He’d even had Luke make some equipment for a private playroom in the tower of that monstrous cave of a house his grandfather had bought him when he’d first come home from the war. He’d tried to convince Gramps it was more house than he wanted or needed, but the man had insisted the family’s “war hero” accept it.
Marc was no hero. His brother, Gino, Sergeant Miller, and Damián were the heroes.
He couldn’t disrespect the man by turning him down. Still, he sometimes wished he had someone else to rattle around with inside the mausoleum. He just hadn’t found a woman he wanted to let that close—and probably never would. Pamela was long gone before Marc had been able to complete the playroom. Okay, so maybe the room wouldn’t have helped their relationship and he did have commitment issues, as she’d accused him of being. Or maybe he was just discerning.
He wasn’t the only one steering clear of commitment, though. All three of the club owners led pretty solitary lives outside of club activities. Adam lived upstairs, in the private west wing. Damián had lived here, as well, until a year or so ago when he got an apartment of his own—alone. He’d said he wouldn’t put a woman at risk sleeping with him because he might hurt her if he had a nightmare or something triggered his PTSD. He’d had a tough time dealing with the amputation and Sergeant Miller’s death. Marc guessed he still fought that firefight in his mind on a regular basis.
When Karla had shown up for an audition two months ago and had been hired, Adam moved her into Damián’s old room. He’d said he wanted to keep an eye on her, be there for her. His former master sergeant liked to make people think he was a hard-ass, but Marc knew his heart was about as soft as they came. He was always rescuing the lost ones. Damián. Karla. Hell, he’d even rescued Marc on that rooftop in Fallujah, and afterwards, too, when he didn’t know what to do with himself after the war.
Of course, Adam always kept rooms available in the east wing upstairs for club members who wanted their privacy. The bedroom in between was a sanctuary for someone who needed one, like his little angel here.
He glanced up at Adam again. While his friend kept his emotions in check most times, Marc saw the muscle twitching in his jaw. He was about as pissed as Marc had seen him since Fallujah.
They thought they’d done all they could to teach the Doms who frequented the place to behave responsibly, but despite putting Sir Asshole through their basic training, he’d broken most of the rules anyway.
“I’m glad you got to her in time,” Adam said, unable to take his eyes off her.
Marc looked down and held her closer.
Mine
.
Whoa! Marc put the brakes on thoughts like that right away. He didn’t know where that possessive thought came from, but looked up at Adam again. “We’re going to have to address the problem of abusive Doms before someone else gets hurt.”
“We’ll discuss it at this week’s meeting.”
Marc nodded, then looked back at the angel in his arms. He brushed the hair away from her face. Her eyelashes twitched and she grimaced. “Shhhh,” he whispered.
He’d hoped helping her reach orgasm would take away some of the bad memories, but she’d probably be plagued with nightmares for a while, depending on how well she thought she could trust Sir Asshole. Marc brought his hand up to brush his fingertips across her full lips. His cock tightened, leaving him with the unfamiliar wish that he could stay with her tonight to hold her. Be there for her when the nightmares came. Help her forget.
Hold on. He hadn’t spent an entire night with a woman in more than a year. Pamela. He’d moved too fast that time. He wasn’t going to go there again, either.
“She’ll be monitored closely during the night,” Adam continued, as if he’d known the direction of Marc’s thoughts. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll see that she gets home safely. Karla has a friend who lives near where the sub’s from, according to the guest form she filled out to enter the club tonight. I think Karla would like a chance to get away from…the club for a while. I’ll ask her to take her home.”
Marc wished he didn’t have a five-day survival training excursion planned starting tomorrow at noon. He’d liked to have taken her home himself, to be sure she made it safely. But Adam’s relief at being able to send Karla away for a while wasn’t lost on Marc either. Adam liked to keep the young singer at arm’s length—and sometimes even further away.
Not his concern. He looked down at the sexy woman in his arms. He knew Adam was trying to tell him to stop worrying about her and resume his DMS duties, but damned if he wanted to let her go. She brought out his most basic Dom instincts—to rescue and protect.
“I’ll carry her upstairs soon and get back to work,” Marc said to appease Adam.
