She's All That: Club 3, Book 3

by Cathryn Cade

  “Go on in,” Rochelle chirped. “And be good.”

  Trace stood waiting, arms crossed, gaze on the door.

  When Sara walked in, posture hesitant, he moved forward. She looked gorgeous with her slim, lithe body bared in a tiny teal bra and panties. A cheap brand, if he didn’t miss his guess, but on her pretty athlete’s body, it looked great. She also looked as nervous as a first-timer—ready to bolt if anyone said boo!

  But, as he approached, her gaze turned to him. And this time it was all different. This time her eyes lit up and she bit her lip, but she did it with a smile blossoming and a little move of her body that said she hoped he liked what he saw.

  He stopped before her and said the words. “Sara. You’re here. To be with me?” He wanted to cement in her mind that this was different from the last time she’d walked in these doors. “Need to hear the words.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes big under her bangs. She swallowed and then nodded. “I’m here to be with you, Trace.”

  “Good,” he approved. “Then let’s get this on you.”

  With both hands, he stretched the collar that held his key and lowered it over her head. It shrank to bind her hair around her neck. He thrust his fingers into her hair and carefully pulled it free of the choker. It clung like raw silk to his fingers. He combed it back over her shoulders and then reached up to straighten his key, dangling in the tender hollow of her collarbone.

  Then he cupped his hand around the side of her neck. She felt fragile as a bird in his grasp, her pulse beating fast and light. For a moment, the loud music and conversation receded, and it was just the two of them, enclosed in a hush of hot, pulsing anticipation. He could smell her, the faint scent of her breath and her skin, tinged with…roses? Whatever, he loved it. He wanted to bury his nose in her and inhale.

  He tipped her chin up with his thumb and forefinger, and stepped closer, sliding his hand around to the small of her back again to bring her against him. Letting her feel his erection against her midriff, through his slacks.

  “You are beautiful,” he told her. “A gorgeous, sexy woman. I know it took courage, a lot of courage, for you to walk in those doors tonight. I’m proud of you, honey.”

  Her gaze searched his anxiously, tinged with disbelief. He felt it when she found his absolute sincerity. Her body relaxed in his hold, and her eyes lit up, her lips parting.

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “If it weren’t for you—well, I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.”

  He nodded, her admission settling in his chest, warm and proud. Her words also meant it was time to move on, cement the deal.

  “Here, tonight, I’m your dom,” he said. “And I’ve got plans for you, sweet Sara.”

  Her eyes widened, pupils dilating. He fucking loved that look on a sub’s face, nerves mixed with anticipation and the barest hint of fear. Waiting to learn what was in store for her at his hands, in his club.

  Looked even better on this woman’s face.

  “Red, you with me?” he asked. “You going to stay this time?”

  A crease appeared between her brows, nearly the same auburn as her hair. “I plan to. Just know I’m going to try, Trace. I promise.”

  He did know, but rage still fired in his skull at the memory of what had happened to her the first time she’d joined. “Just remember, I am not Kevin. Don’t mistake me for that slimeball in any way. If I touch you, tell you to do things, it’s because I think you can handle it, think you’ll get off on it, as well as because it pleases me.”

  She nodded quickly.

  His chest warmed as if she’d reached in and caressed his heart with her capable, slender hands. He tipped his head closer, enclosing the two of them in a cocoon of intimacy, the big room full of people, the sounds of music and sex a pleasant background noise. “You wanna please me?” he asked.

  She nodded again, her eyes locked with his, pupils dilated, breathing fast. She smelled of woman and flowers, intoxicating and sweet. “Yes, Trace.”

  He gave her a squeeze and let her go, reluctantly.

  “Come on, we’ll get you a drink.” He turned, slid one arm around her waist and steered her toward the long, antique bar along one side of the room. “Then we’ll talk.”

  Two bartenders were busy mixing drinks, opening beers and taking payment. Tonight was the first Saturday of the month, the one night when members could invite guests. The bar and the tall tables near it were thronged with giggling women and posturing men, busy checking out each other and the regular members.

