She looked up, and their gazes locked. An image flashed through his head. Her, bound to the top of the canopied bed in his room, a white mask covering her eyes, head thrown back in ecstasy as he tortured her senses. He blinked reality back into focus, determined to shake this strange attraction. He knew from experience, some Tops could never bottom. And this woman obviously didn’t have a submissive bone in her entire lithe little body.
CONFIDENCE.
LIZ HAD to keep that utmost in her mind. She forced herself not to react when he stepped out of the shadows. This man had the same build, the same badass dominating air about him as the man of her dreams.
In
, she corrected. The man
in
her dreams. He stared at her, making her feel naked beneath his gaze. Swallowing hard, she willed moisture to her mouth, but it was like her tongue was cemented in place with peanut butter.
Crap.
She extended a hand.
“Chase Masters,” he said, stepping closer to clasp her hand in his. At his touch, feathers tickled along her spine. Like they had in her dream. In one second, Chase’s face superimposed itself over the foggy image in her head of every erotic dream she’d had in the past six weeks. It was his dark, brooding eyes that had haunted her each night. His long squared face and pouty lips that had drawn her into the darkness. His hair that was too long to be called a buzz cut but too short to be a crew cut fit his low brows and high cheekbones perfectly. He looked more like a model than a Dom.
Liz realized she’d been staring and silent much longer than was polite, but she couldn’t find her voice.
“This is Elizabeth Leigh Clark,” Dusty said from behind her. Thank God someone wasn’t rendered speechless in the presence of this Adonis. She snatched her hand back, closing her fingers into her palm, uncertain if she was trying to wipe away the feel of his skin against hers or trap it.
No recognition showed on Chase’s face, and Liz tried to pretend she wasn’t hurt. She’d called well in advance, and her new friend and fellow BDSM author had assured her that Chase would be open and honest with his answers when Liz asked him any and all embarrassingly personal questions. Apparently, Chase had no freaking clue who she was or what she was doing here. She was about to launch into an explanation when Dusty prompted, “The author I was telling you about?”
Was that disappointment on Chase’s face? She couldn’t tell, because he quickly schooled his features into a mask of politeness. She didn’t know what the heck to make of that.
“Okay, well, uh, would you like to continue to show her around?” The soft, hesitant voice was so unlike the one she’d pictured coming from that harsh mouth of his. It was also the opposite of the tone he’d used when he introduced himself.
“I thought maybe you’d like to do the honors, boss.”
A half smile quirked up Chase’s mouth, and he shook his head. “Not your boss.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dusty turned and left her at Chase’s mercy.
Fighting the urge to shiver, she pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side, embodying her persona. She was Elizabeth Leigh, erotic romance author extraordinaire. And she wasn’t going to be intimidated by a little kink. Or a lot, she amended, glancing at the club around her. She’d worn her sexiest, most authoritative outfit and her
don’t screw with me
boots, but as she stared off against six feet of heavily corded muscular Dom, she felt spineless. And maybe a tiny bit breathless.
“So, this way, I guess.”
Chase turned from her, and she followed him. Like a freaking puppy. What in the world was wrong with her? She didn’t do this kind of crap. Women did not belong barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, and she would be damned to the depths of hell if she was going to buy into that chauvinistic nonsense because of this guy when she’d lived her whole life fighting against her father’s brainwashing. She forced herself to stop a couple feet behind him.
“This is the bar and the main area of the club. Used for meet and greets, socialization, and a live show a couple times a week. Some people come to be in a public place where they can be themselves.”
She heard the underlying defiance in his words, as if he was daring her to make a snide comment.
“As I’m sure you can tell, we’ve been closed down temporarily.”
“I saw the hubbub outside,” she said lamely.
“Who the hell says
hubbub
anymore?” Chase seared her with a look over his shoulder, and she suppressed a shudder.
“I’m a writer. I have an extensive vocabulary,” she said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest and challenging him to contradict her. His whole personality screamed
domineering
.
