She's All That: Club 3, Book 3

by Cathryn Cade

  He gave her a squeeze. “I know, honey.”

  He knew. Somehow, this didn’t surprise her. Trace was her dom, and he saw so much about her, things she didn’t even see herself.

  “Trace,” she asked hesitantly. “Would you…would you like me to—to let another man touch me?”

  His hand moved into her hair and stroked through it three times before he answered. “Possibly. Depends on who and how. You’d do that for me?”

  “What you said,” she answered instantly. “It totally would depend on who and how.” Although she couldn’t think of any Club 3 man she would want to touch her, not the way she wanted Trace. And she couldn’t believe she was even having this conversation with him, but because it was him, it felt safe.

  “Thank you.” He gave her another squeeze. “No matter what, you know I’ll protect you, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now, it’s time for us to get up. Unless you want more.”

  She groaned as he moved under her. Even flaccid, he was still big inside her. “No, I can’t.”

  “All right, then let’s get you off me, and you can clean up. Unless you want to keep my smell on you.”

  Sara paused, halfway up onto her knees, his cock just sliding out of her. He looked up at her with interest. Then he smiled and knifed up, lifting his face to give her a warm, wet kiss.

  “I like the idea of you keeping me all over you. You want to do that for me?”

  “Yes, Trace.” She did. Even though she felt sticky and she could smell him on her skin, she wanted to maybe never wash again, to keep part of him with her. She kissed him back, reveling in his taste and the intimacy of the moment.

  He tipped his forehead against hers, his hand in her hair, cupping her head, the other on her ass.

  “Jesus, Red,” he muttered. “You are so fucking sweet. My sweet sub. Next time you come, we’re going to try those nipple clamps. All right?”

  “Yes, Trace.”

  “Good. That’s good. Now get your undies on, and I’ll walk you out to your car. No, on second thought, I’ll ride over with you to your apartment and then walk back here. I don’t like you going into an empty apartment this late at night.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Trace walked back across the quiet street and parking lot from Sara’s condo, he was feeling good, loose, easy and relaxed. The summer night was warm, with a full moon hanging in the sky, lighting the night. He was smiling to himself, thinking about their scene together. He chuckled, remembering her shock, indignation and then sweet submission each time he pushed her. She’d been so indignant at having to face Mason when she was riding her dom, but he’d felt her pussy contract with excitement too.

  One of these nights, he was going to have someone else, a dom he trusted, or even a male sub, join them in some play. He’d realized a long time ago he enjoyed a ménage.

  He smiled to himself as he remembered his first such encounter in a cramped dorm room. Three bodies in a bed made for one, but he and his lover hadn’t cared, because they were together, being wilder than either of them had ever dreamed, that time with a willing girl.

  She’d been a pretty sorority girl from California, ready for just about anything he dreamed up, and bedazzled enough that the two of them wanted her that she’d been willing to try that too.

  Trace had taken them home for a weekend that spring, and they’d all slept together in his big bed. They’d done plenty of other things before they slept too. That must have been when Manda had heard them or even spied on them.

  Trace had said good-bye to the sorority girl and never missed her, but his lover… He scowled to himself as he jogged across the wide boulevard toward the gym.

  He still missed Kai Kalo-Haimani.

  As he reached the sidewalk on the gym side of the street, a late-model Toyota pickup slid up to the curb behind him, stopping with a screech of brakes. Trace turned, instantly alert for trouble, but the driver stayed in the truck, the windows up, motor running. Trace eyed the truck, noted the license plate and that it was a rental.

  When the driver sat, unmoving behind the shaded windows, Trace turned and cut around the side of the gym, along the narrow drive to Club 3.

  Dack was just saying good-night to Daisy at her car. He put her in and closed her car door. “You call me the minute you get inside, Petal. You hear me?”

  “Yes, Dack,” she called. Her little car backed out and rolled out of the parking lot.

  Dack stretched and then sighed. Throwing back his head, he let out a howl at the moon.

  Trace laughed. “Good night, eh?”

