To Have and Hold (The Club #19)

by Isobelle Cate

  To Have and Hold

  By

  Isobelle Cate

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  TO HAVE AND HOLD

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright 2016 © Isobelle Cate

  Cover by JRA Stevens

  Down Write Nuts

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Bettina Francis has a secret. Well, two secrets. Her first secret is something she has a proclivity for. Her second is something she wants to escape from. Knowing that her life in Houston is over, she flees to Karim to pick up the pieces of her shattered existence with her best friend’s help. When her best friend takes her to The Club, she meets Adam Hunter and Brock Jordan, two men who desire her and fulfil her every fantasy.

  However, Houston is not that far from Karim. Just when things are going well, Adam has to leave, and the very reason she left the big city comes knocking at Karim’s door.

  Houston became inhospitable the moment the people Bettina thought she knew shunned her once they learned of her secret. Would Karim be the same?

  Chapter One

  I was apprehensive. I didn't know what to expect, didn't know what I was going to see. On a whim, Dennis, my best friend let it out he was going to The Club, and perhaps maybe I'd like to join him.

  I didn't want to go at the same time I did. I felt like a blob of taffy being pulled in opposite directions. Excitement and trepidation. Desire and terror. All because I'd been to places like The Club when I used to live in Houston. Where everything was consensual. But I became a shell of myself, filled with the humiliation of being laughed at, ridiculed, gossiped about and called a whore after those whom I trusted betrayed me. So I buried it deep inside me under lock and key and moved to another place. As though geography could distance me from the shame I possibly would never live down.

  I gave myself a once over in the mirror. Why the hell I agreed to go to a place I craved but feared at the same time, I'll never know. But they say that fear must be conquered if you wanted to have any chance at moving forward.

  We would see how it went.

  "Stop preening, Bettina." Dennis breezed through my bedroom. He was the reason we would be able to get into The Club. He was a long standing, no-card carrying member of that exclusive enclave. It wasn't something Dennis bandied about. Neither was it something I was going to share. I called him Dennis the Penis. I was sure a lot of women would love to be skewered by him. Not me. First, because he was more like my alter ego and guardian demon—he was daring where I was hesitant. Second, he preferred a man’s hole to a woman’s and vice versa.

  "I wouldn't be in front of this mirror if I didn't have to wear this bustier," I muttered. It was the skimpiest thing I’d worn so far. The blue and black contraption cinched my waist to an inch of my life and pushed my not-so-generous boobs up close and personal. It gave me cleavage so deep, it'd rival the Grand Canyon. My black velvet skirt had slits in front of my thighs and flared over my hips, and my lace stockings were held in place by a black garter belt that matched my panties.

  If you could call the two strips of lace riding my hips and the two more lace strips that covered my pussy lips but not my pussy a pair of anything. Why had I allowed myself to be 'coerced' to dress this way? I just hoped I didn't regret it. My dark blue eyes met Dennis' gaze across the mirror.

  "You look extremely beautiful, Bettina. If I wasn't into men, I'd do you." His blues so like mine twinkled with amusement and understanding.

  "Shut up." I scowled.

  When was the last time I did this—the Club, the dungeon, the domination, and submission— before my life came tumbling down around me? It was something I wanted to forget.

  But to move forward with my life, it was something I needed to remember.

  Dennis was the kind of friend who did everything with panache so it didn't surprise me that he opted to hire a limo to take us the four blocks to The Club. He could afford it, anyway. A real estate developer and architect who moved from Houston, he’d been headhunted by the Mak Family to help develop the surrounding area of Karim into exclusive residences for the wealthy and discreet. Not the rich and ostentatious. It was a distinction most people didn’t realize existed. Dennis wore what I called his Dom suit—stark white shirt and black pants. All we needed were masks, and we were good to go. But, Dennis firmly but gently convinced me that I didn't need to hide from a shame that was not my fault.

  "We're going somewhere safe, Bettina," he said, chucking me on the chin gently before kissing the tip of my nose. "It's the most protective and protected place in Karim."

  His reassurance still didn't stop me from shaking. My anxiety spiked as we got closer to the building on the corner of Gerome and Main Streets with its signature wrought iron lamps that beckoned and at the same time warned those who threatened the safety it provided. Karim. This was the town I ran to, to hide. Would tonight be the night I find myself again?

  The Club was an exclusive sanctum for those whose sexual tastes ran into the kink. I had never been inside and was stunned to find out that Dennis was a member of long standing, after telling me what really transpired within its four walls when the public was not allowed inside. He wasn't supposed to divulge anything. After all, the rule was Keep your mouth shut. But one night when we both finished two bottles of red wine each, he spilled. I remembered what we talked about. So did he. He knew his secret was safe with me, though.

  The whole time we had known each other in Houston, he had been coming to Karim not only to set up shop but to also give into his secret and not so guilty pleasure. I loved him to the moon and back because he was the only one who cared and stayed by my side during one of the ugliest episodes of my life. The only person who knew what had happened and told me to keep an open mind when I said, "Never again."

