by Measha Stone
He switched to the screen showing the parking lot and spotted Carissa. She stepped into a cab and Jamison scribbled down the license plate and noted the time.
“Shit. I am getting creepy.” He sighed and dropped his pen to the desk and flipped off his monitor.
He needed to forget her. If she wanted nothing to do with him, why should he waste any more time thinking about her? Worrying that she’d find someone who wouldn’t treat her right—wouldn’t give her what she really craved—wasn’t his problem.
Yes. Carissa McAllister, your message has been received. Loud and fucking clear.
Chapter 3
Carissa McAllister stepped out of the cab and joined the crowd of people waiting to gain entrance into Dark Lace. She let out a long breath.
She could do this. Her stomach was twisted in knots, but not because of fear—no, fear wasn’t it. Trepidation, anticipation, and excitement, something close to exhilaration was what she felt about running into Jamison—definitely not fear.
Because she could handle running into Jamison. She would simply ignore his presence. If he even showed up.
She sure as hell wasn’t nervous, either. Nerves were reserved for men she had a fighting chance of winning and keeping. They were not to be wasted on men who were obviously as much out of her league as her social class. Not to mention their shared kink. Just yet another sign to steer clear.
Besides, it was New Year’s Eve. The odds that he’d attend the New Year’s Eve party at Dark Lace were impossibly remote. The man owned more properties within the city limits than she ever would. Surely he had somewhere much more sophisticated to be at the stroke of midnight.
She played with the hem of her skirt, twisting it tightly between her fingers. She wasn’t going to imagine him in a tuxedo walking through a ballroom full of gorgeous woman who were falling at his feet. No, she was not going to do that. Even if he probably looked killer in the perfectly tailored suit, showing off his broad shoulders, his muscular physique. His dark hair would be styled casually, pushed off to the side of his forehead, which would expose his dark chocolate eyes. He’d smile at the ladies vying for his attention with his thick lips. Lips that could—no, did—make her body tingle just from the memory of their touch.
But she wasn’t thinking about that.
She moved up in line, taking out her small membership card to show the bouncer.
“Hey, Carissa!” Steven greeted her with a wide grin. The darkness of the front hall didn’t hide his handsome features. With his chiseled jaw and square shoulders, he could have stepped right out of one of the historical romance novels she used to read in college.
“Hi, Steven.” He waved off her membership card. Obviously, she’d spent more time at the club since her first visit right before Christmas than she thought. When a bouncer knows your first name and barely glances at your membership card, it’s a sign you’ve been tagged a regular.
“Long day?” he asked, probably noticing the tired lines under her eyes. It came with the territory, being an ER nurse and all.
Working a ten-hour shift in the emergency department could be considered a long day by anyone’s standards. “Same as usual.” But it was a normal day for her.
“Have a good one.” He gave her a little wink and reached around her for the card of the next person in line.
Three hours until midnight, and the club was starting to fill up. The lounge area was already standing room only, and plenty of scenes had begun to play out in the main rooms. The crisp crack of a whip followed by a scream could be heard over the mumblings of those chatting in the common areas.
She made quick work of checking her coat and purse into the locker room, dumping in the few quarters to lock it up before going back out into the club.
Since she’d already determined Jamison wouldn’t be there, and she wasn’t going to think about him anymore, she focused on the men who were in the room.
After her long shift, she’d showered and primped her hair as best she could without making the curls frizz outward. Deciding to go with a long braid, she’d maneuvered her long red hair into a plait and gone about stuffing herself into the new dress she’d bought for the evening.
She wasn’t man hungry. Well, no more than any other single twenty-seven-year-old. She didn’t need to find someone to take care of her, or to take on her problems for her. No, what she wanted was something more. Something deeper. Someone who would take care of her and meet the darker needs within her, but not because he had to, because he wanted to. She wanted a companion, and a lover. But she wasn’t naive. Relationships that started in a dungeon didn’t often continue down the aisle. No matter what she wanted, she was well aware of what she’d be getting.
Get a grip, Carissa. It’s a dungeon party, get your spankings and go home.
Another long day at the hospital awaited her in the morning. Making it all the way to midnight didn’t even register as a concern. She just wanted the release her body craved. There wouldn’t be any long-term matchmaking at the party, just like there hadn’t been at Mistletoe Madness. The same twinge of regret touched her mind at the memory of the Christmas party.
Jamison had been a perfect playmate. He’d given her everything she’d needed, without having to have a long negotiation talk. He’d just seemed to know, and she had found it easy to follow his lead.
Carissa closed her eyes and took another breath.
“Good girl,” he had whispered when he’d laid her over his lap at the Christmas party. She remembered every tingle his fingertips had given her as he had lifted her skirt up over her bottom, exposing her white thong. He had tsked at the skimpy lingerie. “Little girls don’t wear panties like this,” he’d said and snapped the thin fabric between her butt cheeks. She’d blushed. Oh, how everything he’d said and done had made her blush—and get wet. So fucking wet. It had taken exactly three passes of her vibrator across her clit when she’d gotten home that night to make her body explode. Three passes. But it still hadn’t quenched the thirst she had for him.
