by Jenna Elliot
Not Audrey. She needs to get a move on. She strips efficiently, taking the time to fold each piece of clothing, and set it neatly aside on a chair.
She’s a beautiful woman, delicate and perfectly feminine, even with the tattoos winding from her neck around her breasts and waist, artfully showcasing her sleek curves and turning her body into art.
I wait until she finally faces me then announce, “You’re both going to take part in a show.”
No reaction from Audrey, but Emme’s eyes widen.
“A public show?” she asks.
I nod. “Emme, your job is to entice the two men who’ll be on stage with you. If their dicks aren’t rock hard in two minutes, you fail. You can do whatever you want on stage, but you absolutely can’t touch them. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
I half-expect her to snap a salute. Audrey’s still stoic. Physically here, but emotionally in some dark place. Mentally cursing me out, I bet. Then again . . . maybe somewhere behind that bland expression is worry, too, because this is the test she failed her last go-around. One thing I do know . . . She wouldn’t be here attempting to pass this test again unless earning the position of domme was important to her.
That reminder takes the edge off. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.
I don’t sound so inconvenienced when I say, “Audrey, once Emme gets the audience hot, your job is to submit whatever way they ask of you. I’ll be watching. And I want a good show. Do you both understand?”
They nod, and I suck down the last of my drink and lead them to the staging area. I can see them exchanging glances and silent communication in my periphery, but I pretend not to notice. Maybe a little camaraderie will engage Audrey.
If I was a betting man, I’d put money on Emme. She wants to succeed. Audrey’s such a wild-card. An unforgettable one, though. When she’s in full-domme mode, she does know how to put on an amazing show. I’ll give Jax that. But shows will be as far as she’s going in my club unless she can pass our tests. I won’t let her loose on my clients unless she can be trusted to handle them with care. That’s what our guests expect, and we provide nothing less.
I lead the girls backstage. The men in the level three dom program will be in the scene with them. Both are young. Fairly inexperienced.
Emme surveys the scene, then looks to me, eyes alight. “May I have music for my part of the scene?”
I’m not surprised, given how much she loves to dance. “You got it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
My pulse ramps up in response to her enthusiasm. I appreciate candidates who get into the spirit of things in my club. The infinite possibilities for pleasure.
“Good luck, ladies,” I tell them, then go speak with the stage manager.
While I give instructions, an audience gathers in front of the stage. The crowd separates to allow me to pass through, and I greet people along the way, until I take my usual spot, front and center of the stage. I won’t miss Emme’s first performance.
I tell myself it’s my job to watch. But I can’t remember enjoying my job this much in a very long time.
11
Emme
THE MOMENTS before my performance stretch out like forever, and my nerves are getting away from me. Years of dance recitals taught me that adrenaline can fuel an amazing performance, but too much can be distracting and troublesome. I force myself to stop pacing and lean back against a wall. Squaring my shoulders, I pace my breathing before I hyperventilate and miss the only thing that has kept me going all week.
A night at the club.
And a distraction from a sleepless week of racing thoughts and ping-ponging emotions. I still have no clue what to do about Jason. How much effort I should put into moving our relationship past this bump in the road . . . Bump, hell. Past this freaking sinkhole.
The only thing I do know is that he hasn’t chased me nearly enough, hasn’t proven he’s worth another chance. Stargazer lilies don’t even come close. And sending in the RSVP to my sister’s wedding—the invitation I’d planned to send her on some future anniversary as a surprise memento, which he well knew—was pretty ballsy. He shouldn’t feel so confident of my response. That much I know, too.
I don’t feel remotely guilty about heading out for a night where I’m going to fuck whoever Ace tells me to fuck. I feel almost rebellious. Just because Jason has had a change of heart doesn’t mean I’m obligated to him. Not unless I want to be. Right now, all I want to do is stop thinking about him.
“You okay?” Audrey asks.
