His Wicked Love

by Anya Summers

  “Well if it isn’t Mister Grumpypants himself. Just here to pick up a to-go order before I head home,” the blonde replied and rolled her eyes at Spencer.

  “And you had to come to my place?” Spencer growled, his voice low and decidedly angry.

  “First, I didn’t know that you’d be here. Second, I like your wings. And third, I just finished watching my nephew all afternoon and all I want to do is eat and then collapse for the day.”

  “He’s what, six months? How hard could it be?” Spencer said and gave the woman a patronizing look.

  Meghan crossed her arms in front of her chest and dished out the attitude. Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Dude, he’s also teething and trying to get into everything. You think you’re so tough. I dare you to go watch him for an afternoon and get back to me on whether you feel like you’ve been hit by a train or not.”

  “You just don’t have the stamina apparently, little brat,” Spencer replied.

  A waitress handed Meghan a to-go bag with the restaurant logo on it, stuffed with Styrofoam containers. And the scent of the hot wings made Emily’s mouth water.

  “And you like to overestimate your prowess, big guy. See you around,” Meghan said and walked away without a backward glance. Spencer muttered something under his breath, his black gaze fixated on her retreating form.

  “Well, Spencer, thank you for everything,” Emily murmured.

  Spencer’s demeanor shifted and he glanced at her, but some of the previous warmth in his gaze was absent. She didn’t know who Meghan was to Spencer, but they clearly had a history.

  “Emily. I hope to see you tomorrow evening. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with a distributor in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll get out of your hair. Make sure you come by the Elkhorn and have dinner. My treat as a thank you,” she offered.

  He nodded and replied, “Will do. See you around, Emily.”

  Emily left the Teton Cowboy resolute. She planned to head to the club tomorrow night. And then she would see what this forbidden club was all about. Mason didn’t own her and couldn’t tell her where she went or with whom.

  He wanted to keep their relationship strictly business? Fine by her.

  Chapter 11

  Emily’s hands trembled as she exited her vehicle and immediately smoothed her short skirt over her hips. Her incredibly teeny-tiny jean skirt that barely covered her bum. She couldn’t sit in the darn thing without flashing everyone her wicked bits. And then there was the skin-tight leather vest Tibby had loaned her for tonight. It fit, but she was a bit bigger in the chest area than Tibby. The thing made her boobs look huge and pushed them up and out. They were just so out there.

  At least her coat covered her up. Last night, the temperature had plummeted and she shivered at the cold. Her breath expelled in a shadowed plume as she walked toward the club. Maybe she’d have to rethink what she wore next time. If there was a next time. Back home, her club gear would have been fine in the warmer, milder temperatures.

  Anxiety hummed in her veins and Emily wondered for the hundredth time in the last hour if attending the club was a good idea. She’d worn her hair down, and had added a few long loose curls so it fell in waves.

  The heels of her black boots clicked over the pavement.

  At the door to the Teton Cowboy, she inhaled a deep breath before she entered. This was it. And then she strode inside before she lost her nerve. It was Friday night and the Teton Cowboy was packed. She wound her way through patrons, noticing the admiring glances she received along her path. Even with their interest, she was too invested at this point to back down. She would go all the way and enter the forbidden club as a member or she’d go home and mainline Ding Dongs. There would be no half measures at this point. Tonight, at the private entrance, there was a man guarding the door. A very attractive man.

  “Name?” he asked, his baritone smoky and decadent, like the caramelized layer of crème brûlée.

  “Um, it’s Emily. Emily Fox,” she replied.

  “The newbie? I’m Derrick. These are for you. Spencer said if you showed tonight to remind you no more than two drinks,” he said holding out a set of cuffs.

  “Is that all?” she asked, accepting the brown leather cuffs. She fastened them around her wrists with his help. The cowboy was cute with his soft blue eyes and winsome smirk. His fingers brushed against her wrist and she got nothing. No spike in her blood pressure. No sizzle. And that worried Emily.

