She's All That: Club 3, Book 3

by Cathryn Cade

  Kai grinned at this, but it was fleeting. “I’m a business owner. I’ve done a lot of growing up too, Trace. I won’t run this time.”

  “You might when I’m through,” Trace said. He cocked his head, pride and defensiveness warring inside him. “You know where we are, what this place is?”

  Kai nodded. He shifted closer, his gaze warm. “A kink club. You’re a member, I figured that out. It’s okay with me, Trace. You know I always lo—liked you in charge.”

  Trace smiled, baring his teeth. “A member? No, Kai. I’m one of the owners.”

  Kai’s eyes widened, first with shock and then with excitement. His breath quickened and his lips parted as he moved another step closer. “Good. Then you can teach me everything.”

  “Everything?” Trace raised his brows. “I don’t even dabble in everything here.”

  “Then whatever you do,” Kai breathed, moving so close Trace felt his heat, and the damp gust of his breath on Trace’s chin. “Anytime, anywhere, Trace.”

  “Gorgeous little prick.” Trace glared at him, but then he swayed, drawn as if to a magnet of warm, sun-kissed skin and flushed, wet lips.

  He kissed Kai again. This time he wrapped his arms around the other man as they kissed, deeply, hungrily. One of his hands slid down, cupping the tight, round ass, the other up to fist in the coarse silk of his hair.

  Kai’s body was hard, lithe in a way that said he was still active, probably still surfing and riding his bike up and down every hill and mountain he could find. He smelled of fresh air and faint aftershave…and fast, furious sex.

  Sex. Sara.

  Jolting as if he’d been punched, Trace pulled away from Kai, dropping his arms. He slowly swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and stared at Kai, who looked bereft, and aroused—just the way Trace felt.

  Everything in him screamed to grab Kai again and not let go until they were both sated. Kai’s fitted T-shirt and shorts did nothing to hide his arousal, nipples and cock fully erect, beautiful face flushed. Ready for Trace. Ready to be dominated, taken.

  “Christ. No, I can’t do this,” Trace groaned. “I’m…with someone.” Someone who made his life so much better, someone who submitted to him with trust that he needed, craved.

  Kai followed him as he backed away, the prey stalking the predator.

  “Trace,” he said brokenly. “It’s all right, baby. I knew you probably would be—with someone. Just—just let me. Just once.”

  Trace’s back hit the wall in the shadows between the deep bookcase and a potted plant that Carlie had given them, claiming it would keep the air cleaner.

  “Or I can be with both of you,” Kai went on. “You know I’ll do that for you, for us.”

  Trace shook his head, opened his mouth to protest, but Kai was already on his knees, his hands on Trace’s cock, squeezing and pressing through his pants. Trace threw his head back, thumping it against the wall. His hand found the edge of the heavy planter and clutched it for support.

  “Jesus,” he ground out. “Stop—I’m gonna come in my pants.”

  “No, you’re going to come in my mouth,” Kai said, already freeing Trace’s cock, which sprang eagerly into his warm, strong hands, oozing clear drops of arousal. “Then I’ll let you go, I swear. But I’ve been dreaming about this for years. About you using my mouth, my ass, the way you love it. The way we both love it.”

  Trace nearly whimpered as Kai stroked his cock with warm, calloused hands as his words brought images, hot and rushed, frantic, slamming into Trace’s mind. “Condom,” he managed.

  Kai shook his head, smiling crookedly as he closed his strong fingers around Trace’s cock. “I know you—health conscious. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone for months.”

  His hot, wet mouth enveloped Trace’s cock, and then all Trace could do was spear his fingers into Kai’s hair and hold on.

  Kai had gotten one whole helluva lot better at sucking cock. He no longer gagged when Trace’s length hit the back of his throat, and his tongue, the pressure of his mouth was sheer black magic.

  Trace’s orgasm roared up from somewhere near the bottoms of his feet—even the press of his leather sandals on his bare soles felt good as his balls tightened, and he felt the dam inside breaking, spilling jets of come into Kai’s eager mouth, ecstasy in every hard pulse. He cried out.