  Most of the women wore lingerie, although there were a few in black domme wear, just as there were a few men in briefs, including one in a silk kimono open to reveal red latex bikinis.

  Trace nodded at the tall redhead perched on a barstool in a black cat suit, crop looped around one wrist. She was nursing a frosty drink and watching the crowd.

  She looked Sara over and raised her brows at Trace. “New sub?”

  He grinned at the domme. She knew darn well who Sara was, but she’d been crabby as hell lately, having split up with her girlfriend and submissive.

  “Twyla, meet Sara. Sara, say hello to Twyla, but don’t get too close. She bites.”

  Twyla rolled her eyes and gave Sara a crooked smile. “Not unless it’s on your list, Sara. Anyway, welcome to Club 3. You’re Daisy’s and Carlie’s friend, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Twyla nodded, then slid off her stool, as tall as Trace in her stiletto-heeled boots. “Well, have fun. Trace is a good choice for your first time. He won’t be too hard on you—unless you ask him to. Just don’t expect a repeat, ’cause he never does that.” She sauntered away.

  Trace kept his expression amiable with an effort. If he hadn’t been with Sara, he would have said something back laced with equal sarcasm, but tonight was about making her comfortable—at least until he had her upstairs and at his mercy. Then he planned to make her very uncomfortable.

  But for now, he wanted her turning to him for reassurance, not sidling away. He patted Twyla’s stool. “Hop up.”

  “I can just stand with you,” Sara said.

  He cocked his head, one hand on the stool. “Sara. Hop up.”

  She started to frown but then nodded. “Okay.”

  He kept his hand on her waist as she stepped up and sat on the tall stool. Then he moved in close, caging her in the V of his arm, his body and the bar so her hip pressed his groin, her shoulder his chest.

  One of the bartenders, Karl, a cocky kid with a long blond ponytail, stopped before them, his brows up in inquiry. “Tell him what you want,” Trace said.

  She turned her head, her hair brushing Trace’s bare chest in the vee of his vest. “A margarita, please.”

  “Knob Creek on the rocks,” Trace ordered.

  Karl nodded, already in motion.

  Trace looked down at Sara, smoothing his hand down her back to let his fingertips rest on the top band of her panties. “Eyes, Sara,” he ordered.

  She looked up, her eyes deep brown in the globe lighting over the bar.

  “When I speak to you here, I want you to answer with ‘Yes, Trace’,” he told her. “I don’t expect to hear sir or master, not into that. But I want you to remember, every time you respond, who’s in charge. Right?”

  He watched her work through this, through the knee-jerk annoyance and then the reminder of why she was here, why she was with him. As her expression softened and her gaze remained locked with his, he waited. And was rewarded with her answer. “Yes, Trace.”

  He nodded his approval. “Good. On your form, you indicated you’re open to being constrained, trying a few toys, not into pain but willing to try a little bit. We know you’re okay with spanking. We’ll learn what else.”

  Her gaze skittered away, then back to his. She nodded, her blush deepening. It wasn’t easy for her to be open about her desires.

  He watched her closely. “You also indicated you might be willing to try a ménage. That mean with a dom and another woma
n, or another man?”

  He watched her retreat, her cheeks deep pink, then bring herself back. “Um, I don’t know,” she mumbled. “It just sort of sounded…intriguing.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “You’re here to find out, right? Now drink up, and think about being very good so you can have me inside you later.”

  She choked on her margarita.

  Jake had moved up to the bar behind her. Over her head, he gave Trace a wry look. “She chokes on that drink, she’s not gonna want you in her mouth.”

  Trace took a drink of his whiskey, smooth and strong. “She’ll be fine. Likes me in her mouth, don’t you, honey?”

  Sara’s eyes widened over her drink, and she lowered it. She gave a hunted look over her shoulder, her cheeks still dark rose. “Um…yes? I—I mean, yes, Trace.”

  He stroked her cheek with his thumb, a reward for her honesty. Then he looked back at Jake. “Where’s Carlie?”

