by Brandi Evans
A day’s worth of growth covered his cheeks and square jawline. And damn those dimples. Why’d they have to amp his fuckability to stupid levels? Didn’t she have enough shit to worry about?
His eyes, however, were the only real hint to his age. The gray-blue pools hid so much pain, something she knew way too much about; the same shadows looked back at her every time she looked in a mirror.
What tragedies scarred this man’s life?
“Carter,” she murmured, trying unsuccessfully to keep from fussing with her hair. She had to look a mess. She’d rushed out to the bank first thing this morning. No makeup. No primping. Nothing. She’d been too nervous. She had, at least, brushed her hair at some point, right? “What’s up?”
“If you’re looking for some extra money,” he began, bracing both hands on the doors to keep them from closing, “I have something for you.”
“Really?” She fought the urge to raise her hands to the sky and scream, hallelujah!
He nodded. “It’s a job here at the club, something very different than making drinks.”
Intrigue tickled her spine. A job at the club? Talk about a wide variety of possibilities. “What kind of job are we talking about?”
“The kind that requires spending a lot of time with me.”
“Oh.” She could certainly think of worse job descriptions.
Carter took a step closer, letting the doors slide closed and trapping them in the small space. The scent of man and Ivory soap messed with her senses.
“What do you say I buy you a cup of coffee at Ravenous, and we can discuss the details?” he asked.
Sharing a drink with Carter Burkes at a BDSM-themed restaurant? Finally, this shitty-ass day was looking up.
Carter didn’t know which was more intoxicating. Sitting within kissing distance of Raven, nestled at a table in a dimly lit corner of Ravenous, or the alluring scent of whatever vanilla product she wore. The aroma tempted him closer, even as common sense told him to stay the fuck back. He planned to help her, maybe fuck her—okay, hopefully fuck her—but that was as far as it could go.
No emotional entanglements.
Never again.
Life was easier when his heart didn’t get involved.
Relationships always ended badly, and he couldn’t handle a repeat of Emily. What happened to her had nearly killed him. Literally and figuratively. He couldn’t go through that kind of pain again.
Focusing on his surroundings, he performed a quick rundown of the room, his go-to move for calming his mind. The hostess, a leather-clad bombshell decked out in full dominatrix fashion, smiled at him as she escorted another couple to a nearby table—although table might be stretching the term.
Massive cushioned platforms ‘hung’ from the ceiling by four thick chains and were secured to the floor with a hidden base, giving the illusion that the seats were suspended in mid-air. Circular, wrought-iron tabletops sat in the center of each platform, the perfect size to hold Ravenous’ trademark shared, no-silverware-required meals.
Ravenous was aesthetically a BDSM dungeon. Old styles had been blended with new. Leather, chains, and wrought-iron bars paired with creams, deep reds, and blacks. Ornate chandeliers and rock walls rounded out the space. It mirrored the club’s décor perfectly, just without the naked people.
When Raven was finished dressing her coffee—two sugars and a splash of cream—she took a sip and sighed. “I swear I could live off coffee.”
“I swear I do live off coffee.” And he wasn’t joking. What time he didn’t put in at the precinct he spent at Restrained Fantasies, which left little time for things like eating. “Well, coffee, citrus smoothies, and PowerBars. I swear I haven’t had a good, home-cooked meal in half of forever.”
“So, you’re not big into cooking, I see.” She flashed a dick-hardening smile. “I enjoy cooking. I suck at it, but I enjoy it. I’ve been cooking since I was four. Kinda had to since—”
Her sentence stopped suddenly, and she took another sip of coffee, although she didn’t need to finish the thought. He could surmise the end. Her mom had been too strung out on drugs to bother cooking for her daughter. He’d, unfortunately, seen variations on the theme many times throughout his career.
“So,” she said as she placed her mug back on the table, “tell me about this job. And forgive me for being a bit uncouth, but how much does it pay? And how soon before I get paid?”
