by Brandi Evans
He was mystery wrapped in enigma. Maybe one day she’d be able to decode him.
He pointed to the back of the club. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”
She nodded.
When they reached the bar, Brock helped her onto an empty leather barstool. “Hey, Raven,” he called down the bar, “can I get a house draft and a Porch Swing?”
“Sure thing, boss,” a sultry female voice called back.
Viv leaned around Brock to get a look at the woman who went with the voice. Just as she’d suspected, it was the full-figured, raven-haired woman who had delivered Viv’s message to Brock earlier. With her leather corset and holey jeans, the other woman looked as if she could be Brock’s twin sister, dangerous and sexy in her own right.
Viv turned her attention back to her companion. “So what’s a Porch Swing?”
“Vodka, beer and a little sweet and sour mix. Trust me, you’ll love it.”
No doubt she would. He knew her too well.
She fingered the small stud decorating his ear. What would her life have been like if he hadn’t disappeared after her remission party? She’d been ready to leave Eugene then, and if Brock had wanted her, she would have run away with him in half a heartbeat. Or would she have?
Would she have reacted any differently about his lifestyle if he’d have told her back then, before her affection for him had been truly cemented?
He turned to her, caught her intense stare. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
She smiled. “Just thinking about things that might have been.”
“Like?” His eyebrows shot closer together. “Or should I even ask?”
“Nothing bad. Wondering where we would be now if you hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth.”
“Oh.” His gaze slipped to the bar, his jaw worked. Anger? Sadness? Guilt? She couldn’t get a handle on his exact emotion, but he was upset. Of that she was certain. But why? Was he guilty for disappearing? Sad they’d missed so much time? Or was he angry? But angry for what?
Hadn’t they gotten everything out in the open already? She wanted to push the subject, but held back. This night was for exploration. It was to help her learn about the lifestyle. Everything else could wait.
Raven set their drinks in front of them. “You know the routine, boss.”
“Sure do.” Brock pulled a black-and-gold card key from his back pocket and handed it to the bartender.
Raven motioned her head toward Viv. “I’m guessing she’s on your tab tonight?”
Brock nodded.
“Got it.” Raven scanned Brock’s card, pressed a couple of buttons on a tan handheld, then gave the card back. “Here ya go. See ya in two hours, boss.”
And with that, the woman left them alone.
“Two hours?” Viv picked up her glass. “You come back to the bar like clockwork or something?”
He laughed. “There’s a drink limit at the club. One drink every two hours. We want patrons relaxed, not sloshed. Safer that way.”
She nodded. “Makes sense.” She took a sip. The sweet and sour mix hit her first, followed by the bitter punch of beer, all coalescing to work her taste buds into a frenzy. “Mmm, nice.”
“Told ya.” He winked as he took a swig of his beer.
“You sure—holy Christ.”
A man about as tall as a mountain—and just as stocky—stepped around the far end of the bar, out of what could have been a back room or second entrance. Black leather pants encased the man’s legs. The only thing he wore up top? A matching leather vest. He wasn’t as strikingly sexy as Brock, but he certainly gave her companion a run for his money.
“Viv?” Concern laced Brock’s voice.
She turned from the imposing man—at least tried to but he was damn hard to look away from. “Who’s that?”
“Who’s who?” Brock turned and looked down the bar. “The tall guy at the end of the bar?”
“Tall? Is that the best adjective you can come up with? The dude looks like he should be competing with Atlas for the honor of holding up the world.”
Brock laughed. “That’s Steel. He used to be a linebacker for the Cowboys but he was injured a few years back and decided it was time to hang up his cleats.”
The giant of a man caught sight of them—or more precisely Brock—and waved.
Brock gestured him over. “Whatever you do,” Brock said quickly to her, keeping his smile glued to his lips as he looked at the other man, “don’t talk to him.”
“Excuse—”
“Don’t argue, Viv. Just keep your mouth shut.”
Vivian stared at Brock, mouth agape. She stiffened her spine. What in the world had that been about? Don’t talk to him? Why the hell not? She didn’t take orders from—
She stopped the thought in its track. Like it or not, she most certainly did take orders from Brock right now. She was in his world tonight, and if she didn’t play by his rules, she hated to think what might happen.
“Brock,” Steel said as he reached them. “How the hell are you, man?”
“Good. Good.” The two exchanged handshakes. “I haven’t seen you or your brother around in a while. Everything going okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Been getting hung up at the office way too fucking much. Evan’s still there, but I had to get out before I killed someone.”
Brock smiled as if in on a personal joke. “Still in negotiation hell, I see?”
“Unfortunately.” Steel turned his crystal-blue gaze on Vivian and smiled appreciatively. “Your little sub’s quite the looker. A newbie?”
“Yes, she is.” Brock dropped his arm on her shoulder in that ultra-possessive way he’d done earlier. “And no, you can’t borrow her later. She’s all mine.”
“That’s a fucking shame. Those lips of hers would look fantastic around my cock.”
Viv’s stomach twisted into knots. For the first time since walking into Restrained Fantasies, discomfort assaulted her. The expression in Steel’s icy eyes was unmistakable. He saw her as nothing more than an object to be possessed, to be used and discarded at his whim. It was easy to see in the way he spoke about her, as if she wasn’t even here.
