What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6)

by Maddie Taylor

  If only…

  “Damn fool,” he cursed aloud. “You can’t hold her close with one hand and push her away with the other.”

  His own words echoed back to him as he walked down the empty corridor. Conflicted, he re-entered the club. That’s when it hit him. Despite standing in the midst of a crowd of at least seventy-five members, he still felt incredibly lonely.

  Chapter Four

  Tuesday ended up being one of the longest days he could remember. Haunted by the uncomfortable meeting with Angie the night before, he hadn’t slept well and woke in a foul mood, which meant he went to work in an equally foul mood. Ordinarily, he loved his job, even when he had to take his turn in the surveillance room, today was the exception. The office manager had all but tied him to his desk and forced him to complete his paperwork so they could bill for the last four bonds he’d brought in. Filling out tedious expense reports, billable time logs and sifting through three months of wadded up disorganized receipts was not his idea of a good day. He’d managed to break away for an hour to spar with Jonas, and though the smaller man wiped the floor with him—never underestimate size when it’s wrapped in an eighth degree black belt—the physical outlet had helped.

  Now, as he entered the club, he was looking for another type of physical outlet. It was early, the crowd thin and the band was still setting up in the lounge. Hoping a shot of liquor would ease the tension in his neck brought on by pushing a pencil all day, he slid onto a barstool and signaled Ben. Without having to ask, he set him up with his favorite twenty-year-old bourbon—Elijah Craig—neat. While he sipped, tasting the spiciness and savoring the pleasant burn as it first hit his tongue, then slid down his throat with a slow heat that curled in his belly, he relaxed and surveyed the members present in the floor to ceiling mirrored wall behind the bar.

  As he scanned the plush couches in the seating area, the couples merged into an unremarkable sea of black leather and lace, except one. They were seated in a shadowed corner and he might have missed them if not for the splash of color in the sub’s fetish wear. He homed in on the bright purple corset, noting the small cinched in waist before following it upward over full breasts, which were overflowing the top edge just enough to spur a reaction in his body. Moving onward, he traced up a delicate throat, over a gracefully curved chin to full, pink lips he’d recognize anywhere.

  Having dreamed about that mouth often enough, either kissing it or watching as it opened to receive his hard cock, he knew instantly this wasn’t fantasy. Angie was all too real and she was currently perched atop Dan Ogilvie’s lap. His jaw clenched as he began a slow perusal of the pair. He didn’t get far, stalling on her wrists which were cuffed behind her, causing a slight bowing in her back, and giving the hand that was slowly stroking her complete access.

  T watched as her Dom’s hand skated deliberately over her lovely assets, starting at her face, gliding over her cheeks and slowly brushing her mouth. Moving downward, broad fingers skimmed along the centerline between her breasts and on to her belly, moving passed her hips until they came to rest on her thigh. It wasn’t lost on T that through it all he’d avoided intimate areas as he spoke near constantly in her ear. He could guess at those hushed words, because he’d done what Dan was doing often—early submissive training—he was getting her used to his voice, his commands, and his touch.

  With a wave of his hand, he signaled Ben over, nodding to the corner when he approached. “How long has that been going on?”

  Ben’s head twisted in their direction briefly. “They’re all the buzz. Dano hasn’t taken a newbie to train one-on-one in years, and that it’s Angie, is a huge surprise. She’s been coming to hear Elena perform for months, but not once has she ever stayed to play. We all thought she was pure vanilla. I guess she decided she wanted more of what she’s been seeing.”

  “She’s a bit young for the old man, isn’t she?”

  The bartender’s gaze snapped to T, a brow quirked in surprise.

  “Forget it.” He tossed back the remains of his bourbon and stalked away. Rather than heading for the dungeon as planned, he climbed the two flights of stairs to the control room, instead. No longer in the mood.

