by Susan Arden
Sex Drunk
MIA FOUGHT to appear collected. Perched on the bar stool in her rubber band sized dress, trussed up like a stuffed bird with her boobs about to pop, she reminded herself to take a breath. All she could manage were a few mini gasps. And even those were a fight.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“I’d love a glass of ice water. And then whenever you have a chance, bourbon neat.” Her muscles were strung past tight as she scanned the bar.
The bartender set the glass of ice water in front of her. “Here’s the first part. I’ll be back with your drink.”
“Thanks so much.” She slid the glass closer to the edge of the bar, rather than risk picking it up, and dumping it into her lap.
“My pleasure,” he replied in turn.
Sure enough, her hand trembled as she lifted the glass to take a sip. Glancing around, she sucked in a piece of ice and almost choked, but she couldn’t just spit the cube back into the glass. Suddenly the idea of pulling off this farce felt like a hundred different kinds of crazy. She set her glass down, careful not to tip the darn thing on her lap and really cause a scene.
Might help if she concentrated on observing the S & L members in attendance tonight. And refrain from mentally revisiting the blistering glare of that man in the outer office. His eyes had remained locked on her. No smile. No what the hell are you doing back? Just unwavering firepower that delved into her and wouldn’t let go. And of course, she’d refused to be the first one to look away. Oh no, she just had to go and stare right back.
What was he doing here tonight? He said he managed the place. Wasn’t he part of the day crew? Never in a million years had she expected to meet the unforgettable stare of the guy who capably undressed her with a single glance. Twice in one day. Shoulders as broad as a mountain and dark midnight-blue eyes, the color of a raging storm at sea. It wasn’t enough that he possessed chiseled good looks, but the shadow of beard stubble along his jaw made him seem dominating and ultra-serious.
That type of man should come with a warning label. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and don’t-fuck-with-me. Stomach flutter.
Mr. Penrose had assured her that no one would know she was here conducting research. Well no one else other than his partner Mr. McLemore. Initially for the sake of her project, she was supposed to remain under the radar. Fat chance if that man came barging into the bar area. He might question her and draw attention to her quest to be unobtrusive.
Since she had zero options except to succeed, if she happened to run into Dark and Determined, she’d have to shut him down. She worked too hard to chuck her project. Not when the hardest part was done. She received the official approval from her professor. Not to mention the time—and courage—she’d expended, convincing Mr. Penrose her research was above-board. He gave her a provisional go-ahead with one requirement. All she had to do was secure his partner’s authorization.
Last hoop and she was on her mark. Ready to meet the man who didn’t put up with nonsense and here she sat, nervously glancing around the club, waiting for Mr. McLemore to materialize.
The main floor was beautifully decorated in subtle dark woods and vermillion accents. High ceilings and twinkling chandeliers contrasted with the luxurious, oxblood-colored leather furniture. The music was low and seductive, and the members were dressed, some in suggestive outfits, but nothing garish or sleazy. All she had to do was be patient and act as though she belonged. She knew the score. Eventually, she’d find a few doms and subs to talk with, and then her first night would be over. She planned on coming back two or three times a week for the next three months; by then, she should have ample connections forged to get people to open up and talk candidly. Collect oodles of primary source research for her project.
“Here you go, sugar.” The bartender winked, setting her drink down. He was cute in that blond-athletic-type of way, and made smiling easier when her face felt frozen from a case of nerves.
“Appreciate it.” She laid a twenty on the bar. “Do you know where Mr. McLemore is?”
“Brandon?” He jerked his chin. “Right over there.”
She swung her glance over her shoulder. Oh dear God! Mr. Domination and Determination in the flesh! Unrelenting glare and all. Only now his expression was ten times less inviting. He stood there arms akimbo, his gaze scorching a hole in her as though she didn’t belong—he could probably spot a fake a mile away. He’d more than likely lay into her for leaving when he’d called for her to wait. Not her best exit on record.