“Your tone says it’s obviously nothing someone like me would understand.” He turned on her.
“That’s not what I meant.” Her voice was brusque. She was letting that arch stare and that increasingly deep voice ruffle her feathers. She knew better than to be baited like this. Anger management was a constant battle inside her, but it had been an easier one to win before being in the same room with this man. She wouldn’t let herself backslide because of Chase, no matter what he said. He raised his eyebrows, then turned back.
“We don’t serve alcohol at the bar, because you can’t have consent when people are under the influence. That’s an important detail several authors have gotten wrong over the years. Among other things.”
His icy voice made her shiver. “Like what?” She had a good memory, but she felt like this was going to be quite a list. Maybe she should break out her pen and notebook. She was trying to absorb the information, get a feel for the place, but notes might not be a bad idea.
“Let’s see… For starters, it’s not all about pain.”
She snorted. She couldn’t help it. All thoughts of note taking flew out of her head. “Of course it’s about pain.” And subjugation and dominance and treating people like they were less than humans, like they were property. She bit her tongue on that part, though. She was supposed to be here asking him for help, not pissing him off, much as the idea appealed to her.
“Not with me, it isn’t. And not for a lot of people either. It’s about control and passion and love, for yourself, the darkness inside, and sometimes for someone else. Pain gets mixed up with that sometimes. Okay, granted, for some people it’s about pain. Giving it, receiving it. For the rest of us, pain is part of the pleasure. Part of the rush, the edge of fantasy. You should know a bit about that. We’re in the same business. You sell fantasy on the page; I sell it in the flesh, so to speak.”
Another shiver coursed through her. God, could just the sound of him describing this stuff make her hot? A lick of guilt made her pause, but she pushed it aside. She
had
to stop feeling guilty about sex of all kinds, but sometimes it was hard to keep the shame from decimating her.
She rubbed her right earlobe, trying to work toward a calm she didn’t feel.
“Look, why don’t you ask me your questions so we can get this over with.” It was a statement, not a request.
“Excuse me?”
He spun to face her, and she tensed as he leveled a glare at her. “It’s clear you’re uncomfortable,” he said, his words laced with venom. “Your over-the-top outfit, the heels you can hardly walk in, and the disdainful curl of your lip. You did ask to come here, did you not?”
She took a deep breath and a step toward him. “Yes, I did. But I—” She stopped herself from picking a fight with him, but only because her initial gut response was to defy him any possible way she could, and she knew that was a knee-jerk reaction. She’d thought she had better control over her impulsive bouts of rage. “I’m…sorry.” She lowered her shoulders and made an effort to relax her aggressive stance. Simply being in this club, in his presence, was making her skin crawl. And not in an entirely unpleasant way.
“What is it specifically you’re looking to write about?” His voice was almost nice this time.
“I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Plotlines come later, like halfway through the book or so for me. Right now I’m trying to get an authentic feel for the scene so that I don’t misrepresent things. It’s important to do your research.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s, um, brighter than I thought it would be in here.”
He shrugged. “I was never much into the dungeon vibe. It’s one of the reasons I opened this place. The allure of the dark dungeon is a big part of the scene for some people. But I’m all about bringing the darkness to light, so to speak.” He ran a hand over his short hair as he stopped before two doors. “Heaven or Hell?”
“What?”
“Heaven or Hell?” He indicated the angel and devil decals on the doors. “I put these on the doors after the members named the two other levels. The top is for our lighter stuff—people who only like some playacting, newer members who aren’t quite sure where their boundaries are, sensual Doms, that kind of thing. The lower level, Hell, or the dungeon, I guess, is for the harder-core stuff.” The dark twinkle in his eye made her stomach flip. She couldn’t help but imagine him with his black shirt unbuttoned, that wicked gleam in his eyes, and her lying prone before him, completely at his mercy. Ugh. Why did she do this to herself? She forced her thoughts to still and her attention to return to reality.
“Let’s go down,” she said, her voice hoarse, huskier than usual.
