by Nia Farrell
“Maybe,” she hedged. “If there’s stuff going on, I’m not sure how well I’ll fit in.”
“Don’t worry about fitting in for now. I’d rather you observe. You haven’t had any submissive training. That’s another thing that we need to discuss. But you can learn a lot by just watching. See what people do. How the Doms treat their subs and how the subs respond. What gets praised. What draws punishment. If it gets to be too much, we can come back up here. If you’re willing, there’s a kink that I want you to try. I think you’ll like it. I know I do.”
He murmured in her ear, then bit it.
Sara shuddered. Erotic gooseflesh dimpled her arms.
Fuck.
She was so goddamn responsive. He was tempted to skip dinner and eat her instead. But he had to be sensible. They both needed fuel for what he had planned.
“Come on, sugar. Let’s go downstairs and get you fed.”
He had them duck into the dining room first. A quick scan for Mad Dog and Isabella turned up nothing. He spotted the VP and his submissive in the kitchen’s food line. They were too far away to talk to and he didn’t want to leave Sara alone with Jolene somewhere around.
Flynn pulled out his phone and called Mad Dog’s number.
“What the fuck, Picasso?”
“Can you save us a seat? Sara doesn’t know anyone here but Isabella.”
Mad Dog looked down the line, saw Sara’s blonde hair, and gave them a nod. “I’ll try, man. Packed house tonight.”
“Try’s all you can do. Thanks, bro.”
He pocketed his phone and put his arm around Sara’s waist. “They’ll save us a place if they can,” he told her.
Sara was busy taking everything in. The barstools had been cleared from the end of the island, which was serving as a buffet line. There were three kinds of meat, corn, baked beans, macaroni and cheese, coleslaw, potato salad, and Mama Mare’s sourdough rolls with tubs of butter and jars of apple butter. Commercial-sized jars of pickles sat next to a large stainless pan of fresh mixed seasonal fruit. Dessert was white or chocolate sheet cake, cut into squares and served on small disposable plates.
When they got close, he pointed to the meats. “Looks like roast beef, pulled pork, and—oh, man!—deep-fried turkey tonight.”
“Fried turkey?”
Flynn looked at Sara. “What? You’ve never had deep-fried turkey?”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard of it, just never tried it.”
“Tonight, you get to see what you’ve been missing. I don’t know what marinade Mama Mare uses, but the flavor’s injected before the birds go into the oil. It’s premium stuff. Tasty and tender. Like you.”
She shot him a look and called him on it. “Premium stuff, huh?”
He bent his head and murmured in her ear. “And tasty. And tender. I know there’s cake tonight. I’d rather have you for dessert.”
Sara shivered.
He nuzzled her neck and nipped her ear. “Later,” he promised. Pulling out his wallet, he stuffed three fives in the collection jar to help cover expenses. “Supper first. Here. Grab a tray.”
They filled their plates and carried their trays to the dining hall. Flynn was relieved to see that Mad Dog had managed to save them a spot…until he saw that they would be sitting across from Rose and Crash.
Fuck.
He was proud of himself that he didn’t miss a beat. He got Sara settled next to Isabella and went back for their drinks, sweet tea for him and water for her. Returning to the table, he found Sara engaged in a three-way conversation with Rose and Isabella over bridal fashions and where to shop.
Sara clearly knew the area. Remembering that she’d been engaged, Flynn felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy. Dickwad Brad had known this woman. He’d shared her bed. Hell, he’d given her the promise of a child and left her when she lost it. He hadn’t deserved her. Flynn might not either, but he wasn’t going to let that fucking stop him. The truth was, he wanted Sara. The longer he knew her, the stronger he felt.
He didn’t want to rescue her from her nightmares. He wanted to be her goddamn knight in tarnished armor and fucking banish them.
That’s when it hit him. The realization that when he looked at Rose, she was more the Avenging Angels’ princess and less the dream of what might have been.
Crash wasn’t his competition.
