Sweet and Dirty

by Christina Crooks

  “I’m not changing my mind, though,” Ro warned as he climbed into the passenger seat. “If you’d only come inside The Dungeon sometime you’d see why.”

  “Let all the perverts at me?” Ro’s father paused, considered. “Are they well heeled?”

  “Oh yes,” Ro said with a laugh. “The women especially. Five or six inches.”

  9

  The dogs were mostly curled up in packs, sleeping, but there was one black Labrador in the large dog enclosure that barked, and a shih tzu in the small dog enclosure that wouldn’t stop whining. Ted wondered how the other dogs could sleep so soundly on hard vinyl floors, with that constant, repetitive, annoying noise.

  His hangover aches and pains had returned with a vengeance.

  His worst fear, confirmed. He was gay.

  He drank, trying to soothe all that felt wrong with him. The sixth beer from a six-pack of Miller Genuine Draft drained into him. Michelle would laugh at him. His dad would disown him. His drinking buddies would shun him. After they kicked his ass.

  Posh had taken him to West Hollywood, and Ted had felt himself responding to the energy of the place. Even more than the rest of LA, WeHo had felt like a happy home, with the kinds of carefree people who simply didn’t exist in Alabama. And the men…Ted shivered, his mind racing from the memory of handsome man after handsome man walking, sitting, dancing. Dancing to Erasure. He’d danced, too…. Others—broad-shouldered and self-assured—looked at him as they gyrated with subtle cleverness and with that devious, knowing smile that made his cock harden in his pants.

  He was gay. He couldn’t be gay. There had to be some kind of antidote. Posh had brainwashed him. Telling him he was gay had made him believe it.

  The Labrador kept barking. The shih tzu still whined. Ted envied them their simplicity.

  “Don’t suppress it, you’ll only give yourself a complex,” Posh had advised as he sipped his hangover remedy and surreptitiously (he’d thought) checked out the occupants of The Black Cap. She’d been amused at his predicament.

  And later, while they’d sipped mineral water, she’d explained more than he’d wanted to know about the gay scene. He’d learned about the gay hanky color codes. The secret gay fun palaces. She was a “fag hag,” she said, and that’s why he liked her so much.

  He didn’t like her anymore.

  Ted didn’t want to go home to Michelle until his head was on straight again. He’d ordered beer. He’d also picked up a six-pack of MGD. No more fruity blush wine for him.

  Once he screwed a woman again, the crazy wicked thoughts would fall from him like a bad dream. When he took Michelle back to Alabama he would forget all of this.

  All he needed was to have sex with Michelle. It’s not like it’d be the first time for them. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

  Besides. It wasn’t as if he was the only one who needed moral rescuing. From what he’d seen, he’d be doing her a favor. Get her head on straight, too. Her family would be grateful to him. They’d live happily ever after with three kids and a bunch of dogs.

  Ted finished his beer and tossed the empty at a trash can. It banged against the wall and landed on the floor. The noise woke the dogs, and the sudden roar of all of them barking at once almost seemed like encouragement to him, a primal masculine noise that urged him to his feet and toward the office to grab his keys. Instinct. Kill or be killed. Fuck or be fucked. When Michelle opened her apartment door he would pounce like the healthy heterosexual beast he was.

  So it took him by surprise when Michelle suddenly opened the dog day-care door and walked in.

  10

  Lizbeth heard the dogs barking. She threw the door open and rushed inside. “Charlie, you naughty thing, are you biting that Australian shepherd again? When I catch you…”

  “When you catch him you’ll pet him and cuddle him and make friends, no matter how bad he’s been. Hi, Michelle.”

  “Ted!” She halted. “What are you doing here? Where’s Posh? The door was unlocked.”

  He didn’t answer. His calculated stroll toward her made her hackles rise. Something was wrong with Ted. Was he stalking her? She laughed at her paranoid thoughts. The Dungeon and its protocols had rubbed off on her. There was a good reason for Ted to be here, acting this way, and she’d find out what it was as soon as she calmed the dogs down.

