Talk For Me: Club Avalon Book 3

by Kay Elle Parker

  I can't do this.

  “I've got you,” Thane murmured as he whirled her around to the bar again, taking away the horrible sea of faces she didn't know how to deal with.

  Connie's inner Domme hovered just out of reach of her straining fingers, turning her nose up with a sniff as she dismissed her. You brought this on yourself. You gave him control and now he's humiliating you in front of everyone you know. How are we supposed to come back here and assert our authority when he's just burned our reputation to the fucking ground?

  Strong hands grasped her hips, lifted her up and onto the bar. She stifled a startled cry when cold wood pressed against her breasts and stomach, and she automatically reached out to grip the ledge of the shelf on Liam's side of the space. It was mortifying to be hitched on the top like a goddamn ornament, her private areas on display.

  “What the hell's going on here?” A hard male voice demanded, unfamiliar and unimpressed.

  More rumbles of discontent became clear, some she recognized, some she didn't. Voices demanding to know why she was acting like a submissive, why she was letting a submissive top her. The questions, fired from all sides, were like needles being shoved under her skin, jabbing into her nerves. She was the center of attention in a bad way, and she hated it.

  A finger lifted her chin, and she stared miserably into a pair of gray eyes full of sympathy.

  “Help me, Liam,” she whispered. “I fucked up.”

  “Yeah, I saw.” Crouching down, Liam ran his thumb over one of the tears beginning to trickle down her cheek. He glanced over her head as the voices rose, then he smiled and dropped his gaze back to hers. “Had a bit of a tantrum, didn't you? I saw your face, sweetie. You got mad and back-sassed.”

  She groaned. “And now he's letting the cat out of the bag about me being a Switch.”

  “Just trust him, Con.” Liam ruffled her hair, then rose and walked away, leaving her literally hanging.

  “Back off,” Thane growled, loudly enough to cut through the raised voices. His voice, so strict and uncompromising, raised all the tiny hairs on her skin to standing. “What's happening here has nothing to do with any of you. Not a damn thing,” he snapped as someone challenged him. “Your concern is noted and appreciated, but unnecessary. Stay and watch, or get your drinks and go. Do not interfere.”

  “I thought he was supposed to be the submissive,” someone said loudly.

  “He is a Switch,” Thane responded easily, “and he is not inclined to discuss it right at this moment in time.”

  Connie winced as more liquid lust trailed down her inner thighs. She'd pissed him off royally, she knew that, but she didn't think she'd be as aroused by his temper as she was. Not after Evan's anger had left her scarred and mangled, inside and out. She fidgeted as the edge of the bar dug into her hips, bruising the bones, then became unnaturally still when a hot hand clapped down on her ass in what she assumed was a warning.

  “You heard Master Thane,” Atticus called out. “You all know the penalty for interrupting someone's scene—for those of you who don't remember, I'll be happy to knock the rules back into your head. Permanently. Let the man get on with his scene, and go enjoy your evening.”

  The tension behind her began to disperse, the energy of numerous bodies in a small area dispersing as people drifted away at Atticus's directive. The members might not understand what was going on here, but no one was stupid enough to risk their membership by ignoring the bearded giant's orders. After tonight, they'd have to treat Thane with the same respect as the other Masters.

  The hand on her ass slipped down between her legs and fingers probed her vagina. “Where were we, sugar? Oh, yes, I remember. Your attitude reared its head at an unfortunate moment, and now we have to deal with it.” His fingers curled up against her G-spot, tapped it hard enough to spike her blood with pleasure, then slid out. As she moaned, he pushed a single digit into her ass. “Who needs lube when this pussy is dripping all over Liam's clean floor?”

  “Thane, please, I'm sorry.”

  “You are sorry, or you think you should be sorry?” It was a twist on the fucking question that had started this whole mess.

  “I am sorry, Sir. I-I didn't mean to snap at you.” She squeezed her eyes shut to try and stop some of the tears running into her hairline. Her anus ached with the burn of his finger stretching her open, but she bit back the whimpers. “I was only trying to be supportive, to offer you my submission.”