  “Just have fun. The ribbon here,” he said, indicating the small red one, “means you’re new to the club.”

  “Kind of like a scarlet letter, huh?” she said, trying to lighten her mood.

  “In a roundabout way, I suppose. But it informs the Doms to go slowly with you,” Derrick explained, his eyes kind.

  “Good call. Anything else?” she asked.

  “Nope. Just have fun. You can put your jacket and purse in a locker, they’re located down the stairs and to the right,” he said and opened the door for her.

  She ambled past him and inside. When the door closed behind her with a solid thud, she blew out a shaky breath. It was normal to feel uneasy. A drink or two would calm her. It seemed like, after her little invasion the other night, Spencer had decided to post a guard at the entrance. Or he’d just taken a break and she’d gotten lucky the first time.

  Ignoring the anxiety rising in her chest, Emily inhaled a few deep breaths and then descended into the belly of the beast. Clutching her small wristlet purse, she entered the private club. She glanced down the hallway on the right and noticed the doorways for the male and female locker rooms and a door beyond those. There was also a long line and row of hooks at eye-level along the wall outside the locker rooms that other patrons had already hung their coats upon. It was suspiciously warm down here. Warm enough that if she kept her coat on, she’d be sweltering before long. Probably had to do with the amount of flesh on display. She unbuttoned her coat and removed it, hanging it on one of the empty hooks near the stairs, but kept her small purse with her.

  To her eyes, the club gave the impression that the night was just getting underway. The scene areas were unoccupied. But from what she’d read in the information Spencer had provided her yesterday, it wasn’t unusual for the club to really kick into gear at around ten. Which was a hazard with her job, considering she didn’t really get to sleep in.

  Emily waltzed over to the bar, figuring it was as good a place to start as any. The gentleman behind it gave her a salacious smile as she sat down, which was hard to do in her itty bitty skirt. She sat sideways, with both legs on one side instead of how the saddle seat was intended to be used. No way was she sitting astride the thing. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but she wasn’t prepared just yet to flash everyone her naughty bits. Hiding them was already difficult with the shortness of this skirt. No need to go lifting it higher yet. She was dipping her toes into the naughty pool tonight. After that, she would see.

  The hunky bartender, his eyes the color of smoke in his tanned face, leaned forward and a blunt finger traced the red on her cuff. His midnight hair was trimmed short but she noticed some curl in it at the tips. He said, “I’m Matt. You’ll see me behind the bar most nights down here. And I’m a stickler for ensuring subs don’t drink past their limit. What can I get for you, darlin’?”

  Again, his touch barely caused a blip on her radar. She gave him a soft smile and said. “It’s Emily. Can I get a Guinness?”

  “Good choice.” He gave her a cock-eyed grin and moved around the bar, filling her order.

  She felt someone slide onto the saddle seat beside her and glanced over. And found herself staring into some of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. The broad-shouldered cowboy was melt-your-panties-off handsome. His chestnut hair was shaded with hints of deep auburn and the color extended to the trim beard he wore over his square jaw. But it was the gentleman’s eyes, the sharp cobalt orbs reminding her of the sky at twilight and glittering with interest in their depths, that ma
de him truly mesmerizing. Lines crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her.

  “Evening,” he murmured, his voice rich like melted dark chocolate. And his chest, his incredibly solid chest, liberally dusted with fine dark hair, was bare for all and sundry to behold.

  Before she could respond, Matt returned with her Guinness. “Here you are, darlin’. Garrett, good to see you. I see you’ve met Emily, the newest sub to join our group.”

  Garrett replied, “That I have. We’re old friends now, aren’t we, Emily?”

  “Um, sure,” she said, uncertain how to proceed here, even with his gentle teasing.

  “I can see you’re not convinced. Garrett Brooks. I run the Indian Peak Ski Resort,” he said and held his hand out for her to take. He had long, elegant, piano player fingers.

