down over her breasts, leaving her bare like that. Gasping, bare.

  He took one second to look at her, standing in the half-light, breasts out, eyes big, mouth open. One.

  Then he was on her.

  Hands up under her bare ass lifting her up easily, her legs coming around him, her back hitting the wall. She looped her arms around his neck, pressed her forehead against his as he pulled her underwear aside. All a blur, all hazy, all fuzzy until he was inside her.

  Conor pinned her to the wall, his cock driving into her wet heat, and he shuddered.

  This was where he fucking belonged.

  “Mine,” he said.

  “Yours.”

  And then he fucked her like it was true.

  Twenty-One

  Sierra collapsed on the couch with the force of someone who was finally done for the day, her body going truly limp as she hit the pile of pillows. Sierra did not mess around with couches or pillows or other comfy nesting accoutrements; she got the good stuff. But until recently, she hadn’t been able to relax into any of it in months. And she hadn’t even noticed until Conor came along and…

  Relaxed her.

  He followed her into the apartment, exchanging a last few words with the guy who would be on duty outside the door overnight. It had become part of their routine, as much as her life could be considered routine. At the end of a day of public appearances, meetings, bar openings, whatever, Conor would do his bodyguard thing, then grab a take-out menu and toss it to her. They’d get food, hang out laughing, having fun. It felt easy to laugh.