Private Dancer (Club Volare Book 12)

by Chloe Cox

  “I sure as hell don’t want you taking her anywhere else.” Cole grinned at her. “Thank you, Simone.”

  After that Holt took his cue, and took the baby and his sub back to the main lounge area. Cole knew Simone would watch the front door, waiting for Bette. He continued setting up the surround sound on his own, finding it meditative, as always.

  But Bette was in the back of his mind.

  Always in the back of his mind.

  It was the first time he’d had to deal with desire so strong it almost overwhelmed his natural control. It was interesting. A challenge, for someone like him.

  And he only barely knew her name. Funny. It was like not knowing the details about her left the rest bare. There was nothing else to see but the person in front of you, who they were in the moment. Their bare-naked heart.

  But if he closed his eyes, he could see her face, flushed and sweaty, her eyes wide, her lips parted, as he came all over her stomach. That raw honesty. And he wanted to hold her, protect her, fuck her. It was maddening. Especially because he had to be so damn careful. Whoever had hurt Bette had done it thoroughly. And if Cole took it to the next level, if he took her the way he wanted to take her, he couldn’t promise it would stay in the realm of Dom and sub. He couldn’t promise he’d keep control. And that alone got him worked up.

  Bette Liffey. The lying sub he shouldn’t have. The only sub he wanted.

  So he was already half hard when he heard Simone’s knock on the door.

  When he saw what—who—Simone had with her, he almost laughed out loud.

  His beautiful sub stood next to Simone Delavigne, both of them standing in the doorway, waiting to be asked in. Simone looked pissed off. As pissed off as a sub would get at a Dom, anyway. Disapproving, for sure.

  And Bette, beautiful Bette, was red with embarrassment. Because while everyone else was lounging around in their favorite sweats and pajamas, Bette was decked out in a little black lingerie set that would have most men weak at the knees.

  Cole wasn’t most men. But he was human. The swelling in his cock got more pronounced.

  “You told her to wear something ‘comfortable,’” Simone said accusingly. “To a sex club.”

  Bette closed her eyes, slowly. “Hi, Cole,” she said. “Sir.”

  “That I did,” Cole said. “Open your eyes, sub.”

  Dutifully, Bette opened her eyes. He studied her. She was embarrassed, sure, but there was a twinkle there. A little crinkle at the corner of her eyes. She found this as funny as he did.

  “I think I might have misinterpreted what you meant by ‘comfortable,’” Bette said.

  “It’s not your fault, Bette. I would have done the same thing,” Simone said. “I know we have these really soft robes for aftercare in the spa, and I think we even have some yoga pants or something. Cole, may I please go get her something actually comfortable?”

  Cole took note. Bette had introduced herself as Bette.

  Progress.

  “You may,” Cole said. He locked eyes with Bette, and waited for Simone to leave them. “Come here,” he ordered.

  Bette obeyed. She kept her eyes on him, and her hands at her sides, even though he could tell she wanted to cover herself. More than that. She wanted to hide. But she didn’t. She kept eye contact without having to be told, and she let him see how scared and embarrassed and turned on she was, all at the same time.

  Without saying a word, she said a lot.

  “Good girl,” he murmured, and brushed his knuckle against her cheek.

  She sighed, her shoulders shuddering slightly with the release.

  “I don’t do euphemisms,” he said. “If I want you in lingerie, you’ll know it. If I want you naked, you’ll know it. And if I want you comfortable, I’ll tell you to be comfortable. Understood?”

  Bette nodded, and bit her lip to hide an embarrassed smile. It didn’t work. She laughed, her lashes brushing her cheeks as she closed her eyes again.

  “I look like an idiot,” she said.

  “You look like a goddamn angel,” he said.

  He meant it. He looked down at her artfully covered body, and his cock twitched. What she was wearing was designed to be taken off. A black corset that pushed her big, beautiful breasts high on her chest, until they practically spilled over, begging to be exposed. Paired with a black thong, garters, thigh-highs.

