Command (Changing Roles Book 1) Page 18

  Jake had mentioned nothing about removing my boots. They were staying on until I heard otherwise.

  Me 2. Jake 0.

  Still winning. Still counting.

  Pete met me by the elevators. Eager beaver. I hooked an arm around his and waited for the elevator doors to open. He hesitated but then surged forward as if leaving any final doubts behind. I wished I felt a tenth of his enthusiasm.

  We had arrived early on purpose. I had wanted to give him a tour of the main club floor and get an idea of which of the scene areas appealed to him and which turned him off. As it was early, there were only a few members in the club. I wandered around, pointing out the different pieces of equipment, taking note of his reactions for Mandy. We stopped for a time and watched a longtime couple at play.

  The man had his wife shackled to a spanking bench. He alternated between different impact toys, giving her six strikes of each, rotating through paddle, flogger, bare hand, birch branch, and cane with the ease of long practice. With each round, her curdled cries filled the room.

  Pete flinched beside me at first, but then he took a step forward, then another, until I had to pull him back from the velvet ropes. Her ass flamed a deep scarlet.

  “I don’t get the pain,” he said.

  “It’s complicated, but the line between pain and pleasure is blurred for some. Pain can bring about some of the most intense orgasms.”

  Like it did for Bryce and Tyler, and at one time for me as well. I hadn’t had an orgasm from anything other than my electric fuck toy in years, and I’d never once orgasmed from pleasure alone.

  The allure of regular sex confused me. It did nothing for me. But then, I’d never experienced regular sex. A sadist had taken my virginity. Pain and pleasure had been inextricably bound from the very first penetration.

  The club filled around us as I answered his questions. Gradually, we made our way to the bar. I picked a table in the middle of the seating area. He made to sit on one of the seats.

  “No,” I said with an air of authority. I pointed to the floor. “Mistress Mandy will be by shortly.” I’d just received her text. “Until then you wait on her pleasure. Eyes down, hands on your knees, palms down.”

  “You’re fucking serious?” The look on his face had me cracking a smile.

  I nodded. “In here I’m very fucking serious, and you refer to me as Mistress.”

  He shook his head. “I’m cool with this whole submissive thing, but I’m not calling you that. It’s weird.” His fingers gripped the back of the chair. “Besides, aren’t you going to be a submissive yourself?”

  Damn Pete for reminding me. I waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, then. Between you and me, we’re just two kinky friends sitting at a bar.”

  He gave a smirk and pulled back the chair.

  “Ah, no.” I pointed a finger to the floor. “One of us still has a Mistress to please.”

  “Shit, really?”

  I kicked a heel over my knee and leaned back. “Yup.”

  “And if Jake asks the same of you?”

  My gut clenched. “If he asks me to bow at his feet, I’ll get on my knees and kiss his boots.” A flood of instant heat uncoiled and brought my insides to a rapid boil. I tamped the feeling down, surprised by the rush of desire, and clenched my thighs together, desperate to soothe the sudden ache.

  Not good. Very bad.

  Pete’s eyes widened. “Whoa! You look like you’d bite his head off.”

  I had no idea what expression was on my face, but Pete’s concern had my hands pressing on my cheeks. “We haven’t really discussed how this whole transition thing is going to happen. I have a certain reputation here in the club, so…”

  He gave me a look. “I’m still concerned you’re being forced into something you don’t want to do.”

  “It has to be done…for the case.” Pushed unwillingly maybe, but not forced. Too much excitement churned in my gut.

  “I wish I could help you.”

  “I can handle Jake.” Maybe.

  My gushing body wasn’t going to make it easy. If the thought of kneeling had me halfway to an orgasm, I was toast. There had to be a way to turn that into a strength.

  I pointed again. “Nevertheless, you belong on the floor.”

  He shifted into position.

  “Now stay like that when she arrives, and don’t speak until she speaks to you. Don’t be surprised if she keeps you like that or ignores you for some time. It’s all part of the dance.”

