by Susan Arden
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number he had not used in months.
“Yeah,” a man’s voice answered.
“Omar?” he asked.
“Last time I checked,” the man responded.
“Dude, this is Brandon McLemore,” he said. “I need a favor and it’s short notice.”
“Talk to me.”
“I need a collar. Not the usual.” He paused, considering what he envisioned would showcase Mia's lovely neck. “Exceptional. I want something elegant. Classy.”
“Ah. Truly special.” Omar chuckled. “You’re in luck. I just finished what I’m taking to New Orleans. We were planning on hitting the highway later today. Can you get here before five?”
“Man, I’m on my way.”
“I moved,” Omar said, and Brandon focused on the man’s words.
“You’re still in Paris, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but off Locust. The artsy side of town; don’t ask. It’s my wife’s idea.”
The only other time he’d visited Omar, his shop was located in the seedy part of Paris, sandwiched between a mechanic’s garage and a strip club; apparently business was good for the BDSM metal world.
“Good you said something. Text me the address and I’ll plug it into my GPS.”
Brandon had never purchased a collar fashioned out of anything but leather. The act was symbolic, but to him it never meant anything beyond a submissive wanting something tangible. This felt more along the lines of him asserting his claim over Mia, a sign that all members would recognize as meaning stay the hell away from her. She was his until the end of the project, and all he could think was heaven help him after that.
He pulled up in front of Omar’s shop. It was Monday, late in the afternoon, and there was a fair amount of business traffic in this part of Paris. Artsy was for real. There were women pushing strollers, even though the weather was damn frigid. Omar’s shop sat between a coffee shop and a tattoo parlor, and further down the street were artists and all sorts of small boutiques. He pushed open the door and a bell chimed. Omar was bent over a table with a soldering gun. He looked up and smiled.
“Almost didn’t recognize you,” Brandon said, glancing around the glass cases filled with all sorts of jewelry, and envisioned Mia in the belly chain displayed in one. “How goes it?”
“Life is good,” Omar said and stretched.
Brandon drummed his fingers along the edge and made up his mind. “Whoa, man, this is some incredible stuff. I’ll take this piece to start. The belly chain.”
“No complaints.” Omar smiled. “Hot choice. Rose gold and sterling. What’s the news? You look…settled.” He reached into the case and removed the chain decorated with different colored stamped metal.
When he’d first met Omar, it was on Evermore and they’d hired him to do some welding. Over beers they’d spoken about Paris. One thing led to another, and Brandon had learned about Omar specializing in artistic metalwork on smaller projects. Much smaller, in the range of body wear—chains, cuffs, and collars to be exact.
“Still on the run. But this place…quite a setup,” Brandon said, admiring the other glass cases featuring many intricate designs. So ornate, some of the collars and cuffs were pieces of artwork, as well as jewelry.
“I found a niche, and things have been going well. Let me show you some special pieces.”
Omar’s success had taken him from being a welder to a metal worker, and now to gaining recognition within this part of the art and jewelry world. Brandon watched as the artist pulled out a leather-bound case and opened it, revealing quite a few collars fashioned out of gold and sterling silver.
“Those are works of art,” he said, imagining one special collar he spotted fitting perfectly around Mia’s neck. “That one. May I see it?”
“God. I just knew you’d want it. Can’t. It’s already promised.”
“I’ll give you double whatever has been offered.”
“Dude, that’s a one-of-kind. Platinum. It costs a bundle.” Omar smiled. “What about this one? It’s refined in the same way.”
“No. That’s the one. It’s exquisite, just like the girl. She’s got this black hair that’s wild. Straight, and frames her face. And man, her eyes. I have never come across anyone like her before. Everyone else fades into the background when she’s around. This collar is perfect.”
“Let him have it,” a woman’s voice rose from the corner of the shop.
“Maggie,” Omar said. “Come meet Brandon. Hey, this is my wife.”