  When she placed her hand in his and his larger one dwarfed hers, she was thrilled by the low hum in her blood. She replied, shifting toward him, giving him more than an eyeful of her cleavage, “Oh really, I’ve heard about that place but haven’t had a chance to visit. Emily Fox, I’m the chef over at the Elkhorn Restaurant.”

  He held her hand in his, seeming unwilling to let her get away. A dark slash of brow raised inquisitively as he responded. “So beautiful and you can cook?”

  She flushed. He was really cute. And maybe, even though it wasn’t the flash bang grenade to her system like it was with Mason, Garrett did elicit a modicum of belly fluttering activity. It was enough. It had to be. He might be precisely what she needed to alleviate her frustration. So she flirted back. “And you seem to go after what you want.”

  “That I do. New in town and new to our club. What do you think?”

  “Jackson is growing on me. I wasn’t sure it would, since it’s so different from Los Angeles, but I’m enjoying the changes. And just so you know, it’s my first time ever in a club like this,” she admitted, hoping it wouldn’t be a turn off for him. Besides, one of the themes that had been repeated in her packet of information was honesty and communication between a Dom and submissive. So that was what Emily was doing.

  “So you’re a total newbie to the lifestyle?” Garrett’s cobalt gaze simmered as it roved over her form.

  “I am. And I will admit I’m a little nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before,” she explained. Heat rushed into her cheeks and she took a sip of Guinness to wet her dry throat.

  The lust-infused look he gave her, the way his eyes trailed over her form almost like a caress, caused goosebumps to erupt on her skin.

  His voice low, he murmured, “Well, if you’re amenable, I’d be happy to help ease your anxiety. Why don’t you come have a seat with me on one of the couches, where it will be more comfortable and we can get to know each other?”

  She chewed on her lip for a minute.

  “Emily, no pressure. If you’re not up for a scene tonight and need to work your way up, that’s okay. We can just sit and talk,” Garrett said, lifting the bottle of Corona the bartender had brought him.

  She nodded and blew out a breath. “Sure. We can talk. Sorry, Sir Garrett, if I seem undecided.”

  “Just Sir will do for now. And you’re doing fine. Let’s go over there and we’ll see what we can do about those jitters, eh?” Garrett gave her a lopsided grin. And she could only think, oh, he’s good. He’s got that calm, bedside manner that could make a girl feel right at home.

  “Okay, I’m in. I’m all yours,” she said and then flushed at the innuendo.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he replied with a sexy grin. Then he helped her off the saddle seat.

  Emily picked up her beer. Garrett guided her over to a small leather loveseat. And it was small. Or, really, Garrett was just a big, tall cowboy and took up more than his fair share of space. He had an arm spread out behind her on the backrest and his outer thigh pressed up against hers.

  “Do you have questions about the lifestyle?” he asked, searching her face.

  “All of it.” She gestured toward the scene areas. “I don’t know what most of this stuff is. And then I’m not even sure I am submissive.”

  “Why do you think you might be?” he asked as one of his hands toyed with her hair.

  Honesty was key to this, right? She explained, “I’ve always loved to please other people. It’s part of the reason why I’m a chef. I cook and make people happy, euphoric even, by what I feed them. But when it comes to being intimate, I’ve always been bored with my partners.”

  “They couldn’t have been that bad.”

  She said, “Nothing to write home about, that’s for sure. And they were decent men. Good guys, but they always wanted me to take charge when we were physically intimate. Which for me was a snooze-fest. I’m in control of every aspect of my life, but it’s the one area where, for whatever reason, I don’t want to be in charge. Does that make sense? It’s the one area where being in charge bores me to tears.”

  “And how do you feel about bondage?” Garrett asked. And from the light of desire in his gaze, she knew he wasn’t deterred by her explanation.

  She just wished she felt something more than mild excitement at his touch. “I’m not sure. The idea of it makes me…”

  Her face flamed and she was sure she was beet red.

  “Aroused?” Garrett pressed. His kindness and understanding were disarming.