  A waiter came over to take our drink order. I asked for water for us both. The pounding beat of the club soothed my nerves. I watched the crowd, let my mind wander, trying to think of anything except what might happen later tonight. About five minutes later, Mandy approached the table, her arm linked with Jake’s.

  Jake remained dashing as usual. Instead of his customary black pants and pressed Oxford shirt, he wore form-fitting denim jeans that molded to his athletic thighs and cupped his amazing ass. He had on a plain black muscle T-shirt, and gone were his dress shoes. Heavy work boots sounded a steady beat as he approached. His crystalline blues crinkled in greeting, although he said nothing as he pulled back a chair. He dropped into his seat, his eyes never once leaving mine.

  Tonight Mandy was decked out in a black leather corset with red lace overlaying a flared red-leather skirt. Her knee-high black boots hugged spiderwebbed stockings held up by black garters. Her breasts practically spilled out the top of the corset. In her hand she held her signature riding crop, black handle with red tip. Her hair was colored a light blue and was swept up in a wispy bun. Her eyes twinkled as she took in the man at my feet.

  “Darling,” said Mandy with pleasure. “You have a tasty morsel here.”

  “I think you’re going to love him.” I gave a slow smile.

  Pete flinched at the comment but kept his eyes down. His fingers clenched, either as a sign of irritation or unease, I wasn’t certain.

  “Well, we have all night to sort that out. Do you have his list?”

  I pulled out Pete’s limits list marked with those things he’d shown interest in during our tour around the club.

  Mandy glanced at it. She stepped in front of Pete. Her riding crop dragged against his flesh, raising goose bumps over his arms and legs. “Did you shave?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said quietly. “I wished to please you.”

  Mandy pulled a piece of leather out of her belt and wrapped the collar around his neck, adjusting it around his throat to make sure it wasn’t too tight. She walked behind him. “Place your hands behind your back.”

  More instant compliance from Pete had me impressed.

  As she placed cuffs around his wrists, she spoke in a voice laced with an undercurrent of steel. “Your safe word is the club standard ‘red.’ You will use it if you feel unsafe or if you feel I have violated any of your limits. If you use your safe word, all play stops. We don’t start again. Since this is your first exposure to the lifestyle, I’ll give you a slow word. Yellow. If you need a time-out, use your slow word. We’ll stop and discuss your concerns. Do you understand?”

  His voice was rough and raw, full of urgent need. “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

  Mandy attached a lead to the collar. “Now, I understand you have an interest in impact play?” She tugged on the leash, pulling him forward. She waved at me. “Thanks, darling, for the tasty morsel.”

  I smiled, happy for Pete. Mandy would make sure he had a good time. The easy feeling lasted a split second because Jake shifted in the seat beside me and coughed.

  I took in a breath, ready for whatever came next. My heart sped up to a tempo I associated with being alone with him. He pulled out a rumpled piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it on the tabletop between us.

  His fingers stroked the black typeface where he’d marked, highlighted, and made notes in the margins. “I spent all day looking at this list and thinking about you.”

  His hands transfixed me. Strong, muscular, a bit
calloused, which was odd, considering he was a lawyer. Or used to be. I actually didn’t know if he still practiced law, or if Stripes took up all his time. But his fingernails were trimmed short, the cuticles smooth. My gaze flicked to his, feeling stupid. He taught the whip classes, was probably equal in skill to me, if not better. Of course he had callouses.

  I traced the raised ridges on my fingers, skin thickened by hours of practice. A warmth spread through me. It flared down my spine, angled out at my hips, and settled in the apex of my thighs. A deep ache of distraction I didn’t need made me clench my knees together and press my thighs tight. My tongue darted out to wet my lips as my gaze went on a journey, traveling from his fingers to the brawn of his arms, across the swell of the black cotton stretching across his chest. I paused to take him in, amazed at how sexy a man could look in a simple piece of cloth.