“Pleasure,” Maggie said, with her hand outstretched. “Any man who sounds like that when describing a woman is on a mission. You and she deserve this collar.”
“Hey, you’re lucky. She’s the boss.” Omar chuckled and set the collar on the black velvet pad on the glass counter. The collar’s brilliance sparkled, reflecting but at the same time absorbing the light, so similar to the way he thought of Mia. He fingered it, imagining it warm against her throat.
WHEN it rained, it frigging poured. By the time he walked back into the S & L, the club was packed. He took the leather gift boxes and placed them in his private room. Walking by the main floor, more than a few of the tables and booths were filled.
“Save me two spots at the bar,” he said to Sam via a walkie-talkie.
“Roger that,” Sam shot back.
Apparently, more than a few members’ guests had decided tonight was the night to be daring. A line had formed outside; not long, a few people, but it was a first in his world. He spoke to the security team at the entrance and told them to escort a member by the name of Mia in immediately when she arrived.
He entered the front hall and spotted Marty. His manager gave him a thumbs-up and dug into his pocket. “Doing your walk-through?” Marty asked.
“It’s that time,” he muttered.
“Hold on. Sam said to give these to you.” Marty chucked his keys and Brandon caught them.
“Thanks. Not going to get far without them.” Robotically, he completed the club-opening routine, stopping to speak with the staff, making certain everyone on the schedule had shown up, and struggled to find his rhythm in overseeing a smooth start. It was business as usual, as far as he could tell, yet his body hummed, his muscles were tight, and his senses were on edge. And it was no fucking wonder why. He stopped short at the sight of Mia and a nerve-snapping electrical current discharged throughout his body.
She stood at the front entrance, her head bowed, and listening to one of the security staff. Brandon had the walkie-talkie on his belt and it crackled low. “Boss to the front.”
The man working security smiled down at Mia, a little too broadly for his taste, and he had the urge to capture her wrists and lead her directly to his private room. He reminded himself to relax.
The security guard noticed his approach and jutted his chin out to him. “Brandon. As you requested.”
“Thank you,” Mia said to the bouncer, then lifted her face and smiled in his direction. Everything else around him dwindled into insignificance.
When their gazes connected, a frisson of excitement tore through him. He thought he knew what taking a kick in the chest from a wild filly was like…but he didn’t, really. Not like what just happened. He failed to understand why—it wasn’t like she stood there in that body-hugging dress she’d sauntered around in last night. His eyes roamed down the cape, then back up to the mask she wore, and he refocused on the black leather sub collar encircling her neck. Without thinking, he gritted his teeth.
She came just as he’d demanded. Walking toward her, he rubbed his fingertips together in memory of the silky softness of her hair. With each step closer, his hunger to unveil her heightened. She stepped to the side of the hall and the cape fluttered around her shapely calves. His eyes feasted on her smooth legs, and he bit back a groan at the mind-blowing heels on her perfect feet. They were some type of metallic combination, with silver chains around each delicate ankle.
He tried to swa
llow, but his mouth was drier than baked summer earth at noon. How did she do this to him with just a smile? Reaching her, he stopped, and tipped his hat. “Good evening,” he choked out.
“You clean up real well, cowboy,” she said, holding out her hand.
He reached for her slender fingers, rubbing his thumb over her long painted nails. Nothing garish, but a pale pink, and he imagined her raking her nails down his back as he drove his cock into her. Shit, he was already aroused, and getting harder by the second standing there.
“Mia. Mine,” he returned.
She squeezed his hand and by instinct, he brought hers up to his lips, kissing the skin at her knuckles. He inhaled her fragrance permeating the air, and a burst of pleasure skated up his spine. Still holding his attention, her lids lowered a fraction. The pleasure clearly was not all one-sided, and knowing she wanted him made the idea of backing off ridiculous to Brandon. What Pen had said earlier rang partially true: he was frustrated and needed to quench his thirst. But no one could do that except this woman. Not until he had them both naked, wrapped around each other, and screaming in overpowering pleasure would this aching hunger be appeased.