I nod quickly. Argh. I need to get out of my head.
“You don’t need to perform if it’s not your thing,” she says like she doesn’t believe me. “Ace’ll cut you some slack. He seems to like you.”
Does he? I can practically hear Mia’s warning against misinterpreting Ace’s actions in any way that goes beyond climax and good times.
“I’m okay with the performance.” I reassure Audrey. “Looking forward to it, actually. Been one helluva week.”
“Oh, man. I know all about those.” And she smiles. Haven’t seen her do too much of that in our acquaintance.
I only nod. I just want to spend tonight feeling good, no complications, no doubts or fears, just letting passion and orgasms drown out the clutter in my life. Tonight, the fantasy of hot sex beats the reality of heartache hands-down.
And especially when our two male performers show up. They are scorching with their Olympic swimmer or American Ninja Warrior bodies, all oiled muscles and wide chests. Pictures of decadent conditioning, except for the shadows underneath their eyes, which makes them seem almost dangerous.
The kind of guys you might run into on a moonless night on the wrong side of town. But here, I feel safe. Whatever sexual testing they’ve been involved in has pushed them to the edge, and I find all that raw emotion lends more excitement to my own.
Behind a curtain, the stage manager positions the men, one front left of the stage, the other rear right. I’m between them.
My heart stills. I am going to be naked on stage. In front of Ace. Even though he’s seen everything, done just about everything to me, too, this feels different.
Above my thudding heart, I hear the audience murmuring. They wait to watch me entice two guys with just my ingenuity and my body. If the men aren’t into what I offer, getting a rise out of them may be difficult.
And Ace will be keeping score.
Another deep breath. I remember what Audrey said before about Ace. If I do this right, maybe I can turn him on enough to invite me to another private session.
The very thought lights a fire inside me. Ace hasn’t seen everything. He’s never seen me dance naked.
In this place where sex is served 24/7, I decide subtle will have more effect than blatant. After all, skin is everywhere. So I need to tease, taunt, tempt with movement.
A shiver of excitement goes through me. The curtain rises. Time stops. I don’t move. I wait. The music starts, a throbbing beat. I hold perfectly still. And breathe.
And for an eternity I stand there, blinded, aware of nothing but the music and the way a spotlight heats my bare skin. But I feel eyes upon me and sense the audience’s anticipation. I feel it. With each heartbeat, I grow more tense, until the throbbing beat drowns everything, the music, the whisper of the waiting crowd.
Then slowly, I lift my head, stretch my arms, arch my back. I know my breasts lift, but the move is natural, sensual. The motion begins to take over. My heartbeat fades from my awareness, but a new awareness fills my senses. The motion of my body. The music flows through me, and I let it lead me. My arms undulate, my hips sway.
I love to dance, always have. But no dance has ever been like this—a seduction. A challenge. My eyes have finally adjusted to the light, and the shadows in the audience pale. I see Ace standing in the front row, his gaze riveted on me. And his stare makes me feel special. I like holding his attention. Proving myself.
I take a few steps toward the guy in t
he front, and swirl around him, letting my hair fly. The man is beautiful. He stands on display with his oiled muscles gleaming in the light. But his dick is the yardstick of my performance.
And he’s not so impressed. Not yet.
I sway around him, behind him, toward him, away. So close I feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the scent of horny male. But not touching, never touching. My constant motion molds the air around him, traces every hollow and curve of his sculpted muscles. He stands as still as a statue as I perform, winding and shaping my body in a sinuous display that lets him view me from unusual vantages.
Nipples peeping through the strands of my hair.
The jiggle of butt cheeks as I drop back onto my heels.
An almost-glimpse of my nether parts as I bend low so my hair brushes the floor.
I just absorb the music and keep moving . . .
Until I see goose bumps whisper along his skin like a breeze across a lake. Until his gaze follows my every move. Until he finally breaks formation and reaches out to touch me.
