She's All Tied Up: Club 3, Book 2 (17 page)

And now he knew he’d have it.

“Come and have a drink with me.” He didn’t wait for her answer but took her wrist in his hand and turned, leading her toward the bar.

Dack slid off his stool at the bar, smiling at Carlie. “Hey, honey. Glad you’re here.”

“Thanks,” Carlie said. “Hi, Mase.”

“Hi, gorgeous. How you doin’?” the dom asked.

Jake indicated the stool, and she climbed up. “Fine,” she said. Dack and Mase both grinned as her voice broke on the word.

“You will be,” Dack said. “Jake will see to that.”

He walked away, and Mase slid off his stool, his gaze traveling down Carlie, all the way to her feet. He shook his head once in approval, winked at her and followed Dack into the crowd.

Jake leaned an elbow on the bar, close enough that his legs were against Carlie’s. “What will you drink?”

She looked at Griff, the club’s head bartender and one of the doms, leaning his elbows on the bar, waiting. “Could you do one of those strawberry margaritas?”

Griff gave her a wink and a grin. He nodded, his long sandy blond ponytail brushing his bare back. “For you, yes I can.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, and turned back to Jake.

He smirked at the other man, who looked just a bit put out that she wasn’t in awe of his flashing smile and dimples, as many of the newcomers were. The man served drinks and snagged new subs with the same skill. “I’ll have the usual.”

“A beer,” Carlie said.

He nodded, liking that she’d noticed. “Mostly what I drink.”

He rubbed his cheek, and her eyes shot to his hand. Leaning forward on her stool, she grasped his hand in both of hers and looked at his knuckles. His bruised knuckles.

“It was you.” The look in her eyes, gratitude mixed with awe, finished the job of hardening his cock. “Thank you.”

He curved his hand around to take one of hers and bring it to his knee, where he held it. “Told you I’d straighten him out. He apologize to you?”

She nodded quickly, so he guessed his expression telegraphed his intent to follow through should she say no. “He did, and several of my coworkers heard. It was
awesome
. And I owe it all to you.”

“My pleasure,” he said with perfect sincerity. “Enough about that ass-wipe. Let’s get back to here and now.”

She nodded again, her hand trembling in his. He held on, smoothing his thumb over the back of her hand. “Some things we gotta cover. You remember the club signals?”

“Green means go, yellow means slow down, let’s talk, and red means stop.”

He nodded approvingly. “And the club rules?”

“First, use the safe words if I need them, second is safe, sane and consensual, and third, what happens at the club stays at the club.”

“Good girl.” He’d bet she’d done well in school, probably raised her hand to answer all the questions her teachers asked. “You got any questions for me?”

She shook her head slowly, but color flooded her cheeks. “I can ask as we, um, go along, right?”

“‘Course you can, baby. You can ask me anything. I’ll answer honestly.”

At her look of relief, he smiled slowly. “‘Course that goes both ways.”

Her eyes widened, this time in alarm, and he reached for the margarita on the bar, and handed it to her. “Drink up, baby.” He didn’t add that she looked like she needed it, although that was true. He’d have to ease her mind, or she might bolt right back out the front doors. And that would be bad.

He had her in his grasp, ready to scene with him. Losing that would be catastrophic.

Chapter Twelve

Carlie did not faint from relief as she reached the top of the stairs, Jake’s hand on the small of her back, but it was close. Her head actually swam, and she had to stop and hold on to the end of the smooth, carved railing.

The second floor of Club 3 was not some huge, open loft lined with menacing apparatuses and people doing kinky things on them, but an open landing, a glimpse through a heavy burgundy drapery of a room at the back, and a short, wide hallway with three open doors on each side. Private rooms. That was good; that was
awesome
.

Jake stopped with her and cocked his head to examine her face in the light of the globe lamps hanging on the walls. “You good?” he asked, his voice a rumble over the music drifting up the stairs.

Carlie nearly snorted with nervous laughter. Pink was singing about being a guy’s willing victim. How appropriate.

