“I respect confidentiality. I would never betray that.”
“Fabulous.” Willow waved a dismissive hand. “I’m here to have a nice evening, and that’s what I plan to do. Quite frankly, you’ve done your noble deed, and you can feel good about that.” She slid from the barstool. “I hope you enjoy your evening.” Another lie. “No. That’s not true. After the way you ruined my night, I hope yours sucks.”
“Wait.” Jax’s word was as forceful as any pair of handcuffs, and the command in it rooted her to the spot.
“Sit back down.” The words were lethal. More than ever, she understood how he enthralled audiences.
An internal battle waged in her—obedience to a Dominant who turned her on, and an instinctive urge to flee from an asshole who made her tremble.
“Please.”
Anything but an irresistible entreaty. Willow wrapped her arms around her midriff.
“I want to talk.”
“I have news for you, Mr. Bigshot Internet Star. Communication is a two-way street. I know thousands of people hang on your every word and worship your advice like gospel, but I’m not one of them.” She was already so far in that she decided to go for broke. “In fact, I find you and your approach offensive.”
“Do you?”
Damn his dark soul, he grinned.
Those might have been the wrong words. Rather than offended, he seemed challenged and invigorated.
“Please sit,” he repeated.
The bartender meandered closer, putting away wineglasses, then leaning back to adjust the gold garter he wore around his biceps.
“No more threats?”
“I never threatened you, Willow.”
God. The way he said her name—breaking it into two syllables and trailing off in a whisper of seduction that shot rockets through her. He wasn’t just dominant. He was dangerous. “You’d have to promise to zip your mouth shut and listen to me too.” She marveled at her defiance of a man wielding so much power over her life.
“Agreed.” He extended his hand.
She stared at it. The one time they’d touched, she carried his psychic impression for days. This time, she was smarter. She ignored him and lifted herself back onto the stool.
He lifted one eyebrow in a mock salute.
Once she was as comfortable as she could be with him crowding her space, she reached for her drink.
He flicked a glance at her hand, looking for the X, she guessed.
“You came here to scene,” he said.
“Nothing gets by you, does it, Sherlock Holmes.”
He signaled for the bartender and ordered a club soda. “Look. Can we have a truce?”
Not with the way nerves zapped through her veins.
“You’re a sub.”
It was a statement more than a question. She’d had these discussions with numerous men, and none of them had disturbed her as much as he did. “I’m more of a bottom.” She swirled her straw around the inside of her glass.
Surprising her, he waited for her to continue. Aware that her words might someday be used against her, she proceeded with care. “I’m into kink, but not on a full-time basis.”
She paused while the bartender delivered Jax’s drink. Her body language must have changed since the man wasn’t watching them as intently as he had before. After ensuring they didn’t need anything else, he walked off.
Jax ignored his glass in favor of studying her. “Go on.”
“I don’t want to be in a submissive partnership, but I like…” How the hell was she supposed to admit this to one of her dad’s friends? “I like going out, and I crave impact play.” She took a drink that she didn’t want while she finished her thought. “It sets me free.”
“Impact by itself? Or sensation, such as clamps? Or a Wartenberg wheel?”
Willow shivered. Not because she was scared, but because the idea of the pinwheel of tiny metal spikes pricking into her skin intrigued her.
“Ice? Heat?”
With other tops, she’d negotiated implements, discussed her pain tolerance, agreed on safe words. No one else had asked about torturing her in other ways. “I don’t know.” She stared into her drink.
“Tell me what things you have explored.”
“I’ve told you everything I’m going to.” She brought her chin up. If she didn’t shut up this moment, she might confess she was fantasizing about him rubbing a piece of ice over her clit. “Why are you here?”
“I have a couple of clubs that I enjoy. The Retreat in Houston. Another in Boston, but this is my favorite. I had a meeting…nearby.”
Breath rushed from her lungs. His slight hesitation omitted a ton of information, specifics that her mind filled in. She glanced at his right hand. As she expected he wore a gold ring. Though he wasn’t close enough to make out all the details, emeralds winked in the overhead light, and she knew those were meant to be the eyes of an owl. Her heart plummeted.
Like her father, Jax was a member of the Titans, one of the oldest secret societies in the United States. The organization had thousands of members, a who’s-who list of people from all over the world. The annual dues were astronomical, and the wait list to join was years long. The Titans, officially known as the Zeta Society, owned an estate on the banks of the Mississippi River. As a child, she’d visited a couple of times with her mom and dad, but never during the yearly meeting as nonmembers were banned from attending.
The Zetas did a fair amount of charity work, and they’d saved a magnificent historical home from demolition. Still, she chafed at the extreme waste of money that could be funneled into better purposes.
“So, you know.” It wasn’t a guess. It was a statement.
“Yes.”
“You sound disapproving.”
His membership explained a lot. How he’d gotten some big-name clients and achieved superstar success at such an early age. Titans helped other Titans.
