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by Lea Griffith

  Ruthie knew what she was up against. She had this.

  An hour later she was showered, primped, and stepping into what Daly described as a fire-engine-red latex dress that had a sweetheart neckline dipping low into her décolletage, with long sleeves that hugged her arms. It was skintight all the way down her body, and obviously showing off everything to perfection if Daly’s whistle was anything to go by. The dress flared out below her knees and fell to the floor, a mermaid style that was flirty and managed to class up a very erotic piece of wardrobe.

  If she was going to a party in a BDSM club, she was damn well going to dress the part.

  Daly whistled again. “Damn, I could hate you, girl.”

  “You could, or you could just get over here and do my makeup,” Ruthie said, brushing off the compliment.

  She had no idea how she looked anymore. Her memories told a story of a chubby girl with pale skin. Try as she might, she could not picture what she looked like now. Men had been telling her she was beautiful her entire adult life. No one ever wanted to date her, though, her blindness a flaw they couldn’t see past.

  “Light on the makeup, Day. I want to look classy, not slutty wallbanger, yeah?” Ruthie prompted.

  Daly tsked and then began winding Ruthie’s hair into what was no doubt an intricate design.

  “Screw it,” Daly said as she tossed pins on the vanity. “Leave it down—that black silk against that red latex is just yowza.”

  Ruthie chuckled and shrugged. “You know I’m a minimalist at heart.”

  “And it makes me hate you even more,” Daly replied. “Okay, then, you ready?”

  “Let’s get this party started,” Ruthie said with a deep breath.

  Daly stopped her and hugged her close. “He needs you, Ruthie. He’s a different man when you’re around. I think you just might complete him.”

  Tears welled unbidden in Ruthie’s eyes. She hugged Daly back, then took a deep breath of her own and blew it out roughly. “I don’t know about completing him—he hasn’t let me. But I’m going to fight for my chance. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  Then they were heading down the main set of elevators.

  —

  Tobias let the warm water sluice down his body and grimaced before he pounded the tiles under his hand. He’d left his need untended for too long, and it was like razor blades across his soul. His heart beat heavy, a fire was building in his cock, and a drum beat in his mind.

  He was going to play a woman tonight, give her his dominance and take her submission, but he would leave that scene as incomplete as he walked into it. It was always a temporary fix to a permanent problem, and the only solution was her…Ruthie.

  Her name rebounded through his mind, shattering his control and making him face what he managed to push back every day—he had to have Ruthie Copeland. Needed her like he needed the air he breathed.

  And he’d pushed her away. Not for him, but for her. Someone as sweet as Ruthie should never be exposed to Tobias’s demons.

  Her blue-gray eyes flashed through his mind, her pink bow lips next. She liked to lick those lips, tugging the bottom one into her mouth when she was thinking really hard. How many times had he kissed her? Sucked that lip between his own and made love to it when what he really wanted to do was slide his cock between her lips and fuck her mouth until he gave her all he was.

  He reached for his engorged flesh, stroking it from root to tip, knowing it would do nothing to relieve the ache but hopeful for just a moment of clarity before he got out, dried off, and gave another woman what he needed to visit on Ruthie.

  Their single night of dominance and submission played through his mind, a movie on the backdrop of his eyelids. Her body writhing under his flogger, the cream of her skin turning red with his marks. She’d hissed, and Tobias had nearly come in his pants.

  His hand moved faster over his dick, wringing a tortured moan from his chest. He remembered the curve of her ass, had it committed to memories that peeked out only when the need beat against the walls of his heart. He’d scratched over his flogger marks, and she’d moaned so loudly, pleading with him to finish her off.

  Faster his fist moved, up and down, root to tip, tugging on his shaft until his toes curled on the tile beneath his feet and he didn’t feel the hot water or his own fist; all he felt was her pussy clutching him deep, so deep.

  He released in a rush, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, the relief doing nothing but ratcheting his need higher.