“What shall we do first?” she asked, smiling coquettishly at him.
“How about something to drink?” He drew his brows together. “Did you eat?”
“Yes. And yes.” She came willingly to him when he pulled her hand and tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm.
It had been years since he’d pursued a woman. The steeplechase he’d mount for Mia would be nothing short of fierce if he didn’t gain some control. He could already feel the overpowering urge that he wouldn’t stop until she acquiesced. But damn, he’d better reel it in somewhat; no more dry-humping in hallways. She’d be the one pushed to the brink, until she couldn’t stand it another second. Then he’d fuck her, for as long as it took to get her out of his system. A day…a week…he’d keep her in bed until his hunger was satisfied no matter what it took, and then he’d finally have his sanity back.
At least with a plan, he had something to latch onto, instead of floundering helplessly. “Is there something specific you’d like to see tonight?” he asked, guiding her to the bar.
“I’m here to observe. Whatever you suggest.”
“Let’s get that drink first.” He flashed a glance down at her.
“What goes on over there?” She pointed to the back corner of the bar.
“Do you play cards?” he asked.
She smiled sweetly, not making eye contact, and nodded. “Some. I played back home.” When she looked back up at him, her eyes weren’t smiling. Pain tinged her expression, and then she inhaled and focused on the bar in front of them. She surprised him by adding, “I can hold my own with most men.”
Most men. “Well, you might be interested in that room. It’s the place to find a poker game.”
“Strip?” She swung her glance to the back corner as though she’d been let in on a secret.
“No. Clear-cut cards. Pretty damn serious.” He followed her gaze and tipped his hat to some of the men at the door.
Mia touched his hand, swiping a fingernail across his knuckles. “I’m not studying gambling.”
He met and held her gaze. “Guess not. With your education and plans. A sure shot away from here.”
“Oh c’mon. You didn’t get to where you are today without a boatload of goals.”
“You’re right about that, darlin’. Best to remember the facts. I’m ordering for you,” he said, sliding his hand over her satin skin to her elbow, and then with his other hand, he swiveled the back of the stool for her to sit.
“Oh…yes, Sir. Please.” The cape fell open and he gaped at the display of cleavage framed by the front of her white dress. She pulled the edges of the cape together again, but not before he got an eyeful of the neckline that molded to her unforgettable tits. From wearing skintight, red leather to virginal white, she made him more than anxious to strip her bare. Without a doubt, she was both the devil and an angel in how she teased and tormented him. God, she had him scrambling. He gripped the bar, catching Sam’s eye.
“The usual?” he asked Brandon.
“No. Open a bottle of wine. We just received some cases last week…we’ll try a bottle of Cachè.” He ignored Sam’s raised eyebrow and slight smirk.
His tongue had turned to wood, much like his cock, and he found himself unable to speak. A thousand thoughts burned his brain, the majority being of Mia unclothed, and he closed his eyes to clear his mind.
“Are you feeling okay?” Mia asked.
“Yep. Just thinking,” he said, opening his eyes and pulling at the collar choking his neck. He didn’t know what to say, so he drummed his fingers on top of the smooth-grained surface of the bar for long seconds while she surveyed the area. Members—men—were checking Mia out. Their eyes kept returning to her again and again. It was only a matter of time before one of them came over for an introduction.
“It’s a busy night,” she said.
Sam came over with a glass. “The gentleman over there sent this.”
Before Sam could walk away Brandon snapped, “That will be last drink a member buys this lady.”
Sam stifled a grin. “Understood, boss.”
“Am I allowed to drink this, Sir?” she asked, her eyes innocently staring up to him.
“That’s your choice. I was under the impression that hard liquor and you weren’t a team. Was I off-base?”
“No. I don’t drink a lot. I just thought it was the right thing to do when a man buys a woman a drink.”
“Why? Are you into the guy who sent it?” he growled. No one, so far, knew that she was his sub. Shit, either he publically claims her soon, or he’d have to put up with more of this nonsense.