He granted her another quick, devastating smile and opened the thick door with a shove of his powerful arms. It scared her how easily she pictured herself wrapped in those arms. There was barely enough light to see the staircase, but with the flick of a switch, the way down was illuminated. It certainly didn’t smell like a dungeon.
You can do this.
She held her breath for a moment, trying to calm her pounding heart. As soon as his back was turned, she let out the breath and rubbed her earlobe. But her normal coping mechanism was having a hard time slowing her pulse today. She was facing down her fears, and she would not run screaming from the dungeon like a little girl. She was a woman, and there was nothing wrong with wanting something extra in the bedroom, right?
She wanted to kick herself for her foolishness. Who was she asking? One of these days she would break the bonds of her childhood. But every time she reminded herself that kink wasn’t wrong, she sounded like she was trying to convince herself. And failing miserably.
Chase’s leather boots squeaked softly on the stairs as they went down, and Liz focused on that instead of where she was letting him lead her.
“Here we are,” Chase announced, pushing open another huge door. He turned to her, and she whipped her hand away from her ear. No need to show him how petrified she was to be here. If she was going to write this freaking book, she was going to do it properly. Which meant she needed to know the ins and outs of a place like the K Club.
As she stepped through the threshold and glanced around, she couldn’t help but grin.
“Not what you were expecting, huh?”
“Really not.”
“So you’ve never been to a club like this before, I take it?”
She shook her head, struggling to stave off the blush she could feel reddening her cheeks. “I guess I expected…”
“Torture instruments? The iron maiden, perhaps?”
Her cheeks burned under his penetrating gaze. His voice was so accusatory, but she couldn’t deny it. He was right, and he clearly saw straight through her attempts to look the part. The long hallways off the main area of this floor no doubt held ceaseless horrors. This place was equipped with some scary stuff, so she didn’t want to know what was behind the rest of the closed doors. But there were also muted lights above them, a cozy seating area, purple drapes around some of the more private alcoves, and a stage. The stage was equipped with a Saint Andrew’s cross and some kind of bench she couldn’t remember the name of.
Before she could stop herself, she was moving toward the stage. It was one thing to see a photo of something and describe it in a book. It was another entirely to see an object in person and touch it. She stood at the edge of the stage, gazing up at the bench. She could see the leather straps that would buckle closed around her wrists and ankles.
“Shall we?”
She jumped, slamming her mouth closed on a squeal and biting her lower lip in the process. His hot voice came from mere inches behind her, and goose bumps leaped to life along her skin. She couldn’t move, couldn’t turn and face him. A fire blazed in her cheeks, and her muscles locked down, holding her captive. She couldn’t have been more immobile if she’d been strapped down on the spot. Then Chase’s tanned hand appeared beside hers. He took her hand gently but firmly and led her up the stairs in the same manner. And she let him.
“So the outfit…” He stopped a few feet from the bench, turned, and tilted his head, examining her closely, top to bottom.
“It’s, um, a writer thing.” She shrugged. “Like method acting, when actors show up on the set in character, leave it in character, and stay immersed in the role the whole time they’re working on the movie. The clothes, hair, and makeup I’m in today are part of that. Like a costume, I guess.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and breathless. Why had she explained herself to him? He didn’t need to know the inner workings of her method writing. She wanted to look away from him, take in her surroundings, and examine the cross and bench further, but she couldn’t break away from his searching gaze. What did he see when he looked at her?
“Come,” he said, tugging her the rest of the way to the bench. He retained possession of her hand, and that contact, coupled with the surroundings, made her tingle with desire. “This is the bondage spanking bench. A sub lies on the bench. Her arms go here.” He reached out and unbuckled one of the wrist straps with the quick ease of an expert. Then he guided their clasped hands toward the leather and rubbed her skin across it. It was soft, warm. He released her hand so she could run her fingers along the leather buckle. It jingled beneath her touch, the sound loud in the silent cavern.
It struck her then that she was alone with a man she didn’t know, down in a dungeon full of bright lights and naughty toys. A thrill shot through her.