  “Hey, big guy,” she crooned. Charlie butted his head against her hand, wriggling his body as he wagged and grinned up at her with his Labrador smile. She couldn’t be stern. She knew that’s what got results; just look how they reacted when Posh cracked the whip. But she couldn’t.

  As she’d expected, the dogs quieted down quickly under her soothing voice and quick investigative touches. Charlie let out a happy whine and raced to the edge of the enclosure to lick her hand, then leapt away, wanting to play. “Sorry, buddy. Not now.” She scratched him under the chin for a moment, then turned to Ted.

  “They don’t seem hurt. Did you see who started the fight?”

  “I did.” Ted stalked closer. “I threw a can. Not at them,” he assured her, staring at her dress but focusing on her legs. “You look nice.”

  Lizbeth stared at him. “How are you feeling?” She walked to the trash and peered inside at all the crumpled aluminum beer cans.

  “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Good.” Ted eased into her space. She could smell the beer and sense his intensity. “We have to have a little chat, you and me.”

  He was going to propose again. He wanted her to come back to Alabama and wasn’t taking no for an answer. Again.

  For the first time, she was actually tempted. She’d never be assertive, never carve a meaningful niche where she could become someone else: a strong, effective voice of authority with dogs or people. Why not marry Ted, and move back to where the disappointments were at least small and predictable?

  But something held her back.

  “Ted…this is a really bad time.”

  “Fine. We won’t chat. How about I just remind you of how it can be between a man and a woman? I love you, Michelle. You know that, don’t you?”

  He kissed her. It was as wet and unconvincing as it had been the night before. She tried to push him away. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “There is nothing wrong with me,” Ted stated. “Nothing at all. And that’s the way I’m going to keep it.” His hand found the back of her thigh, traveled upward. “Hey, you’re all ready to go, aren’t you?”

  The manhandling had felt heavenly with Ro. But Ted’s hands left her cold. “Stop it,” she cried, desperate.

  And was answered. An outraged roar filled her ears, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a black shape vault the large dog’s wall.

  Charlie tackled Ted, carrying them both to the floor. Ted screamed.

  “Hold still!” Lizbeth yelled. “Ted! If you play dead, and don’t move, Charlie’ll back off. Hold still,” she repeated, using her most soothing voice, the one that always calmed the dogs. Ted stopped flailing his arms. Only his eyes rolled to show their whites as he stared at the bared fangs inches above his face.

  “I should tell him to bite your dick off,” she said in the same soothing voice, amazed at both the sentiment and the sight of her favorite dog straddling Ted, ready to protect her.

  “No, you shouldn’t,” said a familiar voice. “The liability insurance for this place would go through the roof.” A whip cracked, and Charlie leapt off Ted. The dog went immediately to Lizbeth to nose her hand, sniffing, licking worriedly.

  Lizbeth stared at the tall woman in the black hood. “Vivian? You followed me here?” She felt confused, then hopeful. Maybe Ro had sent this dominatrix to bring her back. Then she focused on the whip. Posh’s whip.

  The woman walked straight to her, ignoring Ted. The black shadows where her eyes could barely be seen seemed to suck up the light in the large facility. She still carried the whip, and her aggressive strid
e spoke of anger. The dominatrix ripped off her hood.

  “Holy crap. Posh?”

  “The one and only.” Her boss fluffed her hair.

  “You’re Vivian?” Suddenly all the pieces fell together. “Of course.” Lizbeth blushed to think of all Vivian had witnessed.

  “Oh yeah. Someone had to keep an eye on you, vanilla. Though no longer, of course.” She glanced at the marks on Lizbeth’s legs with approval. “He’s good, isn’t he, Lizbeth?”

  “She doesn’t look like a Lizbeth,” Ted said. Both women ignored him.

  She stared at Posh’s muscular body and exquisite hair. It made her aware of her own rumpled state.

  Posh laughed, shook her head. Black glossy curls fell around her shoulders and down her back. “Oh yeah, he’s good for you, you’re good for him, Cupid’s been busy. I like my men more compliant. Not quite as compliant as this, though.” Posh nudged Ted with the tip of her boot. He smacked it away, a pissed-off expression replacing the bewildered one.