  Then he heard a familiar sound—the office door opening. Trace stiffened, his eyes flew open, and he looked straight into another beautiful face, and a pair of brown eyes, full of shock. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the man kneeling before him.

  “Kai?” she said.

  Kai flipped around so fast he nearly fell over, wiping one hand over his wet lips. “Sara?” he gasped.

  “Wait a minute,” Trace said. “You two know each other?” he demanded.

  Sara’s gaze flew up to meet his, and she staggered, reaching for the door for support. Her face went white. “Trace?” she gasped.

  “Sara. I—” Trace began. What? I can explain? You see this gorgeous guy kneeling at my feet with my cock still in his mouth doesn’t mean anything to us…or maybe he does, but I still want you too.

  Sara looked sick. “T-Twyla said you were in here,” she said, her voice thin as if she were trying to breathe. “B-but I see you two are b-busy, so I’ll just go…”

  She looked at Kai again, and her eyes filled with tears. He moved, and she flinched away. “Guess you f-found him, huh?” she whispered.

  Then she bolted, the door swinging shut behind her.

  “Sara, no,” Trace called, but the door shut behind her. Leaving him with Kai crouched at his feet, looking sick. As sick as Trace felt.

  His perfect world had just crashed around him. He was so fucked—and not in a good way. When his past came back to haunt him, it did it in a big way.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It took Sara a while to wrap her mind around the truth of what she’d seen. Somehow she managed to get back across the street to her condo without getting run over. And to get her key in the lock on her door. Okay, that part took six tries, because her hands were shaking and she felt sick.

  She stopped inside her silent, dark condo, staring into the patch of moonlight streaming across the hallway. She followed it, traipsing like a sleepwalker into her kitchen.

  The moon shone down through her kitchen window, the man in the moon smiling serenely and cheerily down at her. She imagined taking aim with a big rifle—no, a missile launcher. Of pressing the trigger and watching the fiery trail sail up, up into the night until kerplow! a huge, fiery explosion and no more smiley-ass moon.

  With a guttural cry that began in her gut and rolled up through her to burst from her throat, raw and wild, she whipped around and flung her purse across the room. It thumped into the cheap glass pitcher she kept on the counter, and the pitcher slammed into the wall behind it, shattering. Glass tinkled as pieces fell.

  Sara stood there, hands clenched, chest aching as she breathed, every breath a groan of pain and rage.

  She’d fallen for yet another man, only to have him turn right around and cheat with someone else. The punch of betrayal, of hurt so deep it felt like a huge fist pressing down on her chest this she remembered.

  The part that was mind-boggling was that Trace had not, like her husband, cheated with another woman. Trace had done it with another man.

  Guess Trace had forgotten to tell her a thing or two. He was not only a dom, he was also bisexual. Like Kai.

  And how could she ever compete with Kai? He was beautiful, he was sweet, he was funny, and she herself knew what a great kisser he was. Probably good at doing what he’d been doing, too. Sucking Trace’s cock.

  At first, when she opened the door to Trace’s office, she’d only seen Kai in profile, his beautiful face rapt as he sucked, taking his time with the cock in his mouth because whoever he was pleasuring had finished, body slack with repletion, and hands loose in Kai’s black hair.

  She’d never seen two men
together, well, except those emotionless porno videos on the Internet. Some of those had popped up when she researched BDSM.

  But this was different. There was something hot and beautiful about this encounter. The man on his knees clearly loved what he was doing, and cared about the person he was doing it for.

  And the man he’d done it for cared about him too, from the way his big hands held his head so carefully. That was when things had begun to click in Sara’s mind, snapping through the shock.

  It was Kai on his knees. Her Kai.

  And she also knew those hands, big but well-made, with long fingers and a dusting of golden blond hairs on the back, and up the strong wrists, the powerful arms.

  And she knew that cock too. Because she had sucked it herself. Recently.

  Her gaze rose slowly, with a kind of fatalistic calm, to find Trace watching her from the shadows, mouth hanging open in shock. He looked horrified and guilty—to be caught, or by what he’d done? Probably the former. Because it wasn’t like he’d promised her fidelity or anything.