And Sara was his. Or that’s what it felt like, anyway.
Fuck.
Flynn had never really done a relationship. Sure, he’d dated, but it never led to anything serious. The closest call he’d had was when a girl got knocked up, but she didn’t know who the father was. He’d suspected that she was sleeping around. The DNA test just proved it.
He’d dodged a bullet and had wrapped up religiously ever since.
“We have an appointment at Ever After on Wednesday,” Rose was telling Sara. “I’m hoping we can find everything there.”
“If you don’t, you’ll probably have to go to St. Louis or have it made. They’ve got the best selection in Southern Illinois—or they used to.”
Sara got quiet after that. She stopped eating and started picking at her plate, moving things with her fork but only taking a bite here and there. She drank her water and that was about it.
No one else seemed to notice. She listened and smiled and nodded in all the right places, but he knew. He knew. Something wasn’t right. Maybe it was Dickwad. Maybe she was remembering the baby that she’d lost. Maybe she was worried about Reaper, or she regretted being here.
Fuck.
He set down his fork and leaned to whisper in her ear. “Do we need to go, babe? You look like you’re done here.”
She saw the food left on his plate. “I’m sorry. We can leave when you’re finished. I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought. You were right about the turkey, though. It’s wonderful.”
“Tell you what,” he murmured. “Finish your turkey like a good girl and I’ll give you a reward.”
She looked at him to see if he was serious. He was. Poking a small piece with her fork, she popped it in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. She did it again, repeating the action until she’d finished her turkey.
“Good girl,” he said, glad that she had more protein in her. “Let’s go.”
Taking their leave, he and Sara carried their trays to a fifty-five-gallon galvanized can and the three-shelf stainless steel cart parked beside it. “Disposables go in the trash. Dishes go in the bus tubs, just like a restaurant. The kitchen crew takes it from there.”
Done, he put a hand on the small of her back and took her up to their room.
Sara kicked off her shoes and tucked them near the chair that he used for dressing and undressing, among other things. Barefoot, she crossed the floor and sat on the bed with her feet dangling over the side.
Flynn pulled off his boots. Taking off his cut, he hung it on the back of his desk chair.
Sara watched and waited, saying nothing.
He cleared off the top of his desk. Opening the duffel bag that he’d brought from Angel Ink, he unfolded the paper liner to cover the surface and began laying things out. By the time he finished, the desk was nearly covered.
He crossed the floor and sat beside her on the bed, leaving a space between them. They needed to talk. Touching would only distract them.
He started with the basics. “Do you like it when I call you a good girl?”
She smiled shyly. “Yes.”
“How does it feel to be my good girl?”
She bit her lip, searching for words. “It makes me feel warm inside. Like you care.”
Reaching across, he caught her hand and held it lightly in his. “I do care, sugar. I can’t explain it. We just fucking met, and it feels like I’ve known you forever.”
“I know,” she whispered. “It’s weird, but I feel the same way, like I’ve known you so much longer than I have.”
Flynn pointed at his desk. “See all that? I brought it from the playroom at the shop. I told you once that
I could give you the rush that cutting gave you. There are a number of ways to do it. The one I want to do with you is needle play, but only if you’re willing to try it.”
Sara locked her gaze on his, searching his eyes. “Needle play?”
“I’ll show you pictures, but it’s where pins or needles are threaded under the skin. So shallow, there’s rarely any blood. You can use ones with decorative heads to make simple patterns or really elaborate ones. When you cut yourself, it was like one stab and done. Think of dozens of pins piercing your skin, one after another after another. Think of the endorphin rush you’ll get from it. A rush that we can amplify with toys. Nipple clamps. Anal beads. A rabbit vibrator on your clit.”
Jesus. He could smell her arousal already.
“We haven’t really talked about BDSM. I don’t know your hard and soft limits. I don’t know your triggers. Hell, you might not know one until it happens, like when I bound your ankles.”
