“Good work, Sam.” I gave him a $20. It hadn’t been that long ago when a $20 could make or break my weekend. Now I liked to share what I could.
I headed out into the night without a definite plan. But I knew I wouldn’t be heading up to my penthouse, not any time soon at least, so close to Kara yet not close enough. I needed to bide my time. A good distraction would make it that much easier.
Like the club I enjoyed when I was in town. It had nothing like the buffet of offerings or the lush opulence of clubs I frequented in New York. But BDSM was BDSM no matter where you did it, and this club usually knew how to put on a good show.
Located on the outskirts of town, the building had no exterior sign. A valet even parked your car off premises if you desired. The governor couldn’t have his constituents knowing he wielded a flogger for pleasure.
I didn’t particularly care what people thought of me, but you never knew who might want to turn up dirt when. Discretion seemed a smart choice. I pulled up into a dark alleyway. A man all in black emerged. I could see him quickly check my plates in his phone. Then he hopped to it, opening my door and taking another $20 from me with a crisp, “Good evening, sir.”
Funny how many people called me sir these days. In the boardroom. In the bedroom. Not bad considering I’d been a mere ‘boy’ not long ago, as in “boy, fetch me that over there.” Or, “Boy, you’re not gonna make much of yourself in life.” I’d had more than one adult tell me that, a nasty high school English teacher and a mean son-o-bitch correctional officer came to mind. Success felt good for a lot of reasons. Right at the top had to be proving people wrong.
Inside, a long corridor ended at a heavy door guarded by a big bald guy and hosted by a curvy, raven-haired woman in a suit.
“Welcome,” she greeted me, apparently having gotten word from the man who’d checked my plates. I was on the list. “Would you like to secure a private room? Or would you like to leave that option open for later?”
“I’m good.”
The big guy opened the door and I entered into a room of dark fantasies. Lanterns hung from the walls, giving out flickering light as if I were in a dungeon of old. People gathered around tall bar tables or reclined on clusters of chairs and sofas. Women circulated, bringing drinks. At first glance, it looked like any other club.
Then you’d notice a woman walking by in a g-string and nothing else, led by a leash attached to a collar around her neck.
Over in the corner a woman kneeled, nestled in between a man’s legs, her head working up and down as she sucked his cock. A few people watched. A man sat next to them and openly stroked his own thick erection. A woman stood fixated on the scene, her legs apart as the man next to her reached his hand up her tiny leather skirt to work her pussy.
Up on stage was the real show. It was just getting started. The master was handcuffing his slave and attaching her wrists to a hook hanging from the ceiling. She could still stand in her high heels, but barely as she stretched out. I could sense her mix of nerves and arousal. I wondered if she was new.
“How may I serve you tonight?” A redhead with thick eyeliner attended me, her large breasts displayed atop a tightly laced corset. She wore fishnet stockings and long, black stiletto-heeled boots.
“A bourbon, neat.”
“Yes, sir.”
I watched her walk away, her ass nicely displayed under a short, tight skirt. I knew the girls working at the club were on the menu as well, there to satisfy any needs of the clients. Another night she might tempt me. Tonight, I didn’t want to play myself. Just watch.
I found my way to a bar table, close enough to see well. The master was displaying his tools, laying them out for his sub to see on a wide, wooden table. He had a couple of floggers, some nipple clamps, various sizes of butt plugs. Some doms liked the element of surprise, blindfolding and shocking their subs. Others enjoyed making them watch, worry, anticipate. I could see merit in both strategies when done well.
This dom drew it out, showing her everything and building her tension, teasing her with her own anticipation of what he had planned. She twisted against her restraints and a newbie might mistake her distress as wanting to get away, escape from the man who held her at his mercy and get off the stage where strangers could openly stare at her. But to a more experienced master such as myself, I could see the signs. Her rapid, aroused breathing. Her nipples straining out in hardened peaks. I was close enough that if he parted her thighs for the audience—and I bet he would—I could see her glistening juices. I bet right now, up there on display, she was already slick with lust.
