by Jenna Elliot
Run. Run. Run.
I’m practically tripping over my goddamned feet I’m moving so fast, but he slips inside the paint booth and I’m still not there. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening . . .
I lunge forward, horror ripping the scream from my throat as a burst of light blinds me. An explosion tosses me through the air like I’m fucking weightless.
I slam onto the ground, still screaming. Searing heat roars over me, and I suck in a breath that blisters my lungs. For one blessed instant, I think I’m incinerating, one second I’m screaming my heart out, then next I cremate to ash, and nothing.
I ache for the nothing.
But the inferno doesn’t roast me. The first rush of heat fades in shocking degrees, leaves me scorched and shaking in disbelief, in agonizing rage and fear. Nothing can survive that blast. No one. So why am I still here? Why can I feel the seared char of my skin? Why can I smell burned flesh?
Why am I still screaming?
If there is a God . . . I scream to that motherfucker for darkness to collapse around me.
An ambulance blares a siren in the distance. My screams turn to sobs, tortured, gulping sobs that well up from my shattered heart.
I don’t want help. But that damn siren is a beast that won’t leave me alone.
That siren hasn’t left me alone for years.
I bolt upright, startled awake. I’m covered in sweat, panting like I’m running a fucking race. A shrill blare finally penetrates the disorientation, and I realize my damn cell is ringing.
I slam my fist into my sweat-soaked pillow. Another fucking nightmare. Just effing dandy. After forty-eight hours without sleep, is it really too much to ask for a few hours of peace?
I pick up the phone and growl. “What?”
“Sounds like a rough sleep,” a familiar voice says.
“Fuck off, Ace.” The club owner doesn’t know much about me, but I fell asleep once at the club after a particularly physical session. He came in the next morning to find me screaming my ass off through a nightmare. The guy is smart, so he leaps to the conclusion that all isn’t right in my world. A fucking brainiac.
“We were supposed to meet an hour ago,” he says mildly. If I had a friend, it would be Ace. But I don’t have friends. I don’t let anyone get that close.
“I was detained.”
Ace chuckles. “A nap at this time of day. What’s her name?”
“Mia.” My tone softens. Amelia. A sweet piece of ass, all eager and vulnerable. I can’t wait to teach her some discipline. I made sure she’d enjoyed herself because I like giving my pets pleasure. I suddenly can’t wait to see her again. While she didn’t agree to meet me at the club, she’ll be there. Babes don’t say no—not once I give them a taste of me.
“I know her?” Ace asks.
“No.”
“She’s not a regular? You going to introduce me?”
“No.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Really? That’s interesting.”
“Christ. Now you sound like my mother.”
Ace laughs. “You like this one.”
“I like them all.”
“Take a shower, stud, and meet me in forty.” He pauses, the silence implying the question he won’t ask. He knows better, but he still has the nerve to joke. “Unless you need some more beauty sleep.”
“I’m beautiful enough, thank you.”
“Modest, too.”
“Shut up.”
I disconnect the call with a trembling finger. I’m still shaking. Wiping the drying sweat from my eyes, I leap from the bed. I can use a distraction, and I won’t see sweet Mia until after dark.
7
Mia
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you got us an invite to Command Performance, the hottest club in South Beach,” Emme says. “One doesn’t just walk through the front door, my friend.”
Oh . . . My . . . God. I release an excited breath. I only nod, still processing that I’m actually accepting Ethan’s invite to a sex club.
“Second thoughts?” she asks.
She knows me so well. Despite my new rebel attitude, if not for Emme beside me, I might turn around and head home.
“No,” I say, then again with more conviction. “No. I’m just crazy excited.”
She narrows her gaze. “Excited as in eager, or excited as in about to hyperventilate? You’ve already fainted once today.”
“Not hyperventilating.” I hope. I never fainted before. I never had sex with a stranger before, either. Not sex that blew me away on so many levels. “Eager, definitely.”