As if on cue, he crossed the floor and walked a beeline in her direction. This time she couldn’t get up and exit, doing a full on sprint to her car—even though she felt like running. Mr. Penrose had warned her to keep her chin up, and now his advice made perfect sense. If Mr. McLemore asked about her earlier visit, she’d explain that was part of gathering baseline research and just tell the truth. She doubted he’d openly discuss her research project. All she had to do was act cordial, professional, and get him to agree.
The closer McLemore came the deeper he frowned. Mr. Penrose had repeatedly warned her, Brandon McLemore was more bark than bite—uh, that tidbit was seriously in question.
Cue the countdown. 3-2-1.
If she was the first to break the ice, it would give her a chance to explain about her running off earlier.
“Hello, Mr. McLemore,” she greeted him warmly but with an efficient undertone.
His unwavering eyes widened incrementally, but other than that, he didn’t look impressed.
“Evening,” he replied curtly and she fell oddly silent under his unblinking stare “Didn’t we meet earlier today? Outside in the parking lot?”
“About that...” She swallowed hard, trying to get her head together.
“You just took off and had me wondering.” A muscle twitched along his carved jaw.
“Sorry to dash off. I didn’t realize, you were—”
He quipped, “More than a hired hand?”
“No. I had an appointment.” Wonderful. He thinks I’m shallow.
“Well, if you aren’t going to dash out the door, maybe we can get through a simple introduction. Obviously, you know who I am. Mind telling me your name for starters?” His words sounded courteous but the smolder in his eyes had yet to simmer down. Especially when his gaze drifted to her chest.
He might be a little put out by how she hightailed it away earlier, but she wasn’t about to let some man—business owner or not—size her up. He wasn’t the first cowboy she’d had the pleasure to redirect. Growing up on a horse farm overrun with ranch hands, she’d learned how to snap a guy out of his obvious fascination with her breasts.
“Excuse me, but my eyes are up here.”
His eyes rebounded to hers and he snorted like one of the champion stallions her father bred. She’d ridden plenty growing up, and that included walking away after being thrown not once, but enough times to recognize a beast about to buck.
But instead of going hot under the collar in a blink, amusement filled McLemore’s confident gaze. “Then answer the question. Or I can always give you a club name.” He leaned closer, taunting her, and his eyes traveled to her lips. “One only we would share.”
Her skin heated and she was on the verge of nodding, or possibly drooling. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, filled with a sense of longing that sizzled under her skin into existence. With his unwavering gaze, he watched her like she was his subject and he was the one with the research project.
Her heart thudded in her chest. “My name is Mia.”
“Mia. So that’s your real name?” He knitted his brow. “Mia. Isn’t that Spanish for ‘mine’?”
The way he said her name and ‘mine’ had a fluid finality. A sensuous type of resonance like an erotic string was plucked deep inside her. One only he could reach and play.
“Real name and after my grandmother. And you’re right, Mr. McLemore, it means mine.” Great, could her face grow any hotter?
�
��Call me, Brandon.” The corners of his lips relaxed and actually curved into an irresistible smile similar to the one she’d seen earlier. “Have any idea what my name means?”
She shook her head unprepared for that question. “Sorry. But I don’t.”
“Guess. Or better yet, make something up. What comes to mind, Mia?”
He was toying with her—maybe he wanted to see how proficient her level of hit the ground running was considering she was doing just that by coming here tonight, and had earlier today. Mr. Penrose more than likely had shared that this was a big deal to have a university interested in his club. They could definitely help each other out. So what if it involved a little innocent flirting. This was a sex club and wallflowers weren’t in season.
She grinned, ready to demonstrate she had the goods to do off-the-cuff. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. Let’s see, Brandon sounds kinda Scottish and means, mmm...” She gazed up into his dark blue eyes and it felt like a searing stab speared straight into her frontal lobe. Without thinking, she softly blurted out, “Holy hell.”
Did I just say holy hell out loud?
“Holy hell?” he repeated, his blue eyes darkening.
That would be yes! Oh crap.