  But it sure as hell felt like he had. Their last night together… She couldn’t believe that what she’d seen in his eyes wasn’t real. But she’d been wrong before.

  Why did this time hurt even worse? So badly that she knew if she stayed here in her silent condo, she was going to smash her way through things bigger and more expensive than an old glass pitcher.

  She grabbed her purse from the counter, shook the glass from it, and ran back out into the moonlight. When she turned on to the boulevard, Kai tried to flag her down from the curb, but she ignored him, shaking her head at him, at the friendship they’d been building, at what she’d just witnessed.

  Kai and Trace. How did they even know each other? Had Kai just strolled over and joined the club? He hadn’t said anything about it, but then that wasn’t the kind of thing you told a stranger, even one you’d kissed. Maybe the encounter she’d witnessed was his audition to join. Hey, no papers, but here’s what I’ll do for you.

  Or—oh, my God—was Trace the man Kai had come here to find? The old love that he’d missed so terribly he’d left his home in a tropical paradise? If that was true, she was screwed, and not in a fun way. How could she compete with a love like that? And why the hell would she want to?

  Her car was headed west on the Sunset Highway before she consciously thought where she was going. But when the Forest Grove exit sign flashed in her headlights, she drew in a breath that was a sob of relief. Home. She took the turn, and the left that took her under the highway, and onto a winding, narrow road that was so familiar she could drive it with her vision blurred and her breathing erratic.

  She parked in the narrow, graveled sweep between the house, old garage and rambling greenhouse, and stumbled up the narrow steps to the kitchen door.

  Sadie James stood in her old kitchen, a slender, silver-haired woman in an old batik caftan, among a small jungle of African violets and blooming begonias. She held a teapot in her hands, and an empty mug sat on the scrubbed oak countertop before her. She turned with surprise, a delighted smile that turned to a blink of surprise as she took in Sara’s ensemble, and a frown of concern as she looked her daughter in the eye.

  She set the teapot down and opened her arms. “Baby girl, come here and tell Mama what’s wrong.”

  Sara went into her mother’s arms and laid her head down on her shoulder, returning her hug with the fierceness borne of desperation.

  “I have the worst luck with m-men in the known universe,” she wailed. “I p-p-picked another guy who doesn’t w-want me.”

  “Oh baby. I’m so sorry.”

  She gave Sara a squeeze. “I think this calls for something stronger than chamomile tea,” she said. “Let’s have some of my new batch of rhubarb wine.”

  Half an hour and two jelly glasses of homemade wine later, Sara lay curled in the corner of Sadie’s ancient leather sofa, a crocheted afghan over her.

  “Because,” Sadie pointed out, “that outfit is stunning, but it’s not really for sitting around at home, is it?”

  Sara was, if not numb, at least a little buzzed with homemade wine. She pulled the afghan up higher over her bare shoulders, one hand curling into the laces of the tiny leather bustier she’d found on sale at a secondhand store across from Powell’s Books on Stark in downtown Portland. Her skirt was a black knit mini, and her new green sandals were kicked onto the carpet under the coffee table.

  “I’m going to build a fire in your barrel out back and burn this outfit,” she vowed and took another swig of wine.

  “So tell me more about this club,” her mother said. “It sounds like a swinger’s club your father and I went to once.”

  Sara lifted her head and stared. “You did?”

  Sadie gave her a look. “Baby girl, every generation thinks they invented sex—especially wild sex. We had opportunities too. Lots, as a matter of fact. The seventies—good Lord. Sex, pot and rock ’n’ roll.” She shook her head.

  “Club 3 is for…um, people who like to play certain ways,” Sara admitted. “Like getting tied up and, y’know, that kind of thing.”

  “Ah,” Sadie said. “And this Trace of yours likes to tie people up? Or does he like to be a naughty boy and have Teacher punish him?” She waggled her brows at Sarah, her eyes twinkling.

  Sara cracked up, laying her head on the sofa back as she laughed helplessly. It didn’t last, but at least for a moment, she didn’t feel quite so empty. “Mama, you are one of a kind. If Carlie or Daisy told their mothers they’d been to Club 3, they’d have a cow.”