She nodded. “I’m good.”

His hand pressed against her back, hot through the thin fabric of her skirt. “All right. C’mon.”

She walked along the hallway with him. When she heard a smack and then a breathy moan, her head jerked left, and she peered past Jake’s broad torso. Her eyes wide, she stopped in her tracks.

Inside the room, a woman was tied, spread-eagled, to the wall on just the kind of apparatus Carlie had been worrying about—a rack. She was naked, her body pale against the dark wood and burgundy wall behind her. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, but she was moving, jerking as the fully clothed man standing to one side struck her with a flogger.

He hit her again, and the tails licked over her groin, her mons. Red marks streaked her skin. But she moaned again, and her body arched out toward the flogger, not away from it. Carlie’s heart skipped a beat, then raced. The woman clearly loved what was being done to her.

The man turned, as if sensing their presence. He jerked his chin at Jake and glanced at Carlie, a swift but encompassing look. Then he gave Jake a half grin, one of those purely male looks that said,
We’re good, huh, buddy?
and turned back to what he was doing.

This time he reached out and put his hand between the woman’s legs. She was not young, and neither was he. They both had silver hair, although both were fit. The man leaned close to say something and the woman nodded, turning her face toward him, her eyes still closed.

“You want to stay and watch?” Jake asked.

Carlie shook her head quickly, her cheeks burning. Gah, she’d been spying on these people during a very private moment. Although, they were at a sex club with the door open. So she guessed they didn’t mind.

Jake’s hand pressed again, and they walked on. The next room held some kind of padded table. A man lay on it, another standing over him, one hand upraised, holding something he was pouring. Carlie smelled something hot, like melted crayons, and she heard a low, aroused groan. Okay, she really did not want to see any more of that. She’d read about wax play. They said it didn’t really hurt, but it certainly looked as if it did.

Jake ignored the two men, reaching past Carlie to push the last door open. She walked hesitantly into a room. Another wave of relief swamped her. The room held a wardrobe, a chair, a bench and a bed, a big bed covered in a plush black-and-burgundy-patterned coverlet. There were no handcuffs, whips or chains, or anything else frightening.

The door closed behind them, and the music muted out, leaving only the beat pulsing through the floor, and the soft, irregular sound of her own breath.

She was upstairs. With Jake. Finally, thank God—although, maybe she should just wait a little on that.

Jake stood close behind her. So close that his heat reached out to her, radiating through the thin layers of their clothing. His warm breath stirred the hair on her nape, but more than that, the deep timbre of his voice stirred her body to a taut, shivery awareness of him as a man. She quivered with anticipation and nerves, wondering if she should turn to him or wait.

“Why are you here, Carlie?”

She frowned. “To…have sex.”

“No.” His voice was calm, with no impatience. “Why are you here?”

Her mouth dried, and her next breath caught in her throat. He was going to make her say it. Heat fired in her cheeks, spreading down over her chest.

“I’m here to be—I mean I want to…submit.” Oh God, she’d said it out loud. In a croak, because her throat seemed clogged with reluctance, but she’d said it. She was a grown woman, a successful career woman, a modern American woman, and she’d just admitted she wanted a man to own her sexually. For a little while, anyway. As long as it took to have a great orgasm.

“That’s right.” His deep voice was softer now, and his hands closed over her bare arms, big and powerful and…comforting. He leaned closer, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear. “Good, baby. I know that was hard. But it’s okay. You’re here, and I’ve got you.”

He gave her arms a little squeeze and moved one hand to the high curve of her hip, his fingers pressing into her soft flesh. A possessive grip, and one that anchored her, made her feel safe.

“You’re interested in bondage,” he went on, and the heat on her face spread down her throat, her heart tripping as he voiced what she’d indicated on her questionnaire. “So we’re gonna try it. We’ll go light this time, but first, what are your safe words again?”