  Another big hand ran up her spine. “Scared you, didn't it? Holding it out on a platter for me in front of everyone. Did you lose your temper because you were afraid I'd accept it, or because you were shocked you were brave enough to throw the idea out there?”

  “Just full of questions today,” she grumbled, then gasped as his finger thrust into the sensitive tissues of her rear. “Both! Either. I don't know.”

  “Think on it,” he suggested, removing his touch completely.

  She registered movement beside her, keeping her eyes shut against whatever punishment Thane had in mind. She heard him talking to Liam, the low rumbles of their voices without making sense of the words.

  Had she been scared? Was that why she'd reacted so keenly? She'd extended the gift, then snatched it back. Yes, she'd been frightened by the probability he'd take what she held out to him, her submission in public, and then taken the opportunity to deny him because he'd been kind enough to make sure it was the right choice for her in that moment.

  Fuck. She'd be pissed too, if one of her subs pulled that stunt on her.

  As the realization hit, Connie went limp. Running the conversation through her head, she saw a couple of places where she could have steered it away from this consequence. A softer tone, a different choice of words. An alternative mindset where he wasn't the enemy simply because she liked how he made her feel beneath his hand.

  God, she'd screwed up. Instead of being poised and happy to see Thane welcomed into the Masters, she'd likely be standing in the crowd with tear tracks on her cheeks and a bright red ass. Hell of a way to show her support for the man she loved.

  “Figured it out yet?” he asked, leaning over the bar beside her. His shoulder bumped hers, but she couldn't look at him. There was too much guilt and misery in her to open her eyes and let it all loose.

  She sighed listlessly. “Maybe I was slightly disturbed by the significance of what I said.”

  “The significance. Huh. Did you mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl. You'll take ten lashes and finish with an apology. After that, it's all forgiven, and we can move on with the rest of our evening.” Thane pushed off the bar and gave her a soothing stroke over her shoulder, some of his own anger leeching away. “Take your punishment in silence, Connie. Learn how to control your temper and your tongue under duress.”

  “Yes, Sir. I won't make a sound.” God, she sounded weary.

  Something heavy and cool lashed across her butt, forcing her to suck in a breath. Her eyes popped wide, her mouth open in a silent oh. What the hell was he using on her poor defenseless ass? Strike two thudded into her, turning her cheeks into quivering blobs of jelly. The third was lighter, stingier, while the fourth landed on the undersides of her buttocks.

  Connie almost lost control of her voice, nearly shouted and cursed, when strike five snapped devilishly up between her thighs, licking along her drenched seam and biting her clit. Strikes six through nine kissed the backs of her thighs, dragging pleading whimpers to her throat, then she bit her own forearm to stop the force of the tenth and final blow ripping a scream free. Her ass smarted badly enough she assumed a few of those blows had thudded bruises deep into the muscles.

  She bit harder to keep her moan from Thane, tasting blood.

  “Simply stunning, sugar. You did well.” Something slapped onto the bar top; she recognized the sound as a wet towel. Liam was there in an instant, collecting his property, then walking away to keep himself away from the debauchery about to explode in his face. “In the futu
re, when you want to rip my head off, give me a heads-up. We can fight about it in private, away from prying eyes.”

  A hand slipped beneath her chest, lifting her up off the rigidly uncomfortable wooden top. When her feet touched the floorboards, her knees wobbled until she gathered her wits enough to lock them straight. Without thinking, she shoved Thane's hand away when he set it on her arm to steady her, and stepped away from him.

  She throbbed, the nuisance sensation originating in her womb and spreading outwards to every fingertip and toe. Even the roots of her hair seemed to pulse with need. Her eyes found the perfect set of teeth marks in her arm, stared at the droplets of blood smeared over her skin, welling in the grooves. She'd done that. Jesus, she'd mauled her own flesh to obey his order.

  “Connie.” Those goddamn amber eyes were so fucking understanding when she lifted her horrified gaze, she couldn't stand it. The dregs of his temper lurked in the amber, sliding under the golden calmness of his usual amenable self. “It's okay, sugar. We'll get a first aid kit and clean it up.”