  “Damn straight,” Dack agreed. “How did you and Sara do?”

  “Good,” Trace said with satisfaction. “Fucking fantastic.”

  Dack chuckled. But as they walked up onto the veranda, he stopped, one foot on the top step. “Wait, man. You, uh, you told her yet?”

  Trace dropped his head, his eyes closing, his good mood chilling into a stone in the pit of his stomach. “No.”

  Dack clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You gotta tell her, bro. She’s into you. She can handle it. I mean, look where we are.” He cocked his head to indicate the club.

  Trace nodded. “I know. You’re right. I’ll tell her.” Because he must. Because it wasn’t fair to hide the truth about himself from her.

  That he was not only a dom, he was bisexual. And that sometimes, as much as she delighted him, when he was with her he wanted…more.

  His nebulous desires crystallized, sharp as a video. He wanted another sub, a man there with him and Sara. Both of them doing exactly as he told them. Pleasuring each other as he watched, sometimes carrying out punishments as he directed. Both of them pleasuring him.

  And not just any man, but Kai. Kai with his beautiful, compact body and the face of a Hawaiian fantasy.

  Trace climbed into his car and closed the door, but instead of driving away, he leaned his head back against the headrest and let the memories take him.

  Eight years, and he remembered so much. He remembered everything. The sparkle in those dark eyes that had been just for Trace. The way Kai would stretch up to kiss him the minute they were alone, the plush softness of his lips contrasting with the scrape of whiskers, lean body pressing against his, strong hands reaching, caressing.

  The way Kai had shuddered with pleasure when Trace touched his naked body, satin skin over hard muscle and the spring of crisp hair under his arms and at the base of his cock. The scent of his skin, healthy man and shower gel and sweat in a heady mix, drawing Trace to explore every hard swell, every tender hollow and crevice with his hands and his mouth.

  And Kai’s cock, springing free into Trace’s hands, hard and quivering with eagerness for whatever Trace wanted—hand, mouth or even a few times his ass. Trace shuddered, wincing in pleasure-pain as his own erection fought the confines of his pants. He’d just had Sara, and it had been so good, but the mere memory of Kai had him ready to go again—now.

  And this time it could be so much better, because not only would he have his sweet Sara, he’d have Kai as well.

  He groaned and forced himself to sit up and slide the key into the ignition. His car purred to life, then beeped a warning. He fastened his seat belt, and drove out of the lot, old frustration and sorrow warring with guilt.

  He had Sara now. He didn’t need anyone else. And if he did, it would be another man, not one who’d dumped him at the first sign of opposition from his family.

  Although, they’d been kids then, really. What about Kai, the man? Had he ever come out as bi, or even gay, or was he still toeing the line his mother had drawn in the sand? And did Trace really care? He shouldn’t, he knew that for damn sure.

  Kai Kalo-Haimani sat in his pickup truck on the boulevard across from Big Iron Fitness. He stared at the glassed-in front wall and the doors standing open to the warm early fall afternoon. His elbow propped on the edge of his truck window, he rubbed his forefinger absently over his upper lip. Watching, his heart poundi
ng each time a tall, lean man walked out the door. Waiting for a glimpse of his old lover. And his one true love.

  He’d seen him last night, nearly driven up over the curb after him, he’d been so shocked to actually see Trace crossing the street to his gym. What he was doing there at night, Kai had no idea. Until Kai parked and carefully followed Trace back along the driveway to the house behind the huge gym.

  And saw a gay couple, both of them clad in leather, one of them with a collar and leash around his neck, step out of their car and disappear into the club, the collared man two steps behind the other, his leash in his master’s hand.

  Kai had stood in the shadows, transfixed with shock and awe. Trace had gone far beyond topping Kai in their enthusiastic but fumbling encounters in college. He belonged to a sex club, and not just any club, but one that allowed kink.

  He’d collected his truck, driven into the condo parking lot, let himself into his rented condo and jerked off in the shower, coming to the image of Trace standing over him, a stern but loving look on his beautiful face.