Just mentioning it made her shudder.
“Submission is a gift that a Dominant earns and keeps on earning. We need to trust each other without question. You have to trust me with your needs and I have to trust you to be totally honest with me, telling me what you like. What you don’t. What feels good. What turns you off. Letting me know as soon as there’s a problem and not waiting until it gets worse. I’ll be honest. I’ve never had a permanent sub, but I’m hoping that you’ll give it some thought. It’s a deeper relationship than boyfriend and girlfriend—although I want us to be that, too.”
It was the longest fucking speech of his life. He held his breath, waiting for her to say something. Anything.
Jesus, Flynn.
“You do?”
Two words escaped on a breath, full of hope and wonder. She sounded like she was pinching herself.
He’d obviously surprised the hell out of her. Hell, he was surprising himself tonight. He’d meant to introduce Sara to BDSM. Now he was asking her for a fucking commitment.
Flynn crooked a grin. “Yeah. I do.”
He took a breath. He’d given her the good news. Now for the bad.
“But you need to consider your family. Your friends. Your work. How you’re going to handle it when they see that we’re together. People judge by appearances. They’ll have no fucking clue who I am. You bring me into your world, and you’re going to be judged, too, just for being with me. When they realize I’m in a club and that you’re my old lady…I don’t know if you’re ready for the fallout.”
Sara sat a bit straighter, stiffening her spine, the light of challenge in her eyes. “I’m stronger than I look, Flynn. I know I’ve got some weaknesses and someone’s bound to find them, but I’m not going to say no because of what other people might think or say or do. If they can’t see you the way that I do, that’s their problem, not mine.”
“But they can make it yours.”
“Flynn—”
“Hear me out. You told me once that you wouldn’t let me hide. You asked me if I was ready. I’m telling you now, if we do this, it’s all or nothing. I won’t be your dirty secret. But before you commit, you need to know what you’re getting into if you’re with me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Flynn clasped her hand harder, tightening his hold as if to anchor her to him. “Look, I’m not trying to scare you off. I’m just doing my best to be honest here. I’ve seen too much since I’ve been in the club. A member finds a woman he wants but the relationship can’t survive the pressure. It’s happened more than once.”
He blew out softly. Sara could see that he was struggling. She squeezed his hand but said nothing, waiting for him to finish.
“It’s a cold, cruel world out there, sugar. Shitstorms come in the blink of an eye. People get blacklisted. Slandered. Shunned. They get driven out of neighborhoods and lose their jobs on trumped-up grounds. Don’t think it can’t happen, because it could. It might if you stay with me. But whatever happens, know this. I will take care of you.”
He would. He didn’t have to tell her what she already knew in her heart. His Dominant nature wouldn’t let him do anything else. Whether they were a couple or a kinky couple, she knew that she could depend on Flynn. He wasn’t about to cut and run. He’d fight for her. Protect her.
The only thing better would be if he loved her, too.
Maybe. In time. They were off to a good start, but there was still so much they had to learn about each other.
She turned to face him more fully. “I’m aware of the risks, Flynn. But I have no reason to doubt what you’re telling me. That, whatever happens, you’ll be there for me. That you’ll take care of me. And so I say yes. Yes to being your girlfriend. Yes to being your submissive. Yes to the needles and whatever else you said that you wanted to use with me, Sir.”
The light in his hazel eyes warmed. “I’ll do my best to see that you never regret it,” he swore. “But before we get started, we need to go over some things. Let me get my computer and I’ll show you what I mean.”
Flynn pulled up a BDSM questionnaire for her to complete. Sitting side by side against the headboard of his bed, he went over everything, line by line, explaining the terms that she didn’t understand and answering any questions she had. When they were done, he had her send a copy to his email and hers. That way, as she advanced, she could review her hard and soft limits and make changes if she wished.
