by Roni Loren
“Stop,” she chided. “I didn’t get any icing over there.”
His other hand drifted beneath her skirt. “What about here? Should I take a taste and find out?”
My beer dropped to the floor, making a racket but not breaking. Andre reared up, looking toward the door as lager fizzed across the floorboards. I wanted to yell, to turn around and escape, but I was locked to the spot, outrage boiling up and over.
“Marcela.” Andre strode forward.
Evan stayed back, biting her lip, worry in her eyes.
Andre pushed the door wide and reached out to me, but the touch snapped me out of my stunned state. I shrugged off his hand. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I never cursed like that, especially around my family, but nothing else fit the situation or the blind anger racing through me. My brother, the one who made his living on making sure people did the right thing, was screwing his best friend’s girl?
“Cela, listen,” Andre said, raising his hands like I was a dog that could bite.
“He’s your best friend, Andre! Your best friend. How could you do this?” I asked, wanting to shake him, to throw things that would injure.
He closed his eyes, took a breath. “Evan, give us a minute, okay?”
Evan nodded and hurried past the two of us, giving me wide berth.
“I don’t need a minute,” I said, watching Evan walk away. “Nothing you can say makes this okay.”
I tried to turn so I could leave, but Andre did grab for me this time, capturing my wrist and tugging me into the bedroom. “Hold up. Sit. We need to talk.”
I crossed my arms, refusing to sit. “Talk, then.”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly looking like the teenaged version of himself, the one who wasn’t so self-assured. “Look, I know this seems bad, but you have to trust me. I have good reason to kiss Evan.”
“Sure you do. You’re a pig.”
“Cela . . .” He stared back at me like he was searching for the right words. As if any response could explain away what I’d seen. I had to hold myself back from screaming at him some more.
When no response came, I shook my head, and took a step toward the door. “I’m leaving.”
“I’m with her, too,” he said finally.
I barely resisted rolling my eyes but did halt my exit to look at him. “Well, obviously.”
“No, I mean . . . Jace knows.”
My lips parted, my jaw going slack. “He what?”
“He knows that I’m with her.”
Before I could blurt out my disbelief, he raised a palm, cutting off my response.
“I promise you he’s fine with it. I know it’s a lot to understand because it’s not the norm. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. But it works for the three of us. We all love each other and are happy being together.”
I blinked, the way he’d said the last part giving me pause. “All?”
He wiped a hand down his face, closing his eyes like it was too hard to look at me and answer at the same time. “I’m with Jace, too.”
“With,” I repeated, almost more to myself. “Like with?”
He gave a slight nod of admission.
“Holy shit,” I murmured and sat on the edge of the bed, the truth breaking through the neat structure of my reality. My brother was in a relationship with two people. And bisexual? My brain hurt. “And did you ever plan on telling me this?”
He looked away, confirming my suspicion that no, he wouldn’t have. “I wanted to protect you. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to keep such a big secret from the family.”
My parents. Oh, God. If my father even had a suspicion that Andre was interested in guys, it’d be Armageddon all over again. I suspected this may even be a higher offense to him than my sister’s teen pregnancy and abortion. He’d have the priest over for an exorcism.
“And I didn’t know what you would think,” Andre said, his voice quiet.
I peered up at him then, catching the rare vulnerability in his dark eyes. God, how could he even have worried about what I’d think? I loved him. That didn’t come with conditions. “What I think is that I want you to be happy. If they make you happy, then that’s all I need to know. I’m just hurt that you didn’t feel like you could share that with me. That you’d think I’d judge you.”
He sighed and sat down next to me on the bed. “I guess part of me still feels like you’re my baby sister and too young to know that kind of thing about me.”
“I’m twenty-three, Dre. I’m not a toddler.”
His lips curved. “I know.”
Then another thought hit me, and I punched him hard in the arm. “Oh my God, and you totally jumped my case for being with two guys. Meanwhile, you’re doing the same damn thing!”
He grabbed his arm, rubbing the spot I’d hit. “Hey, do as I say not as I do.”
“That’s bullshit,” I declared. “And you’re so going to make that up to me.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, really. And how am I going to do that?”
I pressed my lips together, thinking of the earlier talk with my father and then with Wyatt, the plan that had come to mind when I’d seen that wax-sealed envelope. And I knew exactly how Andre could pay me back. “You, dear brother, are going to take your little sister to The Ranch.”
He shot off the bed like a roman candle had been shoved up his ass. “The hell I am. That’s not even kind of an option. You don’t know what type of place, what kind of stuff, what happens . . .”
“I do. And you will. I have someone I need to talk to who’s there and it can’t wait.” I stood up and straightened my skirt. “After cake, we’re going on a road trip.”
“Cela,” he warned.
“If you don’t, I’ll get the address from Jace and go myself.”
Lines appeared around his mouth. “They won’t let you in. It’s members and their guests only.”
“Young, innocent woman wanting to try out some new things. I’m guessing I could convince someone to help me out and get me in.”
