by Susan Arden
She clung to the bar, her heart pounding a million beats a minute in her chest. She heard noises from inside wherever he’d gone—a door or drawer banged shut. Then another. The longer it took him inside, the faster her pulse sped up. She didn’t need a minute or an hour or a day. She was in, all the way. Her only question was how to climb out once this project was over. He reappeared at the threshold, his powerful body framed by the doorway, as he regarded her with a sizzling stare that swallowed her whole.
“I’m in,” she whispered.
All she had to do was make sure he never had cause to discipline her and she’d be fine. Twelve weeks. How hard could that be?
Brandon nodded, then crossed to the sofa and laid a satin cape of deep wine color, with a matching mask across the back.
“Come here,” he said, and held out a black leather band. “I want to try this on you.” He sat on the back of the sofa with his muscular legs spread open.
“A collar? You just happen to have a spare?” she asked.
“This is a club. So, yes.” He rubbed his fingers along the collar’s edge, his eyes dropping from her face to trace her body as she came over to him, and stood just in front of his knees. “Closer,” he said, lifting his gaze to stare into her eyes.
She walked in between his legs. “How’s that?”
He immediately said, “Turn around and lift your hair.” His breath caressed her neck and the hairs along her body rose. “Your slender neck will look beautiful encircled by a collar.”
Her nipples tightened into peaks and she felt lightheaded as she lifted her hair. His arms brushed against her shoulders as he adjusted the collar, and the whole room seemed to waver each time his fingers touched her skin. He stopped fiddling with the collar and dropped his hands down to her hips, pivoting her to face him.
She felt like she couldn’t breathe. “I never wore one of these before. Is it supposed to fit this tight?”
“Let me see,” he said in a hoarse voice, pulling her closer. Any closer, and they would be sharing the same airspace—if she could remember to breathe.
She reached up and ran her fingers over the stiff leather, and traced the metal rivets. Something pierced her skin and she blinked. “Ouch.”
“Damn it,” he swore. “Hold on.”
He spun her around by squeezing his hands on her hips and his fingers grazed her bottom, making her clench. The feel of his fingers grazing her neck, while his forearms rested on her shoulders, had her biting her lip.
His breath came in teasing pants as he worked the buckle, adjusting it to a looser fit, and she swayed from the explosion of sparks under her skin.
“Your skin is pretty sensitive. This isn’t the best collar, but we are only pretending," he said, brushing his cheek against her shoulder.
“It’s fine. Really. Thank you.” She touched the collar, swinging her chin back and forth, then leaned over to the left and rested against his muscular thigh. She waited for him to say something. Wasn’t that what a good sub did? It would take a boatload of patience, and she desperately lacked an easygoing nature. Maybe sub training could actually teach her a thing or two.
“Okay, then.” He said in a deep voice and pressed his fingers to her lower back. He rose, moving her forward, before he took a few steps away.
“Will I be able to ask you some questions?” She licked her lips, still bruised from his kiss.
He stared at her for a beat, then walked over to the pad and wrote something. He crooked a finger in her direction. “Last thing before this is a done deal.”
He’d added a provision: Mia Santero is free to ask any question which will be answered honestly. She laughed. “Ah. I feel better.” She picked up the pen and signed her name on the line.
She held the pen out to Brandon, recalling her initial impression of him—as power personified. That’s how he seemed at first, anyway. But maybe what she’d observed as powerful was actually power under control.
Taking the pen from her, he touched her fingers intentionally, not bothering to hide the fact. “Last thing before I see you again tonight.”
She vacillated in categorizing him a mere product of training or real control. No, she couldn’t dismiss that within Brandon ran a river of something raw. Potent. And yes very, very powerful.
“Yes?” she said, not certain about what to expect after that kiss and now his lingering touch.
He swung his gaze up to her face. “What’s your safe word? Every sub needs one under my training.”
“Oh. I guess…” Her stomach twisted at the mention of another sub in his training. Did he have more than just her? Don’t be stupid, this isn’t a date and that part of the equation doesn’t matter. She thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. “Red velvet.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “Nice combination. God, you’d look amazing in red velvet. Pretty damn hot.”
“Actually,” she said and smiled back at him shyly, “it’s my favorite cake.”
Chapter Seven
“WHY DOESN’T THAT SURPRISE me?” he asked her. God she was a breath of very fresh air.
“I like sweets. Is that a crime?” She smiled and his chest tightened.
“Hardly.” Made sense that she’d be thinking in innocent terms. Not him. His dick stood up at the mention of red velvet on her lips. The erotic image he had veered away from food, but not eating. He hungered to taste her velvet heat.
“Anything else I ought to know?” she asked.
Her question jarred him back to sanity. “Darlin’, tonight it’s guest night. The last Monday of every month. So what you might see is anyone’s guess. Some guest nights are pretty tame, and some are on fire. Give people a pass to another world and sometimes they go a little crazy.”
Mia’s cheeks colored. “I can testify.”
Her fingers worked to unbuckle the collar. The thought of her removing his collar irked him—reminded him this wasn’t as real as he’d like it to be. He brushed her fingers down. If anyone was going to take it off, it would be him.