  It made her want to confess all her sins to him. She said, “Yes. Is that wrong? I mean, I know it’s not, but I’ve never…”

  Garrett cupped her chin. His piano player fingers were strong and calloused. The intimate gesture caused shivers to zing along her spine as he drew her gaze up to his. “No, it’s not wrong to have desires that are different from the status quo. It’s why we have this club in the first place. I tend to enjoy restraining a submissive and making her come undone from my touch before I fuck her. It’s not wrong as long as both parties consent to the actions, the scene, beforehand. Understand?”

  She swallowed the lump in her chest as some of her tension eased. The way he talked about his preferences, like it was how he liked his coffee, the certainty of it, the confidence behind it, made her want to lean into him. And yet, at the imagery he described, she had visions of just that—but it wasn’t Garrett she was with. Guilt swamped her.

  “Yes. Thank you. Now, what are all the different stations?” she asked, trying to get the ground back beneath her feet. She liked Garrett. His touch wasn’t a bomb to her system like the man she had promised herself not to think about tonight. But it was warm, comfortable. And the slight stirrings of desire existed. It was enough. She would make it be enough.

  He released her chin, reluctantly, and then proceeded to explain each of the stations. There was the sawhorse, the fuck bench, the St. Andrew’s Cross, one with a suspension bar, a medical table, an upright stockade, there was a sex swing, and then a dungeon wall with chains. Garrett explained some of the different techniques, answering the questions she had, which were quite a number, but he wasn’t annoyed with her for asking so many. Quite the opposite. His free hand lightly trailed over her leg pressed against his. His touch was hypnotic.

  Emily could do this with Garrett. She could see the avid interest in his eyes.

  “You’re still a little worried. Why?” he asked, prodding her.

  “I’ve never done it with an audience before. I’m worried that I would freeze and disappoint you,” she said, watching his response.

  “Well, if you really have a problem with a public scene, for your first entrance, I can get one of the private rooms for us in the back. If you’re up for it. I like you, Emily, and I would enjoy indoctrinating you into the lifestyle. All you have to do is say yes,” he said, his face serious as he studied her reaction.

  What the hell. She needed to get her unholy obsession with Mason out of her bloodstream and Garrett was ready, willing, and able to fit the bill. Not to mention he was nice, handsome to boot, and something told her he would ensure she enjoyed every minute.

  “Yes, Sir. I would like that,
” she replied.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned and said, “Stay here and I will check to see what’s open.”

  She could only respond with a nod. Her throat was dry and her pulse fluttered in anticipation.

  Emily rose and stood with Garrett, then waited at the nearby bar top table for him to return. A private room, she could do. It settled some of her anxiety so she could focus on what should be a fun and hopefully pleasurable night. While they’d been deep in conversation, the club had filled up quite a bit. The scene areas were no longer unoccupied. As she gazed around, she spied Cole. When his gaze connected with hers, she gave him a smile. Cole tipped his hat in her direction while he towed the hostess, Paige, whom she’d met the other day into one of the scene areas.

  Emily liked the club. She felt like she’d made the right decision in applying for membership. Now that she knew what occurred here, the shock value wasn’t as prominent. Not that she was one hundred percent comfortable watching Cole get it on with Paige in the sawhorse scene area because she wasn’t.

  In fact, it made her blush. That was all she’d seemed to do since she had walked into the club that night. But the woman with Cole was now unabashedly naked and he was restraining her against the sawhorse. It wasn’t something Emily witnessed every day—or ever, really—and it was kinky as hell.

  A low burn set up residence in her belly.

  The way Cole moved in the scene area, his shirt absent, displaying a wealth of rangy chest muscles. But his movements relayed utter control and confidence. It was a mega-watt turn on. The dominance of it. She couldn’t deny that the alpha maleness of the Doms aroused her like nothing else had before. She worried it aroused her a little too much and set her world on end. Perhaps this was why she’d never had a problem contenting herself in the kitchen and not worrying about dating. Not that she didn’t enjoy sex, she did. It was pleasant.

  But there had always been a lack. Emily had assumed the lack was with her. Now, she was reassessing her stance.