He groaned. “Dirty fighting, Marcela.”
I smiled and grabbed his hand. “I learned from the best. Now, come on. Cake!”
He gripped my hand, halting me from my exit, and I turned back. His eyes were searching. “Why are you doing this, Cela? What purpose could it serve? You’re leaving in a few days.”
I wet my lips, nervous to say the words aloud even though they’d been floating through my brain for longer than I’d care to admit. “Maybe I won’t.”
“Oh, Cela,” he said on a weary sigh, his hand releasing mine. “Don’t do this. Not for a guy.”
I looked away, unable to deal with that big-brother stare and that disappointed edge in his voice. “Maybe I’m doing it for me.”
“Sure you are.” He stepped over to me and pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. “But I’m not going to be Papá. Your life, your decision. I’ll drive you out there if that’s what you really want.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him. “Thanks, Dre.”
Tonight would probably turn out to be a huge mistake. Clearly, Andre thought it was. But it was my mistake to make.
I couldn’t walk away.
Not yet.
PART V
NOT UNTIL YOU BEG
TWENTY-ONE
“There it is,” Andre said as we cruised down the deserted highway at a speed only a cop could get away with.
“Wow,” I murmured.
The large stone and cedar building cut an impressive silhouette against the star-flecked dome of sky, the behemoth seeming to grow straight out of the sprawling land around it. Warm lights glowed from some of the windows and the front entrance, but everything else about The Ranch screamed, Exc
lusive! Private!
Andre slowed down as we drove by a sign for Water’s Edge Vineyards. He cruised past the entrance for that building and turned left onto an unmarked drive a quarter mile farther down. A wide, low gate stretched across the road, and he pulled to a stop.
“This place is at a vineyard?” I asked, squinting to see if I could make out any of the grounds in the dark.
Andre rolled down his window and pressed his thumb to a touch pad that was mostly covered by creeping vines. The machine scanned Andre’s fingerprint, the little green light piercing the blanket of night around them. The smell of wildflowers drifted into the car. “The owner, Grant Waters, owns both. He tells anyone who asks that the big building is his private residence.”
The touch pad beeped and the large wooden gate, which looked far from electronic to the naked eye, swung open smoothly. Andre pulled forward, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
“How do people even find out about this place?”
He gave me a sideways glance, his expression unreadable in the near darkness. “The local BDSM community is pretty tight. You know the right people, have the right amount of money, and you’ll hear about this place.”
I gnawed on that for a moment. “So this is your thing, too?”
“I’ll take ‘Things I Don’t Want to Discuss with My Sister’ for five hundred, Alex.”
I huffed. “Stop being such a prude. After what you told me tonight about you, Jace, and Evan, I don’t think much else could shock me.” Then another thought hit me. “Wait a second, if this place is so elite and expensive, how did you get in? No offense, but I can’t imagine a detective’s salary qualifies.”
He sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “No, it doesn’t. Just the application fee for a dom is ten grand, then there are annual fees.”
“Holy shit,” I said, unable to stop myself. Had Foster spent that much to come here? That’d pay for rent on his apartment for almost a year.
“But I came in as Jace’s guest and got to know the owner. He waived the fee. Plus, I think he likes having a cop on the premises if needed.”
Andre pulled into the parking area and found a spot. I glanced around at all the luxury vehicles lined up in the crude country lot, amazed by the number. There were this many people out at some sex resort on a Friday night? I scanned the lot to see if I could catch sight of Foster’s SUV, but I didn’t know cars well enough to distinguish between one or the other in the scant moonlight.
Andre cut the engine, then held on to the steering wheel, staring forward, not moving.
“What’s wrong?”
The seat groaned beneath him as he adjusted himself to turn toward me. “I’m trying to stop myself from driving you back home or at least putting my hands over your eyes when we walk in. I’m not ashamed of this lifestyle, but I can’t help wanting to shelter you from it all. Things here can be intense. Can’t you wait until Foster’s back home, and you can talk to him then?”
I shook my head. I’d considered that. But knowing Foster was here had urgency building in me. I knew I had told him good-bye, that I had no right to be jealous if he was with some other woman tonight. But even the thought of him touching another had me ready to storm the castle and take him hostage. “I need to see him tonight. Here. In his element.”
Her brother still didn’t look convinced. “Cela, you’re . . .”
“Going to be fine,” I finished for him. “Dre, I think it’s sweet that you still want to protect me, I do. But I’m tired of always doing what I’m ‘supposed’ to just to make sure you, Papá, and Mamá can feel like I’m safe in my little bubble.” My gaze swept over the building. “There’s a guy in there who made me feel really, truly alive for the first time in maybe forever. I’m not pretending to understand all of this or even my reaction to it. And he may run me out of there. But if I don’t get answers to some questions, I’m always going to wonder.”
Andre stared at me for a long few seconds and then the corner of his mouth lifted like a white flag, signaling my victory. He reached out and touched the tip of my nose. “When you’d get so grown up?”
