Longing: Club Inferno

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  “I’ll have Istvahn assemble a firing squad. Does dawn work for you?”

  “She’s after my part in the play.”

  “She won’t get it,” Colleen assured her. “You’re much more talented.”

  “Cesare is bankrolling the play.”

  “You’re screwed then.”

  “Thanks for the sympathy.”

  “Anya, let it go. She has no power over you. Forget about her. Have a good time with Clint tonight. Just go in with your eyes open. Unless, of course, you want to be blindfolded.”

  “Blindfolded? Have you seen Clint’s abs?”

  “You see one six-pack, you’ve seen them all.”

  “Oh, to be as jaded as you. I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Good idea. Nothing says sexy like falling asleep in your restraints.”

  “There will be none of that.”

  “Whatever you say. I don’t need the details.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “You’re right, I do. We can talk tomorrow.”

  Anya hung up the phone feeling a little scattered. Her stomach growled again. After drinking two glasses of water, she stepped on the scale again.

  The red numbers were two pounds higher than before.

  “That’s impossible.” Logic told her that there was no way she’d consumed seven thousand calories in the past fifteen minutes, but the numbers still hurt.

  She cast off her clothes and pulled the covers over her head before more doubts and unhappiness were able to touch her.

  Anya didn’t remember falling asleep, but she must have been tired, because the next thing she knew her phone was blowing up.

  “Yeah,” she croaked, aware that the room was now pitch-dark.

  “Are you standing me up?” It was Clint. His voice was as dark as the room and sexy as hell.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Shit,” she said, throwing the covers off and springing to her feet. “I fell asleep.”

  He chuckled. “It’s okay. The party is just getting started. I’ll meet you at the dungeon entrance.”

  “I’ll be there in a half hour.”

  “Make it fifteen minutes.” His voice was a commanding growl that sent shivers over her.

  “You can’t hurry perfection,” she said, her voice light even though part of her wanted to rush to him.

  “Make me wait at your own peril,” Clint said, hanging up.

  “Yeah, hard limits,” Anya said to herself as she emptied her drawers looking for something to wear. She settled on a black corset with matching panties and a red garter belt. Attaching black silk stockings, Anya wished she had the guts to just wear that and a pair of heels. But she slipped on an ASOS red swing dress with a low crisscross back. Leaving her hair bed-tossed and wild, she ran her fingers through it with a drop of styling product to give it some texture. She did her eyes big and smoky, with eyelashes you could see from the space station, and topped it off with ruby-red lipstick. Her shoes were killer pumps that had a band of sparkly crystals across the toes.

  She made it to the dungeon in what she considered a compromise, twenty-five minutes.

  “Hi, Axe,” she said to the bouncer, who was running the elevator.

  “Hi, gorgeous,” he said. “You doing anything tonight?”

  “I’m going down,” she said suggestively, and reached across him to press the button to the dungeon level.

  “Who’s the lucky fellow?”

  Anya shrugged one shoulder just as the doors opened. Clint stood there, his bare arms crossed over his naked chest.

  She expected him to be glaring at her or doing the “Dom thing,” but his wide, appreciative grin had her preening.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  “Some guys have all the luck,” Axe said as he pressed the elevator button.

  Clint hooked his arm through hers.

  Shivering as his bare flesh hit hers, she pressed in closer. “I hear it’s role-play night. Do I dress up as Red Riding Hood and you get to be the Big Bad Wolf?”

  “My, what big…” Clint dropped his eyes to her cleavage.

  He caught her hand when she went to whack him. A tingle of that fear/arousal thing went through her again, and she caught her lip between her teeth.

  “Why don’t we find a private place and we can discuss our scene.”

  “Scene?” Anya balked. “I’m not putting on a show for people. I told you I’ve got stage fright.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

  Anya narrowed her eyes. “You mean that? I thought Doms liked to get their own way.”

  “We do. It’s just that your pleasure is going to be my pleasure.”

  Stumbling, she felt her face redden. He led her through dark corridors that echoed with the sound of the whip and lash. Tortured and ecstatic shouts cried out in the dark. Anya nearly bumped into him when he stopped to open a door that she didn’t even know was there. The room he guided her into was about the size of a large closet. A king-size bed took up most of the room. He tumbled her onto it, following her down. Leaning up on his elbow to look at her, Clint eyed her from the top of her head to her already curling toes.

  Anya smoothed her dress, which had ridden up over her thighs, but Clint brushed it back up. “Why did you wear the garters if you didn’t want me to see them?”

  The garters, yes. Her thighs, not so much.

  “So now what?” she asked, trailing her fingers over those washboard abs.

  Stretching, he let her pet him. “Tonight is a role-playing fantasy. We can stay here and act it out, or we can get dressed up in costume and walk around for a bit.” His fingers caressed her under the garter.

  “I want you to finish the choking story.”

  Clint rolled on his back. “It’s a better visual.” He tapped his thighs. “Straddle my legs.”

  “Are you serious?” Anya said. She knew better than to be shocked, and after he’d fingered her to an orgasm in a room full of people, she really didn’t want to be shy. Hiking up her dress, she threw her leg over him.