She smiled, but unease played in her orange-brown eyes. Rapid blinking, nibbling on her lower lip, a slight furrowing of her brow, all signs of being under massive stress.
His chest tightened in sympathy. He wanted to cover her hand with his and tell her everything would be okay, anything to make her smile again.
“The job’s to be my assistant for Reading Your Sub, a new class I’m teaching at the club. The sub I’d hired—”
She was already shaking her head, the sudden fear streaking across her forehead telling him she knew what he was about to request. “I tend bar at a BDSM club, but I’m not part of the lifestyle. I made that very clear to Mr. Michaels when he hired me.”
Yes, Carter knew her preferences very well.
“For this class, Raven, preferences don’t really matter. Hell, I’d go so far as to say it’ll be a plus.” He gave her a reassuring smile, but she didn’t look particularly reassured.
“How so?” She furrowed her brow, changing the position of the delicate silver hoop decorating her eyebrow.
He wanted to trace the piercing with his tongue. Did that make him weird?
“Reading Your Sub is all about showing newbie Doms how to better serve their subs by learning to accurately read their body language.”
“Yeah. Got that from the syllabus, professor.”
Carter laughed out loud; it was damn close to a snort. God, he loved her snark.
“What exactly would my role be, scared bartender asks already dreading the answer.”
“Well, basically, you’ll let me place you in certain situations, some of which will make you uncomfortable, some of which might arouse you. Everything I do will be done to evoke physical and emotional responses from you, responses I’ll point out and dissect so other Doms can see them and recognize them for the future.”
“What kind of situations?”
“Various states of bondage mainly, maybe toward the end, bondage with a ball gag so I can delve deep into the non-verbal aspects of the class.”
Shaking her head again, she wrapped her arms around her middle—a flashing neon sign. Crossed arms indicated anxiety, internal discomfort, or vulnerability. She might not be outright terrified by his offer, but she wasn’t okay with it either. Maybe it was time for a mini demonstration.
He caught her by the chin, the hold a smidge beyond gentle yet not approaching anything remotely abusive. If she wanted, she could free herself with one jerk of her head.
As he’d anticipated—and counted on—she went completely stiff a few moments before grabbing his arm.
He mentally broke down her reaction as he verbalized what he saw. “Your body went rigid and your eyebrows rose, which tells me you were surprised by my sudden move. Your lower lip’s trembling, which tells me you’re scared. But strangely enough…” He flicked his hand, freeing his wrist from her grasp, and pressed his index finger to her chin, gently this time. “You’re also licking your lips which tells me there’s a seed of arousal deep inside you in need of tending.” He leaned in so close his breath warmed her lips. “Am I wrong?”
She took a quivering breath. “Yes. V-very wrong.”
“Liar.” He pulled back far enough to snare her with his gaze. “Your voice has gotten tight, and you’re stuttering. You want me. At the very least, you’re aroused by me in your personal space. It’s okay to admit it, little one.”
“No.” Resignation tinted her arousal. “I’m. Not.”
She was lying so hard.
Sweetening the pot, he stroked his thumb over her cheek. “I know I like having you in my personal s
pace. I’d also be honored to be the first to help you explore your submissive side.”
Those expressive eyes widened. His admission had surprised her. And excited her. And for reasons he couldn’t grasp, angered her.
Hmm? Interesting.
“I’m not subservient to anyone,” she said, jumping to her feet, “so you’ll need to find someone else to be your plaything for class.”
Fuck.
Like Brock had warned him not to do, Carter had pushed her too far, too fast, and she was running. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck. He had to get her back quickly.
“The pay’s a thousand dollars,” he called after her, startling the woman at the table next to them and making her drop a piece of fruit smothered in chocolate fondue.
Raven stopped cold. Her shoulders were tense and pulled back, showing defiance while standing proud and tall, but her hands told a contradicting story. They were closed in fists, a clear fighting posture. She was in conflict but with herself. Which did she want more?