I’m like a moth drawn to a fire, I realize. I don’t think I would have missed this chance to see Ethan again even if Emme hadn’t invited herself along.
“Glad you’re here,” I say.
“Me, too.” She links her arm through mine. “Got your back, so let’s have some fun.”
The screening process takes place in a sedate lobby that reminds me of an elegant hotel; all polished wood, piped-in music, and gracious desk people who don’t bat an eye at our vajayjay short dresses and fuck-me shoes.
Ethan has put my name and a plus one on the list.
We are in.
Command Performance looks like other upscale clubs. Dark walls, a crowded bar along one long wall, bartenders tossing limes and cherries, and making elegant drinks. The scent of expensive-scented cologne and spicy perfumes mix with the cinnamon whiff of candles hanging from wall sconces on black mirrored walls. There’s a band playing pulsing music and a crowd on the dance floor.
“Do you see him?” Emme asks.
I check out the scene, scanning the crush of people, trying not to look as if I’m looking. My nerves are strung tight with anticipation. I don’t see Ethan, and I know I would notice him instantly. There’s just something about the guy that targets me like sonar, a chemical connection, maybe. Since meeting him, my world had seriously tilted on its axis and thrown me off-balance. And that feeling’s shooting through me again. Only heightened now that I know he’s here, somewhere.
When a nude woman totters by in what has to be six-inch heels, my jaw almost drops to the floor. No one else pays much attention to her, which says something, I think.
“Guess we shouldn’t have been so worried about what to wear,” Emme says with a grin.
I only incline my head, gaze still following the nudist in heels. Men wear suits, tuxes, jeans and T’s, and leather—a mixed bag of anything goes. We fit right in.
By silent consensus, we head to the bar. Our excitement needs liquid reinforcement. We make our way around the crowd on the dance floor partying hard, and finally land at the packed bar. She orders shots while I scan the crowd again.
We Googled Command Performance, and message boards revealed that this club caters to sexual fetishes. Allegedly, there are secret rooms where members act out erotic sex scenes for an audience. Does Ethan watch? Or does he perform?
The memory of the way he pursued me this morning makes heat rush into my cheeks.
I down the shot in one burning swallow.
Emme elbows me in the side. “Holy shit, with all the man candy around here, I’m thinking if I wasn’t babysitting you, we could both get laid tonight.”
“Don’t let me keep you from having fun.”
She laughs and raises her glass. “Another time. I’m not here for my fun tonight. I’m here for yours.”
The perfect answer. I clink my empty shot glass against hers, doing my best to look cool and unaffected.
She orders another round while I survey the action. I can’t even believe a place like this is legal. Kinky and badass. When the glint of wrist bling catches my eye, I notice a girl wearing crystal-studded handcuffs. The dude on the other end of her leash looks familiar.
“I know him.” I slant a gaze to the edge of the dancing crowd. “Wasn’t he on the cover of last month’s Rolling Stone?”
She stops with the shot glass to her lips, eyes widening. “He’s the lead s
inger for One Mess. Whoa! I totally wouldn’t mind having some of him.”
I knew I knew him. He looks all rock star with ink winding up his chest and wrapping around his neck in bold designs. He rocks hips enveloped in shiny-tight pants. His partner’s over-abundant tits bounce as she paws him, but he doesn’t seem into her, his eyes roving over the other girls.
My gaze roves, too. Over the crowd on the dance floor. The bar. I spot a window cut in the wall, high up on the ceiling. Every time the stage lights slice across the window, I see the outline of a man. When he lifts an arm, an ember glows, and I guess whoever’s up there is watching the action while smoking a cigar.
“He look like any security guard you’ve ever seen?” I point out my find to Emme.
“Nope.”
“Do you think that’s one of those secret rooms with the sex scenes?”
“Be kind of disappointing if it is. You can’t really see anything.”
“Do you think that guy’s a voyeur then?” I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.