The mind was the ultimate sex toy. That’s why I wanted Kara to have some time tonight, time to play out scenarios in her head. She could imagine what I might do to her, things she desperately wanted but would never ask for, a good girl like her. With a boring lover she’d probably spend her life in the missionary position, more turned on by the naughty books she read and her own fingers than her man.
That’s why submission was so arousing. It gave me the power to give her exactly what she truly desired.
My drink arrived and I held it as I watched. Up on stage, the master chose to begin with nipple clamps. The sub whimpered, her eyes fixated on the gleaming metal. I could hear her breathing, fast and hard, like an animal. She had a safe word, every sub did, but she wasn’t even close to using it, I could see that. She wanted this, badly.
He teased her with the cold metal, sliding the clamp along her stomach. Down along her thigh. Then, with sudden swiftness, he brought it up to snap down on the aching peak of her nipple. She gasped, arching her back and panting.
The master waited, biding his time. After clamping the other nipple, he took a cat-o-nine tails from his bench and used it softly, tracing the braided ends along her limbs as she writhed with building need.
Waiting, planning, plotting. Crafting his strategy. Exercising so much restraint. In a true dom/sub relationship the sub might be the one physically tied down, but it was the dom who had to exercise iron-clad self-restraint. He had to stay completely attuned to his sub’s responses, coaxing, teasing, taunting, shocking, soothing, everything to build her desire. The better the build-up, the more intense the release.
With Kara, I planned to take my time. We only had a week, but I would use every second, teaching her, training her, showing her how much she needed to serve. She was such a lethal combination of innocent and sexy, and still clearly remained inexperienced. The way she’d responded when I’d gone down on her, I wondered if she’d ever had a man do that to her before. I swelled hard with the thought of being her first, the one to open her up to her own sexuality.
I’d played a lot of games with a lot of women over the past several years, but they’d all been experienced subs. I’d never trained an innocent. I always liked to play within well-established lines. It kept things safe, emotions removed, ensured that the entire exchange remained a physical transaction. I didn’t like things to get messy.
Sometimes you did run the risk of disengagement. Occasionally you’d see it in a club, the glimpse of boredom in someone’s eyes, whether sub or dom. They’d done it before a million times. BDSM might shock someone new to the scene, but for the more experienced even whips and ropes could become perfunctory.
With Kara, I knew it would be intense, all-consuming. I wanted to take her on a wild ride, see her confusion or apprehension melt into hot desire. See her struggles give way to the intense, overwhelming pleasure of submission.
I glanced at my phone. Still no response. I knew I’d told her I’d get in touch with her tomorrow. I wanted her now.
I could drive to the hotel and head up to her suite. Maybe I’d find her just stepped out from a shower, towel haphazardly wrapped around her wet, naked body, surprised to see me at the door. I could have her in my arms in an instant and I knew she’d yield, welcome me, need my touch as much as I craved hers.
But it was better to wait. My sweet Kara, all honey and strawberries, the farm girl I’d always wan
ted. Now a waitress at the local diner. I could picture her in a short, polyester dress, something cheap and tight that stretched over her curves. I bet she was good at it, serving, meeting people’s needs. It was me I wanted her to serve. She belonged with me, meeting my needs.
I downed the rest of my drink. Time to get out of there. It wasn’t like me to leave mid-show. I liked a big finish as much as the next guy. Right now the dom on stage was unhooking his sub and positioning her back over a table, her legs spread wide. Her pussy lay bare for all to see and, as I’d expected, it glistened, drenched and needy.
“Show everyone how wet you are, my little slut.” The man commanded. She moaned and spread her legs wider, allowing him to fasten her ankles further apart.
Yes, they were putting on quite a show but watching wasn’t helping my restlessness. It was making it worse. There would be no relief, I realized. No rest, no reprieve until I buried myself in Kara.