I snorted and reached for the door handle. “Apparently, during the time you were falling in love with your harem.”
“Touché.” He laughed and climbed out of the car. “And, for the record, Jace would be totally offended that you called it my harem instead of his.”
“Would he now?” I got out and peered at my brother from over the top of the car, a question hovering on the back of my tongue. I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t help myself. Curiosity and I were too old of friends. “So is Jace the one, you know, in charge of things within the relationship?”
I couldn’t imagine anyone bossing my brother around, but there was something about Jace that screamed confident authority—a presence about him.
Andre leaned his forearms along the top of the car, his eyes wary again. “Is it important for you to know?”
I fiddled with the strap of my purse, trying to look nonchalant. “I just, well, I’m new to all this, and I was wondering if the whole submissive thing means a person is weak or screwed up or something.”
“Oh, baby girl,” my brother said, his tone going soft. “Of course not.”
But I couldn’t stop now that the fear was spilling out. “I mean, Papá has always wanted to rule my life and I hate that—God, do I hate that. So why would I like it if some guy took control? Why would I want that?”
“Hey,” he said gently as he walked around the front of the car. “Look at me. Do you think I’m weak or screwed up? Do you think Evan is?”
“No. Well, you’re a little screwed up, but not in any padded-room kind of way,” I glanced up with a small smile. “You and Evan are both submissive?”
“Evan is, yes. I’m a switch, so I can enjoy both sides. What you like in this arena doesn’t necessarily translate to who you are outside of it. And it takes just as much personal strength to submit, maybe more, as it does to be the dominant one.”
I nodded, his words giving me more reassurance than I expected. If someone as tough, bossy, and hardheaded as my brother could be submissive even some of the time, then it sure as hell couldn’t be a sign of weakness. “Thanks, Dre.”
He smiled but then pointed a firm finger toward me. “But that doesn’t mean you should jump into this without examining everything closely. It can take a while to figure out if this kind of thing is really for you. And while you’re exploring, you need to make sure you’re with someone who is well-trained and trustworthy, a guy who isn’t going to take advantage of your inexperience.”
“You couldn’t resist one more warning, could you?” I asked, poking his shoulder. “And don’t worry. I have just the guy in mind.”
He grunted, obviously still not sold on this whole idea, but kept his comments about Foster to himself.
I hitched my purse higher on my shoulder. “All right, big brother, I’m ready. Time to get your baby sister into the den of iniquity.”
“Ay, dios mío.” He tilted his face to the heavens as he threw an arm over my shoulders. “I’m so going straight to hell.”
—
Foster paced along the deadly quiet hallway, the dark red walls seeming to pulse around him in time with his thumping heartbeat. He turned up the volume on his earbuds, trying to drown out the oppressive silence with the indie rock playlist Pike had put together on the iPod. The sconces along the walls had been dimmed low, but even the subtle light seemed too much for Foster’s edgy senses. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the grinding beat of the music, on getting into the headspace he needed to be in for his role.
Last time he’d come to The Ranch he’d totally blown it. A submissive he’d played with before had requested to scene with him, and he’d agreed, hoping to chase away the vision of Cela in her paint-spattered clothes, w
earing hurt in her eyes. But as soon as he’d gotten the girl restrained, he’d lost all desire to continue. He’d bailed and had to call over another dom he knew she’d played with before to give her the whipping he had planned.
But tonight he was determined to move forward, to stop hanging on to something that couldn’t be. Cela would be gone soon. He’d steered clear of her since she’d left his apartment. Hanging out with her would only lead to him trying to talk her into staying, asking her to change a future she’d worked hard for to be with him—something that would’ve been entirely self-serving.
No, things had to end the way they did. He knew the difference between a sexual, we’re-good-together-in-bed connection and one that had the potential to ignite that all-encompassing, be-mine dominant side of himself. Cela wasn’t the kind of girl to play with, she was the kind he wanted to own—a submissive to train, cherish, and spoil. He’d felt the beginning of the fall the second he’d kissed her on that dance floor, knew that the plunge wouldn’t have been far behind.
He groaned and rubbed his hand over his jaw as he leaned against the wall. Focus, Foster. Stop thinking about her. Grant, The Ranch’s owner, had come to him half an hour earlier, asking him if he was up for scening with a submissive who had a stranger fantasy. Foster usually liked a good role-play, and Grant knew he could be trusted with an inexperienced sub. But the excitement that usually came with such an idea hadn’t materialized. Even so, Foster had downed the rest of his club soda and agreed. Something needed to snap him out of this ruminating.
So here he stood, trying to psych himself up as he waited for one of the dungeon monitors to help the sub get set up on the other side of the door. Grant had told him that the woman didn’t want to know his identity. She’d be blindfolded and bound and was open to him being a little rough. Fine by him. He could stand to get some frustration out. If he could get his brain in order and stay in role that is.