  Now he tensed as a trio of men walked out into the sunlight, all of them tall, one big with dark hair and a short beard and ’tache, one huge with a craggy face and hair so short the color was indeterminate. But it was the third man at whom Kai stared, his breath frozen in his throat, heart stopping and then galloping on, thundering in his chest.

  Trace, in daylight. Tall, lean, with short blond hair that caught the sun and held it. As did his smile, a flash of white teeth in his tanned face. He was talking, gesturing with one big hand. A hand that Kai had felt on his skin, his face, although not for nearly a decade.

  Hungrily, he drank in the sight of Trace Bowen clad in khaki shorts that were long but revealed tanned, muscular legs and feet in leather flip-flops, topped with a white golf shirt. Kai smiled crookedly at this. Trace had lived on the golf course in college when he wasn’t studying. Or driving Kai out of his mind with pleasure.

  Evidently, he still golfed.

  And he still specialized in driving subs out of their minds, now in a club hidden behind this very gym. A gym with Trace’s name on the roster of joint ownership. The two men with him—Kai watched the body language between the three as they stood chatting on the sidewalk in front of the gym. They knew each other well, were close, but he didn’t think they were lovers. No, friends. Close friends. They were no doubt the other owners, Jake Stone and Dack Humboldt.

  While he himself was…who? He was the idiot who’d run away. His mouth twisted in a bitter line. The young fool who let his family browbeat him into turning his back on his sexual inclinations and thus on love.

  He was older now, and wiser. He knew that life was empty unless it included someone so special they made his blood sing. That sex would get a person by, but that it wasn’t enough. So here he was, to try to get back his someone, the only someone who had ever made him so happy he wept.

  He just hoped Trace wasn’t involved with someone special. And also that he wouldn’t take one look at Kai and turn away, repudiating the man who’d hurt him so badly. If he did, Kai might find himself running to Sara like a whipped puppy, crying for comfort. And he’d much rather return to her in triumph, feeling like a man who’d finally behaved like one and confronted his past. No matter what happened, he didn’t want to lose her in his life.

  Trace was walking through Club 3, on club business, but with his mind on something else.

  He was doing something he hadn’t done in years, rehearsing how to tell someone he cared about something that was so big, so important that he was afraid it would hurt, even destroy.

  Sara, he would say. No, no. Honey, I have something I need to say. You know I care about you, right? You make the sun shine brighter for me, make hard times easier. When you submit to me, I feel like I could do anything, take on the Fortune 500 and win.

  And, you know how I asked if you’d like to try a ménage, do a scene with me and another man? Well, I’ve done this—a lot. And I’ve been just with other men, no women involved. Even thought I was ‘in love’ once with a guy.

  He snorted bitterly. Yeah, and what a fucking mistake that had turned out to be.

  And now, he would say, I have feelings for you. Strong ones. And I think it may even be—

  “Trace,” said Twyla’s voice over the intercom in the club. “You have a visitor. You want to come up to the office?”

  Trace frowned, looking at the papers in his hand. He’d been looking for Dack, with a question about the figures from last month’s take. He knew Dack was here somewhere, but he must be in a bathroom, because he wasn’t anywhere Trace could find him. But since Trace couldn’t keep his mind on club business, except as it pertained to one little sub, he guessed club finances could wait.

  “Sure,” he called back. “On my way.”

  He glanced around the club. Six thirty, so the club was ready for the night, everything polished, the condom bowls full and the dance floor waxed. Members would begin showing up around seven, and by nine the place would be hopping. It was Saturday night, always the biggest night of the week.

  Sara would be here soon. He was looking forward to applying the gift he’d bought her at Kiss Me, Kink Me, an exclusive fetish-wear boutique in downtown Portland. The nipple clamps he’d promised her. Pretty silver ones, with a fine chain hanging between them. He’d also bought her a nearly transparent black silk chiffon tank to wear over them too.

  He grinned to himself—he was gonna give in to her request for a few dances, only she’d be wearing the clamps and top while they danced. He wondered if he’d be able to make her come right on the dance floor. His little Red fucking loved having her nipples pinched.