Behind the wheel of my Escalade, I started driving without a destination, pent-up, tense, yet aimless. Used to being master of my domain, cruising the streets with purpose, striding through life from one conquest to the next, it didn’t sit well with me. I knew where I wanted to go: Kara’s suite. But it wasn’t an option, not yet.
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to put Kara up in my hotel. I didn’t like the idea of heading back to the same building with her underneath me, but not in the way that I needed.
I wondered if Kara had received her VIP basket of overnight goodies yet. Maybe now she was rubbing some lotion on her legs, working her way up her thighs.
I swore under my breath. What was I doing, so agitated? I was cool, calm and collected. Unruffled feathers, still waters. No one could read my poker face and that was how I liked it. Now, I was like a new dad-to-be pacing the hospital hallway and stopping every nurse to ask, “How is she?” The high school sophomore hoping for a ‘yes’ from the crush he’d asked to prom.
Pathetic. And if there was one thing I didn’t do it was pathetic. I may have had a few moments of it, sure, back when I was a kid. But I’d learned quick that getting overly attached to things or people—especially people—didn’t serve you well. Nothing lasted. In this life the only person you could really count on was yourself, and the sooner you realized that the better it was for everyone. It made everything a hell of a lot less messy.
I headed out into the night, revving up my big, black hunk of metal. I decided I’d drive out to the resort I owned in Bozeman. I’d check on things, make sure business was running smoothly. It didn’t matter which property I ended up at, really, just so long as it wasn’t the one where she was staying.
My phone rested, silent at my side. 11:30. I’d talk to her tomorrow.
I felt it in my bones, she’d say yes. Soon all of my fantasies, everything I’d been wanting to do for years, I’d get to do. That would be our bargain. She couldn’t say no. I would have total control.
CHAPTER 7
Kara
Then
“Have fun, princess!” Daddy called out to me as I ran out to my truck to head to a pep rally.
“Thanks!” I called out. The bright smile fell from my face when I saw he was standing next to Declan. Glowering and sexy as hell.
I forced my feet to continue on to my truck, Bessie, in my cutsie-poo cheerleading outfit that I suddenly, desperately wished I wasn’t wearing. It screamed high school. A second ago, I hadn’t cared about that at all. I’d been focused entirely on getting to our extra practice session to prep for a couple of end-of-year pep rallies and senior year farewells. After seeing Declan: mental mush.
So much hard muscle. That solid jaw, the way he hooked a thumb in his jeans, all cocky, rugged, masculinity. I climbed into my pickup. I needed the A/C on. Too bad it had broken a couple of years ago.
“Be back by eight. It’s still a school night,” Daddy called after me like I was 12, not 18 going on 19.
“OK!” I smiled brightly—at my father, not Declan. I still hadn’t met his eyes, didn’t intend to either.
“I only get to say that for three more weeks! My baby’s growing up!”
“Yup.” My smile grew tight as I threw Bessie into gear. The closer I got to high school graduation, the more nostalgic he got. Again, it usually didn’t bother me, just old dad having a moment, but now, in front of Declan? What would he do next, hand me a stuffed animal or a brown bagged lunch with my name written on it? I knew he babied me, especially since he’d raised me on his own, but there was a time and a place.
I couldn’t help it, like a small piece of metal near a powerful magnet, my gaze drifted over to Declan. He was watching me, taking me in with his dark eyes, a smirk I recognized all too well spread across his handsome face. I gunned the engine and took off.
Still shaking as I drove down the road, my heart beat out of my chest. I was as breathless as the president of a teenage fan club who’d just met the Hollywood heartthrob of her dreams.
I had to get a grip. What exactly did I think would happen with Declan? The problem was thinking didn’t much factor into the equation. My stupid heart played it out like a Nicholas Sparks movie. It would start to rain late one night and he’d come to me, shirt plastered to his broad, muscled chest, shaking with emotion as he clasped me in his embrace and pledged his undying love.
I took a deep breath and turned up the tunes on the radio. I was a senior about to graduate. I had a boyfriend. I had things to do and people to see. From that moment on I wouldn’t even give Declan the time of day.