“Easy there, Steel,” Brock warned, his voice light, but Viv had known him long enough to decipher the undercurrent of warning. “I’m sure you’ll find a good little sub to use tonight. You always do.”
“True. But I doubt there’ll be any subs out there I haven’t already played with.” He turned back to Brock. “Let me borrow her for thirty minutes? You’d be free to watch.”
Her fingernails dug into Brock’s arm. He didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as visually acknowledge any discomfort. She squeezed harder.
“Sorry, Steel,” Brock said, finality tinting every word, “you know I don’t like sharing my pets. You’ll have to find something else to occupy you.”
Something? Was that really how Brock saw her, as a possession like Steel did?
The other man laughed. “Can’t blame a Dom for trying.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’m off to hunt.”
As the two men said their goodbyes, Viv fought down the bile rising in her throat. Submitting was one thing, but by god, she wasn’t a fucking possession. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he spoke first.
“Sorry about that, love.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Steel’s a bit hardcore, and I didn’t want to chance you getting in his crosshairs somehow.”
Hardcore? No, hardcore wasn’t the right term for that man. He was a jerk. A bully. “I don’t like him. He scares me.”
“Steel scares a lot of people, sweetheart, but he doesn’t abuse. So…” He shrugged. “To each his own.”
He might not abuse here in the club, but a man like him was a wife beater in training. She had no doubt about that. How many other men in here were too? Was Brock?
Shame flooded her the second the thought manifested. Of course Brock wasn’t an abuser. She was embarrassed for even thinking such a thing, bu
t damn, his words to Steel wouldn’t stop taunting her.
My pet.
Something.
“When you told Steel he couldn’t have me, you referred to me as a thing. Is that how you really see your subs, as objects?”
He turned his gaze fully on her. “Did I do anything to make you feel like an object when we were in my office?”
“No,” she whispered, dropping her head forward. She knew Brock respected her, she did, but since she’d stepped foot in this damn place, everything was turning on its head. Things had seemed so much simpler when she’d just been bound in his office. Too much was happening too fast in here.
A woman sauntered past, leading a second woman around like a dog. The woman on all fours wore a full face mask and a collar-looking thing around her neck.
Mmm-kay.
She leaned close to Brock. “What the hell?”
He turned in his seat—then laughed. “Puppy training.”
“Puppy…training?” She pressed her palms to her cheeks. She was afraid to hear his answer so she cut him off with yet another question. “You’re not going to put a collar on me and lead me around like a dog, are you?”
“Only if you ask me to.” He grinned, playfully tugging on the leather wrapping her wrist. “At least leading you around like a dog. That’s not really my thing but if you dig it…”
She read between the lines. “But you would put a collar on me?”
“Let’s just say I’m not opposed to the idea.”
She glanced around the room. Everywhere she looked, collars were prevalent. But what exactly did they signify?
“I’m sorry, Brock. I just don’t understand your world yet. I see women with collars on and my first instinct’s to think it’s degrading. But collars obviously mean something entirely different in the lifestyle. To you.”
“Collars are a bit hard to explain as they don’t exactly mean the same thing to everyone. Generally, if an individual’s wearing a collar it signifies they belong to someone.”
Like a dog belongs to a person. She didn’t like the implication. “But what does it mean to you?”
“Commitment. Complete and total commitment, both inside and outside of the club.” He leveled her with an expression that held a lifetime’s worth of seriousness. “I’ve been a part of the lifestyle for over ten years, and in all that time, I’ve never collared a sub.”
“You make it sound as if you’d be proposing.”
“In a lot of ways, that’s exactly what I’d be doing.” He trailed a knuckle over her cheek. “I’ve played with a lot of subs over the years. Some I’ve met who simply want a Master for the night, some belonged to other owners. But collaring?” He shook his head. “It’s always been too personal for me.”
Her heart rate kicked up a few gears. Collaring was very, very significant to him, so much so he’d never collared another sub—but he wasn’t opposed to the notion of collaring her. The idea warmed her more than she thought possible. Knowing Brock cared for her was one thing. Knowing he cared for her so much he would consider giving her something he’d never given another sub was something entirely different.
It was a game changer.
She was about to tell him so, but before she could speak, a woman’s scream soared over the dull roar of the patrons. Viv turned to locate the source of the scream. The sound brimmed with pure erotic bliss. Only the intensity of a brutal orgasm could wrench those sounds from a woman. She should know. Brock had stolen several from her earlier today.
Near the center of the club, on a stage, a blonde woman stood with her arms chained above her head and her feet shackled to the floor. She was completely naked, sans a full face mask. A mechanical fucking machine, mounted to the floor, thrust between her legs.
Viv needed to get closer. “Will I be breaking some sort of Dom-sub rule if I said ‘Get your ass up and follow me’?”
Laughter bubbled in his throat. “Normally.” He tugged her in for a hard kiss. “But since you’re still exploring your desires, I’ll let it pass.”
“You’re all heart, Sir.”
“And don’t you forget it, pet,” he said, hopping from the barstool.