“Stay with her until I send Karla up after she finishes the next set,” Adam instructed. “We can switch to canned music tonight.”
Marc knew Karla would nurture the woman to the extreme, given the way she took care of the three Dom owners like a mother hen, despite her young age.
He stroked the soft cheek of the woman, who smiled in her sleep. His bone-hard erection grew even harder, if possible. The thought of training this little one into the lifestyle excited him a bit. Correction, she scared the living hell out of him.
No, she would not be his sub.
“Take as much time as you need. I’ll send a sub in here to clean the equipment after you leave.”
Marc nodded and Adam left him alone with her. Dark lashes lay fanned below her closed eyes. Serene again. She appeared to have returned from deep subspace fairly well.
A strong woman.
He didn’t even know her full name. If she’d opted for confidentiality, as most guests and members did, he’d never find out who she was. Only Adam had access to membership and guest records. Good. He didn’t want to have further contact with her anyway.
Of course, he didn’t expect to see her back here again—ever. Not after the experience she’d had with Sir Asshole. He wondered if being someone’s submissive was even her fantasy. Some women just went along with a kinkster boyfriend or spouse for fear of losing them to someone else who would be willing to share their kinky fantasies.
He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone again, unable to keep his hands off her. She moaned in her sleep and pressed her face into his hand. His cock tightened. No sense torturing himself with what might have been if they’d met under different circumstances. Still, he regretted refusing to kiss her earlier. Maybe just this once…. He bent down and brushed his lips across hers.
He felt her lips curve into a smile as she snuggled closer to him.
Don’t take advantage of her.
With a sigh, he pulled his face away, held her closer to his chest, and stood, leaving the room and making his way to the brick stairway. At the top of the stairs, he turned down the hall toward the private living quarters.
The door to her room was open. Marc carried her inside. The sheet and comforter had been turned down. He laid her down gently near the center of the bed. It pained him to see her grimace and moan as her sore backside made contact with the mattress. She needed some lidocaine to help ease the pain.
Trying to keep a professional medic’s demeanor, he unwrapped the blanket and turned her onto her stomach.
Don’t ogle her gorgeous ass
. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out the tube of soothing gel and a pair of latex gloves. She didn’t appear to have any lacerations, just angry red welts on her ass and thighs, but he didn’t want to chance infection.
He squirted the gel onto his gloved finger and spread it along the flogger lines on her thighs first. When she moaned, his cock threatened to rip through his zipper. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He moved as quickly as he could to cover the welts on her ass, too, then blew on her skin to dry it more quickly, watching gooseflesh spread over her ass.
When he finished, Marc wrapped her in the aftercare blanket again, turned her onto her back, and pulled the sheet and comforter over her. In the morning, Adam would retrieve her clothes from her locker in the women’s dressing room downstairs. Then she’d be gone.
As Marc looked down at her, she curled onto her side, burrowing under the covers. He wished he could crawl into bed with her and curve his body around her backside.
Cut that shit out
.
Still, he’d try to get back upstairs to check on her tonight. But with all the activity going on in the club, that would be hard to do. He sighed. For the first time in months, he wished he hadn’t volunteered for DMS duty.
Oh, shit
. He had it bad for this one. What was the matter with him?
“How is she?” Marc turned to watch Karla enter the room. She’d changed into black jeans and a “For My Pain: Fallen” Finnish band t-shirt. “Adam told me what happened.” She shook her head. “Poor thing.”
Marc smiled. Yes, Karla would mother her to death.
“I’ll check back in on her later, if I can get away.” Marc longed to bend down and kiss his angel again.
Hell, no! Not his
. Still, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, letting his finger trail across her lips before he turned and left the room.
* * *
Fire. Angelina’s skin was on fire. She turned onto her side again, moaning at the pain. Something lashed at her backside, again and again, harder and harder.
“Red! Oh, God, please stop!”
“Shhh. You’re dreaming.”
Angelina opened her eyes to find a familiar, yet unfamiliar, woman standing over her in a strange bed. The woman was about her age, long black hair, heavy eye makeup, pale skin. Where would she have known her?
