by Jane Henry
“Get you a drink?” The bartender asks before he swipes the counter with a bar mop.
“Redbreast neat, please,” I say. I can’t give him Zack or Braxton’s name, because that might make him suspicious.
“Your name?”
“Mary.” Lame. God.
“Nice to meet you, Mary,” the bartender says, extending a hand. “Name’s Travis.”
He hands me my drink and I thank him. The key to staying anonymous is making sure that I don’t linger anywhere too long so I need to move. I can tell from what I’ve seen that money doesn’t exchange hands here. I guess it’s hard to carry cash when you’re not wearing much of anything for clothes. I have to make sure no one knows I’m here, though. Then I remember the locked door.
“I’m a guest of Master Tobias,” I say, not making eye contact with the bartender. “He said to put my drink on his tab.”
I won’t make eye contact with the bartender, but his voice makes me want to leave, and now. He’s clearly suspicious.
“Guest of Tobias?” he repeats, and in front of me he anchors his hands on his hips.
“Yes. Thanks so much,” I say, making my way away from the bar and toward the other area of this room and far, far away from the bartender. I wonder if he’s a dominant, too. Seems those guys aren’t so good at believing fibs. And Brax said he had a shift here tonight. What does he do again? Is he one of those guys dressed in leather? The very idea makes me giggle to myself nervously.
Where the hell am I?
From here, this place looks like a normal club, with pool tables and a dance floor. Then I see a couple approach. He’s wearing a chain and collar, and she’s dressed in all black, wearing a pair of stilettos. I can’t imagine walking in shoes like that, much less leading some guy on a chain behind me, but she does it with grace as she approaches the bar.
“Pinot Grigio for me,” she orders. “And a bowl of water for Slave.”
I blink.
What the fuck?
I will not judge I will not judge I will not judge, I chant to myself, turning away from them. Hey, whatever floats their boats or whatever the fuck. I drain the rest of my drink and realize I need to find a quiet, secluded area. I can’t get back into the room, but I really don’t need to be on display, either.
“My guest?” I hear a stern, deep voice speaking from the bar area. Shit. As cautiously as I can, I crane my neck to see Brax’s friend, the one he called Tobias, speaking to Travis at the bar. Tobias is frowning. He’s gonna give me away and then it’ll cause a scene and how the hell am I going to handle this now? Why the fuck did I do this, anyway? The ice clinks in the glass in my hand, and I remember why.
Why the fuck do I need this? I hate that I do. I don’t like being dependent on anyone or anything. Tomorrow, I won’t touch the stuff. I can handle my shit without the aid of something to numb my senses.
Tobias frowns, looking around the bar, then he sees me. I look away quickly, but it’s too late. Brax has told him I’m here and I saw recognition in that sober gaze of his.
He starts to come my way, in long strides, and I don’t have any answers for him. If I have to talk to him then Brax will know I left the room, and the last thing I need is to make it obvious I’m here. I swear under my breath, turn away from Tobias, then turn into the crush of people by the pool tables. I walk quicker and only after I’ve stepped far away, look over my shoulder. Tobias hasn’t lost sight of me, though. What will he do if he catches me?
I quickly skirt between the couples and head for the hallway that will take me to a much busier room. I can see from where I stand there will be serious kink at play there, and I can’t imagine Tobias will want to cause a scene. I don’t see him following me now, and it feels like I’m totally free. Quickly, I race into the room then nearly halt in my tracks.
If I thought I was underdressed in the main area? It’s abundantly clear in the dungeon.
Ho-ly SHIT.
This place is… unreal. There are padded tables and others that are shaped oddly, like horses, as well as v-shaped tables and a variety of furniture that looks like a variation of an examination table someone might find in a doctor’s office. Along one wall hangs an assortment of wooden beams that form crosses, rings hanging from the ends, and couples are in various states of kink play.