“Let me,” he said. She needed to learn to follow his direction on the dot, or she’d have difficulty comprehending the first thing about a submissive’s role and the bond between a Dom and sub. He inhaled, placing the collar on the sofa. He walked toward the doorway to his private room and decided he’d better prepare her. “Kiss me.”
“Excuse me?” she said, coming up to him.
“I thought so,” he commented. He turned and took her by the shoulders, then tipped her chin up to him, and raised his eyebrow. “Forgetting something, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, his breath coming out in shallow pants.
God, she was a beauty. Her eyes so dark he thought he might get lost staring into them. Not helpful to her or me.
He fought to keep from taking hold of her and used words to put some distance between them. “Mia, when I give you a direction, everyone in the place will have their eyes on you. If you don’t follow it, the expectation will be that I’m going to discipline you. If there’s latitude in the direction, all you have to do is follow it, and how you do that is your business. But know this…” He couldn’t help himself as he backed her up to the door. “If you don’t follow the direction, then we leave wherever we are. Simply put, that means you have less time around the subjects you’re trying to study. Correct?”
“You’re right. They are like subjects, but not exactly. I don’t have this set up as an experiment. But your point is correct. I understand.”
She stepped forward, looking up into his face, and pressed her mouth to his. One chaste kiss, and he didn’t push, even though the urge tore through him to take hold of her and ravage her perfect mouth.
“How was that, Sir?” she asked, her breath whispering over his mouth. She’d grabbed hold of his waist, and for a few milliseconds after the kiss ended, he was tortured by the brush of her fingers caressing the sides along his abs.
His pulse skittered. “Great. I would have settled for a peck on the
cheek. But that was…fine. No complaints.”
“I see. You’re teaching me to see the whole picture, not just the obvious route.”
He wasn’t certain what his point was anymore, other than that he wanted her body up against his. Hell, if she thought this lesson was part of a larger schematic, he’d run with it. “Keep your blinders open,” he said gruffly.
“You’re funny,” she said, swinging her purse higher on her shoulder. “I got it.”
He escorted her to the back door and then out to her car. “I knew it,” he said, staring at her bumper.
“What? Oh.” She smiled up at him. “Yesterday?”
“You could have talked to me? Saved us both a huge headache.”
“Maybe we needed to get shaken awake. I think we’re on the right path now,” she whispered. “Don’t you?”
His heartbeat slammed into his ribcage and he contemplated her words as the blood left his head and flowed into his dick and balls. All he could consider at the moment was the prospect of hoisting her over his shoulder and carrying her upstairs to his apartment, then fucking her until the headboard knocked a hole into his wall and left them both sore for days. He slowed his breathing, as he did when he needed to gain control of any situation, and focused on minor details. Anything to fasten his mind to the ground and stabilize him. There were milk crates filled with papers and folders in her back seat. “You sure do take your research seriously,” he said, releasing a slow, deep breath.
“That’s student work I have to grade. I’m a teaching assistant to a professor in my program. My real job, for now.”
“My sister attends UCLA, and has a job there, too. Marketing. She’s only begun. Not like you, in grad school.”
“I remember the days,” she replied. “And I’ll be glad when I finish.”
He held open her car door as she slid onto the seat. “Guess it’ll be nice to work in your field. Therapy?” he remarked.
“Yep. I’m on the last leg of becoming a licensed mental health counselor. And I plan on moving away the day after graduation.” She started the engine of the car and he gripped the door, digesting that piece of information.
“I’ll see you later,” he said. Suddenly the light as a feather feeling he’d had around her plummeted to the ground. She’d be leaving in a few months. Gone.
Shit, he’d already done this dance. He watched her pull out in the falling snow and stood there, his breath coming out in a cloud around him. Without blinking, he continued watching her drive away until her brake lights were invisible. God damn my stinking luck!
He stormed back into the club and just stood there.
“You look like hell,” Penrose said matter-of-factly.
“Thank you,” he retorted drily. “Anything else you’d care to add? Come on. Take your best shot.”
Sam walked by. “You could use a shave.”
Brandon shot them withering look, and clenched his jaw, holding up his middle finger. “To both of you.”
“Hey, you asked.” The bartender shrugged and then held up his drill. “I’m putting this back in the storage closet. Unless you need it.”
“No. Not unless I have time to nail your ass and his to the wall.”
His partner laughed. “Then you’d need the nail gun. Not the drill. Sam, go ahead and put it away,” Pen said. “Thought you’d be in a much better mood after spending an hour with the red light on.”
“What are you saying now?” Brandon glared at Pen.
“I’m not the one who flicked on the light.” His partner pointed down the hall. Sure enough, the red light was on.
“I made a mistake,” he snapped.
“Oh, I seriously doubt that. She’s just what the doctor ordered.”
“Well, fuck the doctor,” he growled.
Pen scratched a hand down the side of his face. “I haven’t seen you this put out and turned on since, Jesus H. Christ, I can’t recall when.”
They’d known each other since grade school, and it was true. He felt like his skin was no longer the right size. He was hot, then cold, nauseous, and wanted to smack his head against the wall over and over until one gosh-darn sensible thought materialized that didn’t have to do with Mia and getting her naked. Them both naked.