Since the cat was out of the bag, she might as well own it. “Yep. Brandon translates to Holy. Hell.”
“Ouch! But I asked for it.” He laughed low, flicking his fingertips along the stubble at the edge of his jaw. “Holy hell works for me. Enough to make them my safe words, if I ever need a pair.”
Her head snapped up. “Do dominants have safe words?”
His gaze flicked to hers, intense assessing sapphire eyes. “Some. Those who are into masochism. It’s complicated. I never have. But I get the feeling around you anything’s possible.” He extended his large capable hand. “Mia, gotta say you’re different. And I’m glad you came back.”
If anyone was different it was him. Two minutes in his company and he gave her the heart-thumping impression, something like a head rush during a ride on a ropes course zip-line.
“Thanks. Me too.” A little full of herself, she took hold of his huge hand and squeezed.
Then froze.
Holy hell was right. Heat from his hand soaked into her palm, spreading outward in a fiery force across her body. Nothing compared with the cyclone sensation of his hand sliding over her skin, tangling their fingers before he made her hand disappear within his. He squeezed her fingers and a jolt of electricity shot up her arm before crash landing deep in her belly.
Unaware of the seismic shift going on inside her body, he gazed at her and commented in his deep voice, “I don’t recall seeing you inside the club before. Unless I was off. I’m sure I wouldn’t forget seeing you. Mia... Mine.”
“My first time. Don’t hold that against me.” She tried to think of something to add, but her mouth was drier than the Sahara.
He smiled and shook his head. “On the contrary. My offer to show you around is still open. There are the other stained-glass windows we spoke about earlier.” He shifted his gaze across the bar and pointed. “The glass came from Austria. This church commissioned them in the 30’s. Supposedly it was a way for the artist and his family to escape being sent to a Nazi concentration camp.”
She peered at the stained-glass but her eyes drifted back to his face. He spoke passionately about the artist’s plight and the amazing glasswork, and she sat there mesmerized by him. For a heartbeat, she drank in his profile. Patrician nose, high cheekbones, full pouty lips (when he wasn’t frowning), strong chin, square jaw. Her sanity was questionable in being attracted to him. But damn. It had been a long time since she’d felt a stardust-happy-to-be-alive shimmy run wild under her skin.
“The others are upstairs in the attic, like I said.” He swung his gaze back to her, catching her in the act of staring as if she were hypnotized.
“Incredible story,” she mumbled.
Her heart beat way too fast. His handsome face coupled with his deep voice—well the combination did funny things to her mind and body like make her wonder if he was the type of dominant who’d tear the clothes from her body or make her kneel for hours, holding one position.
Or bind her wrists. Her ankles. Fuck her on all fours.
Brandon cocked his eyebrow as though he could read every dirty thought of hers, involving him dominating her.
Categorically, I’ve lost it. A flush covered her skin.
He slowly inhaled as he stared into her eyes. “If you’d like, I could give you a rundown on lots of trivia if it’s about this building. Since the beginning of the year, we gutted the inside and renovated it from the basement up. Especially the private rooms. It’s what sets us apart from other clubs. The services we provide are high-class even if it’s for a night. Mia... mine.”
He did lots of talking without saying the actual words and her body listened. Boy was it listening. His eyes heated with unabashed hunger and his flagrant desire drilled inside her, taking hold whether she invited him in or not. Was he suggesting what it sounded like?
This can’t be happening. I’m supposed to be studying the people here, not thinking about what it would be like to let him do me in one of those private rooms.
Shaken, she nodded. “Glad to hear. I have so many questions. You can’t imagine all the misinformation that’s out there.”
“More than you know. I’m aware of the myths, lies, fairy tales in the media. A reason we’re exclusive in who we let in. What about other clubs? Have you visited any of them?”
“None. This is my first time. Did Mr. Pen—I mean Phil inform you about my membership and why I chose your club over the others out there?”
“A few things come to mind. Why don’t you fill me in?” His eyes dropped down her body as though openly evaluating her. The set of his square jaw spoke of resolve and the ability to command without question.