“Pretty lame one then. All he can see down here is a bunch of people drinking and dancing.” Shaking her head, Emme steps on the foot rail and leans in over the bar and asks the bartender, “First visit. Who’s the guy up there? He doesn’t look like security.”
The bartender flashes an amused smile and sets the bottle back in a rack. He pushes two drinks toward a guy in a neat shirt, who looks surprisingly normal. Then he turns back to Emme.
“That’s Jax. Not security.”
“What’s he doing way up there then?”
“Eagle in his aerie. Jax’s inventions in Silicon Valley made him billions.”
“And?”
“And he’s installed cutting edge technology all over the club. Rumor is Jax prefers to watch . . . before making his moves, and rumor says those moves are fast and ruthless.”
“Oh.” Emme nods and slices another glance up at the man in question again. “Scoping out his prey?”
“Level three. You know.” The bartender winks, then heads on his way to the next customers.
Emme turns back to me. “Guess level three is the penthouse.”
I only nod. If people are walking around naked with collars on the ground floor, I can’t even imagine what they must be doing up in the penthouse.
“I wonder if Ethan goes up there?” I say.
“If he does . . .” She stops talking. Her eyes widen. “You have to promise to fill me in.”
She’s fascinated by someone and I follow her gaze. Not just some random dude. Even I can see the guy is a babe magnet. He’s big, blonde and clearly enjoying the attention of the two naked redheads, one woman draped under each of his massive arms.
The bartender’s back and notes Emme’s interest. “That’s Ace. One of the Club’s owners.”
Despite the obviously gorgeous female competition, she’s intrigued, I can tell. She’s always been way more adventurous than me. “He’s stunning.”
“And very taken . . . at least for the moment. I can’t even imagine . . .”
“Stop overanalyzing, Amelia,” she chides. “I got your back, so have fun.”
She’s right, I know. I sip my shot this time, savoring the nice little buzz that’s taking the edge off my nerves. My gaze sweeps the bar, moves across the dance floor.
That’s when I see him.
He’s looking straight at me. I stop breathing. My breath just solidifies in my chest. Even from across the room, I feel his intensity.
The raw, dangerous man from the morning is gone. This is a man I’ve never seen, a man wearing a superbly-cut suit jacket that outlines his broad shoulders and lends him a polished appearance that makes me catch my breath. His hair is pulled back neatly tonight, drawing attention to the chiseled lines of his face, the high cheekbones. No five o’clock shadow now, only refined, all the rough edges of the morning vanished beneath a cool exterior.
He is man candy in the finest sense of the term.
He pins me with a stare that makes my insides swoop crazily. My heart starts to thud. The music recedes, and all I see is him.
Ethan.
My whole world narrows to one tall, dark, and fucking hot man, who has turned the dangerous focus of his interest on me. I feel trapped by the intensity of his gaze, as if he can’t just see me, but see through me. Right into my soul.
I can’t tear my gaze away. There’s just something about Ethan that . . . draws me. His dark, predatory aura? The feral gleam in his eyes? I only know that I want to act cool.
Suddenly, he’s in motion, prowling across the dance floor. Heads turn to look at him, follow the purposeful strides. Who wouldn’t notice this beautiful man? But he never once glances anywhere but into my eyes. The most fascinating, elegant, sophisticated man in the club sees only me.
Wild anticipation courses through me, a whirlwind of uncertainty and the same excitement that brought me into his arms this morning. I don’t think I can possibly resist the lure of him, even though I have so many questions. What does he like at Command Performance? Does he want to parade me around naked like that woman in heels? Or does he like to be chained together?
I know he likes to give commands. The way he commanded me into his arms this morning, to resist my climax so he could pleasure me impossibly more.
I don’t know what he likes yet. I only know I’m special. The only woman in this crowded club that he wants.
Beside me, Emme squeals. “He’s coming for you. Please tell me that’s him, you lucky, lucky bitch.”
“That’s him.” The words come out in a reverent whisper.