  He punched the wall again and hissed. He’d feel that later. Not now, but later.

  He washed quickly, dried off, and dressed. Leather pants, heavy boots, no shirt. He let his hair dry naturally. It fell into his eyes, and he realized he needed to get a cut soon. Ruthie had loved his hair long. Now he only wore it that way when he’d forgotten to grab a haircut.

  Too many memories. Too much Ruthie. Always she was there, haunting his days and nights.

  He’d done the right thing by sending her away. When he’d seen the marks he’d left over her soft skin he’d been horrified. She deserved to be treated with reverence. Instead he’d visited his darkest desires on her body.

  He still didn’t know if she’d enjoyed it or given herself out of the selflessness that was inherently Ruthie. She’d come, hard, but there was a fine line between pleasure and pain, and just because he made her body orgasm didn’t mean she’d experienced pleasure under his hands. Goddamn, the most fragile, beautiful flesh he’d ever had under his dominance and he’d had to send her away.

  He’d hurt her so badly she’d moved to Vegas. He and Jeremiah never spoke of it, but his best friend had known—he alone knew what Tobias had endured, the struggle he went through to keep his needs in check.

  A lot had happened in the last three years. He was even darker now—the black depths of his soul showing in the diagonal scar that ran down the entire length of his left cheek. Tobias drew in a deep breath and picked up his play bag.

  Inside the bag were the toys he’d use tonight on Savannah Cavanaugh—floggers, a whip, and a paddle. She had to bring her own clamps and dildo if that’s what she wanted. They’d agreed on submission only because Tobias drew the line at sex with a sub inside The Underground, and he’d taken no one to his house since Ruthie had hung from his chains. Savannah had been angling to submit to Tobias for a long time now. Since Jeremiah had discarded her, she’d become a one-woman army, doing everything possible in her campaign to gain a full-time Dom. Jeremiah had fretted about whether or not to continue to allow her membership in his exclusive, high-end BDSM club.

  Ultimately, it had been Daly who’d let her stay. Savannah was a natural submissive, and Daly realized the other woman had needs and walked a tightrope of control. But she was searching for something she wasn’t going to find with Tobias.

  Because his heart was already occupied by a long, tall, sexy drink of water with waist-length nightfall hair and eyes the color of blue-gray crystal. Tonight, when his flogger fell on Savannah’s golden skin, it would be cream curves in Tobias’s vision. Nothing could replace Ruthie.

  He locked his door, set the alarm, and rubbed a weary hand down his face. What the hell was he going to do for the rest of his life? Mourn her?

  He glanced at his watch, seeing he had about thirty minutes before he was due to play Savannah, and he cursed. Yet the needs still beat at the cages of his heart. So while he might not be able to purge them entirely, he could take an hour or so to find some relief. He’d hate every minute of it, but it would take the edge off.

  Otherwise, he’d explode or, worse, go for Ruthie.

  And that was the one thing he absolutely could never do.

  Chapter 2

  The atmosphere of the club stroked over Ruthie’s skin as she stepped off the elevator. It prickled like static electricity down her spine, leaving her more than a little aroused. The music was hard and heavy, the hammering rhythm synonymous with lust and sex. It sank into her ears, running straight to her clit, which pou
nded in time with the thump of the beat. The smells of sex and leather and the moans of ecstasy rebounded through her body, reminding her.

  For a moment her mind blanked, and she was taken back three years, the call of subspace so intense right then that her eyes watered. Ruthie almost groaned at the need streaming through her body. She was always given pause when she stepped in The Underground. Her breath locked in her chest and her nipples furled into tight points. She knew for a fact that the red latex she’d poured herself into would highlight her breasts.

  “Damn, the club is hot tonight, ladies,” Candace said from Ruthie’s left. She reached for Ruthie and hugged her tight. “You look amazing, doll baby,” she whispered in her ear before she stepped back.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Ruthie said, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Ruthie. Believe that,” Candace said with a laugh.