“Uh.” She stalled, trying to frame what to say about her project.
After all they were seated at the bar with people all around. When their gazes snapped together, she felt naked in a way that wasn’t altogether bad, except she wasn’t here to sign up as his submissive for the night. Brandon was definitely doing more than innocent flirting with her... like he had no idea she was here to do research.
Nervously, she lifted her glass and swallowed the contents, nearly choking. Then she remembered why. She’d ordered bourbon for a reason. She didn’t like hard liquor, and wanted to nurse a drink all night. Her eyes watered and she blinked frantically, biting her lip from the fire burning the back of her throat.
“Are you okay?” he asked and gently smacked her on the back.
“I just swallowed liquid fire.” She took a deep breath which only made the burn worse. She started to cough. It felt like she was going to hack up a lung. Not that she could do much coughing with her ribcage bound within a tight corset. Her cleavage was about to break free from the neckline with his thumping her on the shoulder. When Brandon’s eyes raked over her chest she swore she could feel his heated gaze blister her skin. She chanced a glance down her front. OMFG!
The top of her nipples peeked over the edge of the dress. He was only inches from her and unless he’d gone blind in the last two seconds, he must’ve gotten an eyeful. She flashed a glance up to his face and affirmative.
Awful just got worse.
“Mia. Christ.” His gaze was glued to her boobs. His nostrils flared as he stepped in front of her, and planted his hands on either side of her on the bar.
She didn’t know if he was doing this to help shield her, but she felt caged within his sculpted arms, especially when he refused to look away. She was so close to him, a few paltry inches and they’d kiss.
Mortified by her dress and her desire to lock her lips with him, she stuttered in a hoarse voice, “If you were a gentleman, you’d stop staring.”
“Sweetheart, I am where you’re concerned. You’re still seated and not tossed over my shoulder. Aren’t you? And let me tell you, I’m tempte
d. Sorely, Mia.” Lifting his eyes, he wasn’t grinning but wore a look of intense ravenous lust—so hot, so fixed on her—she felt her pussy grow slick and swollen. “I thrive on honesty. You’re beautiful, Mia. Maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s not helping.” Could the floor crack open and swallow her? Right now!
He dropped his glance to the front of her dress. “Just tell me what to do. I’ve got two skilled hands at your disposal. I don’t normally let a woman direct me, but with you...I’m willing to bend my own rules.”
“Please, stop talking like that,” she choked, tightening her folded arms against her cleavage.
“Relax, Mia. Take a breath. Here’s a piece of advice I sometimes share, but with you I’m not sure I want to. Don’t be ashamed of having a body that any man would worship,” he whispered, looking into her eyes. “Isn’t that the reason you’re here?”
“I’m not here to feed my ego. This isn’t about me,” she protested, feeling as though she were losing ground. One wardrobe disaster and she was coming apart at the seams in more ways than one.
“If that’s the truth, you are different. Far different than anyone I’ve met in a long time.” His body stiffened even though he no longer stared at her like he was about to haul her away to some dark corner and eat her up.
Yet, strangely she still felt wholly connected to him as he shifted his gaze around the bar. If she leaned into him and sucked on his jaw or his neck, she bet it would be the most natural thing to do for both her, and him. What they had wasn’t typical; maybe some kind of pheromone response. A goldmine for her niche of study.
“What exactly do you mean?” she asked, interested in drawing him out.
“There isn’t anyone judging you here. So what if your neckline slipped. No one is going to paw you—I promise. This is the place where you don’t have to be so high-strung.” He swung his attention back to her and tipped up her chin without warning. “I like you Mia and I’m equipped to give you a night to remember—all you have to do is let go. And trust me.”
Heat scorched her skin at the points where he touched her face. Her muscles tightened and her nipples pebbled into points aching for relief. Confused why she couldn’t pinpoint the cause of her attraction and longing to say yes, she snapped her chin out of his grasp.