Wargasm (Payne Brothers Romance Book 3)

by Sosie Frost

I dodged that conversation with a shake of my head. “I’d much rather go inside Duchess. Less insane in there.”

  “You know nothing’s scheduled for tonight.”

  “That’s okay, sir.”

  “A few club members organized a scene for tomorrow. Orgasm torture.”

  Orgasm. Torture. I nodded like that phrase made sense.

  But I had to work, and I couldn’t afford a day off. Coffee didn’t pay the bills unless I was brewing it, and, even then, it earned less than I needed. The old Morgan would have started picking up extra-shifts to cover expenses. But back then, it was easier to be responsible when I liked what I was doing. Now?

  My life was as boring as a cup of decaf, as flavorless as day old grounds, and as useless as the leaky paper cups I served day in and day out.

  Duchess made my life feel different.

  And Anthony made me feel good.

  And I had missed feeling that way so much.

  He held the door open for me with a sweeping grin “Might be a bit slow tonight.”

  It still fluttered my tummy. “Not a problem.”

  Going back to Duchess was a big step.

  Though we met a few club members during dinner and at Simone’s party, this was the first time I returned to the scene of the crime. Anthony had a gift for sexualizing any place we went. And now that we were heading to his natural environment?

  A slow night at Duchess probably consisted of enough kink to keep a psychiatrist’s pockets lined for a year.

  Only a few couples lounged in the private den, a cozy room decorated more like an elegant music chamber than dungeon. Simone had arranged leather couches and chaises, red velvet chairs and expensive rugs around an ornate white marble fireplace. My heart fluttered—a baby grand piano served as the room’s focal point.

  How long had it been since I played a piano?

  Longer than it’d been since I’d picked up my violin.

  And that was a long time.

  Surprisingly, no one was naked. More importantly, Reed Bennett and his slave, Genn, relaxed in jeans, sipping a beer. Casual Thursday at the fetish club?

  I breathed a bit easier.

  “Mm, Anthony…” Simone’s tease curled around my throat. “You brought your pet to visit.”

  And now my lungs threatened to collapse.

  I stilled as Simone stalked toward us with all the grace and lethality of a lioness. A black pencil skirt and white blouse painted her curves, and her four inch heeled boots clicked with each step.

  Even her shoes intimidated me.

  Now I was stuck. I couldn’t look in her eyes without squirming, and I couldn’t admire her heels without imagining me squished under them.

  I scooted closer to Anthony, squeezing against his arm. One deep breath and I was done. His scent smothered me—sharp, spicy, mine.

  Anthony nudged me forward. “I knew you weren’t done playing with her.”

  “I haven’t even started, darling.”

  His warning was clear. “Pet…say hello to Simone.”

  I twisted, wiggled, and fought a rising desire I didn’t understand. “H—hi, ma’am.”

  “Still embarrassed, little girl?” Simone tipped my chin up. “Stay that way. I like my pet humbled.”

  That I was. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, ma’am.”

  She reached for my hair. Anthony prevented the yank with a cleared throat, and Simone turned gentle again, stroking a soft finger over my cheek. “The correct way to address me is yes or no.” Her eyebrow arched. “And I prefer Mistress.”

  Oh God.

  I stilled, but her attention flicked away from me. She pouted at Anthony.

  “I’m glad you’re here, darling. I’m bored.”

  Anthony seemed immune to her charms. “Poor baby.”

  “So entertain me.”

  “All this time and you’ve never learned to entertain yourself?”

  “Why? Others do it for me.” She licked a lip as pink as grapefruit—and probably as sweet, tart, sour, and delicious. “So…entertain me.”

  “Why doesn’t the hostess offer us a drink first?”

  “You always were a stickler for etiquette.”

  “Can’t a man be thirsty?”

  She wagged a finger at me and sauntered to the bar. “Careful, Morgan…you don’t realize how traditional Anthony can be. Drink ready and prepared at the door, slippers by his chair in the evening.”

  Anthony frowned. “I have never once worn slippers.”

  “Oh, excuse me. Crop and paddle beside his chair.”

  “That’s better.”