  He shot the shit with Kyle, the Rossi man on duty that evening, hoping he’d regain interest in finding himself a sub to play with later on. After twenty minutes or so, T spelled him for his supper break, his scheduled relief being delayed for a personal emergency. Left alone, he watched the screens, completing a routine top of the hour sweep by cycling through all of the surveilled areas one at a time on the main screen. As he checked the problem areas, he noticed the line at the main doors as members waited to check in. All seemed in order there so he switched back to the bar, tensing at the sight of a rather heated argument between two Doms. As soon as Sean stepped in to mediate, he moved on, scanning the lounge, the locker rooms, the outside corridors and the dungeon alcove where an attendant checked out equipment and stored subs shoes. Next up, the dungeon itself. Starting at the back stairs, which led to the second floor, he worked his way through the theme rooms, which were all occupied, and on to the crowded observation deck where members had a bird’s eye view of everything happening on the main floor below them. That left only the main floor, which he switched to next.

  The club had filled up in the last hour and almost all the stations were in use. Members made the rounds on the circuit taking in the various scenes at a discreet distance behind the ropes or from the viewing areas beyond. Couples and singles looked for someone special to help fulfill their needs. While he scanned the large room for anything unusual or the slightest hint of trouble, he was conscious of searching for something else, something purple.

  It didn’t take long for him to find her, kneeling at Dan’s feet while they watched a scene from a viewing couch. She tilted her head back and said something to him. An offhand remark or a bit of sass, he guessed by the quirking of her lips. He tried to pinpoint the audio, but was too late as he watched her Dom react. His hand wound in her hair as he pulled her head farther back, exposing her vulnerable throat, her spine arching and making her delectable breasts swell over the top of her corset, threatening to burst free. With a stern expression, Dan spoke into her ear, likely scolding her and reminding her of the rules. Had he told her not to speak without his permission? Would he pull her across his lap next, lift her skirt, and spank her ass until it was rosy red? Until tears sparkled on her lashes, or better yet, until she rocked back to meet each descent of his large hand as he swatted her luscious ass over and over again because she loved it as much as he did.

  His head snapped around as Kyle reentered the room. Shit! He was supposed to be monitoring the club, not acting the voyeur as his cock hardened and his blood boiled. The latter not out of desire, but out of an overwhelming urge to storm the dungeon and rip her away from fucking Dan Ogilvie. Any tears should be incited by him, so he could kiss them away. Scolding or instruction for whatever perceived wrong should come from his lips, with his hand in her hair, her scent wrapped around him, and her soft skin plastered against his own. If there was going to be any spanking, he wanted it done by his hand, heating her round cheeks to a fiery crimson.

  “Fuck!” He swore again, this time aloud, drawing a startled look from Kyle.

  Grumbling a weak excuse about being tired, he slammed out of the room. In the hall, he paused, trying to find some semblance of control. It was a futile attempt as he flashed on an image of Angie, restrained over a bench, her skirt lifted and her panties lowered, framing her beautiful pale cheeks. Her pink pussy lips glistening with the proof of her desire.

  Taking the stairs at a jog, he burst out the rear door and stalked across the lot. He couldn’t return to the club, not with her there under the control of another Dom. It would surely drive him mad, or worse, turn him to violence.

  *****

  Kneeling on the hard stone floor with her hands cuffed at her lower back, Angie shifted uncomfortably. Her shoulders, unused to the position, had begun to st
iffen although the restraints weren’t all that tight. Her knees were the problem, achy from being bent for so long. Unable to decide how to position her feet, she shifted again. At first, she had curled her toes forward. That had become unpleasant real quick. Pointing them hadn’t helped with the weight of her butt pressing the bone on the top of her foot into the hard surfaced floor. They needed thicker pillows. Sitting on one cheek would be much easier. She shifted to the side a bit. Maybe no one would notice.

  “Quit fidgeting, sub,” Dan’s deep voice ordered.

