Marrying The Master (Club Volare)

by Cox, Chloe

Lola wiped at her eyes, willing herself to stop crying. Why was she crying? She should be past this, over this. Done.

  This man shouldn’t have the power to make her feel anything anymore.

  “Why did you come to Volare?” she demanded, taking refuge in anger. “Why?”

  Ben at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Because I saw your picture online on a gossip blog. It said you were marrying Roman. I…couldn’t believe it.”

  Lola leaned back and just stared at him. Ben looked miserable. He looked like he hadn’t slept in ages, like he hadn’t shaved, like he hadn’t taken care of himself at all.

  “Is it true?” he asked. “Are you two really…?”

  “It’s none of your business,” she answered. Besides, it’s not like she really knew the answer herself.

  “Please don’t take offense at this, Lola, but I have to disagree.”

  There was a silence between them while Lola checked and double-checked what she’d heard.

  “You what?” Lola finally said.

  “It is my business. I might not have any right to any of this, but the fact is, Lola, I love you. I’m not going to stop loving you just because I screwed up. And that makes it my business. I just wanted you to know that I know how wrong I was, that I know what I’ve lost, that I know you are the most amazing woman who ever lived. That I want to make all that up to you. That I want to fight for you.”

  Ben rose, taking his coffee cup with him. Lola was speechless. Angry, shocked, ashamed that she was glad to hear some of it, and speechless.

  “At the very least, Lola,” Ben said, rising from his seat, “I want to make sure you know that you deserve the absolute best in everything. And that includes a man who will protect you from idiots like Harold Jeels, making those dumbass statements to the papers, especially when protecting you from him is so goddamn easy to do.”

  “What?” Lola said, truly confused. He was throwing a lot of curveballs all at once, but this one needed special attention. “What are you talking about, ‘easy to do?’”

  Ben leaned down and chucked her under the chin. “I can’t believe you don’t recognize him. You don’t remember Harold Jeels from the scene before you joined Volare, all those years ago? That man is a switch, and he likes his leather. Someone’s got to have photos. I’ll be seeing you, Lola.”

  He gave her a two-fingered salute and walked out.

  chapter 14

  “You look distracted,” Jake Jayson said.

  He was not the first person to mention this to Roman. It was starting to become annoying.

  “A lot on your mind?” Jake continued. He was smiling.

  “What are you smiling about, Jacob?” Roman snapped.

  Jake laughed out loud as they walked through the Volare lounge, sparsely populated at this relatively early hour. Roman had come by to check on the operation of the club, something he’d asked Jake to watch over while Roman and Lola dealt with the wedding preparations, Harold Jeels, the publicity push—and while Roman secretly dealt with the preparations for the LA location. Jake was eager to do it; he had time on his hands while his fiancée Catie visited her grandmother in California.

  “I’m smiling because not a few months ago, you laughed at me when I had the same look on my face, and for the same reason.”

  There was no question; Jake Jayson was relishing this. The heir to an industrial fortune who had devoted himself to charity had, a few months previously, found himself a pawn in one of Roman’s better plots. Roman had set him up with Catie without informing anyone that Roman knew Catie to be working undercover for a gossip magazine. Roman had been confident that Jake would be the Dom to get Catie to open up, and he’d been right—the result was an engagement.

  Of course, the Sizzle article—and Lola’s fury—had been collateral damage. And, as Roman recalled with a grimace, Jake hadn’t been thrilled about being left out of the loop, either.

  “You did not have Lola to deal with,” Roman finally said. Then something clicked. “What do you mean, ‘the same reason?’ It’s hardly the same situation.”

  Jake stopped, his hand on the door that led to the Volare performance space, and looked at Roman with something akin to disbelief.

  “Incredible,” he said, shaking his head. “See if you say the same thing in a couple of months.”

  Roman glowered. He would let it go. At the moment he had too many other things on his mind—namely, Lola. He was used to being able to easily see how the pieces in any given puzzle would fit together, and for this reason the various situations surrounding the future of Volare didn’t worry him. They occupied him, but they did not worry him.

  Lola was another matter.

  “What is this?” Roman said, gesturing at the stage. There were a number of people bustling about, doing hurried bits of choreography, blocking out steps, coordinating lighting effects.

  Jake grinned. “A burlesque show from L.A. They come highly recommended.”

  He had really been out of the Volare loop.

  “I’ve been busy,” he said.

  “Yes, with your wedding.”

  Jake was one of the few people who knew the origins of the fraud marriage, which made that comment…annoying. “Yes,” Roman said, “with the publicity campaign.”

  “It seems as though Lola has forgiven you for lying to her about Catie.”

  “We have reached a kind of…working détente.”

  Jake laughed out loud again, an unusual display of emotion from the normally reserved man. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  Roman clenched his jaw and reminded himself, over and over, that this was a good friend, and that he probably deserved some teasing for what he’d put Jake through. Over, and over.

  Roman took a deep breath. At least he did not have to worry about the operation of Volare while both he and Lola were concerned with other things—Jake obviously had it under control.