“Green means go, yellow means I’m not sure, slow down, and red means stop.” Thank God the words were ingrained, matching traffic signals. She didn’t have to worry about getting so nervous she forgot. Because she was nervous enough that her armpits were prickling. Ooh, what if she got that nervous stinky sweat, and he was grossed out before he even saw her naked?

Then he spoke, and her attention leapt back to him, every iota of her focused on the man behind her.

“More than that, red means every dom in the place will come running to help you,” he said, his voice hard as steel. “But since I’m planning to go easy on you, if you use red, we’re done. You got that?”

Dismay iced through her anticipation. “D-don’t you… I thought you wanted to be with me?” She twisted to see his face. Was he telling her this was just a chore for him, just part of being a club owner?

He shook his head, a frown drawing his brows together. She shivered at the displeasure in his gaze. “Carlie, if I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t be. Simple as that.”

His deep voice hardened, and she froze instinctively. Wow, so this was what it was like to displease a dom. “But like I said, I’m gonna be going easy, so if you can’t handle it or don’t like it, there won’t be much point in exploring bondage any further. So again, do you understand that if you say red, we’re done here? We won’t be trying to scene again.”

She nodded.

“Good. Now eyes on the floor, sub. I’ll tell you when I want you to look at me.”

Before she knew it, Carlie snapped her head around and lowered her gaze to the floor. Her hair slid forward, one curl tickling her cleavage. She should be glaring back at him, and demanding to know what century he thought they were in. But instead, a guilty thrill of pleasure coursed through her. He was going to take care of everything. All she had to do was whatever he told her to do.

Jake moved, his shirt brushing her bare arm as he moved around to stand before her.

“That’s a real pretty outfit,” he said. “Time to take it off.”

Whoa. This was the more modest of the two outfits she’d purchased at Kiss Me, Kink Me
expressly
for this purpose. And she’d known this moment was coming, but now it was
here
. She wanted to look into his eyes for reassurance, but she remembered just in time to keep her head down, because he wanted her to. Dipping her chin to her collarbone, she reached for the hook at one side of her waist and unfastened it. Her hands were trembling, but thankfully, the fastener was simple.

The soft fabric drooped open, and with a quick breath for courage, she pulled the tie at the back of her neck and let the halter slide down into her hands, baring her deep cleavage, her pale midriff and belly, bisected by the dark pink of her lacy plunge bra.

Jake made a deep sound of approval. “Mm, nice undies.”

She nearly giggled, caught her breath on a nervous hitch. The woman at Kiss Me, Kink Me had tried to sell her a black set, but sexy undies were another of Carlie’s weaknesses, and she was not spending a fortune on more. “Thank you.”

She pulled the fastener at her hip open and let the skirt fall, draping on the floor around her feet. Now he could see everything, or nearly. Her high-cut briefs were mostly lace, and her stockings, so light she could hardly feel them, had a stretchy band at the top so they clung to her thighs, but because of her workouts, they did not, thank God, leave an ugly bulge in her thighs.

She wanted desperately to look at Jake, see what his gaze held—admiration or something else. But no, she was glad she didn’t have to see his expression, because if she couldn’t read it or saw a look she didn’t want to see, she might just bolt.

“You can hang it in the wardrobe,” he said, his arm moving to indicate the big, antique wardrobe to one side of the room.

Carlie dipped her knees to pick up the skirt from the floor, because she was not bending over and sticking out her ass. Unless he told her to. Oh, geez. He might—it could happen.

Turning, she walked across the room. She was conscious of every part of her moving, of how she must look to him, a woman walking away in high heels and stockings, bikini panties and a bra, the rest of her bared to his gaze. She reached the wardrobe. The door opened soundlessly to reveal a rod with a few dark robes hanging, and a set of narrow drawers.

Conscious of his gaze on her nearly bare ass, Carlie held herself stiffly erect as she hung the dress neatly on a hanger and turned back to him. Her gaze flew to his face, her hands clenching into fists so tight her nails bit into her palms. Would she find distaste in his eyes, or something else?