  If he were a lesser man, she’d already be bent over that couch, with his cock buried in her to the hilt.

  She seemed to know it, too. He watched the blush return to her cheeks, and made another note. Her ass would match by the end of the night.

  “Simone must think I’m a moron,” she said.

  Cole frowned. Wordlessly, he popped one breast out of her corset, than the other. Then he spanked them both, sharply. Her breath hissed, and her cheeks flushed even redder. Casually, he pinched her nipple.

  “Look at me,” he ordered. “You will not talk about yourself that way, understood?”

  When she spoke, it was more of a moan. “Yes,” she said. “Sir.”

  Not enough. Instinct drove him. He threaded his free hand through her hair and tilted her head back for another long, thorough kiss.

  Lord, she tasted good. Better than he remembered. And the way she yielded up to him, the softness of her lips—damn. He could get used to it.

  When he released her, he checked her eyes first. It had worked. She was grounded in her body, not lost in her head.

  “Good.” Reluctantly, he dropped his hand. He wanted her to be able to go back out to the lounge and talk to people, form connections. She couldn’t do that if he had her halfway to subspace already. “Believe me when I tell you that Simone’s been there. They all have. You did good, Bette.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Her eyes shone up at him.

  Jesus Christ.

  He couldn’t resist.

  “So well, in fact,” he said, “that I’ll let you wear the robe Simone brings back from the spa—but nothing else.”

  Slowly, her eyes widened.

  “All night?” she said.

  Cole grinned. “It will give me something to do during the movie.”

  And after that – he was going to peel back another layer of the mystery known as Bette Liffey.

  Bette had refused to spend an hour dithering in the parking lot this time so she didn’t give herself time to think between arriving at Club Volare and marching herself inside.

  Until she got past the front desk, that was.

  Because then she was inside, and instead of a lounge full of strangers wrapped up in each other, there were only nine or ten people, all of them in sweatshirts and leggings and pajamas. Definitely no latex, no rubber, and no lingerie, except for the dumb thing she was wearing.

  Oh, and there were two babies being passed around and cooed over.

  Actual, real-life babies.

  Then the woman she remembered from the front desk that very first night came and found her, and ushered her into a room with a giant television, a bunch of couches and armchairs, and Cole.

  Freaking Cole.

  He turned her brain to butter almost immediately. And then in no time at all, she was out of her corset and thigh highs and into the softest, most luxurious robe she’d ever worn in her entire life, and then…

  Movie night?

  Which apparently meant hanging out with a bunch of people who all seemed to really like each other?

  Why does that feel weird to me. But it did. For the first hour or so, Bette was sort of in a daze. A pleasant daze, where she could talk to people, and they were nice, and everyone was friendly. She was meeting his friends. His family.

  Like this was a date.

  Like it was a relationship.

  Only none of these people knew who she really was. None of them knew she was a stripper who’d only entered their lives because she was being blackmailed into trying to destroy them. None of them knew that she’d gotten herself into trouble by marrying someone like Mark. That she had
a little sister to protect.

  But it didn’t seem to matter. Simone was hilarious and sweet, and Gavin and Olivia were so in love, and the way Holt looked at Simone when he thought no one else was looking would make any red-blooded woman jealous. And Charlene and Luke and Blue and everyone were just…

  So kind.

  It was dizzying and disorienting, and Bette lurched between feeling shy and ashamed and totally unworthy, and feeling…happy? And…optimistic? Like she belonged?

  Which was the scariest thing of all.

  She found herself looking at Cole a lot, and wondering, What is this sorcery? And if it weren’t for his strong presence, usually at her side, but always nearby, Bette Liffey probably would have made a run for it.

  When she looked up to find he wasn’t standing behind her anymore, she definitely thought about it. But then she looked across the room, and there was Gavin with one of his babies, and…

  Oh, dear God.

  He handed the baby to Cole.

  Cole’s harsh features went feather-soft. He gathered the baby close in the crook of his muscled arm, where his biceps were as big as the downy little head, and he cooed.