Then she took a drink to escape the obvious. He would never have been admitted to the society without merit. Only descendants of founding members received a legacy admission. He’d earned a seat at the table. “I’m studying for my master’s in social work, Jax.” She chose her words with care, as he did, avoiding the mention of the Zetas. “I’d like to see people allot their resources differently.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “There’s only one way to do good in the world? Your way?”
She brought her chin up. “I don’t berate people.”
“Is that how you see it? You don’t think some people need a metaphoric kick in the pants?”
Willow gave him a great big, fake smile. “Present company included?”
He lifted his glass in a toast to her.
“And no. I think if people have a compelling reason, passion, they will move forward of their own volition.”
“Is that true?” His words held more interest than challenge, making her consider what she’d said. “Or are individuals different?” he persisted. “Do we each respond to different stimuli?”
Her breath caught as he looked at her barely covered body.
“Pain. Sensation. Pleasure. All of them tied together in an inextricable knot so that you don’t know where one ends and the other begins?”
They were no longer talking about social consciousness.
“Is it possible that you’re right, but that my way works also?”
To his credit, he didn’t flaunt the fact that people thought he held the holy grail to success. Because she cared about helping people through their struggles, she answered him thoughtfully. “I’m concerned with life balance more than you seem to be. You’re constantly talking about pushing, focusing on work to the exclusion of everything else. People need time to pause, to reflect. Think about positive things. Spend time with family and friends. Socialize. Connect. Laugh. Maybe ride a bike, but indulge in some fun. That’s what makes life worth living.”
“Maybe you should watch more and judge less.”
She blinked. She looked for the best i
n people and encouraged them to explore it. “That’s unkind.”
“Perhaps it’s true.”
Beneath his penetrating glare, she fidgeted.
“I presented a commencement address for a high school in a disadvantaged area last year. Look it up.”
She studied him through narrowed eyes, unwilling to acknowledge that maybe she didn’t know everything about him. On the other hand, the fact that he was still here rather than leaving her the hell alone to get her needs met was proof enough of his cocksure attitude.
“Do you play in the dungeon? Or do you prefer Rue Sensuelle?”
He’d switched subjects so fast that it took her a minute to catch up. “I’m sorry?”
“When you scene, where do you like to play?”
The Quarter had two floors, and the first was set up in an interesting horseshoe shape. The dungeon area was a square, and beyond that was another play area for people who preferred a little more solitude. On the far side lay Rue Sensuelle—or Kinky Avenue as most members called it. There were a number of different settings, separated by partitions. Each was furnished to appeal to a particular fetish. From what she’d heard, there was a schoolroom, a pair of stocks, and a Victorian chamber, complete with a brass bed. There was even supposed to be an examination table. The idea of being strapped to that terrified her.
He remained silent, waiting for her answer.
“I…” Why was this so difficult with him? Willow had negotiated with a dozen different Doms. She didn’t have to answer. Yet she wanted to. “Typically in the main area. I like the Saint Andrew’s cross or a spanking bench.”
“Which is your preference?”
“The Saint Andrew’s cross. It’s”—emotionally safer—“less personal, I suppose.”
“I’m guessing you like a flogging, then?”
“Actually…”
He leaned toward her, ensnaring her in his massive focus. For that moment, no one existed but her. And that gave her the courage she needed. “I haven’t had a lot of bare-bottom spankings.” Her body temperature increased, and she knew scarlet had flooded her cheeks.
“You’d like one?”
“From you? No! I wasn’t asking.”
He grinned, and his features transformed. For a moment, he looked less hostile, more human. Inviting and approachable. Feminine instinct whispered that she needed to be extra cautious. A charming Jaxon Mills might prove devastating.
“Over the knee? Or tied to a spanking bench?”
Either. Both. What the hell was wrong with her?
“When you make an arrangement with a Dom, what do you tell him?”
She crossed her legs and took the opportunity to tighten her pelvic muscles. Even though she didn’t want to be, Willow was horny for this overbearing man.
“I’m waiting.”
“Of course, I let him know that my safe word is red, like the club’s. And I use yellow for slow. And absolutely no physical penetration.”
“That includes no ass play?”
She shook her head so fast that her hair swung around her face. “Not ever.”
“Is your hypothetical Dom allowed to touch your clit?”
His question sucked the air from her lungs. Her father’s friend was asking this? And worse, she was going to answer. “I’ve never said yes to that before.”
“But you’d be open to it?”
Am I? She glanced at his ridiculously big hand. His finger would be rough against her skin. She tried to speak, but no words emerged.
“Would he be allowed to wedge your panties between your legs and use the fabric to get you off?”
She grabbed her drink and gulped down enough that she coughed.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” A wry laugh wrapped around his words.
Willow slammed her glass back onto the napkin much harder than she’d intended to.
“Do you like to orgasm during a scene? Or do you just like to get lost?”
“Lost,” she replied. “I don’t think I’m able to.”
He leaned forward. “Can you clarify what you mean?”