I flinch at the sound of something solid hitting flesh, and I turn around, almost scared to see what’s causing the noise when the strike is following by a wail. Someone has been cuffed to one of the benches, and she looks weirdly young. She’s got pig-tails and a frilly, lace-edged skirt, with Mary Janes on her feet. The man behind her looks scary as hell with a shaved head and tattoos snaking around his neck. He’s easily a foot taller than she is, his inked arms enormous and muscular, and in his hand, he’s got a solid wooden paddle. He bends down and whispers something in her ear. She nods and grins, then he’s behind her with his hand on her lower back. I can’t watch. It seems too private for me to be here watching, like being in the room with someone having sex.
Then why does my pussy contract when the man wraps his hand in her head and pulls her head back? Why does my clit pulse with arousal when the sturdy paddle connects with the girl’s ass?
Far to the right, in a darker corner of the room, I see someone… dangling? Confused, I walk as casually as I can closer to get a better look, which is maybe not so smart since now I’m further away from the exit, and I need a quick escape route. But I want to see what the hell is going on in here.
There’s a man below, holding something small and flexible in his hand, and the woman beside him is literally strung up in some sort of rope. I can see where the woven strands cross her bare breasts, and even though I have never seen anything like this in my life, I’m fascinated. It isn’t that the woman is nearly naked, wearing only the tiniest thong, but the look on her face. She looks at total peace. I swallow hard.
What would it be like to give up control like this? To have it physically restricted from me? Behind me I hear the sound of flesh being struck again, and though I jump at the sound, an electric thrill runs down my spine. I notice one man and a woman walking around as if they’re in charge, detached from all play and without a partner. Are they what Brax referred to as dungeon monitors? I try to observe them without being seen myself, when something gets my attention. A woman is sprawled on the table that looks like it belongs in an exam room, her legs tied down spread-eagle, but that doesn’t bother me. It’s what’s on her head that does. It’s black, like a mask, with a small circular opening for her mouth. Panic strikes me just seeing her wear it. How can she handle that over her face like that? I imagine she’s cast into total darkness and can’t hear anything. I suppose that’s the point of that hood.
I clutch at my chest and anger rises in me. I’m not a weakling who loses her shit over things like this. I’ve been in seriously dangerous situations that don’t make my heart trip in my chest like this. And why does my body have to respond like this?
A part of me goes into automatic cop mode but I have to suppress it. The people here want this. Hell, it’s even legal. I’m the one that has issues.
“Excuse me.” The deep voice in my ear nearly makes me scream, but at least I draw in breath. I turn to see Tobias glaring down at me. “Not sure we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” Damn, this was not how I wanted to meet the guy.
I extend my hand but don’t give him my name. I can’t speak freely here but I need him on my side. I lean in close and whisper, “I’m with Braxton. He had to run out but he’s coming back, and I just stepped out of the room for a minute.”
Tobias shakes my hand quickly, eyeing me with a gaze that pierces right through me. He releases my hand and crosses his arms on his chest. He’s intimidating, tall and serious-looking.
“I’m friends with Zack, too, and he can vouch for me,” I whisper. “Please. Don’t cause a scene.”
He raises a brow, but a corner of his lips twitches upward. He leans in and whispers, “I’ll leave the sce
ning to Master Braxton. Just took me a minute to realize who it was that put her drink on my tab.”
“I’ll pay you back,” I hiss. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you, I swear. I just didn’t have any cash and it didn’t look like anyone was handing any over. I was afraid if I mentioned Brax people would get suspicious.”
“I don’t care about the tab,” he says. “I care that you’re out here, when Brax promised me you wouldn’t be.”
I sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean to come in here,” I say, but my protest sounds silly and weak. “I only wanted to step out for a minute, but I didn’t realize the door would lock behind me.”
He’s still frowning and doesn’t reply. I continue on stupidly. “So I decided to look around a little while I wait for him to return. But since you’re here, maybe you can let me back in the green room?” I give him my most winning smile, but he’s still not amused, staring at me with one brow raised now.
“It’s safest for you if you’re back in that room,” he says in a voice so low no one but me can hear him. “But I think I’ll let Master Braxton handle you.” He jerks his chin at the same time I feel a strong hand grip my upper arm.