  Simone smirked, every bit of her swaying as she made damn sure we watched her shimmy to the bar. Anthony dragged me away, plunking me into a couch. I collapsed against the leather, eager for his strong arm to wrap over me. He pulled me close.

  This was safer. Still in the lion’s den, but now I had a chair between my body and the jungle cat trying to eat me.

  But Anthony’s hand dropped lower, against my hip. His fingers tugged on my skirt. The material shifted upwards.

  Uh-oh.

  Simone snapped her finger towards the bartender, tugging on the chain that swayed between the poor girl’s breasts. I tried not to stare, but the clamps looked terribly painful, snapped onto nipples that had once been princess pink but now looked plump and dark. The bartender struggled to make Anthony’s gin and tonic, though her breathing gasped out with every tug of the chain.

  Simone didn’t seem to notice. Or, if she did, she didn’t care. The chain curled around her finger. The bartender should have cried out. Instead she leaned into it, purring against Simone.

  “Everyone is on vacation or working or entertaining family and too busy to come,” Simone sighed. “This week has been absolutely dead. What’s the pet want to drink?”

  Drink? I’d swallow my damn tongue.

  “Sprite?” My voice cracked. Anthony pinched me. I panicked. “Ma’am….I mean…Mistress.”

  Simone wasn’t amused. She sipped her cocktail—the dirtiest of martinis. “You know, Anthony…that’s the attitude you get when you fuck a girl before punishing her.”

  “I haven’t fucked her, love.” He rubbed a little higher on my thigh. “Not yet.”

  I tried to melt, but Simone’s gaze froze me once more.

  “No?” Simone handed him his gin and tonic. She hesitated before offering me the soda, her gaze dropping to study every inch of my body. “Why not? She’s cute as a button and so wet she’ll slip right off this couch.”

  My stomach rolled.

  This…this was a slow night? Talking about Anthony and me having sex as if I wasn’t even sitting there?

  I didn’t need the giggle from the audience. Thomas and Shannon shared a loveseat. More specifically, Thomas claimed the loveseat and Shannon cackled at his feet. A form fitting dress looked better than dozens of sushi rolls, but she wore a cold scowl with more confidence.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d done to piss her off, but Shannon enjoyed my discomfort. Not in a playful, teasing way like Simone, but legit disgust.

  Anthony didn’t notice. His gaze matched Simone’s, as demanding and intrusive as he could get without ripping off my clothes and inspecting my every secret. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I hated that I sighed.

  Any touch from him was magic, even if he surveyed me like a chunk of meat.

  “She’s new to this, love,” he said. “I want to break her in.”

  Simone’s nails clicked off her wine glass. “I just want to break her.”

  I sipped my drink, wishing I had spiked it with something stronger than ice. Fortunately, Anthony’s friend, Nate, called Simone away. His beautiful brunette—Mariah—sat up a little straighter. Sophisticated even in jeans, Nate had a lean build and a rock-star smile. Mariah curled between both him and Simone, grinning like a schoolgirl. Simone ran a hand through her hair then yanked the curls back. The two kissed long and deep. Mariah’s tongue darte
d into her willing mouth.

  “They seem…” A dozen new feelings sizzled through me. “Comfortable together.”

  Anthony agreed. “You could say that.” A long moment passed. His voice lowered. “Jealous?”

  Great. He’d caught me staring. What was wrong with me? Anthony had me so amped up that even Simone’s antics got me hot.

  Or maybe Simone did it all on her own.

  I shook my head, snuggling closer to him. I wasn’t anywhere near ready to admit that to myself.

  “Haven’t seen you around much, Anthony.” Reed fed Genn the cherry from his drink with a grin. “Had to show off your new prize?”

  I didn’t know why Anthony hated Reed, and I wasn’t sure what Reed was drinking to make him brave enough to poke the bear. Anthony held me a little tighter.

  “I thought I’d bring her to a safe place…doubting the wisdom of that now.”

  Simone sighed. “Don’t start. Either of you.”

  Reed’s one-dimpled smile seemed so genuine I couldn’t imagine him ever doing anything evil or terrible, especially something so bad it’d rile Anthony. He tugged on Genn’s leash and brought her closer to his lap.