What was it about him that invited her to reveal more than she wanted to? With other Doms, she’d drawn the line at penetration, and they’d agreed. No one had asked for more information. “Well, I mean… I never have. Orgasmed at a club.”
“Has anyone else used sensation play with you?”
Her nerves were shattered. Even though she didn’t intend to, she plucked the straw from the glass just so she had something to toy with. “No.”
“Is it something you want to try?”
“Maybe. I mean, we’re talking hypothetically, right? It would depend on a few things, such as whether the right Dom asked.” She was leading a dangerous dance. Flirting, considering. Despite the warnings bouncing around inside her head, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to make a mistake with him.
“What toys do you like?”
“Nothing too intense. Paddles are okay. Hairbrushes, wooden spoons.” With other Doms, they were inanimate objects, but when she spoke with him, she couldn’t help but imagine him holding the implements. Round and round, she twisted the straw.
“A devil’s tail?”
“I haven’t tried one.”
“You might like it. A tiny bite, maybe a bit more. Can be used with extreme precision and in tight, even intimate places. The red lines it leaves behind are rather appealing.”
“But…”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I like the way those implements cover a wider area. There’s a”—she sought out a description that made sense, something that was complicated since she hadn’t thought it through herself—“I guess an oomph factor. The impact forces my body forward. It’s an instinctive reaction. And the way it hurts, and the marks…” Thinking about it left her needy. She had to scene tonight. Had to.
He nodded slowly, taking in her words. “Since you’ve mentioned the Saint Andrew’s cross, I’m also assuming you’re familiar with a flogger.”
“Yes. But heavier ones. The way the falls wrap around my sides…they cover so much area, you know. So many impact points, things happening all at the same time. It’s a lot to take in. Too much, even.”
“You like that.”
“Yeah.” She breathed out, wondering if he sensed her dreaminess.
“Anything else you want me to know?”
Dare she? “My favorite is a—”she cleared her throat—“an open hand.” His. Jaxon Mills was a commanding presence. At six-two, maybe six-three, he was taller than most men she knew. No doubt, he was capable of delivering what she wanted, maybe better than anyone else had. The question was, would he?
“So it’s the impact? Maybe the sound?”
She met his gaze. He understood her. “And the intimacy. There’s nothing between me and my Dom.”
“It’s your lucky night, Willow. I have a few paddles in my bag. And I’ve been told I have rather strong hands. And there’s nothing I’d like more than having you turned over my lap with your bottom bared.”
Jax plucked the straw from her nerveless fingers. The melty coconut liquid dribbled over the glossy bar surface as he returned it to the glass. “Now it’s my turn to tell you what I look for when I top a woman.”
He had demands of his own? The realization shouldn’t surprise her. Of course there had to be a catch. “Such as?”
“I want her naked. No clothes between us.”
“Which means a private room.” On the first floor, certain protocols had to be followed. Patrons had to wear panties, no matter how skimpy. And women’s nipples had to be covered in some way. Many people chose electrical tape or a sheer bra, even pasties. But upstairs, a place she’d never visited, the only rule was the enforcement of a safe word. She’d heard stories of things that happened in those rooms, and she assumed most were tall tales.
Willow had never been naked with a man. That she hadn’t already stopped Jax stunned her. What kind of spell did he have over he
r?
Unaware of what he was doing to her insides, he continued. “My rules…I agree to give my sub what she wants and honor her limits and safe word. But within her parameters, I set the pace.” His tone, which had been even, roughened. He captured her chin. “The bottom is not in charge.”
Lust rocketed through her. She cleared her throat, trying to convince herself this was an ordinary negotiation with an ordinary man.
He released his hold on her. Until then, she hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing.
Seizing any opportunity to dance away from the trouble—the inevitability—that she was steaming toward, she tried for a diversion. “I got distracted earlier. I asked why you visit clubs. I mean besides the obvious of telling people what to do.”
He gave a quick smile. Part of her enjoyed their verbal sparring.
“Like you, I find impact play rewarding. As you said, connection with others is important. Quality over quantity.” He kept her gaze ensnared. “Despite what you think you know, I believe focus is more important than actual hours worked. I can accomplish more in five hours than other people can in ten.”
He wasn’t bragging, and she knew it.
“I work out every morning. Sleep six to seven hours.” More quietly, sensually, so she had to strain to hear him, he added, “I like being in charge.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Pleasing a woman is its own reward. So very satisfying.”
“And you get to do it without any commitments or the complications that come with a relationship.”
“You said that. I didn’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have a girlfriend or wife waiting for you at home?”
“No. In case I wasn’t clear, I don’t cheat.”
In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard of him being in a relationship. The way he spoke to her calmed her. Slowly, the rest of her resistance dissipated.
“Let’s be clear with each other, Willow. You want to indulge in some impact play and lose yourself. I’ll do my damnedest to please you. One more thing.” He paused for a moment. “If you want to get your needs met tonight, it will be with me and no other man. Am I clear?”
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