  “Me either,” Daly chimed in.

  Ruthie smiled. “You guys like surprises, huh?”

  “Nope,” both women said at the same time.

  All three burst into laughter. The air to her right stirred, and Ruthie knew someone had walked up. Silence fell then, the song ending and her friends going quiet as well.

  “Ladies.” The voice was deep, dark, and slightly accented. Ruthie tried to place it and failed. Over the underlying accent was a hint of the South that made it difficult to place.

  She inclined her head to the unknown man, his voice niggling at her brain. She knew him….

  “Dante Shaw,” she said, finally placing the voice. “How long has it been?”

  The man had an old-world type of charm that never failed to make her smile. He raised her hand, the warmth of his surprising the cold away for a moment, before he kissed the back of her fingers. “Too damn long, Ruthie Copeland. My, my, my, you have grown up, haven’t you?”

  The man was dangerous. If Tobias was a well of unknown depth, this man was the center of the earth, and women were iron filings to his magnet. His dangerous, bad-boy persona worked well for him, with both women and business. She heard he’d taken over the Dixie Mafia in a brutal coup recently, taking the entire southeastern part of the United States as his territory.

  He’d read to her when she’d been younger, his beautiful voice giving life to the words from Shakespeare, Dickens, and Byron. He was much like a big brother, though she’d always been wary of him. He’d spent time with Jeremiah when they’d been teens working for the DM and by default had spent time with David and Ruthie. There were things about Dante that nobody knew—where he was from, what he was capable of. The type of things that drew women to him but then made them run for cover when they got too close to the truth—or when he tired of them.

  “Everybody grows up, Mr. Shaw. How have you been?” she asked, leaving her hand in his, even letting him tuck hers into the crook of his arm.

  “Busy. I didn’t know you frequented your brother’s club?”

  Was that censure in his tone? She bristled for a second, and heard Candace and Daly gasp before she smiled up at him. “As I said, Mr. Shaw, everybody grows up.”

  “And some do it better than others,” he commented, his words rasping over her frayed nerves, soothing but also sending up a warning.

  He was a grown man, with grown man needs. She was now a grown woman, and he had noticed. The thought brought back the cold.

  “I’ll take your compliment but warn you I’m not on the play list,” she responded lightly. “I hear we’re celebrating your entry into The Underground?”

  “Something like that. Your brother has been very accommodating, allowing me membership. How have you been, Ruthie?”

  She pondered his words for a second, or more likely what he wasn’t saying. He’d effectively sidestepped any queries she might make about him putting the ball back in her court. “I’m doing well. Living in Vegas for a while, but I’m home now.”

  He patted her hand. “And the painting?”

  “I still dabble,” she said as he guided her over the hardwood floors through the club.

  He barked a laugh, and to Ruthie’s ears it was rusty. “Dabble? I’ve got one of your paintings hanging over my desk at the office—it cost me a bloody fortune. I think you do way more than dabble.”

  She nodded and heard someone call her name. She lifted a hand, waved to the person, and refocused on Dante. “Which one did you buy?”

  “Call to Me.” His tone was somber, and Ruthie was about to ask why he’d picked that piece when he urged her to sit. “Let’s have a drink, shall we? I think the first scene is about to begin. I hope you’re ready for this, Ruthie.”

  She went on alert then, her body tingling, a mixture of fury and arousal. Whenever Tobias was around there was always the combination of both. Fear played into the mix this time, and for a stunning second she realized the fear was what grounded her, kept her on point.

  She feared losing Tobias. Being here tonight wasn’t for her, it was for him.

  “Where are we sitting in relation to the stage, Dante?”

  He chuckled, the sound low and sexy.

  She turned to him and frowned. “None of that, Mr. Shaw. I’ll remind you again I’m not on the market, and besides, you read Dickens to me when I was nine or ten years old. You’re way too old for me,” she told him matter-of-factly.