  Jake’s gray eyes gleamed. “She’ll be here in a little while. Gonna show her the new spanking bench tonight.”

  Sara stiffened and took another drink, a big one. Trace winked at Jake, who also hadn’t missed her reaction. “Always nice to see a sub strapped to one of Dack’s fine creations. Maybe Sara and I will try that out later.”

  Her nearly empty glass shook in her hand. Trace retrieved it deftly and set it on the bar by his glass. Then he speared both hands into her hair and tipped her face up to his.

  “You two have a good night,” Jake said with a smirk. He turned away.

  “Later.” Trace focused on his sub. Her blush was still evident, her eyes wide and worried. She chewed her bottom lip, sucking it in and then releasing it, wet and pink. “Sara, you with me?”

  She swallowed and then nodded. “Yes, Trace.”

  He nodded back. “Good. Then let’s go upstairs.”

  “Upstairs? Um—what are we going to do up there?” Her skin was damp under his hands, her breath quick and uneven. Her gaze darted toward the dance floor, where club members and guests were gyrating to Nickelback. “I thought you’d want to dance. You like to dance, I know that. And I wanted to say hello to Carlie. Did you know she and Jake are engaged?”

  She was stalling. “Yes. Heard it from Jake. You’ll see her later, and we’ll dance another time.”

  He wanted to kiss her right on those trembling lips, hold her close and reassure her everything would be all right. But he’d rather show her. His cock was hard, anticipation curling through his body in a delicious tango of want and need.

  “Now, we’re going upstairs,” he repeated. Because if he had to watch her twisting and shimmying on the dance floor, he’d lose it. He hadn’t needed anyone this badly since—he slammed the door shut on those memories and focused on her, on now.

  She took a breath. “Yes, Trace.”

  Her hand in his, he led her through the crowd, past D’Aurien, who had wasted no time finding another sub. Rochelle was the woman draped over his lap, Trace noted with concern. She had a huge crush on the good-looking dom, while he rarely scened with one sub more than once. She looked happy now, but that could go south fast. Well, she was a big girl and could pick her poison.

  Dack and Daisy were on the dance floor, and the little blonde was giggling while Dack held her with his hands on her hips, humping her from behind. Since she wore only a black lace thong and bustier, she no doubt felt his leathers and his hard-on.

  Mase joined them for a moment, and Dack captured Daisy’s arms in his hands so Mase could hold her waist and brush against her. But then she said something that made both men laugh. Mase gave her a quick kiss and moved on, leaving Daisy in Dack’s arms. Daisy’s first lingerie night had been a breakthrough for her and her dom. Trace planned that this night would be full of revelations for him and Sara too.

  Trace cocked his head to see Sara’s expression around her mane of hair. She was wide-eyed, taking it all in, but her grip on his hand tightened as they reached the stairs that led upstairs to the play rooms, and she stayed close by his side. That was good. He was her dom. She needed to turn to him when she was worried, not away.

  He was her dom; the man who could make it all happen for her.

  After Carlie’s hushed description of her experience upstairs with Jake, Sara wasn’t sure what to expect. Would Trace expect her to do things in front of other people? Would he want her strapped to one of the devices she’d seen pictured on the Internet?

  When he led her into a bedroom and closed the door, she let out a big sigh of relief. The room held a bed, a chair and a door that led into a bathroom. An armoire stood against one wall. The furnishings were dark, burgundy fabrics and rich brown leather and wood, like the first floor.

  Trace walked a few steps away and then turned back to her. “Eyes, honey.”

  She looked at him. A frisson of alarm ghosted over her skin. He’d changed subtly since entering the room, the transformation that had begun the moment his key settled around her neck. He was in full dom mode.

  Now when he looked at her, she could feel him assessing, cataloguing, taking in every iota of her expression, her stance, her reaction to him. She felt as open as a book, vulnerable and fragile. He could destroy what was left of her self-confidence as a woman. Or he could build it anew. She had let him in. Now he was in, and she was scared…but she was also excited.

  “What are you feeling?” he asked. “What was that thought I just saw?”