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Brax’s voice murmurs in my ear. He continues in a voice so low it’s almost a purr. “You walk with me and don’t cause a scene. I want you as inconspicuous as possible. You’ve already seriously crossed a line.” He looks up at Tobias. “She do anything I need to be aware of?” I hate the way they’re talking about me as if I’m not even here, but I don’t want to cause a scene, so I bite my lip, even though I’m fuming.
Tobias shrugs. “We’ll talk about it later.”
What the fuck?
Brax is marching me out of here now. “I told you stay put,” he says in a low growl. The way he’s talking to me and the grip he has on my arm, makes me feel like a naughty child and I don’t like it. I hate the weight that presses on my chest with the knowledge I’ve screwed up and someone’s mad at me.
“Whatever,” I mutter, angry at him. I’m trying with everything I’ve got to hold my shit together, so I have to turn into bitch mode or I’m gonna lose my mind and I can’t lose my mind. I’ll cry. Jesus, I hate when I cry. I was an idiot for coming out here to begin with.
He takes out the keys to the green room and glances casually around us. It’s just us here now, though, the sounds of the dungeon fading as he pushes the door open to the private room and ushers me inside. The door shuts with an audible click behind him.
“What the fuck, Zoe,” he growls, prowling in the room and releasing my arm. I rub the place where he grasped me, not because it hurts so much as I need to make myself feel better about this. I hate how I feel. I hate how I’m a little girl shamed. This isn’t me anymore. Fuck it, this isn’t me.
There’s this maddening weight between us because I’ve fucked up and he’s angry with me. I can’t look at him, because then I’m afraid somehow he’ll see that little girl inside who’s ashamed. As much as I try to cover her up with my fierce confidence and strength, she’s there, and if he looks me in the eyes, he’ll see her.
“I just wanted a drink, Braxton, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, but he doesn’t say anything at first. I risk a look at him. It surprises me when I look at him that the anger has already faded, and in its place is a milder look. His eyes no longer flash but look sad, but not quite. It’s worse than anger. He looks disappointed. His lips turn down, his arms still crossed on his chest.
To my surprise, he crooks a finger at me. “Come here,” he says.
To my further surprise, my heart stutters in my chest and my mouth is as dry as the Sahara. I blink at him, but he still doesn’t get angry, just repeats in the same low, determined voice, “Come here, Zoe.”
I walk over to him, a weight on my chest like a treasure chest, heavy and solid, my mind a jumble of hurt and anger and confusion. What the hell are we doing here? He’s a guy who means nothing to me. A one-night stand is just that: one night of passion and sex and heat, no strings attached. And yet here I am, in his private room, locked away from danger, and as I draw close to him, I focus on the fact that he’s a dominant.
What exactly does that mean? He has all sorts of toys and things stashed around this room, but what does that mean? What does a dominant do? And if he’s a dom, what does that make me?
I somehow reach him and when I do, he uncrosses his arms and takes my chin between his fingers. My lips tremble, and the weight on my chest loosens a little. The touch of his fingers on my chin reminds me of the imbalance of power here. By crossing the room to him, I’ve granted him something, though I’m not yet sure what.
“It was dumb,” I whisper, and to my utter horror, my eyes dampen. Fuck. I’m not the girl who cries. What is it about this guy that breaks down my walls? “And dangerous.” I’m a trained officer. I’ve been taught, and seen firsthand, that bravery doesn’t come on the tail of stupidity. We’re trained to wait for back-up, go in properly armed, and only the dumbasses wander into dangerous situations without proper weapons or back-up.
I fucked up today. Big time.
But I think what really makes me feel badly is the knowledge that this guy has put himself on the line for me. He’s here to protect me, and doing everything he can, and I couldn’t follow the simplest of directives. And that makes me feel like an idiot.
“God, I’m stupid,” I blurt out, attempting to shake my head so I can look away from him, but he holds my chin fast.
“You’re not stupid,” Brax says firmly. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”
I swallow and try to nod but can’t because of the whole chin grip thing.