Stop thinking about it!
Music filled the play space, ramping up the energy with heavy beats and smooth rhythms. Carissa needed some fun. She was ready to stop agonizing over what she couldn’t have and start being more realistic.
She moved through the lounge toward the nursery. Not sure about playing in that particular room for the evening, she hesitated. A few couples were already inside. A baby girl was getting a hard spanking with a ruler, and a middle stood in the corner with a butt plug prominently displayed between her red butt cheeks while her Daddy stood beside her, running his hand in circles over her back.
“Not tonight,” Carissa told herself and turned around. She hadn’t squeezed into the black little dress to spend the evening in that room.
The sounds of a woman finding her climax drew Carissa to the main play room. She found an open spot in the crowd to watch the scene. A woman’s ass, with dark red welts crisscrossing it, faced the crowd as she remained tethered to the spanking bench. Her Dom’s hand was between her legs, stroking her pussy while he spoke softly in her ear.
“You missed it,” the girl next to Carissa whispered. “I’ve never seen such a hot caning scene in my life.”
Judging by the darkening welts covering the sub’s bottom, it would have been the harshest Carissa had seen. Her ass clenched in sympathy for the poor globes. Although the relaxed state of the bent-over sub’s body spoke as to how much fun she’d just had under her Dominant’s stern hand.
Did Jamison have a stern hand?
No, she wasn’t going to start thinking about that. Except it was too late. Her mind began to play out all the scenarios she had toyed with over the past two weeks.
The little spanking he’d given her the night of the Mistletoe Madness had only whet her appetite for more. She wanted more of his dominance, and his body.
Growling at her own stupidity, she decided to get a drink to settle her nerves.
Even if he did show up at the party, s
he’d just spent the last two weeks ignoring his calls and not responding to his text messages. He’d gone silent three days ago. He’d gotten her message loud and clear.
“Can I get a Pinot, please?” Carissa waved down the bartender. A slender woman with long blonde hair pinned up in ponytails nodded. A dark red collar clung to her neck, and her black romper accentuated the slight curve of her hips.
“Sure thing,” she answered and went about pouring a glass.
“I’m not sure you should be drinking, little girl.”
A warm hand wrapped around the back of her neck. And that voice. Her body already knew who it was but she forcibly told herself to relax—it wasn’t Jamison. It couldn’t be. She’d misheard.
“Oh, I think it’s fine. It is New Year’s Eve, after all,” she responded, but didn’t turn around. When she brought the wine glass to her lips, his hand tightened.
“I think you should put it down, Carissa.”
She didn’t put the wine down, nor did she take a sip. Spinning and pulling free of his grasp, she pressed herself against the bar. The edge bit into her back. She had nowhere to go. Jamison butted up against her chest, the scent of his aftershave filling the small space between them. How odd that just a scent, a tiny little smell, could raise her heartbeat so quickly.
“A bit overdressed?” She slid into her comfortable armor of snark and wit.
Just as she’d fantasized, he wore a tailored tuxedo. Every bit of her mind had been right as to how devilishly gorgeous the man would be. Not a single man in the room compared. Jamison looked like he owned the room. Hell, from what her digging told her, he did.
“It’s New Year’s Eve, like you pointed out.” His lips curled into a grin, though any amusement was well hidden. “I’m supposed to be hosting a big bash with Garrick tonight.”
Still gripping the wine, she was tempted to gulp it down before he could snatch it from her. Her nipples tightened, going against her mental refusal to react to him.
“Oh.” At least all of her social skills were still intact. Get it together, Carissa!
“There was something I had to do, though, so I left.”
She swallowed.
“You’ve been ignoring me.” His eyes darkened with the accusation.
“You stopped messaging a few days ago. I assumed you got the hint.” She lifted her right shoulder and kept her expression disinterested.
“Oh, I got the message just fine. But you see, it’s rude to just ignore someone. You need to learn to use your words, Carissa.”
She shifted down the bar enough to put another few inches between them. “And you’ve never just ignored a girl you weren’t interested in?”
He huffed a laugh and moved toward her, putting his hands on the bar, trapping her perfectly. “You can pretend you aren’t interested. But we’d have to add lying to your list of naughty behaviors.”
Her stomach twisted. Only wine would cure what ailed her at the moment.
“If you take even one sip of that, little girl, you’ll regret it. Now put it down.”
She couldn’t let him think he had the upper hand. They hadn’t spoken in two weeks, after all, and she’d blown him off during that time. The edge of the glass slipped between her lips while she kept her eyes focused on his. Tiny wrinkles formed around his eyes as she tipped it and poured the liquid happiness into her mouth.
“I see.” After her sip, he nodded and removed the glass from her hand. Before she could protest, he gripped her arm and pulled her forward. The crowd of people milling around the lounge area seemed to part for him as though he were some god. Though it probably had more to do with the dark glare he gave everyone. She’d seen it when she tried to yank her arm free. One glance back at her, and she gave no further protest. He probably wouldn’t mind publicly punishing her if she pushed him too far.
When he dragged her down the hallway, she kept her eyes on the nursery door, sure he was leading them there. But he pulled her past that one and moved to the next.