The dimples in her cheeks flared. “Everyone here interests me.”
Her suggestive voice shredded his vow to reel it in. Right now, he wanted her, and he had a vision of hoisting her off that stool and over his shoulder as he carried her to the nearest bed. Not helpful, McLemore. She’s got you good if all she has to do is bat her dark eyelashes and whisper.
Back to plan. He leaned against the bar as Sam brought over the corked bottle of wine and set up two glasses.
Sam poured a sample and pushed the glass across the bar to Brandon. “I think you’ll be impressed.”
“Care to be the one to sample?” he picked up the glass and held it out to Mia.
“Me?” she reached for the glass. “Sure, I mean…yes, Sir.”
He watched Mia lift the glass and press the rim to her full lips. Suddenly he felt envious of her damn glass. She drank the sip of wine then licked her lips. It was the most seductive wine sampling he’d ever witnessed. “Do you like?” he asked.
“Mmm. It’s really smooth. Fresh. Please, pour.” She beamed, sitting there innocently with her golden, glowing cheeks, long hair, husky voice, and stupefying scent.
He clamped his jaws together with the realization that the mask and cape had the opposite effect that he’d intended. Anyone with working sight could tell she was a rare beauty from one glance into her arresting eyes, and it didn’t help that he’d briefly sampled her moist mouth. The mask accentuated her feminine facial structure, and the mystery enveloping her identity made her a challenge too enticing to ignore. Possessively, he scanned the bar and, Jesus Christ, more and more eyes—the foolish male type—were glued on her.
“Mia, this is Sam. Head bartender. Sam, open an account for Mia under my name.”
“Nice to meet you, Mia.” Sam went to shake Mia’s hand and the bartender’s eyes widened.
“Thank you. Likewise.” She grinned back at Sam, her cloak open and her cleavage on display.
Brandon interrupted the gesture and chatter with a sharp, “Immediately, I meant.”
Both Sam and Mia smiled indulgently at him, as if he were some surly, misbehaving teenager. “I’m on it, chief,” Sam mock-saluted.
Brandon snorted. “We’re here to enjoy a drin
k, not smile and carry on with my overzealous management team.” Nothing more than a friendly greeting had transpired, and his caveman instincts flared stronger when she just smiled at another man.
Sam smiled and winked at Mia. “Oh, yes, she is.”
He waited until Sam finished pouring and retreated. He picked up both glasses of wine, and gave her one. “To your satisfaction,” he said.
“And yours,” she returned, before tapping his glass with hers.
He sipped his wine then turned to her. “I have something for you.”
“Not more rules?” Her brow knitted together.
“Hardly. A gift,” he said and smiled.
She gasped, tilting her head. “You bought me something?”
“Come with me. We won’t be gone long.” He motioned to Sam to save their spots. “No one will take these seats. We’ll be right back.”
He carried their wine glasses to the hallway of his private domain, and this time he wasn’t going to make the mistake of accidentally flipping on the red light. They quietly walked down the hall. “This club isn’t that much different from any private club. We’re hoping to open a restaurant soon,” he said, mindful that Pen expected him to hype the place. He sucked at sales, and to his ear, he sounded like a tight-ass.
“I think it’s very classy. The dark wood and lighting. The leather furniture. Chic, upscale, and modern. I researched your location when you said the club was part of a church, and this building is listed in the National Register.”
“I’m only too well acquainted.” He handed her a glass when they came to the locked double-doors. “It’s one of the reasons it’s so difficult to get renovations done. Zoning and permits are a regular headache for historic places.” He removed his keys and stood back after opening the door. Her long hair was done in waves tonight, and he longed to bury his face in the black silk, while rubbing his hands over every inch of her body.
Inside his private rooms, the lamps were lit, and he brought her over to the sofa. “Sit,” he said, “Wait. Let me take the cloak.”
“It feels so soft.” She ran her hands down the front.