  I couldn’t engage with his eyes, couldn’t face whatever expression matched the proclamation that he’d read my list. Hell, he hadn’t just read it. He’d digested it. Skipping back down his arms, my gaze rested at the tips of his fingers tapping over my limits. He’d scrawled all over my list, highlighting and circling it into a black spiderweb of detailed notes and a yellow mess of highlights. He’d gone a little overboard marking his notes. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

  A hard swallow lodged in my throat. This was it.

  “I think it’s best to get straight to it,” he said, “considering we don’t have much time. I’d prefer more than three days to solidify our roles before arriving at the Edge.”

  Wow, no preamble? Not even a how-are-you-doin’-darlin’? What happened to his Southern charm?

  His finger traced the limits list. “This is happening between us, and not because of this case, but because we both want it.”

  Back to that, was he? Man was like a dog with a bone. Couldn’t leave it alone.

  I pressed my lips together. I wanted to deny him, but that was too easy. Worse, it was a defensive move he would see right through. Instead, I said nothing, letting him lead the conversation. Maybe my silence would unnerve him, especially if he expected a fight.

  His pause indicated just that. The sounds of the club animating for an evening of play descended upon us. Slaps of leather on flesh and the cries pulled from willing victims rose to fill the silence hanging over us. The bar area filled up with club members, and their excited chatter added to the erotic beat of the music surrounding us. A few couples had worked their way out to the dance floor, gyrating against each other in a heated dance of want and need.

  He blew out a breath. His hand flattened over my list. “Damn it, look at me, Kate.”

  I allowed myself a moment, but eventually I had to face him. I expected to see irritation, frustration, a hardness even, but the softness of his gaze melted the tension right out of my body.

  He inclined his head. “Thank you.” He tapped his finger on the piece of paper. “You have some very interesting limits.”

  My attention returned to where his finger pointed. It was on the bondage section of the list. I answered with a shrug.

  “For someone who’s an expert, why this, considering how important it is for your safety?”

  “I don’t care to be bound.” I’d never allow myself to be placed in that helpless situation again.

  He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Listen,” he said softly. “You mark yes to practically everything else, but not bondage. I’m not comfortable with it. You can be seriously hurt if you move during an impact scene.”

  I closed my eyes. Images of being strung up and helpless clouded my vision. My heart rate doubled. I’d been trained not to move by my Master. He liked to watch the struggle of my submission when he hurt me. There had been a certain degree of pride I had taken in the totality of my surrender. Only afterward had I realized the danger I’d put myself in.

  My Master had only begun to bind me those last two months, when his scenes grew more depraved and the camera came out. I’d been too stupid to know the difference mattered. Now, the idea of bondage only served to bring those memories back to the surface.

  No. I would never be bound again.

  Jake had no idea the shit storm of mental fucked-up-ness he was getting into taking me back down this path.

  “I won’t be bound.” It was a simple statement, one I wasn’t about to elaborate on. The layers beneath the surface were not something I would share, especially with a man who kept secrets.

  He couldn’t force me, but of all people, he was the choirboy of safe practice, taught many of the newcomer seminars that discussed this very thing. He also coached the seminars on pre-scene negotiation. Which meant I was in trouble. What did he have up his sleeve?

  “I’ll use a special knot. I’m certain you’ve seen it before. With a tug, it lets go. You hold it in your hands, and if you need to release it, you pull on the binding. You’ll still have control.”

  “I don’t need you to bind me. I can handle anything you have in mind.” There. Let that thought stew in his mind.

  He didn’t even blink. “This restriction limits our ability to pull this job off. Trust me. I can bind you and still respect your limits, although I’d rather we talk about why this particular limit exists.”

  “No.” Not talking about that.

  His finger-tapping resumed. We’d come to a stalemate. Without my consent, he couldn’t push.

  Two men approached, walking at a fast clip. One wore shoes, was thick with muscle, and bald. Tyler, the Dom who’d asked me to silence the world for him on my first night back at Stripes, strode a step ahead of Bryce.

  Had that really only been a few nights ago? It felt like years.

  Bryce clutched a sheaf of papers, his expression set in fury.