  He snorted. “I’m the same age as Jeremiah and Toby.”

  Her frown grew fiercer. “You’re like my brother.”

  “And Toby?”

  “Isn’t,” she bit out.

  She prayed he would let it go. Ruthie wasn’t about to discuss her love life with Dante Shaw.

  “I hear you, Ruthie,” he told her softly before he cleared his throat and sat down beside her on the leather couch. “We’re to the left of the Gold Stage, front row.”

  “Wanted to be close, huh?”

  “Wanted to see what I’m signing up for,” he murmured.

  A cryptic response, and there was something there she wasn’t interested in deciphering. Hands dropped on her shoulders and squeezed, the smell of lavender telling her it was Daly.

  Her friend leaned down and spoke in her ear. “I can’t watch him tonight, Ruthie. I’m heading upstairs. You need me, have Candace bring you right up, okay?”

  Ruthie patted her friend’s hand and nodded. She was sitting on the end of the couch, Dante on her left, Candace now standing on her right.

  She should be fine.

  Oh, what the hell? She was insane.

  This was going to hurt.

  So much.

  But if she survived it, he’d know she was back and the game could begin. The outcome wasn’t assured, but she was going to give it her all.

  Everything went quiet, an expectant hush falling. Ruthie listened, waiting for footfalls over the stage, but the music began then, a deep, heavy rock song with a bass line that made everything inside her shiver.

  Dante’s hand lowered from the back of the couch to her shoulder, and she wanted to shrug it off, but decided it might offer some stability. Candace shifted at her side and then her husband’s, Finch’s, hand landed on Ruthie’s other shoulder. Solidarity was a beautiful thing just then, because under the strains of the music was the thump of boots on the stage.

  There wouldn’t be many words—that wasn’t not how Tobias played. He preferred his subs to be silent—Ruthie had a single night’s experience with that characteristic. No words.

  She focused on each sound, needing them to tell her what was next. There were no introductions, and Ruthie was glad Daly had told her who was on the stage with Tobias.

  A shudder ran through Dante’s big frame, and his hand on her shoulder tightened for a second before she turned her head to him.

  “He looks…prepared,” Dante murmured.

  She ignored the comment and listened. She hadn’t spent much time within the confines of The Underground. Her brother had come to her three years ago, shortly after Daly left him, and told her his
plans. An upscale BDSM club with all the kinky trappings and elite clientele it could hold. He hadn’t necessarily wanted her permission; rather, it had been a courtesy.

  He’d known her relationship with Tobias had fallen apart, but he was going into business with his best friend, and he’d needed to let Ruthie know that the ties that bound them all weren’t just going to up and disappear.

  Her brother’s needs were similar to Tobias’s. Still waters ran deep, and dominance was inherent in both men. Ruthie had given her blessing to the venture and then helped Jeremiah plan the club, whose membership would eventually become the most sought after in the city of Atlanta.

  He’d designed it with Ruthie’s blindness in mind; that’s how much she meant to him. As a result, The Underground was a very open space with various nooks and alcoves that could hold personal moments, but there were also stages at each of the four corners of the main floor. The largest was the Gold Stage. She would never be able to see it, but in Ruthie’s mind the burnished wood shone under the ornate Swarovski crystal chandelier she’d demanded highlight the stage.

  And though he’d designed it so she could traverse the club easily, Ruthie rarely stepped foot inside, because it, too, was a reminder of Tobias and what he kept from her.

  The snap of leather in the air brought her attention to the stage, and once again she immersed herself in the sounds. Her heart thudded in her chest, and everything was brought into her mind’s focus.

  She pictured his tall frame dominating the space. His heavy bones surrounded by all that taut muscle. She’d had those muscles under her hands once, under her fingertips. Her hands clenched into fists.

  Sometimes a Dom spoke to the crowd beforehand, letting everyone know that a contract had been struck between him and his submissive. Tobias didn’t say a word.