  “Touchy. We’ll have to forgive him. His emergence was traumatic.”

  “Emergence?”

  “He’s g—”

  “Shut up! Shut up!” Ted leapt to his feet. Charlie growled warningly. Ted stared daggers at the dog and stopped moving. He spoke. “I’m no turd burglar. You were just messing with me. Weren’t you?”

  Lizbeth saw the desperate way he looked at Posh. “You’re gay?”

  “Not me, him,” Posh clarified.

  “I’M NOT!”

  This time Charlie snarled and took a step closer to Ted. “Will you call that mutt off?”

  “He’s a purebred, not a mutt. Charlie, be good. That’s it. Let’s go have a cookie.” Lizbeth led Charlie to the treat bag and fed him one.

  “Reward him for attacking me. Nice.”

  “You attacked me.”

  Posh laughed softly but with abandon. “This is all so priceless. Ted…As I said earlier. It’s easier if you embrace your attraction to men. Stop fighting it.”

  Lizbeth strolled with Charlie to the big dog’s enclosure. She let the dogs investigate her, to show them she was unhurt. “C’mon,” she murmured to them. “Give me some air.” They backed away, nosing each other while keeping an eye on her.

  She paced, unable to keep still.

  “And that goes double for you. Michelle.”

  Her head snapped to Posh. “What did you call me?”

  “Michelle. Lizbeth. Whatever. Stop fighting your true nature. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Maybe…It’s Lizbeth…”

  “You know better. You came alive with Ro. But you ran, and here you are pining for him while you frolic with the dogs as if you were one of them. You don’t master the critters, not the way I do. Be okay with that. You love them, they love you, and so your way is just as effective. Look.”

  Lizbeth looked. As she’d walked, the dogs had clogged in a group behind her and followed. As her stare lingered, they all sat, one after the other. Waiting for her to lead.

  Lizbeth felt delight. “Hey, I’m an alpha!”

  “More of a first among equals. They feel affection for you.”

  Posh stepped inside the enclosure, and the dogs immediately abandoned Lizbeth, sidling toward Posh with submissive postures and licking the air. “They feel fear of me.” She waved the whip and they shied away, then lowered themselves to their bellies. Posh smiled. “I’m the alpha here. Even though I don’t care about them, and I seriously doubt they care about me.”

  Lizbeth nodded, her heart expanding with the devotion she felt for her furry friends. The dogs loved her. Sasquatch had loved her. And she’d always love them. She’d take affection over fear any day.

  But then she frowned. “You really don’t care about them? Why keep a dog day-care business?”

  “Ro can’t afford to take me on full time, at least not yet.” Posh twirled a strand of her hair around the handle of the bullwhip. “It just sort of happened.”

  Lizbeth was nodding, staring at Posh. Specifically at Posh’s hair. “I remember you telling me about the dogs you groomed, and how that blossomed into a business. But Posh. Why don’t you start a people-grooming business? Be a hair stylist, I mean,” she amended.

  “Hey, that’s a good idea!” Ted said.

  Both women stared at him. “What, I don’t get an opinion?”

  Lizbeth almost felt sorry for Ted. But she could see that part of him enjoyed the attention. And was beginning to accept his unexpected sexual feelings.

  Could she do the same?

  Lizbeth longed for Ro, his mastery, his touch. But if it meant letting go of her dream of becoming assertive, could she do it? She’d suffered as a submissive person. Not the good kind of suffering, either. She ran a hand over the pinch zone on her arm, remembering all the times she’d turned her fears and anxieties inward, seeking relief by hurting herself. She’d come such a long way from that. It couldn’t all be for nothing.

  But she couldn’t give up Ro, either.

  She caught herself pinching her arm just below her elbow.

  “Collar,” she whispered. And stopped.

  Posh swished her whip. It was probably a thoughtless gesture of hers, but Lizbeth kept an eye on the weapon just the same. “What was that?” Posh asked.

  “Collar,” she repeated more loudly. “It’s my safe word. When I say it, all BDSM play stops. I have control.” She looked at her arm wonderingly. “I have control.”