  Control. Or lack of it—that was really the issue.

  That was what bothered him the most. It was not only unlike him; it was unlike Lola. They were both too responsible to engage in the sorts of risks they were taking; they had stopped communicating like adults, and simply gone after each other like animals. In a D/s relationship, that was suicidal.

  Jake clapped his friend on the arm, startling Roman out of his reverie. It happened more and more now: he’d be thinking about the situation with Lola, and he’d get lost in it. He shook his head, grumbling angrily.

  “It’s good to see that you’re human, Roman,” Jake said, only half-joking. “Maybe this is all for the best.”

  With that, his friend left him to go speak to a woman wearing only creatively placed pasties.

  Roman stood motionless, held rigid in a sort of shock.

  Human.

  Why did that reverberate? Why did that make him think of Samantha?

  He exploded from his rigid stance, moving with such sudden speed and determination that he turned the heads of several nearby dancers. His nostrils flared, his heart thudded, and his arms coiled as he opened and closed his fists.

  He rarely made mistakes, and he was rarely unaware of it when he did, but he couldn’t shake the feeling as he strode through Volare on the way to his apartment that he was losing himself to this blind, raging bullish lust. Right now, he had to find a way to reestablish proper boundaries with Lola. He had to find a way to establish control.

  He had to find out what the hell was happening to him—to both of them.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Lola took her time walking back to Roman’s—Christ, she thought of it as Roman’s now instead of Volare—figuring she needed the time to think.

  Thinking didn’t help.

  No matter how many times she went over the facts, it didn’t change them.

  She rode the private elevator up to Roman’s apartment, one thing in particular on her mind: Ben had told her there was an easy way to get Harold Jeels off their backs. Which was great—for Volare. Lola wasn’t totally comfortable with
the idea of using someone’s private BDSM activities against them, but it was nice to know there might be a way to protect themselves if it came to that.

  But if Harold Jeels was no longer a problem, and they no longer had to pretend to be married, what would happen to her and Roman? Would they just…stop?

  She had no idea—it wasn’t like she had any idea what Roman was thinking.

  It bothered her when she wasn’t with him. It was like everything they once were was subsumed in this physical relationship. Roman had never been an open book, but she’d felt like she’d known him—known him well enough to love him. Now the closer they got physically, the more remote he seemed, and the less she knew how to approach him at all.

  She definitely wasn’t prepared for him to be sitting at one end of the immense kitchen counter, waiting.

  Waiting for her.

  Lola froze, stunned all over again by the feral male beauty of the man. He was still, his eyes burning with that intensity she’d come to expect. She’d never figure out how he did it, but his stare held her motionless, like a hunter cornering his prey. He only sat, his back perfectly straight, his muscular frame perfectly outlined by his crisp white shirt, his dark skin almost golden in the warm afternoon light.

  Lola licked her lips. She knew he was waiting for her to speak, to ask, to serve. Everything about him exuded dominance.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked. “I could cook something.”

  He didn’t answer, merely raised an eyebrow. They’d only eaten take out, sometimes not even together, since she’d “moved in.” Her offer to cook him dinner was the first suggestion of domesticity, of…marriage. Of normal people marriage. What the hell had made her do that? She hadn’t even thought about it; it had just come out.

  Oh God, what was he thinking? Why did she want him again already?

  “Roman, maybe we should talk.”

  He rose suddenly, exhaling in one long, slow breath. He had her pinned with his eyes; she hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even put down her paper coffee cup.

  “Agreed. After.”

  “After?”

  “Come here.”

  She started walking before she could even think. Her body belonged more to him than it did to her.

  Did he know?

  Did he like it?

  The closer she got to him, the more she felt it: that familiar charge, the thing that started to invade her brain whenever they were close. Her breathing was shallow, her skin warm, her pussy already moist. Whatever he did to her made her more aware of her body than she’d ever been. She felt every motion, every breeze, every casual brush of fabric…

  He stood by the end of the brushed stainless steel counter, his eyes dragging her in close. Lola wasn’t short, but he towered over her. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing muscular forearms and large hands. His top button was undone, the top of his chest visible.

  She reached out to touch him.

  He grabbed her hand.

  “I did not give you permission to touch me,” he said.

  Lola snapped to attention. That was… She recognized that. That was formal. That was domination. That was controlled, not the impulsive ferocity of animal Roman.

  She almost groaned, fighting against it. She just wanted him now.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  She did. His jaw was clenched, and a vein throbbed in his forehead. He looked like he was struggling, too.

  “This has gone on too long, Lola,” he said. “It’s too chaotic. Too unstructured. Without boundaries. That is my responsibility. I have been…remiss. I intend to correct that now.”

  A thrill rippled through her at his words, and at the same time some part of her balked: that would mean distance between them. The only time they were close now was in that wordless space where they had incredible, mindless sex in those uncontrolled, un-scene-like fits.

  But oh God, the prospect of a proper scene with Roman. She wanted him all the ways it was possible to have him.

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered.

  He took the coffee cup from her hand and placed it on the counter. For the first time she noticed there was a small velvet bag there.