  “It’s been a year, Anthony. Gotta get used to me being here at some point.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Reed arched a playboy eyebrow. “Just say it. You’ll feel better. What is it that you think I’ve done?”

  “It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you didn’t do.”

  The room quieted, only the tinkling of ice daring to make a sound.

  Reed’s voice lowered. “I did everything that I could. Sarah will tell you that much.”

  “No. She won’t. For some reason, she thinks she should protect you.”

  “For some reason? I know it eats you up inside, Anthony, but she’s my sister-in-law now. We’re one big happy family.”

  “Happy?”

  “Very.” Reed met his stare. “She’s happy. My brothers and I are happy. And I have a beautiful little niece I get to spoil.”

  “Niece?” Anthony clenched his jaw. “Or sister?”

  “You son of a bitch—”

  Reed leapt to his feet. So did Anthony.

  But Genevieve was quicker. She hopped between the men. Her hands pressed hard against Reed’s chest to keep him from lunging. She shouted, and everyone froze.

  “Glitterbomb!” A safeword? She said it again, soothing Reed with a touch to his cheek. “Glitterbomb. Let’s go get some air, huh? Reed? Come on.” She tugged on his hand. “Follow me.”

  Simone shooed them out, but she reserved her ire for Anthony. “You’ll never let this go, can you?”

  Nate and Mariah, Thomas and Shannon, and the other couples in the corners watched Anthony with curious glances. I did all I could do. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed.

  And he calmed.

  “Well done, Anthony.” What was more dangerous coming from Simone—the cocked eyebrow or hip? “I know you didn’t approve of his application, but Reed is still a member of this club. Don’t undermine him.”

  “He knows not to speak to me.”

  “No one’s going to be speaking to you if you don’t straighten out this shit between you, the Atwoods, and the Bennetts.”

  “There’s nothing to sort out. The damage has been done.”

  “Yeah, and I went with you to Sarah Atwood’s wedding. The damage looked like a beautiful baby girl, one proud daddy, and a lovely and happy bride. You’re the only one still entangled in that rivalry.”

  Simone stalked to the bar, ordering another drink just to make the bartender squirm. The others returned to their conversations. Anthony exhaled, kissing my hand.

  “I apologize, pet,” he said. “I’m…protective of my clients.”

  “What the hell happened?” I asked.

  “That’s a long story.”

  “Did Reed hurt someone?”

  Anthony shook his head. “Yes and no. His father is rotting in hell for what he did, but I suppose I’m too loyal sometimes. It’s not always about money.” He shrugged. “Though, in this case, it’s a multi-billion-dollar account, so it is a little about money.”

  The numbers made me see stars—gold and diamond plated stars. “I think this Sarah girl is lucky you’re her attorney.”

  “Would have been luckier if I had stopped them long ago, but what’s done is done.” He kissed my hand. “I’m tired of living in the past. I much prefer what the future holds.”

  “You’re a man after my own heart, sir.”

  “And hopefully I capture it.”

  He’d have to bind it down once he did, because his words made my heart nearly flutter away. I smiled, and that was cause enough for Simone to interrupt with a mischievous grin.

  The devious redhead stalked the room, pointing at each submissive girl in her path.

  “Why don’t we have some fun…” she threatened. “Eeny, meeny, miney...Morgan.”

  I tried to hide inside the couch. No such luck.

  “We really should get to know each other better, pet.” Simone’s order shocked me, a crack of a whip or a brush of a feather. “Strip.”

  Anthony called her off with a shake of his head.

  Simone huffed. “Well, she has to do something besides cower behind you all the time.”

  Anthony’s arm had kept her at bay so far, but I couldn’t use him as a makeshift cover all night. My stomach hardened into a knot. Sure, I wasn’t ready to peel my clothes off for an audience just yet, especially not in front of a troublemaker like Simone, but I had more talents than a palmful of breasts and an ass that could make the other girls jealous.

  Simone might have been beautiful and confident, but she wasn’t the only one who could entertain a crowd. My eyes settled on the piano.