  Spencer Cole cooed.

  Bette sagged against the wall. She’d always wanted kids of her own, but after her own childhood, she’d made a series of rules about when and where she would have a family. Number one was that it be with the right guy. Someone who would be a great dad. Someone who actually wanted kids, who wouldn’t see them as a burden.

  And then Lizzie had come into her life, and, well, plans changed. Bette was angry with their father for a number of reasons, but maybe most of all, she was angry that she’d missed Lizzie as a baby. She’d missed her first smile, her first words, her first tantrum. She’d missed it all, because her father had hidden his affair, and then he’d hidden Lizzie. She didn’t let herself dwell on it, but dammit, Bette had missed out on babyhood.

  Maybe for a hot minute, she’d let herself believe she could have that with Mark, but…well. Then she’d found out what he was really like, and she’d gotten Lizzie the hell out of there.

  So maybe without entirely realizing it, Bette had given up on babies. It wasn’t something she let herself think about a whole lot. There was no point.

  And now there was Spencer Cole, mumbling deep-voiced nonsense at an infant, and smiling while he did it. A real smile.

  Real joy.

  “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he is great with kids.”

  Bette wrestled a steadying breath into her lungs and slowly turned to face the woman who belonged to the voice. The welcoming smile nearly did her in.

  Why was Simone so freaking nice? Why were they all so freaking…kind?

  “You know, I’m not actually surprised,” Bette said, and realized it was actually true. “I bet he’s great at most things.”

  Simone raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, you’re the first to get close enough to report back,” she said. “Kind of a relief, really.”

  Bette smiled her usual social smile before the words actually hit her. Wait, what? The first to get close? To Cole? What did that even mean? It had been less than a month, and they hadn’t even had sex yet.

  More than that: it’s not like they’d talked about each other’s lives. Kind of on purpose, really. Bette couldn’t give details, and she didn’t expect them—though if she were honest, she wanted to know everything about him. She wanted to know if the glimpses she saw of the man behind the Dom were real, if the connection she felt was what he felt. She wanted it all. But she also hadn’t figured out what the hell she was going to do about Bob Faulkner yet, even if she knew that this…thing…with Cole was…

  Whatever it was, it lived in its own little universe, separate from the shitshow that was the rest of her life. And Bette was grateful for that. It felt safe, somehow. She wasn’t her circumstances, around him. She was just…

  “Bette.”

  His voice pierced the cloud of thoughts swirling around her head and raced through her body, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She looked up, and there was Cole. And then she immediately forgot about everything else.

  “Kids are going to bed,” he said. “It’s movie time.”

  “I’ll go get the snacks,” Simone volunteered.

  Bette just stood there like a dummy, her eyes fixated on the six-foot-and-change of grizzled muscle, hard planes, and piercing blue-gray eyes in front of her. Good Lord.

  She was wet just looking at him. Knowing he was looking at her.

  He grinned, ever so slightly. He knew.

  Then, just to torment her, he pulled at the cotton belt that held her cotton robe closed. He slipped his hand inside until his hand was flat on her bare ribcage, then slid it up until he had a handful of her breast. He tweaked her nipples, and she half closed her eyes.

  “Nothing else,” he reminded her. “If I find underwear under there, there will be punishment this time.”

  Bette licked her lips. He’d be checking, then.

  “No, Sir,” she said. “I remembered.”

  “Good girl,” he said. “Follow me.”

  And he led her back to the private room that had been transformed, for the night, into a private theater. Everyone else was settling in, joking, laughing, pulling up tables with snacks and arranging blankets and doing all the things. Cole selected a giant oversized armchair at the back of the room, sat down like a freaking king, and pulled Bette onto his lap.

  She could feel his erection through the jeans he was wearing.

  And she could feel his hand, sliding up her inner thigh.

  She half-closed her eyes again, and sighed. This would be a fantastic way to watch a movie, although she was pretty sure she wouldn’t actually catch any of it.