The money?
Or to save her pride?
He went to her, careful not to step too close, and kept his voice so low only she could hear. “The situations I put you in will in no way compromise you. You have my word, Raven. No sex, no exposing yourself. You will remain in control and can stop it at any time.”
She turned back to him, chin lifted. “I need the money, but I won’t sell my body to get it.”
“I’m not asking you to, sweetheart. If I were, I’d have to arrest us both.” He paused a moment to let his meaning sink in. “I need you to be my subject for a class. That’s what I’m paying for.”
“No sex? No flogging? No—”
“I can’t spell out everything I might or might not do because it could color your reactions, and I want your reactions to be completely authentic. However, I guarantee I won’t do anything like the things you’re probably thinking.”
Her expression remained like granite. “I won’t have sex with you for money.” She drove the point home with lethal finality. “I won’t.”
He nodded. Hoping to lighten her mood, he added, “So are you saying you would have sex with me for fun, then?”
Finally, the sexy smile he adored recaptured her lips, and laughter bubbled from her sexy-as-sin mouth. “I didn’t say that either.”
He gave an over-exaggerated shrug. “Can’t blame a Dom for trying.”
She shook her head, but she was all laughs.
“Come on, Raven.” He motioned back to their table. “Let’s sit back down, and I’ll go over some of the finer details before class.”
After taking a deep breath, she nodded. “I’ll listen—but that doesn’t mean I’m saying yes.”
“Read ya loud and clear.” But at least, she was listening.
What the hell had she agreed to?
Raven paced the maze of packed boxes in her living room, her better judgment twisting her intestines into pretzels. She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to be Carter’s—what had he called it? —subject for a BDSM workshop. She should call and back out, tell him she was having second thoughts. Yes, just call and admit she was scared.
She half-flung herself onto a three-box pile to her right. Canceling would be the smart thing, but the money she’d make for what amounted to three days of work would take a chunk out of the ten thousand she needed. But would this money matter in the long run?
Probably not.
She honestly couldn’t see any way to raise the kind of money she needed in a month, participating in Carter’s class or no. She’d already had a little over three grand in the safe upstairs. In her getting-ready-to-move sale, she sold everything of value. Jewelry, her grandmother’s antique dining set, her bedroom set. She took the term ‘fresh start’ literally. Nothing from this shithole would pass the doors of her new place.
Well, what would have been her new place before her mother had struck again.
What would never be her new place if she didn’t meet Carter for his damn class.
The plan had been to buy all new furniture after moving in. She was currently sleeping on a mattress in the living room and living out of boxes, but if she could somehow find a way to pull the money together, everything would be worth it, even if she had to sleep on a pallet on the floor and live out of boxes for months.
She grabbed a random T-shirt from the box beside her and chucked it at the piece of shit sofa she doubted she’d be able to sell. It still amazed her how quickly and thoroughly her plans had derailed, but this wasn’t the time or place for dissecting her crappy life. She had to be back at the club in under two hours, and as one of her Army foster dads was fond of saying, she still needed to shit, shower, and shave. Definitely shave.
Everything.
Just in case.
Carter was hot, after all. And what was so wrong with a girl getting her jollies off? So long as she wasn’t fucking him for money, everything was game.
Forty-five minutes later, she stood naked in front of her closet. What was she supposed to wear when subbing in for a sub? Carter hadn’t elaborated on this aspect, and she hadn’t thought to ask. Usually, when heading to work at the club, she’d throw on a pair of tattered jeans and one of the many leather corsets she’d bought at the Restrained Fantasies’ shop, but something told her Carter wouldn’t want her to wear anything quite so covering. Ugh, she’d have to show off her legs, wouldn’t she?
She looked heavenward. “Just kill me now.”