  “I'm sorry, Thane. I'm sorry for losing my temper, I'm sorry for letting my nerves get the best of me.” Connie's hand shook as she reached out and snatched up her dress off the stool. The bite mark was beginning to sting nastily, making its presence known,. “I'm sorry for ruining your evening. I need to…I need to…”

  Run. I need to run and find myself again.

  With the dress clutched to her chest, her legs worked of their own accord. She took off like a startled deer, bumping through the last stragglers watching the Mistress of Avalon being rat-tailed by a submissive. Behind her eyes, a migraine rose quickly, pain stabbing her temples and neck, painting her skull in a thick layer of tension designed to cripple her senses.

  Someone shouted her name.

  Bolting for the doors, blinded by the need to flee and the fucking aura sheening her vision, she didn't see the mountain step in front of her with his arm stretched out to the side. She ran straight into it, felt it curl around her waist before Atticus swung her around, using her momentum to lessen the impact. She was almost sick, nausea swelling as fast as the migraine.

  “Hush, sweetheart. Come with me now.” As though she belonged to him, Atticus hitched her over his shoulder and carried her back the way she'd come, returning her to Thane. “Maybe it's time you hobbled your sub, Thane. Where do you want her?”

  Thane's voice was tight. “I'll take her. Is the private room free?”

  “No, they're all booked for the next few hours.” Liam popped up, adding to the cacophony in her broken head. “I didn't reserve you one as there's usually an hour or two of congratulations and socializing after the Masters' announcement—congratulations, by the way. Bring her back to my office, Thane. It's quiet and private, no one will bother you.”

  Connie kicked weakly as she was gently rolled off Atticus's broad shoulder into Thane's strong arms. Her stomach twisted, bile rose up her throat. She managed to croak, “Meds. Need meds.”

  “Fuck, she's got a goddamn migraine. Atticus, if I get her settled into Liam's office, can you watch her while I drive home and get her meds? We came in my truck tonight and I forgot to bring one of her sprays.”

  She closed her eyes against the glare, trying to shut out the voices and the music and the lights. Claws sliced into her brain as Thane carried her away, and she had to breathe in through her nose, out through her mouth to stop the flood of saliva puddling in her mouth. For God's sake, she didn't need to throw up everywhere and solidify the ruin of her reputation.

  “No need. Braun sourced some, just in case something like this happened and Connie was unprepared. They're in the safe. Atticus will show you to my office, just give me a second to placate this lot waiting for drinks and I'll bring them back for you.”

  “Thanks, Liam. Lead the way, Att.”

  Connie slapped her hand against Thane's shirt, gripped it tight. “Sick. Gonna be sick.”

  “Not in here. Follow me,” Atticus ordered.

  Movement made everything worse. The blood sloshed in her head, screaming through arteries and veins, pumping into her brain until it felt as though her skull was cracking with the pressure. She swallowed down saliva repeatedly, battling the urge to just give in and let the sickness come. Thane's arms cradled her, kept her firmly against his body as he all but flew her out of the social area.

  The glare of light through her eyelids abated slightly, the din of the club became less violent. The air cooled, kissing her heated flesh with relief. Something squeaked loudly once, twice, then the background noise disappeared completely.

  “I didn't even know that door was there,” Thane murmured.

  “Liam doesn't want anyone knocking at his door when he's doing paperwork and shit. He has cameras set up so he can keep an eye out for deliveries and visitors through the day, and there's an intercom linking the bar to both Braun's office and in here. You okay with her if I go get her medication?”

  “Yeah, of course. Thanks, Atticus. Some fast reflexes you've got there. She set off like a fucking Olympic sprinter at the sound of the starting gun, and I just wasn't quick enough to grab her.”

  Atticus, the bastard, chuckled. “Had a feeling she was gonna bolt. Strongest fucking Domme I know, but when she gets overwhelmed, she's got a wicked flight or fight instinct, and flight is her go-to method of escape. I'll be back in a minute. I think Liam keeps a blanket and some pillows in that cupboard over there for when he sleeps in here.”