“You’re strong and brave and willful as fuck,” he says, icy blue eyes blazing with fire and conviction. Something loosens in my chest even further, and I begin to tremble, but before I can form a thought, his mouth crashes on mine, a punishing kiss that brands me with its vehemence, a clash of tongues and breath that would make my knees give out if he didn’t grab the small of my back and hold me against him. Too soon, he pulls away, his mouth to my ear. “You need to be punished,” he whispers, making me whimper with heat and arousal.
He sits heavily on the bed and brings me between his knees, his eyes on mine as his fingers unfasten my jeans. The heat of the moment makes blood pound in my ears and down my chest, skittering down my belly and right between my thighs. I’m aflame and trembling, incapable of anything but following his lead. One of his hands snakes around the back of my neck, pulling me in for another kiss, while his other hand pushes down my jeans. I feel them pool around my feet, and he stops kissing me long enough to whisper, “Step out of them and lay over my lap.”
It’s as if he possesses me. I don’t really have control over this situation. I’m aroused and nervous and admittedly mildly curious. Why does the knowledge he’s about to discipline me make me feel so many strange, unfamiliar things? I can’t even begin to decipher them, as he’s drawing me over his knee. My heart thunders in my chest, my arousal coating my thighs, but a part of me can’t breathe for nerves.
He presses me over his lap, my belly resting against the warmth of his thighs, and before I’m even settled, his hand crashes down in a stinging slap that makes the breath whoosh right out of me. A second smack follows the first, followed by a crisp spank on my upper thighs. I writhe with both pain and need, a low throb between my thighs pulsing along with the heat on my ass.
“You may be a strong, capable officer out there,” he says, punctuating his words with sharp smacks of his palm. “But in here, you’re mine.”
Am I?
“So that means you get to spank me?” I protest, wiggling because fuck it hurts, even if in a dim part of my brain I still want him to do it.
“Hell yes it does,” he says with a growl, giving me one rapid spank after another. I writhe but he holds me fast until he’s given me a dozen hard spanks with his hand. God, it throbs and burns like a million bee stings. I can’t even imag
ine what those other things feel like if this is just his palm.
And then he’s done. I’m panting, exhausted, over his lap, my eyes closed on the bed while he massages my flaming hot skin. I hiss when he kneads my abused flesh, but at the very same time I can feel how badly I need him. My nipples are hard, my pussy throbbing, and I want the hand that’s on my ass to touch me lower.
He doesn’t touch me, though. Not yet. He turns me over his lap and cradles me up on his chest, my scorched, bare ass on his thighs, and even though I’m horny as hell, I need this. I bury my face in his chest and realize right then, as his large, strong arms encircle me, that this very well may be the first time anyone’s ever held me. I was never touched with gentleness like this in foster care, but slapped and belittled, and that was oh so different from what he just did. My boyfriends kissed me and fucked me, and I’m no virgin, but no one was ever… a cuddler. I’m not even sure I am. But here, on his lap, after being stripped emotionally, and being held like this, I feel so many things I don’t even begin to know how to figure it all out.
“That was so embarrassing,” I say, without even meaning to. “God, I feel so… I don’t even know.”
“That’s okay. You don’t need to know,” he says, holding me tight. He’s even rocking a little, as if he needs this as much as I do, this comfort and intimacy. “And really, I’m not too worried about you being embarrassed.” His gritty voice rumbles over me. “Maybe that’ll make you think twice before you act. Listen, Zoe. I’m not gonna hold you in here forever.” He bends his head down. The too-big top I’m wearing has slipped to the side, baring my shoulder. He plants a warm, firm kiss on the tattoo there. “Jesus, baby, you’ve got wings. You need to fly. And I won’t be the one to hold you back. But we just need to figure things out.”
I nod.
“I need to keep you safe,” he whispers. “I had a good talk with Myers, and he’s looking into things. Tomorrow we’ll check out the leads we’ve got.” He nips the tattoo, igniting the flames he stoked when he spanked me.