Emme tosses back her strawberry bangs. “Nothing wrong with him. Perfect black hair, stunning package. I don’t blame you for doing him. He looks like he wants to devour you.”
“You think?”
“You look like you’re crushing on him.” Emme laughs. “Stop drooling.”
“Please tell me I’m not that obvious.”
“Deep breath, girlfriend, deep breath.”
Another gulp of firewater. I can do this. I’m ready for action, adventure. I brush off self-doubt. Now is so not the time. I straighten my back, square my shoulders. Raise my chin.
“That’s better,” Emme whispers. “He moves like a wolf on the prowl.”
No question he’s stalking me. And I swallow hard.
“I’ll give you two some room, but I’m here if you need me.” Emme squeezes my hand. With an airy, “Catch you later,” she dives into the crowd, leaving me alone.
I only nod, unable to drag my glance from Ethan. Jacked up with tension, I remind myself he’s just a guy. But every atom in my body disagrees. My body remembers the way he made my skin tingle and my legs shake. The way he stole my breath with his kisses and made me climax again and again until I fainted.
And then he’s in front of me, so close I’m forced to bend my neck to look into his face. I remember this vantage. The whole world blocked out until all I see is him. Only inches separate our bodies. He radiates heat that stokes the fire inside me, a fire I know has only been simmering all day. For him.
Making me flush. Certain my cheeks are bright pink, I look down and hide behind a lock of hair, sure I’m going to come out of my skin.
With a bold move, he reaches out and, with one finger, tips up my chin. I look into mesmerizing eyes, so dark in this dim light they’re the color of churning lava—a dangerous volcano.
This man is fire. Somehow, in the tailored jacket, he’s more dangerous than he was on a dark road. At least then, he looked the part. These clothes conceal, mask the intensity of a man who wants me to lose myself in him.
I don’t know how, but as I stare riveted by his gaze, I know that’s his goal, that’s what he wants from me.
So what if I’m up to my neck and about to drown? It’s just sex, right? Our roadside encounter was so brief. Hell, we never even took off our clothes. I didn’t have time to touch him, to explore. I want to feel the sexy shadow on his square jaw, every ha
ir on his chest. It’s just sex, I tell myself.
I accepted his invitation. Now I can make the most of the moment. I can’t let nerves win this battle.
“I’m going to ask you to do something dangerous,” he says in an utterly-sexified voice, so much more demanding than I remembered.
What’s more dangerous than giving myself to a stranger up against my Jeep on a lonely road? What’s more dangerous than the attraction I feel or the wild thoughts tearing through my head?
What’s more dangerous than this crazy need inside me to simply agree to do whatever he wants, whatever it is?
I don’t know. I only know he’s somehow different tonight. He’s in his element, maybe, and that’s what’s lending him this intense, authoritative aura.
Ethan lifts a commanding brow, waiting for me to say something. Only sheer determination of will keeps my knees from buckling. Everything about him, from the confident set of his broad shoulders, to the expensive suit, to the slight smirk on his lips, makes the rebel in me yearn to challenge him.
Will he make me faint again?
I fake a sophistication I don’t feel. Reaching for the forgotten shot glass on the bar, I buy myself a little distance. Enough to let me take a breath, regroup. I toss back the shot, and let the glow remind me it’s independence week, the week I stop trying to please anyone else. I know exactly what I want. A fucking good time. With Ethan.
And suddenly I know exactly what to say. “I like dangerous things.”
His expression sharpens. Triumph flares in those churning dark eyes. “Perfect. Then you trust me?”
No thinking. No reason. I have to go with my instincts.
And every instinct tells me Ethan will make me forget the half-life I’ve been living and embrace a future of feeling totally alive.
“Will you trust me, Mia?”
“I’m here, aren’t I, Ethan?”
He inclines his dark head, concedes my point. Then he plucks the shot glass from my fingers and says in his throaty voice, “Here at the club, you call me sir.”