Then I spin away, and as I do, I see Ace grin. Knowing he’s pleased warms me, encourages me to do better. Challenges me. I want him to enjoy my show.
I dance for him.
The beat thrums through me, guides my steps. But my body sways to the melody. Ace’s hot stare challenges me. Dance is like love. It’s not about giving and giving. It’s about giving and taking. Giving to Ace and the audience, taking their energy into myself. Letting it grow, then fueling me in the dance.
My feet skim the floor. I rotate my hips, raise my arms, then let them float down to my sides again. My body becomes a showcase, visual art in motion, as the heat of exertion begins to glisten on my skin.
The guy in the back doesn’t like being ignored and moves forward, coming to me as if he can’t help himself.
He’s already hard, and I grin in delight. Curving my arms around him without touching him, I tempt him with the forbidden promise of touch. I shimmy my hips, let my shoulders sass him.
I flick my head and shimmy away, back to the man in the front. He’s still only partially aroused. I want him hard.
Erect.
Proud.
So, I face the audience and let my hips sway. My hair swings, and I can feel the guy’s gaze on my butt. I twerk in a sinuous motion, as if I’m making love to the air, almost but not quite giving him a peek at my private bits. That does it for him. Both guys are now at full attention.
I spin on my toes, and shoot coy looks over my shoulder. A light sheen of sweat breaks out on my skin. I feel the glow of moisture beneath the hot spotlight and have never felt so powerful in my life. I enjoy being the center of attention. I don’t want to stop moving.
But the song winds down.
And Audrey’s in the wings, waiting, inevitability all over her. I know she’d be content to leave me dancing until these guys shoot their loads to the sounds of the audience’s applause. But I’m only the opening act. She’s the headliner. And Command Performance is all about respect and playing by the rules.
I did my job. She has two visibly aroused men waiting for her, and I hope Ace appreciates my work.
I’m breathing heavily by the time I leave the stage, passing by Audrey as I do. Her head is tipped down, her posture relaxed. But as I go by, I see that her eyes are narrowed, her mouth tight.
“You got this,” I whisper, not sure if that’s the right thing to say. But I want to support her the way she did me.
Hurrying down the side steps, I shoulder through the crowd, stopping when I reach Ace, eager for some read on his response to my dance.
He’s watching the stage and doesn’t even glance my way, but he slips a possessive arm over my shoulder and draws me close against his side. His nostrils flare, his breathing is quick. And his tone is low, sexy. “You did good, Emme. Really good.”
That’s just what I needed to hear. Suddenly, the tension inside uncoils, a tenseness I was barely aware of through my dance. His compliments warm me, almost as much as standing so close to him. He smells good. And his scent reminds me how good he feels inside me.
I expect to stay and watch the rest of the show, but Ace leads me through the crowd. “You aren’t going to watch Audrey?”
“I’ve asked Jax to step in.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to make of that. I haven’t seen Jax in the crowd, but then my focus is solely on Ace. And Jax isn’t known as “the eagle” for no reason. For all I know, he watches everything that goes on in the club from his perch up in the rafters.
Ace leads me through the audience, and there’s no more wedging myself through the close press of people. The club members all know Ace, and they step aside to let him move easily. I trail along beside him, still flush from my dance, and curious about Audrey.
As soon as we clear the stage area, he grabs my hand and presses it to his crotch. The rock-hard bulge there makes my eyes widen and my skin flush again.
“I want you to myself,” he says simply.
I love this about him. He can have his pick of anyone in the club, but he wants me and doesn’t care who knows. His wanting me makes me feel special. I shush the voice in my head cautioning me that his admission may all be part of the test. But intuition tells me he’s aroused. By my performance. By me.
The last time we were alone was the best sex of my life. I can’t wait to see what’s next.
I resist the urge to stroke his hard dick, unsure if I’m allowed such a liberty. That seems to be the right call because he keeps his hand on mine and leads me down the hallway. Me and my naked butt try to keep up with his fully-clothed self.