  I moved to Karim at Dennis' behest several months ago. We had known each other since grade school, talking about our dreams while sitting on the bleachers facing the school's empty oval. We shared secrets, and our friendship had been tried and tested through the years. So it was just normal for me to run to him a week after my sordid and abject humiliation. That Houston incident that led to my forced resignation from my job as a real estate agent also caused my family disowned me. I was no longer their prim and proper daughter. I was a whore in the eyes of their friends, and they didn't want to have anything to do with me.

  It pained me to realize that I didn't wish to have anything to do with them either.

  "Ready?" Dennis' voice pulled me back to the present as he helped me out of the limo. I shivered in the hot night air. There was a long line of people chatting, waiting for their turn to enter the inner sanctum conspicuously being guarded by men in suits that looked like they were the substitute team for New Zealand's All Blacks. The moment I glimpsed a little of what was inside coupled with the booming and thudding music that spilled out to us, that familiar tingling of excitement skittered down my spine. The craving never left. I wanted to become a part of this world of kink. But at the moment, I defaulted to being someone outside looking in.

  We were finally in front of the entrance door. I was shaking so hard
I could tap dance myself into Riverdance at that very moment. Had I auditioned for that very second, I probably could have been considered for the next stage of auditions.

  "Simone, stop."

  My head whipped around at Dennis' voice. His Dom voice. Commanding but gentle. Stern yet kind. While my bestie preferred male subs, I latched on to his voice as though it was the strong jungle vine that would swing me to safety. The comfort I felt from Dennis' voice eased the trembling somewhat. For the time being, I'd be Simone. It was the name I stuck with when I went out to places like this.

  The Club was packed. There was hardly any room to move until Dennis pulled me to the VIP bar towards the back end of the floor. It was less populated here. Less noise. I was afraid I'd look out of place with my dress that was better suited in a saloon or a bordello in a dusty town filled with gunslingers. Much to my relief, there were others dressed like me and some of them did have masks. It was like an impromptu masquerade ball that allowed others to wear the skimpiest of slinky, glittery dresses, white shirts, and jeans.

  "Are we good now?" he whispered in my ear while giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  "Yes." I croaked. "I need a drink."

  Dennis grinned and nodded. I looked around while waiting for the drink.

  And that's when I saw Him. Or maybe I could sense him behind me, his presence a caress on my skin that made the fine hairs on neck dance, rise, respond.

  To him.

  Dennis’ voice brought me back again.

  “Beebee, I'd like you to meet a very dear friend of mine." Dennis shouted over the din of the room. "Simone, this is Beebee, bartender extraordinaire."

  She was statuesque with long black hair in a high ponytail. She had a vibrancy in her smile, her body language. Something told me, however, that she didn't take shit from anyone. In a place like this, there would be a lot of drunks by the end of the night. Having someone like her manning the bar might just make drunks think twice.

  "Hi Simone, what'll you have?"

  I looked blankly at Beebee for a split second before I blurted, "Stoli frozen. Straight."

  Beebee grinned, her brown eyes twinkling. "Stoli coming right up."

  My gaze turned to Dennis who hid his smirk by sipping his beer.

  "What?" I demanded, defensive. "You know I like Stoli."

  His shoulders shook. He licked his upper lip. "I know you do. But," he gave me a cursory glance from the top of my head down to my four inch heels. "If that's your way of telling me you're relaxing, I know you too well to see that's not the case. You’re straighter, tenser and about to crack like a plank of wood left out to dry."

  "Give me one more reason to think this was a really bad idea, and I will walk out the door." I was irritated and nervous, and Dennis wasn't helping at all.

  In fact, it was no use. Not waiting for Beebee to hand me my drink, I pivoted on my heels, glad that I had as much grace as a ballerina easily pirouetting on toe shoes.

  Towards the door.

  Towards freedom.

  Back to uncertainty.

  Until I hit a solid wall I didn't know was there.

  Chapter Two

  The wall was made of muscled flesh that emitted a woodsy, sexy smell I found myself drawing closer to it. Until firm hands grabbed my arms to hold me steady. From the open neck of the white shirt, my eyes traveled up the thick column of throat to the firm stubble covered jaw and firm lips curled in slight amusement. My eyes flew up his chiseled face to the dark silver gray eyes. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen that color in my life. They held curiosity and sexual interest as they travelled over my face down to the swell of my breasts. I could feel their heat and my nipples puckered involuntarily. When I inhaled, Mr. Sexy Wall's cologne drifted to my nose. I closed my eyes, just savoring the scent of leather and lavander.

  I could get used to this.

  "Leaving so soon?" He whispered in my ear.

  Oh shit, that deep rich voice nearly made me moan. He had a British accent, somewhat clipped but smooth. Then, the reason why I was making a beeline for the door washed over me.