  “Yes, Sir.” She’d gotten the requisite response down pat, although she didn’t know if she’d ever get the hang of the rest of this kink and bondage stuff, or if she even wanted to. Watching the scenes had been exhilarating. Okay, maybe not all of them—like the one with the needles, hell, no!—but for the most part, they were sensual, the subs seeming to enjoy whatever their Doms dished out: restraints, extreme positions, and pain. The latter coming in the form of floggers, paddles, open hands and horse crops. Despite having a beet red ass, some subs screamed for more, others cried out unintelligibly with passion-filled moans, and a few had tears rolling down their cheeks, but she noticed later they were snuggled up on their Doms laps after smiling contentedly.

  Dan had explained the physiology and psychology of the whole pleasure-pain phenomenon. It was fascinating, though for Angie, still hard to comprehend. She didn’t like pain in the least. Case in point, her awkward position at her trainer’s feet. She wasn’t getting a thing out of it, except joint stiffness and muscle aches, and she was afraid any moment her feet would fall asleep.

  Full of impatience, she exhaled heavily. In an attempt to restore blood flow to her toes, she leaned forward. As she did, fingers tightened in her hair, tugging her head back. That was something else, these Doms seemed to get off on hair pulling because there was a heck of a lot of it going on. Dan wasn’t rough when he did it, his grip firm, not painful, so she didn’t protest quite yet.

  “Are we boring you, Angela?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “That’s funny, from all that sighing and squirming, I thought we might be.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but my knees hurt and I can’t feel my feet.”

  His hands found her waist immediately. “It’s up to you to tell me when something is bothering you, sub,” her Dom growled as he lifted her onto his lap. “That was rule number one.”

  She heaved another sigh, this one of relief, ignoring his displeasure of the moment as she stretched her legs. Relief quickly turned into distressed whimpers, which became groans of discomfort as the blood started circulating once more. She wiggled her toes as she felt the prickling and painful sensation of pins and needles.

  “Oo, oh… They hurt.” Her hands jerked in her cuffs, instinctively trying to get to her feet to rub. Thwarted, she stamped them on the floor, hoping it would bring some ease. The only thing it brought, however, was attention.

  “That’s one very poorly trained sub you have there, Master Dan,” a woman seated next to them observed. “And, quite noisy.”

  Angie’s head came up. The Domme, a small-boned blonde in her early forties, was dressed in red leather from her corset to her leather miniskirt, and all the way down to the tips of her five inch stiletto thigh-high dominatrix boots.

  “This is only her second day, Lorraine. She’ll learn.”

  “Not too quickly for your sake, I hope.” Her lips quirked as she gave Angie a thorough perusal from head-to-toe. As she did so, her hand idly fingered the handle of the whip coiled at her waist as if she was picturing teaching Angie a few lessons herself.

  She swallowed audibly, dropping her gaze from the scary Mistress. That’s when she noticed the extraordinarily handsome man kneeling at her feet. Also fortyish, the male sub was ripped. Dressed in nothing more than a collar and loin cloth, his muscular physique was displayed beautifully, his skin glistening in the low light with what had to be a thin coat of oil. His pose was perfect, kneeling without a fidget or a muscle twitch.

  Noticing her regard, his Mistress ran her hand through his dark hair, her red tipped fingers weaving through the waves at the back and curling into its thickness. She brought his head back so she could peer down into his very attractive face. More with the hair pulling; what the heck was that all about?

  “You’d do well to observe my Deacon and learn from him, girl.”

  Enthralled, Angie watched as the Domme lowered her head and brushed her lips over his, stroking her free hand down his cheek in a tender caress. Surprisingly, it was a loving gesture. As she watched them kiss, Angie realized what she was missing with Dan. There was no connection, no spark. It was like playing dress up with a friend, or worse, her older brother. She grimaced at the thought. Angie wondered if she would feel differently with someone she loved or at least desired, like this male sub obviously did his Mistress, responding eagerly—as his tented loincloth clearly proved—to her touch and attention.