Then we’re at the elevator, and the doors swish open and the black mirrored interior showcases my nudity from every angle. The dark mirrors emphasize the lines of Ace’s body, and somehow, the fact that he’s clothed feels more intimate than if we were both naked. I feel edgy and flushed and oh-so vulnerable right now, as he idly twines his fingers with mine and the elevator doors swish closed.
Suddenly, he places a hand on my neck, slowly threads his fingers across my scalp, grabs my hair, and tugs my head back. I have a moment, just one, to see his eyes, burning like coals, and, at the dark heat in his eyes, a shiver of anticipation floods through me. Then his mouth slices over mine. With my head pinned, I can’t move. He’s strong, so dominating.
His mouth demands, his tongue invades. And my body becomes boneless, every muscle quivering, with the exertion of my performance or my need, I can’t say. He’s taking without asking. His hard chest is pressed to mine, his bulge riding against me.
I don’t just comply. I give him more. More than he asks for. More than I know I have to give. I give him my open lips, my tongue, my will.
It’s a heady kiss, an erotic experience. By giving him all the power, I’m free to enjoy him. Free to feel all the delicious sensations. I don’t have to think. To reason. To explain.
Only to feel.
I focus on my racing heart. The immediate gush of moisture between my legs. The hardening of my nipples.
My body responds so immediately to him. To his kiss. So innocent compared to the liberties taken. So, so potent.
Too soon, the elevator dings. He releases my mouth, holds my head another few seconds. He’s still looking straight at me, gazing at my face, his expression hungry, sharp.
“Are you ready for me, Emme?”
“For what?” I exhale the question on a breath. There’s something so intense about him right now my hackles rise.
“For everything. For anything I want tonight.”“Your virginity,” he whispers against my mouth, a velvet threat that sends cascades of hot breath and fire straight to my pussy. “I’m going to take your virginity.”
For a moment I can only stare, wrapping my brain around that. I’m no virgin. He knows that. I frown up at his handsome face. And wonder why I’ve never noticed the ruthless cut of his cheekbones, the determined planes of his jaw.
He catches my bottom lip with his teeth, a
nd his voice is throaty, almost a growl when he says, “There’s a place on your body no man has ever been. I’ll be your first.”
12
Ace
“TONIGHT, I PLAN to take you as you’ve never been taken,” I promise Emme as the elevator doors open.
She swallows hard and holds my gaze, lets me see into her soul, excitement mixed with a healthy dose of wary.
God, she tempts me. It’s her honesty, I think. She shares what she feels so easily. No matter what I throw at her, she trusts me with her reactions, counts on me to lead the way to pleasure.
“We’re home.” I push open the door.
She breaks free of my gaze and looks down the hallway that opens into my living room. “Home?”
“I live here. Some of the time.”
“Wow.” She turns around, trying to take in everything at once, and giving me quite a stunning view of her nude curves in the process. “That’s convenient.”
I expect a comment on the décor. Elegant, expensive, and too gaudy to be tasteful. I like it. And I decorated the place to please me and me alone, since I rarely bring anyone up here.
Emme doesn’t need to know that. I always train girls in one of the many rooms we have set aside in the club for that purpose. Not tonight. To be the first to take her virgin ass, my bed is the perfect setting. I don’t think about why. I only know I don’t want distractions, and this is the only place I’ll be free from them.
I head directly to the bar. Pour a whiskey for me. Malbec for her. I hand her the glass.
“Thanks.” She eyes the cut crystal. “Lovely. The glass and the wine.”
I assume she’s talking about the label because she hasn’t taken a sip. Instead, she swirls her glass idly, allowing the Chilean Malbec to breathe. She knows wine.
“I like nice things,” I admit.
“I can see.” Wandering over to a sideboard with framed pictures, she hones directly in on the only personal items in the entire place.