Tugging her along behind him, Brock led her through the crowd. He stopped only when they were close enough to the stage Viv could smell the other woman’s arousal. The musty aroma of sex and pleasure clung in the air.
God it was such a turn-on. She crossed her legs in an attempt to control her sudden desire.
No-go.
A leather-clad Dom stood with his back to Viv, holding one of the intimidating-looking pom-pom things she’d seen earlier. He struck the woman alternatively on the breasts, thighs, ass. Her skin gleamed red where the leather had made repeated contact.
“Do you want more, sub?” the Dom asked.
“Y-yes, Master. P-please.” She squirmed, riding the mechanical cock as it ravished her pussy. “Whip me again, Master. Please.”
Whack.
“Thank you, Master. Again.”
The Dom struck his sub, just as she’d begged him to.
“Th-thank you, Master.” The woman’s squirming turned into full-on writhing on that mechanical cock, still pumping, still punishing. “More, Master.”
The Dom lifted his left arm, pressed a couple of times on the leather band wrapping around his wrist, and the speed of the dildo increased.
Viv couldn’t stop staring. She’d never dreamt of anything so, so…extreme. Even more shocking, each smash of the flogger, each of the woman’s cries of pleasure moistened her pussy.
Viv’s clit tingled. She crossed her legs again, but this time, the move had nothing to do with control. The sub onstage was completely at her Dom’s mercy—just like she’d been at Brock’s mercy earlier—but this was different. So different. This wasn’t some scene played out in private between two consenting parties.
This was played out for the world to see.
Viv placed her hand over her heart. The trust between the two onstage must be incredible. Could Viv give control of herself to Brock like this, in front of the entire club?
Did she want to?
When she and Brock had been alone in his office, giving up control had been hard enough. But here? Here she’d be completely helpless, at the mercy of a club full of Doms who could feasibly do anything to her they wanted, with only her Dom to protect her.
The horrifying thought dumped freezing-cold water on her arousal, but it wasn’t just fear for herself. “What if she’s in pain? Ya know, too much pain?”
“She’ll say ‘red’.” He tapped his index finger against her nose. “Just like I instructed you.”
“Oh.” She relaxed a little. “So that wasn’t just something you did with me because I’m new?”
He shook his head. “This lifestyle doesn’t have a lot of rules. Practically anything goes around here, but there are a couple things we follow without fail to keep the environment as safe as possible and that’s the use of safe words. Whenever anyone says the club’s safe word, ‘red’, the scene immediately stops. No exceptions. No excuses. If the scene doesn’t stop, it’s every patron’s responsibility to find a monitor and report someone isn’t respecting a player’s right. Pain’s one thing…abuse is totally different.”
The conviction in his voice transmitted the passion behind his words, and she relaxed even more. The notion of safe words made her feel just that much more secure. Not secure enough to let him take one of those nasty-looking pom-pom things to her backside…but better.
She turned her attention back to the stage. The Dom entranced her. Every move he made held an air of pure commanding confidence—sort of like her Dom. Although she’d never been here, the Dom seemed so familiar, and not just because his presence reminded her of Brock’s. It was something else.
It was in the actual way he stood, the precise way he presented himself. His jet-black hair was slicked straight back in that wet look she’d come to appreciate during her chemo treatments. It was just like her oncologist
—
“Oh my god.” She gasped the words. “Is that…Dr. Phillips?”
No, absolutely not. Couldn’t be. But when she turned her gaze on Brock, his knowing smile told her everything she needed to know.
No fucking way. Impossible. “He’s an oncologist for crying out loud.”
“Yes, but he’s also my business partner.”
Viv shook her head. “Unbelievable. How does he have time to run this place?”
“I run it. Stephen enjoys it.”
“Apparently so.”
The sub onstage cried out again. Her thighs quivered. The muscles of her arms jerked, tightened, pulled her up slightly before—
“Master!” She convulsed so violently the mechanical cock missed her pussy, but it’s upward thrusting never stopped, slapping against her as she came and came.
And came.
Dr. Phillips stepped behind the sub and wrapped his arms around her, one around her breasts, one around her low belly. It almost looked as if he were holding her up, as if the intensity of her orgasm had left her too limp to perform the task herself. He dipped his head, his lips hovering near her ear, and suddenly, the scene took on a tender hue. Affectionate.
Sweet.
She couldn’t help but wonder… “Are they together, outside the club I mean?”
Brock shook his head. “But I don’t think it’s for a lack of trying on Stephen’s part.” He sighed. “The sub, Marina, lost her longtime Dom last year to cancer, and she’s not handling it well. Now she’s in here practically every night and begging anyone to whip her. I’m honestly worried about her. If she got hooked up with the wrong Dom…”
He shook his head, but he didn’t need to finish his words. Viv knew exactly what he meant. That she could get hurt, find someone who didn’t know when to stop.
“Is that why Stephen’s with her now? He wants to make sure she’s protected?”
“I think it was. At first anyway. Stephen was her husband’s oncologist.”
Viv nodded, reading between the lines. Stephen felt responsible for the husband’s death, and in return, was looking out for Marina.