  Two men. Two nights. Two disasters. What did that say about me as a Mistress?

  While Bryce appeared angry, Tyler’s expression worried me more. His gaze was fixed on his partner, and his jaw worked side to side. A deep scowl framed his face.

  Bryce approached our table and slapped the papers down with a thud.

  Tyler placed a hand on Bryce’s back, a show of support perhaps, or solidarity. Bryce had never connected with one particular dominant before, yet this was the second time I’d seen him with Tyler.

  Jake glanced up. “What is this?”

  Bryce’s finger pressed on the papers. “Master Kevin told me what you had planned for Mistress Kate.” The freckles across the bridge of his nose disappeared beneath the beet-red flush of rage. “I was very clear. I had no problems with that scene.”

  He turned agonized eyes my direction. “My apologies, Mistress Kate, but I did not lodge any complaint against you. When I learned you were to be censured…and forced to…to submit to him, well I—I just knew I had to stop it.”

  Tyler gripped Bryce’s upper arm, a calming gesture. “Mistress Kate, we came to clear up this matter. We’re so sorry about this.”

  “I won’t stand for this.” Bryce’s temper flared, and his hand slapped down on the table. The thump had me jumping. He turned on Jake, his finger jabbing toward Jake’s face. “You won’t get away with this.”

  Jake lifted his hands, palms out. “Whoa there, buddy. Hold on.” He tried to make a calming motion, but Bryce wasn’t having it.

  “You can’t have her,” said Bryce. Fists clenched, he lunged at Jake.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate

  Jake vaulted to his feet, surprising me with the speed and fluidity of his movements. The table wobbled as he pushed away and took a defensive stance. All around us, people stopped whatever they had been doing and watched with hushed expectancy.

  Tyler lunged forward and restrained Bryce, one arm wrapped around Bryce’s chest, his free hand reaching to grab Bryce’s wrists. The two men struggled, and Bryce nearly freed himself.

  The low, throaty menace of Jake’s voice rumbled through the air. “Watch yourself. Violence is not tolerated here.”

  Bryce lunged again, dra
gging Tyler forward as he strained to reach Jake’s neck, but his hands grasped only air. Tyler grappled with him, lifting Bryce off his feet and yanking him back half a step.

  “Stop,” commanded Tyler.

  Sinful dominance rolled off him, surprising me with his ferocity. This was not the tender and unsure dominant who had knelt before me just two evenings ago. Tyler’s arm bar tightened across Bryce’s chest. His growl demanded obedience.

  “That’s not a request.”

  At Tyler’s command, Bryce stopped struggling. His face turned deep scarlet, and his chest billowed with his deep pants. His gaze flicked to Jake and then to me, a pained expression pulling at his soft features.

  “You can’t have Mistress Kate!”

  I glanced at the table and the copy of Stripes’ bylaws Bryce had slapped down. “Oh, for the love of God, the two of you—”

  I pointed to Tyler and Bryce, designating a seat for each of them in turn. “Sit your asses down before you get yourselves kicked out of the club. We’re going to have a nice, polite, civilized chat here in a second.”

  They didn’t move until I ordered them to sit-the-fuck-down.

  “I don’t think a chat is what these two need,” said Jake in his deep rumble. Hands fisted, he glared at the two men.

  I snapped my fingers and pointed at Jake’s vacant seat. “That includes you.”

  His brow lifted with my command. Hard eyes and chiseled jaw locked in defiance, he questioned my order. By not responding, he denied my authority.

  I shivered with his display of dominance over me but quickly tamped down that emotion. I wasn’t going to let him stand there and defy me. We didn’t have time for games.

  “Don’t even try that with me,” I warned him with an equally penetrant stare. I wasn’t his submissive, not yet.

  Jake glowered back, refusing to budge.

  “And while you’re at it, give your buddy Kevin a call. He’s a part of this mess and should probably be here for the rest of this conversation.”

  With our momentary commotion now under control, those watching turned back to their business of the evening.