“Some couples live the lifestyle 24/7. For now, we’ll save protocol for playtime. Outside of that, I want respect, not a slave. When we’re in a scene or in the clubhouse lounge, you’ll call me Sir. When I ask you a question, you’ll answer with ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘No, Sir.’ If you do something that displeases me, you will be punished. I’m going to cut you some slack and use rubber bands around your wrist to start. If you break protocol or do something I don’t like, I’ll snap them as a punishment. As we go on, you can expect to get spanked or disciplined in other ways. Toys and kink equipment can really enhance an experience. We’ll have to see how you do with a ball gag. It may be a trigger for you.”
Sara shivered. Needing reassurance, she asked, “But how can I tell you about a problem if I can’t talk?”
“Hand signals,” he said. “Something simple, like holding up one finger to slow and two fingers to stop. Or I can give you a ball or a hankie to drop if we need to end things. Just keep in mind, if you use your safeword to stop, that’s it. Play ends and aftercare begins. As soon as we can, we’ll talk about what happened. No right, no wrong. We learn from it and move on.”
She looked at everything that was laid out on his desk. “I’m guessing those are the pins you want to use?”
“With the glass heads, yes. Where they’re woven under the skin makes a raised bump. The heads make patterns, too. Here, let me show you.”
He searched through his folders and opened one filled with images of women whose bodies were adorned on their breasts, bellies, thighs, and backs. It was vibrant, sensual, erotic art. Exquisitely painful and tragically ephemeral. Once the pins were gone, the pattern would fade and disappear as surely as marks left by bondage rope. A photograph was the only proof that it had ever been done.
She had him go back to the first one that he’d shown her. A woman’s back was covered in pins that formed medallions, scallops, and waves. “It’s beautiful,” she said, wondering how it felt with so many pins threaded through her skin.
“I had to figure out the pattern and make sure that I had enough pins to make it before we started. I gotta confess, it’s one of my favorites. I really liked the way it turned out.”
Remembering all the images in his folder, Sara felt the sudden flare of jealousy. “These pictures—are they all yours?”
He must have picked up on the edge in her tone. “Most of them, yeah,” he admitted. “The guys do special sessions after hours at the shop. I’ll let Isabella know to not schedule any more for me. If I have any on the books, I’ll have Blue or Gryphon take care of them.”
She released the breath that she’d be
en holding. He seemed to want to make a go of this. It certainly sounded like he was committed to being a couple.
She just hoped it was exclusive.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t want to be clingy but if those women are like me, I know that they’ll want more than needles. They’ll be aching and needy. They’ll crave satisfaction, and they’ll want you to give it to them, won’t they?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But I didn’t have a permanent sub before. The picture’s changed. And unless I’m really reading you wrong, you’d prefer just the two of us in the frame. No threesomes, foursomes, or moresomes and no twosomes without you. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“You do know that there are ways to finish a session without sex?” The lift in his voice made it a question.
“I suppose.” She forced herself to answer. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. “But it’s still pretty intimate.”
“Which is why I’m turning over all the after-hours specials to Blue and Gryphon. They don’t have a woman of their own to keep happy. I. Do.”
Just the way he said it—sounding at once possessive and passionately sincere—made her heart melt and her body thrum. She wanted him to claim her and mark her as his. She wanted him to take her and make her feel it for days.
She might have moaned a little.
His heated gaze fell to her hardened nipples. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Take off your clothes.” The words were little more than a raspy whisper, but they rolled over her like a summer storm, washing away her inhibitions and compelling her to obey.
Sara slid off the bed. Edging around it, she came to stand on Flynn’s side before she started stripping. She wanted him to be as hungry for her as she was for him.
Crossing her arms, she caught the hem of her knit top and pulled it over her head. She folded it and placed it on the floor near Flynn’s nightstand. Her jeans were next. Popping the button, she slid down the zipper, hooked her thumbs in the waistband, and shimmied out of them, working them down past her hips, thighs, and knees. Balancing on one leg, she slipped them off one foot, then the other, and added her folded jeans to her pile.