  “Of course you do. And?” Posh studied her nails.

  “It means nobody hurts me, unless I let them. Posh, I’m going to borrow one of our new dog collars, and a leash.”

  “Accessories! Good girl,” she approved. “Ted, fetch her a collar.”

  “Fetch it yourself,” Ted retorted. When she waved the whip in his direction he stuck his tongue out at her.

  Lizbeth got the collar herself. She kissed Charlie on his furry head and promised she’d buy him an even prettier one.

  Then she went to take Ted’s hand, squeezed it. “I’ve got to go, Ted.”

  “I’ll take care of Ted, don’t worry. Here.” Posh held out a black leather cap with lettering across the front. “I had this old thing lying around. You can have it. Go get him,” Posh instructed her for the second time that night, and winked.

  Lizbeth went.

  11

  She’d been waiting for Ro for more than an hour.

  Lizbeth toyed with her leash, feeling it tug on the collar she’d fastened around her neck. It smelled faintly of fur. The scent comforted her.

  Strangely, so did The Dungeon’s atmosphere.

  She sat on a padded barstool, her gaze compulsively darting to the entrance. Ro would be back, everyone told her. He always closed up his club.

  People kept approaching her, introducing themselves. There was an air of respect, even deference in some of them that confused her, until one woman expressed her admiration for Lizbeth’s graceful submission under Ro’s lash.

  Employees and patrons alike wanted to talk with her, get to know her. Some had seen her in the Crime and Punishment show. Others sensed a kindred spirit.

  It would be her pack away from home, Lizbeth determined.

  Except that her alpha was missing.

  Anticipation and tension swirled in the pit of her stomach, and she glanced toward the entrance once more.

  He stood before her. His dark eyes seemed to scald as they took her in, head to foot. His gaze fixed on her collar and the attached leash. He reached out to nudge her black cap, stroke her hair cascading from beneath it, graze her arm, then her hand. She recognized his touch as the equivalent of a dog’s investigative contact. Exhilaration rose in her when she saw the look in his eyes.

  “I missed you, Lizbeth.”

  “My name is Michelle,” she stated clearly.

  “Nice to meet you, Michelle.” The relief, the happiness, and the heat contained in his smile made her heart give an ecstatic leap.

  “You let me get away. Y
ou know what happens to strays in this city?” She waved her leash back and forth in front of him.

  Ro grabbed it. “I don’t intend to ever find out.” He held the leash loosely. “Are you sure this is what you want? Should I assume the message printed on your new cap”—he paused to adjust it on her head—“is meant for me?” He looped the leash around his wrist once. Then twice. Bringing her closer. “Why’d you run?”

  “I was scared,” she admitted. “Everything happened so fast. And then, you made me feel so many things.” She tilted her chin up at him, smiled. She leaned away, drawing the leash taut, testing him. “I’m not scared anymore.”

  “Is your collar worn for me, then?” Ro’s eyes narrowed, tracking her movement. He drew the leash another loop over his wrist, stopping her movement.

  “Can’t you read?” She felt playful, provoking him. Her blood raced through her veins, bringing a tingling awareness to her extremities. Her heart felt lodged in her throat, half in hope, half in excitement.

  “Say it,” he commanded.

  “Make me.”

  He looped the leash again with the fierce smile that made her weak in the knees. “You’ve earned yourself another punishment. I hope you’re happy. Now say it.” He trailed his fingers sensuously down her bare arm.

  She shuddered, desire and emotion colliding inside her. “I want this. I’m yours, collared and obedient.”

  She caught her breath at the reflection of her emotion in his eyes. She thrilled to his formal tone. “And I’m your dominant and master, though never less a servant to the heart’s demands.” He wrapped the final loop of leash around his wrist, drawing her against him for a kiss that exerted full rights of ownership.

  Then he scooped her into his arms.

  Her black cap fell from her head unnoticed. It perched, jaunty, on her abandoned stool, the lettering visible to anyone who cared to look: SLAVE TO LOVE.

  FORBIDDEN HEAT

  1