  "Yes." I nodded. I flexed my shoulders, easing his grip. He let go of my arms. I stepped around Mr. Sexy Wall and continued to my destination when someone took hold of my wrist. I twisted around looking down at the connection. It was Mr. Wall's long tapered fingers, encircling my wrist in a grip that said, "Stay" but still gave me the leeway to go. I looked up at him and was trapped in his darkening gaze. His warmth wasn't electrifying like the occasional sensation when skimming through a bookstore's romance section. But when his thumb started to draw circles on the inside of my wrist, the sensation was as though his thumb was doing the same on my clit. I felt myself getting wet—and worried about the two strips of lace that hardly covered me underneath. The last thing I wanted was for my heat to trickle down my inner thighs.

  "You are you sure you still want to leave?" He moved in. Even through the din of the loud music and the thump of the bass vibrating on the floor, I saw his lips move to say those words. Lips and a mouth I was beginning to imagine trailing over my body.

  "Adam! Didn't realize you were here."

  Mr. Sexy Wall broke away, and I got annoyed with the interruption.

  Dennis strode to us and shook Mr. Sexy Wall's hand.

  "Dennis." He grinned showing even, white teeth. "Just arrived this afternoon. Brock's with me."

  Dennis nodded. "Sim, this is Adam Hunter from London.”

  “Hi.” I gave him a brief smile. So…a Brit. Dennis was talking again.

  “…I need to speak to him, but that can wait until tomorrow." He looked at me, his mouth turned down in apology. "Sim, I didn't mean to drive you away. If you want to go, I'll take you home, and I can return later."

  "Can I assist at all? Anything wrong?" Adam asked. He still hadn't let go of my wrist. I tried prying myself away. He loosened his hold but didn’t let go.

  That made my heart knock around in my chest.

  Dennis’ gaze flickered to me.

  "It's not for me to say," he answered Adam. "Can you stay with Sim? I just need to speak to someone quickly, and then I can take her home."

  "No," I blurted, surprising Adam and myself. "I'll stay for a while."

  Dennis grinned. "Good girl. Why don't you stay in the bar and I'll be right back."

  "I don't mind escorting Sim." Adam looked at me. "Unless you don't want me to."

  Sure, he gave me a way out—but his actions said otherwise.

  "That's okay. I'll stay."

  "Great." Dennis beamed. "Be right back."

  "Sim?" Adam asked once Dennis left

  I dragged my gaze to his gray ones. God, I could feel myself melting and my pussy throbbing. All because of those eyes and his touch. As innocent as the gesture was, all I could think of was how it would feel to have his hands all over me.

  "Yes?"

  "For what?"

  My brow puckered. "I don't understand."

  He moved closer, his warmth radiating between us. My body reacted deliciously at his baritone against my ear.

  "Sim is short for what?" Before I could react, his mouth moved to my earlobe, sucking it. My eyelids closed as I sucked in my breath. That gesture went straight to my girly bits. I moved closer, my body flushed against him. Raising my mouth and skimming my lips against his jaw, I did the same thing to him. He inhaled sharply, and I felt something growing, hardening against my belly. Damn, I never thought that sucking and licking a man's ear would make me wet.

  "Short for Simone."

  I tried to suppress my smile, but the pleasure of knowing that I could turn him on made it a losing battle.

  Adam didn't say anything at all. Instead, he placed his hand on my lower back, directing me to where he had been sitting. The floor thumped with the music that surrounded us, loud and decadent enough to make women gyrate and men sway with them on the dance floor. My heart beat in tandem with the sound, my body so intimately aware of Adam beside me. Frankly, I didn't know how to a
ct. In this kind of situation, I wanted to be led and to let go. But the last time I allowed that to happen, I became the butt of men's conversations in the office and the topic of hurtful and bitchy remarks of women. Women who found the kink I liked dirty, degrading, and shame-worthy. My love of kink reached my parents. I never had a loving and stable relationship with them,. so they refused to talk to me when they found out. That was the last straw. I left the city, left everything I owned and ran to Karim with only the clothes I wore that day. I was lucky I’d had a comfortable amount of money in the bank that allowed me to uproot myself just like that, and to run to the only person who knew me and accepted me for who I was.

  Dennis.

  He had urged me to join him long before anything happened, but I didn't feel comfortable leaving everything so familiar behind. I refused, again and again.

  Guess he knew better.

  "Simone, are you still here with me?"

  My mind drew a blank. Simone? Shit, I was in The Club. I took a deep breath and looked up at Adam.

  "I am now."

  I pulled my gaze away from Adam's handsome face when I realized there was someone else at his booth.

  "I'd like you to meet my friend, Brock Jordan. Brock, this is Simone."

  Adam's body heat encompassed my back, and when Brock stood out of the booth moving in, the feeling of being sandwiched between two men was wrecking havoc with my basal temp.

  "Simone."

  Where Adam's voice was fire and seduction, Brock's was like melted chocolate lazily dripping down my chest to cover my pebbled nipples. His clean cut hair was a dark blond to Adam's almost wavy black hair. His eyes appeared to be green as opposed to Adam's dark gray ones. Without breaking eye contact, Brock took my hand and kissed it before turning it over to lick the hammering pulse on my wrist. That simple gesture coupled with the pheromone-soaked heat coming from both men was fuelling my lust.