§
My plan lasted three days. Then Daddy asked me to bring something out to Bill in the barn. He was an old confirmed bachelor, set in his ways and independent to the core. But he was getting on in years, slower than he used to be, so when my dad asked me to bring something out for him, I didn’t mind. Especially late in the day when no one was likely to be in the barn, long past quitting time.
The sun lay low, close to setting in the sky. Light pink, dark purple, dusky gray, I didn’t think I’d ever tire of looking at our Montana sky. Not during a sunset, that was for sure.
“Better watch where you’re going.” A low, sly voice ruined my reverie.
I looked down and, sure enough, I’d come real close to tripping over a large tractor part. I stepped around it, cursing myself for wearing flip flops. A sundress and casual shoes worked in the kitchen, not out here.
“Shouldn’t wear flip flops over here,” Declan continued to admonish me. He stood in the entrance of the barn, working his way through cleaning and polishing a line of saddles. I hadn’t expected anyone to be there. I’d forgotten how Declan never quit working.
He didn’t have on a shirt. He looked like a portrait of rippled, corded muscle. The flat ridges of his abs, the definition of his pecs, even his forearms looked sexy with a few veins and a dusting of hair. Declan stood up and threw on a plaid shirt he had tossed to the side. I must have been standing there staring, my jaw dropped on the ground. I looked down in embarrassment.
“What are you doing here?” He always spoke to me with that tone of voice, like I was an annoyance, a bother.
I sighed and held up a package. “Dad asked me to bring this out for Bill.”
“You can put it over there.” Declan gestured to a workbench.
“I know where I can put it.” I’d lived there my whole life.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” I threw down the package. “Careful with that.” He took a step over, like he needed to catch it from falling.
“You don’t even know what’s in it.” I sounded like a petulant child.
“Do you?”
I shrugged. He stood closer to me now, his shirt unbuttoned, hanging loose over his finely toned chest. I swallowed and looked away. He returned to the saddles.
“Damn things.” He flicked a broken strap with a finger. “Lot of stuff around here needs an upgrade. Place I was at last…” He shook his head.
“Where did you work last?” A nugget about him! I felt so ea
ger.
“A ranch.”
“Did you like it there more than here?” He shrugged. “Do you like working here?”
“It’s a paying job,” he said. “A man’s got to eat.”
“You make it sound like it’s torture.”
“Only sometimes.” He gave me a sideways smile. What was he talking about? Why did he smile at me like that? I felt my cheeks flush.
“What was the last ranch like?” I couldn’t help asking. I wished I could stop myself from talking, wished I could walk right out of the barn, but I couldn’t. I was too fascinated by this man. I had to find out as much about him as I could, stay near to him as long as he’d let me.
“Nothing special.”
“Really?”
“You’re full of questions, kid.”
And there was the slap across my face I’d been expecting. He was such an arrogant bastard. “I’m not a kid! I’m 18 going on 19!”
“Are you 18 and three quarters?” he teased.
Even pissed off, I had to smile, just a bit. I did sound like a little kid, insisting on counting the fractions of the year. It was his fault, though, always making me feel like a baby. I paused, readying myself to go when he surprised me by speaking again.
“The ranch I’m heading to next seems pretty cool. They’re turning it into a resort.”
“A resort?”
“You know, for tourists. So they can come and stay and play ranch hand for a while.”
I’d heard of a couple of places doing that, catering to the wealthy and powerful who liked to vacation in America’s wilds. “How does it work, though? Don’t they mess everything up?”
Declan chuckled and shook his head. “They don’t actually do any work. You make them think they are. They ride around on horses, make a big mess with the hay. The brave ones do some branding.”
“And they pay to do that?”
“You wouldn’t believe how much.” Declan grew animated, a light in his eyes. “Kara, there’s a future in this, I can see it. You give these people a taste of life out here and they eat it up. They’ll pay crazy money to live like a cowboy for a week.”
Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) Page 10