“She’s driving me crazy,” he said in a low voice.
“We all can tell. There’s only one way to solve that dilemma.”
“Taking her to bed, and then what?” Brandon strode forward with Pen tailing him. He shot a look over his shoulder, his scowl warning Pen that this wasn’t the moment to pull his chain.
“Yeah. Get her out of your system. You’re just frustrated and horny. Bran, this isn’t a hard problem. Not counting your dick.” The fucker actually laughed out loud.
“Asshole.”
“Take a look around, buddy. You’re standing in the middle of a sex club. Every night we’re open there are some hot women who show up and want to get laid. If you can’t be with the one you want, then brother, enjoy the one you’re with. Isn’t that how the song goes?”
He flipped off Pen again, then turned off the red light. “Operative word: song. This is real life, and that woman isn’t even sure what she wants.”
“As if any of them are,” Pen muttered. “Ever thought your expectations were too high?”
“Never.” He exhaled, not caring to stand around arguing over wanting another woman who wanted to get away from this part of the world. “I’m going upstairs to shower and get my head on straight.”
“Great. We’re going over to Papa Joe’s. You in?”
“Sure. I’m hungry as hell, but we’ve still got our trucks on blocks.”
“Sam and I will deal with the wheels. Man, what you need is an ice-cold shower and a shot of whiskey.”
“Really. That simple?” Brandon rolled his chin, assured that he needed more than water and booze. He hungered for heat, the type only Mia could offer.
“Oh hell. Not really, but it’ll tide you over until you see her again,” Pen replied.
BRANDON returned downstairs after he’d showered, shaved and changed into a starched button-down shirt and fresh jeans, ostrich boots and a black cowboy hat. Not his usual garb, but it was a guest night and no one would give him a load of shit considering they had a few high rollers on the guest list.
Revived and with his stomach rumbling, he stopped by the membership area and wrote a note, reminding Marty that Selma and Esme were on the no-admit list and to keep an eye peeled. Dealing with those two would require a possible sit-down, yet with whom, he couldn’t imagine—he shook his head, wondering who he could drag into this fiasco. Not their preacher father; without a mother, they’d gone from rebellious to truly reckless. Maybe Cory, his sister, would know of someone who he could call on and find out why the twins’ wild natures were driving them to the point of being self-destructive. The twins were on the brink of blundering down a very slippery slope if someone didn’t reach out and stop them.
BY the time Brandon returned from lunch with Pen and Sam, the couple of rounds of beer and pool they’d enjoyed had relaxed him—somewhat; enough to ease off wanting to grind his back molars until they’d damn near cracked. Walking back into the club, he reminded himself to get his head out of the clouds. He carried the homemade pie he’d bought at Joe’s and headed to the stairs, taking a moment to get his game plan together.
Each step along the corridor convinced him this was going to be quite the night. He paused, glowering at the unlit red light bulb, then peeled his focus away, and toward the staircase. A sharp piercing stabbed him with each passing minute. Scaling the stairs, he couldn’t escape the thought of Mia’s mouth and soft moans as they’d rubbed against each other, and then that scorching kiss from earlier today. He put the pie in the fridge, then leaned against the kitchen counter, dragging his hand over his face, and wondering what he could possibly do to weather the evening.
He stopped struggling to subdue his imagination and dove into a full-blown fantasy session of him haul
ing Mia down that hall in a loud, nonstop session of teaching Mia a thing or twenty. High on the list: stop the damn teasing! Starting with his hand on her naked bottom. He savored imagining a slew of loud moans spilling from her beautiful mouth. His desire ramped to do more than mentally fuck her long, hard, and rough.
That fantasy did little, if anything, to help quench his lust. The cloying weight returned, doubled from when he’d awoken today. Shit, he was hopeless if he couldn’t satisfy his craving, and soon.
One more night and he’d be on his way back to Annona. Pen would be here to take the reins and he could deal with watching over Mia. A twinge shot through his body, dissolving the last iota of his newly found state of relaxation. Who the hell was going to watch over her if one of the members got it into his head that she was free for the taking? He glanced at his kitchen clock, then bolted back downstairs, and stuck his head inside the main bar.
“Sam, I’ll be back in a few,” he barked.
“The sink started leaking again.” Sam pointed down at the floor. “Got a pail under the pipe where the drip is coming from. Not as bad as before.”
“Are you serious?” He crossed the room. “We can’t get any maintenance work done this close to opening.”
“Not news. That’s why I’m starting to box up some of the stuff. Where do you want me to put it?”
“Find a place. Here.” He tossed Sam his keys. “Get it stowed and we’ll deal with the leak tomorrow.”
“I have this covered.” Sam jingled his keys. “Not much is going on. No games, so I doubt we’ll get anyone early today. Pro Bowl isn’t until next week.”
“Shit, I forgot. My sister’s boyfriend is playing.” He needed to call Cory and touch base with her. Surely she’d be bringing Brett to Stephen’s wedding. He still didn’t have a date, and at this point, he didn’t care if he showed up stag; just being a part of the wedding party was fine by him.