  “So what are we watching?” she managed to say.

  “Some rom com,” Cole said. “I wasn’t planning on paying much attention.”

  Bette laughed. “Rom coms are absolute nonsense.”

  “See why I wanted something else to entertain me?” Cole said, and his thumb brushed up against her vulva.

  Just a little.

  Just enough.

  Bette muffled a groan, and ground her hips into him. Every time he touched her, the rest of her problems seemed farther away. Whatever the hell was going on here, she didn’t want it to stop. Even if she was headed straight into the danger zone.

  19

  The movie was empty-headed fluff. Cole didn’t care about it, even a little bit. The point was seeing your friends, being social. Roasting them for their terrible taste in movies. Even so, he might have skipped it entirely if it wasn’t for the armful of sub he got to enjoy the whole time.

  They were in the back of the room by themselves, and Bette was in that robe, and nothing else. Cole hadn’t planned to torment her all night, but he was flexible, and she was damn delicious. There was something about teasing Bette all the way up to the line where she almost couldn’t take it, where she almost moaned out loud or begged, that brought a smile to his face. Maybe he was a little bit of a sadist.

  He had her pinned in his lap, one arm wrapped around her, holding where he wanted her. His other hand was free to roam, and Cole allowed himself to have a little bit of fun. He liked watching her eyes glaze over as he toyed with her nipples, liked seeing the flush spread across her cheeks as he let his hand rest on her hot, swollen pussy.

  His cock fucking ached for her.

  And he had to wonder whether it even mattered that he didn’t know a damn thing about her. Or her about him, for that matter. Cole had known everything there was to know about his ex-wife, and she’d still turned out to be someone he didn’t know at all. Meanwhile, Bette’s submission was so raw it went beyond honesty.

  Cole suppressed a growl in his throat, and slipped his free hand between Bette’s thighs, pushing them apart as she lay across his lap. Her chest shuddered with a ragged breath as he slid his finger between her labia, checking to see how wet she was.

 
; Soaking.

  His Dom instincts told Cole to let up on the torment as the movie came to an end. Something about the way Bette tensed in his arms, about the way she clenched her jaw, her eyes watching the screen. The movie was a formulaic rom com, the kind where people ignored red flags and made big romantic gestures that were borderline-stalking. Cole didn’t care about it.

  He did care about the effect it had on Bette.

  The lights came on, and Bette unconsciously hugged herself, her arms coming across her chest. Cole frowned. With his free hand—his tormenting hand—he uncrossed her arms, and shifted her until he could tilt her face towards his.

  Distress.

  “Stay with me,” he said simply.

  Silently, Bette nodded. She did it, too. Kept looking at him, looking to him, while Cole waved off the other club members. Soon it was just the two of them, alone in the makeshift home theater, the low lights reflecting in Bette Liffey’s eyes.

  She was near tears.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  “Jesus,” she muttered. “How do you always do that?”

  “Dom,” he said. “Tell me.”

  “I really do hate rom coms,” she said, and looked down for the first time. “I know it’s stupid, but the guy always does something terrible, and then she’s just supposed to forgive him and forget because he makes this grand romantic gesture? And I just want to scream, no, he’s gonna do it again, it’s only going to get worse! And then I feel like a crazy person, because…”

  She trailed off. Cole reached out, tilted her chin towards him again. A silent order this time.

  “Because it’s just a dumb movie,” she finished.

  “Same thing pisses me off,” Cole said.

  Bette smiled. “Wait, really?”

  Cole nodded. “You’re right not to trust it. But you don’t trust anything at all. You get uncomfortable when people are nice to you, too,” he said. “Like tonight.”

  She blinked. She couldn’t shut down, couldn’t run away, because he held her in his lap, and because she was a sub who wouldn’t disobey. But he could tell she wanted to.

  “Maybe there’s a good reason for that,” she said finally. “Maybe it’s hard to feel like you deserve that when the people being nice to you don’t know the real you.”