  When the Domme turned back to Dan, Angie noticed a slight tremor run through the sub, clearly conveying the amount of control he was exerting over his body. If she hadn’t been observing him so closely, she might have failed to notice, but she couldn’t miss the contented smile on his lips, or the way his eyes cut to Angie and the audacious wink he sent her way.

  “Deacon and I are up next for the spanking bench, Dan, however, your girl needs it so much more. You play on through and teach her a lesson, while my sweet boy and I watch.”

  “Obliged,” he murmured as he set Angie on her feet and rose behind her.

  “Not at all,” Loraine demurred. “Deacon likes to watch, particularly newbies. Don’t you, baby.”

  “Yes, Mistress. A novice’s tears when they feel the power of the paddle that first time is so sweet.”

  “You sadist,” she cooed in approval.

  “It takes one to know one, my love.”

  As Dan led her away, Angie blinked in surprise. A sadistic submissive with a Mistress? That made no sense to her at all. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  Her Dom noticed her confusion and supplied, “They’re switches. Tonight is obviously Lorraine’s turn to top. Tomorrow might be Deacon’s, or not.”

  “What?”

  “They take turns. Although I think Deacon excels more as a top. You should see him wield a bull whip. He’s almost as good as Dex.”

  “I’ll never understand all of this.”

  “I’m not sure any of us do, totally. It’s how we’re wired, so we go with it. After a while, you won’t question it, just accept and enjoy the thrill of the unusual. That’s what keeps it so exciting.”

  *****

  She trembled, not from pleasure as so many of the other subs did tonight. Her tremor was from dread as Dan crouched in front of her and linked her cuffs to the hooks on the bench. When finished, with Angie firmly restrained and vulnerable, he didn’t stand right away.

  His attention focused on her face, scanning it slowly until settling on her mouth. “Your eyes are as big as saucers, and if you don’t stop biting that lip, you’ll have teeth marks and bruises for days.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this.” With her voice barely a whisper, he moved his head closer in order to hear.

  “I’ll go gently, sweetness, but I’ll have to make it believable in LA, so we have to practice. You’ll feel heat and a sting, but I’ll leave no bruises or welts. I promise.” He cupped her chin and lifted her head so that his eyes, which were a very unique shade of silvery-gray, could meet hers. “If it gets to be too much, remember that yellow will slow it down and red will make it stop. Okay?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He angled his head closer and kissed her cheek. “You’re being very brave, Angie. I’m sorry to have to put you through this. It’s clear you’re vanilla and not enjoying yourself, but it will be all worth it when we shut down the fucker who’s been snatching submissives in LA.”

  “I know. I’ll focus on that, Dan. Thank you for being so patient.”r />
  “I’m honored to be entrusted with you, and will take the utmost care. Count on that.” His smile of reassurance flashed brightly in his tanned face, reminding her how good-looking he was. She tentatively returned it.

  Standing, his hand squeezed her shoulder as he cleared his throat. “Now, we’ll have your session, moving on to the punishment you’ve earned, thereafter.” His voice had risen to include the crowd of spectators.

  A progression of pictures flashed in Angie’s mind. Starting in math class when she was thirteen and Mr. Fitzmeyer made Miles Jenkins, the class clown, bend over his desk for a paddling while his seventh grade classmates looked on with unadulterated glee. Flashing forward to a college party she’d attended when someone had hauled out a paddle. What had ensued was a game of spin the bottle, but instead of kissing, the losers—or winners, depending how one looked at it—endured a round of spanks with the stereotypical wooden frat paddle with holes drilled in it.

  From there the picture morphed into a jam packed movie theater and a rapt audience watching the spanking scenes from Fifty Shades of Grey, both the sexy and punishment ones, with titillated enthusiasm. And lastly, to the sub on the spanking bench not thirty minutes earlier who begged for more strokes of the lash. As it fell on her already bright red behind, the club members clamored eagerly for the best view of the spectacle taking place on the other side of the velvet ropes.