  “Oh, so your girls belong too? That’s nice; then you have someone to talk with.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to need a lot of that,” Sara muttered. “To answer your question, Trace is a, um, dom. And he’s…really good at it. So good at it, he spreads it around.” She saluted ironically with her empty glass.

  Sadie considered this. “You know, some people do have relationships that are…open, sexually, I mean. And it works for them. And if you also like this Kai…”

  Sara shook her head. “I do like him—a lot. But Trace hid a big part of himself from me. I mean, there’s open and then there’s ‘Hey, I forgot to tell you—I swing both ways.’ Although I guess I don’t really care about that part. Which is weird.”

  “It’s not weird,” her mother said. “Normal is much broader than most people will allow, that’s all.”

  It was good to have a mother who was counterculture.

  “But I don’t know if I can share Trace. Guess I’m the conservative one in the family. Or just insecure.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I thought…he was really into me.” The way she was into him.

  Although, roiling inside her with all of this was how much it had turned her on to watch Kai with Trace’s cock in his mouth, Trace’s hands in Kai’s hair, his body taut with pleasure. The contrast of ebony hair, dark golden skin and blond had been gorgeous and hot. Part of her had wanted to just stay there and watch, spellbound by their male beauty.

  This confused her even more, because she was hurt, dammit. She didn’t want to understand Trace’s or Kai’s side of this, she wanted to focus on her own pain.

  Sadie grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Baby girl, maybe Trace is into you. You’re pretty special, you know. I think you need to talk to him, and listen to what he has to say about all this.”

  “So you think I should just go along with whatever he wants? Because it looked to me like he wanted that, all right.”

  And she got why Trace had wanted it, because Kai was really sexy. She could only imagine what it would be like to have that mouth between her own thighs. Her pussy clenched at this thought, and she pressed her thighs together, groaning silently. Maybe she was as bent as they were.

  But she was not going to be the little submissive who let her dom do whatever with whomever while she watched obediently. She might love submitting to Trace, but she had limits, dammit.

  “No,” Sadie said. “I’m not saying
you should go along with whatever he says. I’m saying that you need to be very open, very honest—both of you. About what you expect from each other.”

  Sara blinked. “What I need is a man I can trust.”

  “Well, maybe you can trust Trace, and maybe you can’t. But if you care about him, you do need to listen to his side of things, before you throw the relationship away.”

  “So now you’re telling me to be ready to share him?” Sara’s voice rose to a quaver of indignation. “With Kai? And I have to share Kai with him—because I thought we were friends, but I don’t see how we can be now. Although given that we’re just friends, it’s not like he cheated on me. And neither of us ever mentioned Trace by name, now that I think about it.” It all made her dizzy.

  And she’d kissed Kai too, so what did that make her? Even more confused. She didn’t want to give up either of them. Even though she’d only known Kai a few weeks, the thought of never seeing him again hurt. She wouldn’t mind some more of those hot Hawaiian kisses either. Whoa, that was the homemade wine talking… Wasn’t it?

  She wasn’t sure. But as for Trace, she’d simply fallen for him, so hard she didn’t know if she’d ever recover.

  “I don’t know,” Sadie said patiently. “I’m not you. It all depends on the two of you—or maybe the three of you. And what each of you want and need. And if that doesn’t match, then as much as it hurts, one of you will have to change, or…walk away.”

  “Yeah, and what did I expect? I met Trace in a sex club.” Sara closed her eyes. “And Kai’s way too pretty to be straight. C’n I have some more wine?”

  “Hmm. If you don’t mind having a doozy of a headache in the morning.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “Well, in that case, you know your bed here is always ready, so drink up, leather chick. If heartbreak doesn’t call for wine, I don’t know what does. Think I’ll switch to chamomile tea, though. Do you want a snack? I have some oatmeal sunflower seed cookies.”

  “Okay.” Sara didn’t really want a cookie; she just wanted to be cosseted. Her mother’s hand stroking her hair felt good, as did the cozy afghan.