“I don’t think we’re allowed in there,” she said as he jiggled the handle.
He pinned her with another glare. “Stand right there.” He released her arm and dug through his pockets, pulling out a keyring and fumbling through the set until he found the one he wanted.
Once the door was unlocked, he moved to the side and waved her in.
She could run. She could turn around, head back into the main room and leave the club. Even if he caught up to her, a simple word uttered loudly enough would keep him away.
“Looks like you’re thinking, which is good. Something you haven’t been doing much of these past weeks.” His eyes darkened, the pupils expanding and depleting his iris.
“That’s not fair.” She managed to stop the pout in her voice, but the dampness in her panties was beyond her control. Damn him and his deep, unyielding voice. “I was thinking.”
His shoulders rolled back and his jaw released some tension. “Come inside, Carissa. We’re going to talk.”
“And that’s it?” She tilted her head to one side.
The crease around his mouth deepened with his grin. “You’re adorable. Get inside.” His smile dropped, and he jerked a thumb in the direction of the empty room.
She forced herself to move forward, past him, through the door and into the room. A desk sat prominently in the middle, with two chairs, and in front of it, a circle of folding chairs. The familiar smell of chalk and leather hit her. On the far wall, several leather straps hung from the wall, and spanking benches sat in two corners.
“Is this supposed to be a schoolroom or something?”
He shut the door, flipping the lock on the handle. “It’s a meeting room. The club offers educational classes, tutorials, and support groups for members.”
She nodded, looking around more for something to concentrate on instead of him. Because even several steps away, he crowded her.
“Carissa, why have you been ignoring me?” he asked.
She spun around to face him. Any irritation he may have been holding over the past few minutes didn’t show in his casual stance. He leaned against the door, crossing his ankles and his arms.
“I…” She took a deep breath. This was where the strong Carissa was supposed to step up. Apparently, she’d taken the day off. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. You actively ignored my messages, didn’t respond to my texts. Why? If you weren’t interested, you could have said so—or blocked my number. But you didn’t do either of those things.”
His hard stare consumed her. Heat rose in her cheeks, and her throat tightened. He deserved an answer. She had avoided him without cause or at least any that he knew about. Although they were perfectly sound reasons, she hadn’t given them to him.
“I told you at the Christmas party that you didn’t have to take my number.” She had said exactly that, just before he’d gone into a short lecture about aftercare.
“I didn’t take your number, I asked for your number. Stop stalling.” The muscle in his jaw tightened.
Little to no chance existed that she’d be leaving the room without explaining herself.
“Potato, patato.” She shrugged, promising her stomach the largest bowl of ice-cream ever if only it would keep the contents of her dinner locked up.
“I see. Well, if you’re going to act like a little girl…” He grabbed her arm and brought her over to the desk, kicking the chair out and planting himself in it with little effort.
“No. No, Jamison!” She struggled as he flipped her over his lap, but he easily trapped her with one arm around her waist.
“We’ll see about no—no.” His hand struck hard on her upturned bottom. The flimsy fabric of the little dress she’d worn for the evening offered no protection against his hard palm.
“I didn’t say you could spank me!” She pushed against his thigh, trying to shove herself off his lap. He only responded by gripping her waist harder and spanking faster.
“Jamison!” She slapped his calf.<
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His hand came down on the up-curve of her ass and stilled.
“Did you just hit me?” The deep, dark voice didn’t broach disagreement. It was the type of voice she used to dream about, but now, hearing it first hand, she swallowed hard and froze in position.
“I asked a question. Did you just hit me?” His fingers dug into her ass, and even through the material, she could feel the bite of his grip.
“I—uh, it was just a reaction.” She tried to rear up enough to look over her shoulder, but when she saw the glower on his face and the strong tick in his jaw, she went back to staring at the floor.
The skirt of her dress was flipped over her back. Cool air brushed across her exposed bottom, emphasizing the burn of her freshly spanked ass.
“A thong?” He laughed, sliding one finger beneath the little string, pulling it away from her bottom and letting it snap back down, just like he had their first night. “I was pretty clear about what a little girl should be wearing.” He rubbed his hand over her backside, washing away the lingering sting.
His fingers trailed lower, pressing between her legs until he found what he sought—and what she needed him to find. For two weeks, she’d brought herself to pleasure at the idea of his fingers doing exactly this.
“And this wetness, here.” He slid beneath the thin material of the thong and gathered her arousal on his fingers. “What’s this for? Because you’re being spanked like the naughty little girl you are, or because you’ve been dreaming of me doing this?” Two fingers pushed through her folds and into her passage.
She held her breath, remaining still. Maybe if she didn’t move, he wouldn’t remember he was upset with her.
“I’ve been worried, irritated, and maybe a little pissed, but mostly concerned about you. Two weeks ago, we had an amazing evening together and then you just vanished on me.” His fingers pumped into her. How could she focus on his words with the whirlwind of pleasure he was creating?
“I promised myself if and when I caught up with you, I’d make you regret your actions.” His fingers pumped faster, harder. She spread her legs and arched her back, giving him better access.