  His hands went to her waist and settled her closer so her core rested on the hard bulge of his cock. Anya froze. Was she crushing him?

  “So she was on me, like this—only I was deep inside her.”

  Anya was mesmerized by the sensual look in his eyes. She traced the full curve of his lower lip and he nipped at her fingers.

  “Mistress Claire had your necktie around your throat,” Anya said, leaning up on her knees so she didn’t put her full weight on him.

  If Clint noticed her thighs trembling from the effort, he didn’t mention it. Arching his back, his hardness rubbed against her.

  “Then she rode me, pulling on the necktie like it was reins. Each buck”—he demonstrated. Anya went off balance and caught herself on Clint’s shoulders. It put her breasts very close to his face. She would have backed off, but he held her there—“tightened the knot until my air was cut off.”

  Sprawled on top of him, feeling him pressed to her intimately, Anya wanted him to strip the dress off her. She couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw the corset. “What happened?” she whispered, her mouth scant inches from his.

  “The room narrowed to a tunnel and each pump and thrust made me light-headed, but the pleasure was worth it. I almost passed out, but Mistress Claire was an expert. She eased up on the tugging as she came. Then she allowed me to come. She kept the noose tight, but I could still breathe.”

  Anya swallowed, her throat dry. “I’m not sure I would like that.”

  “It’s not something I would do with a beginner.”

  Pushing herself back up so she was sitting up again, Anya took the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over her head.

  “Wow,” Clint choked out.

  Rubbing herself over his hardness, Anya steadied her balance.

  “I’d like to take these panties off and spank that ass of yours red.”

  Crinkling her nose,
Anya shook her head. “I’m not into pain.”

  His hands clamped on her panties. “It just stings a bit at first.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll turn around and belt you one.”

  Clint breathed out, “What about tying you up?”

  “Maybe,” Anya said. “What would you do to me?”

  “Anything you want.” He eased into a rhythm underneath her that made her gasp and clutch his shoulders. “Or anything I wanted.”

  That shiver hit her again.

  “Like what?”

  He moved fast, spilling her onto her back, covering her. His hands forced hers over her head, while his mouth captured hers. Anya opened for the kiss, so sweet and soft. It belied the forceful way he held her. Hooking her leg around his, she gasped when he used that opening to rock between her legs.

  God, she could come again just from the friction and his talented mouth. She tried to free her hands, but he held her firm. Anya put her mind and her back into it. Soon they were wrestling, or rather she was. He was unmovable. She refused to give in to panic, but he wasn’t even struggling. He could do anything he wanted to her and she would be powerless.

  “Let me go,” she whispered as the fear tainted the experience.

  He did and rolled off her, but only to his side. Propping himself up on his elbow, he smiled down at her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, not sure she could trust her voice. This was scary, and she was starting to think the kink wasn’t worth the gorgeous man next to her.

  “Touch me,” he said.

  Relieved, she ran her hands over the muscled planes of his shoulders and chest. His hands were behaving themselves and she had that twinge of fear that this wasn’t as real to him as it was to her. Was he playing a game with her? Clint went for a kiss.

  Moving her mouth away, Anya took deep gulps of air, while Clint trailed soft kisses down her cheek and throat.

  “We should talk about expectations,” Anya said when she got her mind to focus on something other than his hard body.

  “I know a few of your hard limits. No public displays of nudity?” Clint stroked her cheek.

  “I’m not sub material,” she said, hoping she wasn’t blowing this. “I’ve worked too hard at my self-esteem to give it over for amazing sex.”

  Clint frowned. “There are all sorts of master/slave combinations as well as Dominant/submissive. Don’t think this has to be me leading you around by a chain on your neck. Although, I would like to see you on your knees and collared in front of me. But that takes trust and intimacy that you and I don’t have yet.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “Yet.”

  Playing with the hair at the back of his neck, she resisted the urge to move restlessly against him. “I don’t think that would do anything for me but annoy me.”

  “Okay.” He grinned. “What about role-playing?”

  Playing a part, she understood. It was why she wanted to be an actress. Heck, it might even be good practice. “As much as I’d like to say what big”—she tugged on his earlobe—“ears you have, I’d like to know what is real and what is fantasy before we get into anything.”

  “What do you want out of our time together?” Clint asked the question with another sweet kiss.

  “This is nice,” she said.

  “Did you like getting off in the crowd?”

  “I liked being with you. It was naughty, but part of me was afraid of being caught.”

  “Didn’t that add to the excitement?” he asked, turning her jaw so he could kiss down her throat to the tops of her breasts.

  Anya’s toes curled. “I don’t know.”

  “Why are you here?” Clint asked, exploring the corset top.

  Finally.

  “I wanted to be with you,” she whispered, wondering what the admission would cost her.

  She was rewarded with a sexy grin. “But you see, you’re in my dungeon, and I call the shots. Are you willing to give me control?”

  Poised on a precipice she could barely understand, Anya knew her answer mattered more than he was letting on. Damn it. She shook her head. “I don’t follow orders well.”