  And then later, when they were both relaxed, then he’d find a way to tell her. She was from a family with an alternative lifestyle, she could take it. He hoped. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting his little sub any more than other men had already hurt her.

  As he neared the office, Twyla stepped out, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “He’s in here,” she said. “Enjoy.”

  An odd thing to say, but then the domme had been a bitch for weeks, missing her sub and not able or willing to replace her. Trace raised his brows at her, but the tall domme was already striding back through the club. He turned and walked into the office.

  A compact, lean man stood in the middle of the room, his back three-quarters turned. Trace stared, his attention riveted, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Jesus, the guy was fucking gorgeous, with glossy black hair cut long, surfer style, and as he turned, a short, pert nose, brows and lashes to match his hair.

  He caught sight of Trace and turned the rest of the way. Trace froze, shock slamming him in the chest as his eyes met a pair of liquid black eyes in a golden-skinned face.

  The man stepped forward, his eyes lighting up, mouth stretching in a hesitant smile. “Hello, Trace.”

  Trace’s breath jerked out in a gasp. “Kai?”

  He stood frozen, his mind blank with shock. The other man surged forward to meet him, hands out, smile now radiant. Just before he touched Trace, Trace reacted. He grabbed both the man’s wrists in a cruel grip. Emotion slashed through him, molten fury surging up to fill the void left by shock.

  “You son-of-a-bitch,” he ground out. How dare he show up now, when Trace was already in turmoil? “I ought to—”

  Kai melted toward him, accepting Trace’s grasp. Submitting to it. He tipped his head back, looking up at Trace’s mouth, his gaze tender, nearly exalted. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You should. Anything, Trace. Anything you want.”

  With a growl that emanated from deep in his chest, Trace yanked him close and kissed him, hard, in a way that would leave bruises. Kai’s soft lips opened instantly under his, and Trace groaned at the feel of those soft, plush lips under his, the taste and scent of Kai’s breath, the faint rasp of whiskers against his face. Exactly the way he’d remembered, only so much better.

  He thrust his tongue into the o
ther man’s mouth, punishing, claiming, demanding a response. With a moan, Kai gave him everything, just the way he always had. Until he ran away, leaving Trace with a broken heart and empty arms.

  Trace pulled away, glaring down at his old lover with a mix of longing and rage, his heart pounding. “You little fucker. What the hell are you doing here now?”

  Kai met his gaze, his dark eyes wet. “Whatever you want me to,” he said. “Trace, I was wrong to leave you, wrong to go. I’ve never stopped needing you.”

  Needing him. Trace had needed Kai too, but Kai hadn’t been there. He’d run and left an empty hole in Trace’s heart. Trace stepped away, putting a few feet between them, but Kai’s taste and heat were still imprinted on him. He clenched his hands to keep from reaching for him again.

  “So, you’re out and proud now, or what?” he demanded.

  Kai flushed, a surge of color under his golden skin. “I…yeah. Yeah, I am. I finally realized that I can’t live the way my family expects me to.”

  “And that means what, exactly?” Trace was unwillingly fascinated by the turmoil in Kai’s eyes.

  “It means I’m leaving the islands. Leaving Hawaii. My shop is up for sale.”

  “Your shop? You really did open that surf shop you talked about?” Pride swelled in Trace’s chest.

  Kai shrugged. “Yeah. In Kona-Kailua. It’s been good, but…time to move on. I can’t be me so close to my family. Everybody knows everybody there, you know? I feel like I’ve been slowly suffocating.”

  “So you’re moving to the mainland?”

  “Yeah.” Kai gave him a look that was both abashed and determined. “To Portland.”

  Trace moved forward a step, then forced himself to stop, although his heart was pounding, adrenaline surging. “Portland. Why?”

  Kai moved forward as well, that much closer, the electric connection between them tightening. “Because you’re here.”

  “Because I’m here,” Trace muttered. He shook his head. “Kai, it’s been eight years. We’ve both grown up—at least I have. Sounds like you’re still playing with your long boards.”