  “I can do something, ma’am.”

  “Squirm like a schoolyard virgin?”

  How right she was. I glanced at Anthony. “Does the piano work, sir?”

  He nodded, eying the musical tattoo on my ankle. “Yes, pet.”

  “Okay.” I avoided the stare of everyone in the room. “I’ll…entertain you.”

  I didn’t realize what an idiotic move I made until I sat at the piano. Eight-eighty pearly mistakes leered at me.

  It had been a year since I’d played piano. Sure, my major demanded more than simple proficiency in other instruments, and yes, I had years of extensive training in music, but I was no more a pianist than I was a sub who belonged in a fetish club.

  Taking my clothes off seemed a better option. A safer option.

  But only fourteen people sat in the room—and only half of them even paid any attention to me. This crowd was far smaller than my last audience…

  When I had completely broken down and ruined my every chance for a successful future.

  Any future.

  And yet, bombing a solo in front of five hundred people at the city symphony wasn’t anywhere near as terrifying as potentially humiliating myself in front of Anthony.

  He leaned against the sofa, gin in hand. My heart fluttered as he flicked his fingers. A gesture to proceed. He wanted to hear it.

  Life goal number seven: Impress Anthony.

  “So?” Shannon’s irritation pierced the silence. “Are you going to play or not?”

  I really didn’t need any lip from tuna-girl. “What would you like to hear, ma’am?”

  “I don’t know, Beethoven. Surprise me.”

  Beethoven?

  That was easy.

  I didn’t take my eyes from her as the first few notes of Moonlight Sonata tickled from the piano. Muscle memory was an amazing thing. So was the sensation of keys on fingers, the press of the ivory, the bite of the note.

  The music washed over me.

  Pleasure.

  This was a pleasure.

  And I had missed it so much.

  “Hey!” Thomas’s praise was almost as delicious as Shannon’s shock. “That’s pretty good!”

  “Thank you, sir.”r />
  Shannon simmered on a low boil, but the others seemed impressed. Including Simone.

  She hopped onto the bar, crossing her perfect legs with a deliberate poise. “That’s more like it, pet. What else can you play?”

  Anthony answered for me. “Bach.”

  Damn him. I averted my gaze but obediently switched to Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. It wasn’t the song he wanted, but there was no way I was sampling the tattoo on my ankle. Besides, the freaky melody fit the club scene.

  “Know anything modern?” Simone scrunched her nose. “The classical stuff is lost on me.”

  My lips teased into a smile, and I pieced together the Jeopardy theme. “Any suggestions, ma’am? I’m pretty good at improvising.”

  The room laughed. Simone’s eyebrow perked, but she wasn’t annoyed. That was an improvement.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “I’ll try my best.”

  “Bon Jovi.”

  Damn. My college friends used to suggest Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift. I wanted to ask if Bon Jovi was the guy from Labyrinth, but I decided to fake it instead. Pop songs used the same four chords anyway.

  “No, sweetie.” Shannon interrupted me after only ten notes. She seized the opportunity to ridicule me but covered it with a cold smile. “That’s Don’t Stop Believing. Journey.”

  I tabbed the F-Sharp for a moment, struggling to remember. The notes tentatively banged out.

  “Ohh, we’re halfway there...?”

  That did it. Simone clapped and congratulated Anthony. “Oh, our little pet can sing!”

  Singing was a…subjective term. I could hit the notes provided I had an instrument to guide me, but my best friend, Rose, was a vocal major, mezzo soprano, and had a YouTube page of hundreds of thousands of followers. She had her pick of nightclubs to sing at in the city—though the gang of bikers following their queen had something to do with that.

  No amount of vocal lessons could match her raw talent. Singing was something I usually reserved for the shower, but Anthony’s smile turned golden. He was impressed—charmed even. That made it worth bumbling through a couple songs.

  I wasn’t sure of the correct lyrics to Livin’ On A Prayer, but Mariah perked up, singing with me as best she could before we forgot who used to work on the docks and what union was on strike. She collapsed in a fit of giggles while I circled to the chorus and vaudeville’d an ending, blending it with that damn Journey song stuck in my head.