  His grin turned diabolical. “That’s what I’m here for. If you don’t follow orders, I will punish you.”

  “How about we just have mind-blowing sex?”

  “We could do both.”

  Anya considered it as he continued to kiss her, but he didn’t make a move to take off her corset or underwear. Was she missing something? Was he waiting for her? It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t say he wanted to be with her too.

  “Tell me about the punishments,” she said, easing away from him. He was unsettling to her resolve. Anya sat up on the edge of the bed. Her ardor cooling, it was hard not to feel silly.

  Clint sat next to her. “You’ve kyboshed the fun stuff.”

  “Fun for you,” she said. “You’re not the one getting your ass beat.”

  He considered her for a moment. “Maybe we should slow this down a bit.”

  Anya closed her eyes. Here it comes. “You’re a nice girl, but I’m just not into you.” At least it wasn’t “My mom thinks you’re too fat and too common to marry.”

  “Hey.” He held her hand. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

  Not a chance in hell of that. Blinking back tears, she plastered a big bright smile on her face. “I think we’re overthinking this.” She stood up, snatching her dress off the floor.

  “What did I miss?” Clint asked, his brow furrowed.

  Slipping it back on, she shimmied it down her hips. “This isn’t going to work.”

  He stood. “It will. If you want it to.”

  “I think I’ll bore you.”

  “I’m not bored.” Clint moved in, but the room was too stifling and she fumbled for the doorknob.

  The dungeon’s oppressive darkness was surprisingly welcome as she darted into the shadows. She wasn’t quite running away from him. He caught up to her when she got lost in the darkened corners. Either he had eyes like a cat or he knew these corridors like the back of his hand.

  “I’m not a sub,” she said as his hands landed on her shoulders. “I can’t be.”

  Clint rubbed them in a soft, soothing circle. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?” She crossed her arms.

  “So we don’t play dominance games.”

  Anya turned to face him. His expression was masked in the dim light. She couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not.

  “What’s the catch?”

  He choked off a laugh. “No catch. I want you.”

  Her knees shook. “You do?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.” He took her in his arms. “I can’t keep my hands off you, and I’ve been fantasizing about you for a few months now. Have a little pity on my poor libido.”

  Arching an eyebrow at him, she said, “I don’t think you’ve been depriving yourself.”

  “Perish the thought.”

  Cuddling into him, she said, “I’m not looking for a serious relationship.”

  His hand froze where he had been stroking her hair, and his body clenched. He took a deep breath and let it out harshly. “Of course. I’m not your type, right?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re everyone’s type,” Anya said. “I just have bad luck with good-looking men.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “What do you want out of this?” Anya said.

  “You. Tied up, begging for me. Your sweet mouth on every inch of me. Your legs on my shoulders while I’m deep inside you.”

  The image was distracting. Anya wanted to experience that. It sounded so damn good. Some fun sex. Her heart would be safe.

  “So, you’re okay with not doing the whips and chains?” she asked.

  “There are other ways to experience kink.” He tucked a hair behind her ear. “Let’s take a walk through the dungeon. It would be a shame to waste that dress.”

  Chapter Seven

  Clint tamped down the disappointment. It
wasn’t as if he should expect to find someone interested in an actual relationship in a sex club, but he had hoped Anya would be different. All he was to anyone was just a stripper, just a Dom. He supposed it was his own fault for fingering her in the back of the pole-dancing class. It probably would have been a better idea to take her out for dinner first. For once in his life, take things slow and normal. But that wasn’t him and if it scared her off, so be it. Still, he was going to enjoy their time together. He slipped an arm around her and hugged her to his side.

  “Let’s go out to dinner tomorrow. Somewhere outside of Couture.”

  He held his breath, waiting for her answer. If she came up with an excuse, he’d fuck her and forget her. Cut his losses.

  Instead, she gave him a smile that was infectious. “I’d love that.” Then her face creased and he felt stupid for letting his expectations get the better of him. “But I can’t.”

  He kept the smile on his face but dropped his arm.

  “I’m on this stupid diet. If I don’t drop a boatload of weight, I’m not going to get a part in the stage version of Some Like It Hot. It’s way off-Broadway, but still…” Her voice trailed off and she looked so wistful that his heart clenched.

  “You have to eat.” Clint was surprised he was fighting for this.

  Fuck her and forget her.

  “Actually, I’ve been drinking these protein shakes.” She made a screwy face that was part Lucille Ball and part Bill the Cat.

  “Okay,” he said. It was a creative blow-off, but he’d had worse.

  “It’s not just a part,” she said, walking on ahead of him. “It’s a damn quest.”

  “Wouldn’t that be Spamalot?”

  Grabbing his hand, she smiled up at him again. Damn, she was incredible. Maybe she’d give him a chance when he had his own bar. “Do you like tequila?” he asked.

  “Tequila and I have a long and somewhat checkered past. Do you know that country song ‘Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off’?”

  “Bartender!” Clint called, waving to the man dressed up like a saloon innkeeper at the far end of the room.

  “I once drank a mariachi player under the table.”

  “I’m impressed.” He steered her toward the bar.