  “I never properly disciplined you for hiding from me at the clerk’s office,” he said casually, reaching for the bag. “Did you think I’d forgotten?”

  There was a small, hard smile on his lips. Lola stiffened.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Roman casually began unbuttoning her blouse without even looking, his deft fingers completing the task with practiced skill.

  “Look straight ahead, Lola,” he said. She heard a metallic clink on the counter. Apparently he’d found what he’d been looking for in that bag, and he wanted it to be a surprise.

  He turned his attention back to her, and pulled her blouse completely off. Her bra followed. He paused then, then took a moment to play with her nipples. She felt him smile as they hardened in his hands.

  “So perfect,” he said. “Do not move.”

  He bent down, one hand still kneading her breast, his grip getting harder, rougher, and pulled her skirt over one hip, then the other. She was only in her underwear and stockings now. His free hand roamed freely over her body, tracing the curves and planes, teasing her stomach, where she fluttered at his touch. He removed her underwear, careful not to disturb the stockings.

  “Step out of them.”

  She did, trying to control her breathing. She had become spoiled. Holding out for gratification, not touching him, not having him immediately inside her—she was starting to sweat.

  He slipped his hand between her shuddering thighs and kissed her stomach. Then he swiped one finger along her slit, coming away wet.

  “Good,” he said, standing up. He reached for whatever was on the counter—she hadn’t looked; she could still obey—and then she felt the sharp bite of clamps on her nipples.

  She sucked in her breath.

  “These are on a lead, Lola,” he said. “Don’t fall behind.”

  And he walked off, a light metal chain trailing behind him.

  Lola felt the first tug on her nipples, the clamps biting into her flesh even more, and began tottering after him, unsteady on her heels for the first time in her adult life. The pain was just the sharp kind to drive her pleasure, and the sight of Roman walking imperially ahead of her…

  He tugged on the chain again, two sharp pulls, two sensations streaking through her body to her throbbing sex.

  “Come on, Lola,” he said lightly.

  He led her down the stairs to the floor where most of the private rooms were, and into a wing she hadn’t been in before. The lighting was more subdued here. Dark, dramatic lighting.

  Roman opened the last door on the end, and led her through.

  It was a giant playroom.

  chapter 15

  Roman had led her to a playroom that had already been prepared.

  There was a padded spanking bench on one end, and suspension restraints rigged on the other. There was a St. Andrew’s Cross on the far wall, and the sidewalls were decorated with various tools, the way a medieval hall would have weapons. In the center was a bed.

  Lola felt her eyes widen. She hadn’t played with any of this stuff, not as a sub, in so long…

  Roman began to wrap the chain around his hand, drawing Lola forward. Her nipples screamed; her sensitivity was increasing. She felt warm and flushed, and she looked down to find a pink blush spreading from her chest outwards. The silver glint of the nipple clamps caught her attention, and the sight of herself, clamped and chained for Roman, heated her.

  “Lola,” he said sharply. “On the bench.”

  Lola bit her lip to keep from smiling. This was shaping up to be more ‘funishment’ than punishment, and she was absolutely, one hundred percent ok with that.

  She mounted the spanking bench, mindful of the chain still attached to her nipples, and bent over it. Her breast came just over the edge of the padding, her arms on two armrests exten
ding from the bench, her knees resting in the stirrups. She took a moment to center herself, already feeling like she could slip into subspace; her pulse thundered in her core.

  Roman walked around to her front. He lifted her chin and unclipped the chain from the clamps. Then he fastened restraints around both of her wrists. He moved behind her, and she felt the leather restraints close around both of her ankles.

  Then the stirrups swiveled on their hinges and spread her legs.

  Roman placed one hand on the back of her calf and swept over the length of her body in one long caress.

  “This won’t be funishment, Lola,” he whispered in her ear.

  Oh fuck. Of course he could read her mind. Of course.

  She tried to shift, but the restraints held fast. The clamps brushed against the edge of the bench, and she either whimpered or moaned—she couldn’t tell.

  The next thing she felt was a leather edge drawing a line down the back of her leg. He was tracing the seam of her stocking with…a riding crop?

  She shivered.

  “Why did you hide from me, Lola?” he asked.

  “I told you,” she said, her body clenching and unclenching in anticipation, “I just needed a moment.”

  The crop snapped on the back of her thighs, just below the curve of her ass. She jolted, the nipple clamps providing a stinging chaser.

  “That is a half truth, no?” he said, lazily running the crop up the inside of her thighs.

  Her mind raced. What did he want her to say? The truth was that she had been overcome with the sight of him. That she had been overwhelmed by what had happened, scared that she couldn’t take it, that she’d only get her heart broken again…

  “It’s true,” she lied.

  He hit her again, harder, right on the tenderest flesh, and she cried out. Tears pricked her eyes, and she thought, weirdly, about how she hadn’t felt actually pain in a scene in so long.

  She was remembering why she liked it.

  It was starting to drive her higher, higher, up to a place where most of her anxieties fell away…

  He hit her again.

  And again.