  She thrust her hands behind her and twined her hands together nervously, hunching one shoulder. Okay, she could do this. Didn’t make much sense to lie to him now.

  “Um, I’m nervous,” she admitted, her voice trembling a little. “But…excited. I’m—I’m glad I’m here with you, Trace.”

  His face changed, satisfaction in the flex of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes. “Then show me that. Strip for me.”

  She nodded, then when his brows rose in warning, said quickly, “Yes, Trace.”

  She was surprised by her quick shiver of pleasure when he nodded his approval. And again by how exciting it was to remove first her bra and then her panties for him, to let him see her standing there, nude, her lingerie dangling from one hand while he stood, arms crossed over his chest, feet apart. He looked like a pasha, a decadent ruler watching his concubine.

  “Um, do you want me to take my sandals off?”

  He looked down the line of her legs, her ankles, to survey her strappy green sandals. The narrow heels were higher than she usually wore, but the sole had a bit of a platform so the angle wasn’t uncomfortable. Also, she had splurged on a mani-pedi, so her nails were buffed and polished a pale green.

  “No. Those shoes make your legs look a mile long, Red. I like them. Gonna fuck you in them.”

  Just like that, her pussy contracted, and she shuddered with pleasure. Which he saw, of course.

  “Go put your undies away,” he said, lifting his chin at the armoire against the far wall.

  So he could watch her walk there. She could feel his gaze like a hot brand on her ass and her legs as she walked away, opened the armoire and laid her bra and panties on a shelf, closed the door and turned back to him.

  The walk back to him was one of the longest she’d ever taken…and conversely, over too quickly. She loved having him watch her walk obediently to him, loved his gaze on her breasts, her pussy, her legs. She snickered and pressed her fingers to her lips.

  His brows flew up in a silent demand.

  “I feel like Miss America, without the swimsuit,” she admitted. “Are you one of those hard-to-please judges?”

  He didn’t smile, but his eyes twinkled. “Oh, I am very hard to please, Miss Oregon. I have very particular requirements in a contestant. And I think you know what one of them is.”

  He lifted one hand and made a twirling motion with his long, elegant fingers.

  Sara winced. Not that again. Then, as his face hardened, alarm twinged through her. “Yes, Trace.”

  Turning away from him, she bent over, reached b
ack and grasped her thighs below her ass, holding on. And waited.

  “Feet apart,” he said quietly. “Yeah, just like that.” His hand on the small of her back was a warm reward.

  He let her wait a long moment, while the blood rushed to her head, and she felt his gaze on her intimate parts, and while arousal contracted her pussy again. Oh, she was so bad, but she loved him making her do this. With any other guy, it would be awful, humiliating. But with Trace, it was what he wanted, so it was what she wanted too. And while the position wasn’t one she wanted to stay in for a long time, she was strong and limber, so it wasn’t uncomfortable.

  “You’re beautiful like this,” he told her. “You have one of the prettiest pairs of legs I’ve seen, and your ass is…perfect.”

  “Thank you, Trace.” Oh, my God, if it were possible to come from a man talking to her, she’d be doing so right now. He thought she was beautiful? That her ass was perfect? She bit her lip to keep from begging him to touch her more intimately.

  He stroked his other hand over her ass cheek, petting her, squeezing gently. She moved helplessly, arching into the caress of his strong hands.

  “This ass is gonna look even prettier when it’s red,” he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sara’s muscles tightened in foreboding. Did that mean what she though it meant? Trace’s next words confirmed her fears.

  “Did not appreciate that frown when I gave you a command,” he went on, his voice quiet but firm. “As your punishment, I’m going to spank you. How many times depends on how you take it.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Okay, this was humiliating. He was going to spank her like a naughty little girl, even though she hadn’t acted out on purpose or asked for it as they agreed? Did she still want this? No…maybe… Oh, hell, yes she did.

  “Yes, Trace,” she muttered.

  “Anyone ever spank you but me, Red?” Now he sounded amused, and his touch down the inside of her thigh, his fingers grazing close to her pussy, was affectionate.