  A moan rippled up her throat as she was laid reverently on a soft surface, followed by a hard retch that pulled her stomach muscles. In a heartbeat, she was shifted onto her side and something plastic thudded on carpet. When she cracked her eyes open, a trash can was next to the small couch she rested on.

  “If you need to, go ahead.” Thane settled himself on the edge of the couch, gathering her hair away from her face. His voice was hardly more than a whisper, yet it cleaved her brain in two with pain. “That came on fast, sugar. Was it brewing or did I cause it by pushing you too far, too fast?”

  She hurled. Lost her dinner, her stomach lining, and her dignity in one fell swoop.

  When it was done, she moaned pitifully, wondering how the hell he could stand to look at her, let alone want to do anything sexual with her when he'd seen her like this. Tears of exertion became tears of self-pity. The migraine raged on, blurring what was left of her vision, and she wanted to tear her hair out, stab her eyes, anything to alleviate the pressure and the pain for just a few seconds of relief.

  “Liam's sent an icepack and a box of tissues. You want some help cleaning her up?”

  “No, I'm good. Thanks. I'm not going to be there for the announcement, Atticus—could you send my regrets? Leaving her isn't an option. The spray works fast, but she needs to sleep it off, and I'm not comfortable letting her stay in here unattended when she's sick.”

  Atticus grunted. “I’d offer to stay with her, but I guess I know what your answer will be. You can stay in here as long as necessary, Liam doesn't use it during open hours as a rule. The intercom button is on the desk next to his keyboard—if you need anything, just use that. We'll come check on you, make sure you're both okay.” Heavy footsteps on the carpet, booming through her head. “Blanket and pillows. Use the desk lamp if you need to lessen the light—it's one of those fancy ones that has different settings.”

  “Thanks. If anyone asks, she wasn't running from the scene.” Thane's voice hardened. “She'd never live the embarrassment of that down, so if someone comments on it, tell them she knew the signs of an impending migraine and was going for her meds.”

  “Already got it under control. Pretty much word for word. Take care of her, Thane.”

  Thud, thud, thud. Boots on carpet, boots gone away. The click of a door opening, the wash of sound from beyond the walls, the snick of the door shutting.

  Dry tissues wiped over her face, removing the evidence of her sickness. Her eyes rolled, fluttered, trying to focus on the man who was, yet again, i
n charge of tending to her in her most useless moments. No one from Avalon had been permitted to see her so weak before now—even with Lisha in the house, Connie took care of herself when a migraine sliced her to ribbons.

  Thane had been witness to it twice.

  “On your back, sugar. There we go, nice and gentle.” Thane helped her lie flat, then lifted her head and slipped a pillow beneath it. Something cold pressed against the back of her neck, blanking her thoughts for a minute as the sharp coldness obliterated the pain for blessed moments. She realized he'd placed the icepack between the pillow and her nape and wanted to kiss him.

  More tissues stroked over her face, irritating the oversensitive skin that felt like it was on fire, then covered her nose. “Need you to blow, Connie. I know it hurts, I know. Do it for me, then I can give you the meds, okay?”

  She didn't want to. Everything hurt. But he asked so nicely, and he wasn't shouting at her for running away. He was doing what Thane did best and looking after her when she was too weak and pathetic to do it herself. Though her stomach revolted, she blew as hard as she could, almost triggering a second round of vomiting as the pulse points in her head exploded.

  “Good girl. Good girl, breathe through it. The trash can's there if you need it.” His hand brushed lightly over her hair, then she heard the crackle of packaging. “Two minutes and you can close your eyes and sleep this off.”

  She whimpered as the plastic nozzle eased up her right nostril, then breathed deep without him asking. At the pinnacle of the inhale, she heard the click of the mechanism as it pumped a shot of sumatriptan up her nose, then tasted the bitter crap as it ran down her throat.

  The nozzle disappeared from her nose, replaced by a rim against her lips. Thane eased her head up just enough to keep her from drowning as he let water trickle into her mouth, washing away the worst of the taste. When she pushed the bottle away, he stood and walked away, leaving her feeling sick and sorry and alone. As more tears rose, a blanket came down on her, starting at her feet and draping over her trembling body, all the way up to her chin.