The young woman held out a glass of water to her. “Can you take ibuprofen?” Angelina nodded and, with great care, scooted up to a sitting position.
Dio
, the pain in her butt grew even worse, definitely not the result of a dream.
A flood of memories washed over her. Oh, God! Allen. The St. Andrew’s cross. Leather flogger. The man had ignored her safe word. Selfish, abusive bastard.
Angelina accepted the glass of water and two gelcaps from the woman. “Thanks.” After swallowing them down, she sank back against the pillows, too exhausted to sit up.
“How are you feeling?” the woman asked.
“Battered and stupid.”
The sympathy in the woman’s eyes touched Angelina. She didn’t even know her, but the caring seemed genuine. Why did she look so familiar?
“Adam…I mean, Master Adam, is very upset about what happened downstairs. I haven’t seen him that angry since he rescued me from a pimp in Chicago. When he dragged your boyf—I mean, the guy you were with—out the door, I thought he might change his mind and take turns with Master Damián to teach him a few lessons.”
The woman smiled, her blue eyes sparkling, as she spoke about the altercation. Angelina wished she could have seen it herself. Allen didn’t like to be pushed around. He was probably fit to be tied.
“I’m Angie Giardano.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Karla Paxton. I sing here at the club.”
Of course! The singer. That explained why she looked so familiar. Angelina hadn’t recognized her without her Goth dress and stage make-up. “You have a great voice.” Well, based on what little Angelina had heard while she was filling out the club’s paperwork, before Allen whisked her off to her private torture session.
“Thanks.” She glanced away, then back. “Master Adam said you live in Aspen Corners.”
Angelina nodded.
“I have a college friend who lives about thirty minutes from there. I have some decisions to make soon and have been dying to see her. So, Adam’s going to loan me his car so I can take you home today, after you’ve rested up a bit more, of course.”
Angelina tried to follow the woman’s conversation, but was so focused on the pain she only heard every other word it seemed. But the woman seemed trustworthy and kind—and didn’t seem to be making a special trip just to take her home. One thing Angelina knew for certain. She wouldn’t get into a car with a strange man at this point. She didn’t trust any of them, not after what Allen had done to her. Seven months together. How could he just shatter her trust like that?
She realized Karla was waiting for a response. She’d been talking about a ride home. Well, the sooner she got out of Denver, the better. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
Angelina looked down and realized the blanket wrapped around her had fallen, nearly exposing her breasts. Her very bare breasts. Her face flushed as she realized she was naked underneath the blanket. She pulled the blanket higher. Where were her clothes? She looked around the room to find a walnut dresser and a matching footboard of an antique cannonball bed. The room seemed rather stark. Definitely not lived in by anyone. Was it used for sexual encounters with club members? At least the bed didn’t smell of sex. It smelled of lavender, just like her Nonna’s room in Sicily. Comforting.
Karla took a seat in a chair next to the bed, where she must have been keeping a vigil, waiting for Angelina to wake up. The woman looked away, but Angelina had the feeling she wanted to say something more. She’d learned to just wait people out. Usually, the silence made them uncomfortable enough they’d fill the void by saying something without the usual filters. Sure enough, the woman didn’t disappoint.
Karla’s gaze met Angelina’s again. “Ad…Master Adam said you were new to this BDSM stuff.” She cast her glance away, then sat up straighter and brought her gaze back to pin Angelina’s. “Why did you want to try it? I mean, what made you think you were…?”
Angelina drew a deep breath. Okay, this wasn’t the line of questioning she was anticipating. “Submissive?”
Karla nodded.
Oh, boy. How to answer, especially now that she knew she’d been so wrong. “Well, I’d been reading BDSM romance novels.” She shrugged her shoulders, then smiled. “Something about the whole exchange of power with a dominant man interested me. Giving up control, in the bedroom at least.” She glanced away, not sure how to explain what attracted her to try it.
Aha
. Her gaze returned to the woman sitting beside her bed.
“I own and manage my own catering business. I’m in charge of a small temporary staff and am responsible for all of the details. Everything. All the time.” Angelina loved her business, even though things were a little slow in the Corners.