She started digging through her clothes. Did she own a skirt anymore? Maybe she could find something leftover in her mom’s closet and—
Raven cut the thought off at the neck. She would not borrow clothes from her meth-addicted mother, so she could go to a sex club and give herself to a man for cash. And okay, technically, she wasn’t resorting to prostitution like her mom had, but this felt too damn close for comfort. Selling her body for cash was her mother’s thing, not Raven’s, and by god, she was not her mother. She was, however, desperate.
Letting out a long breath, she grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on. She paired the denim with a blood-red corset and her favorite black combat boots. The outfit probably wouldn’t work, but she knew a person who could help.
After locking the front door, she grabbed her phone and dialed the club. The boss answered on the third ring.
“Michaels.”
“Hey, Boss. It’s Raven. By any chance, is Viv around?”
Carter did a double-take.
Raven stepped into the dungeon anxious out of her mind. She stood with her arms crossed, her spine as rigid as the stone walls surrounding them. She was fidgety too, both hands and feet, as if she were fighting the urge to run, and her soulful eyes were dark, pupils wide, and swimming with fear. None of her anxiety, however, affected him more potently than the sight of her decked out in full bondage gear.
Be still his throbbing dick.
A blood-red corset wrapped her torso, accentuating her curvy figure and lifting her breasts to a point where they commanded absolute respect and undivided attention. On her feet, she wore a pair of black combat boots with a flair of decoration; sexy leather-and-rivet straps wrapped the ankle. Talk about submissive perfection.
It was the parts between the corset and the boots, however, which drove him to the outer edges of sanity. A cutoff jean skirt showed off thick, powerful legs wrapped in wide fishnet stockings. The ensemble played with his mind, and the black four-poster bed behind her only added to the picture.
She was a fucking powerhouse. What would those strong legs feel like locked around his waist as he rammed into her? The mere thought had his cock swelling to full attention behind the zipper of his leathers.
This would be an agonizingly long class.
Adjusting himself before taking a step, his boots soft against the tile floor, Carter went to her. “Wow. Just… wow. You look positively edible.”
A smile broke through her obvious discomfort. “Thanks. Viv took me shopping. I wasn’t sure I could pull
this off, but she insisted.”
“And I’m so very glad she did.” He made a twirl-for-me motion with his index finger. “Turn. I want to see the back.”
She hesitated a few heartbeats before complying, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from groaning. He’d always admired her ass when she’d been behind the relative safety of the bar. He’d ordered many a drink for the sole purpose of making her squat and stretch to reach seldom-used bottles of alcohol, putting her round ass on full display, but now, no bar stood between them, just a small swath of skin-tight denim.
“I’m going to touch you,” he said matter-of-factly as he stepped around her and stood toe-to-toe. “Before anyone gets here, so you can, at least, feel a little more comfortable with me and your role in class.”
Yeah, comfort was the reason he wanted to touch her.
She shook her head. Sweet Jesus, she looked as if she were utterly terrified he’d string her up to the wrought-iron chandelier and grab her by the pussy, with or without her consent. Only assholes did something so disgusting—not to mention illegal—and he wasn’t a fucking monster. He was a Dom, but he was also a gentleman, although not always so much with the gentle.
“I’m not going to grope you, Raven. I swear. Safe, sane, and consensual. It’s not just a club tagline; it’s something I take very seriously.”
“I know. I know. It’s just…” Closing her eyes, she drew in a long, deep breath and then froze. When she opened her eyes again and locked their gazes, determination painted her face even if fear never left her expression. “Touch me.”
With cobweb soft touches, he drew his right index finger along her jaw. She tensed, shoulders pulling back, but she didn’t pull away. He’d take this as a good sign.
He lifted his other hand and repeated the motion on her opposite side. “I’m not going to touch you anywhere that’ll make you feel compromised. That much I promise you.” He’d covered this before, but given her discomfort, he was compelled to repeat it. “But I will touch you during class. Nearly intimately. Aside from the two big spots, is there anywhere else you have strong negative feelings toward?”
