Salvation

by Jane Henry

  “Babe, I’m talking about food, not role playing at a BDSM club.”

  Babe? My heart pitter patters. Role playing? It never was a role for Noah.

  “Okay,” I say stupidly, not knowing what else to say.

  “Listen,” he says. “After we eat something, you can ask whatever you want, okay?”

  “Can you, um, turn away so I can get dressed?”

  He nods and turns while I slip back into my dress. Then I slide my legs out of bed, bend down, and quickly make the bed. Then I run my hand through my hair and straighten out my clothes. When I turn to him, he’s smirking.

  “Need a broom? Want to give the floor a good sweep before we go?”

  I stick my tongue out on instinct. His laughing eyes sober, and he shakes his head. “Still a brat.”

  “Still bossy,” I quip.

  He laughs but it’s a little sad. “Honey, you have no idea,” he says softly.

  I turn away from him so he can’t see the way he makes my cheeks flush. I use the bathroom and freshen up as best I can. I need a change of clothes, but he at least has a new toothbrush and travel-sized deodorant for me. I try not to think about why he has those things.

  And then he’s through the door and walking so quickly I need to practically run to catch up.

  “Where are we going?” I ask

  “Break room.”

  “I want to see the dungeon,” I push, catching up to him. “Maybe I came to Club Verge for more than the excellent drinks and companionship. Has that occurred to you?”

  I don’t know why I’m being so difficult. He wasn’t even arguing with me. He merely cuts his eyes to me. “Many things have occurred to me. And we’ll address those things. First, we get food and I get in touch with Tobias. I check the forecast.” He raises a brow. “And you’ll behave yourself in the meantime.”

  I remember his palm smacking my ass the night before. I just nod.

  I must be crazy. I never behave this way. What is it about him that makes the brat in me surface?

  We cross through the bar area and head to a small room I didn’t see before. It looked like a closet or something, but when he opens it, it’s a break room of sorts. It’s near Tobias’ office. He ushers me in. There are two large vending machines here. One has beverages, the second snacks. There’s a small circular table and four chairs, and counters behind the chairs.

  “Looks like a regular office break room,” I say with a smile.

  “DM’s often spend hours here,” he says. “We sometimes get takeout, but there isn’t always a lot of time. So, we have a break room and Tobias keeps it well stocked.”

  My stomach rumbles with hunger. I clutch it, and Noah—Axle—just smiles. He takes out a card and runs it through a slot on the machine then pushes a button and a drink slides to the bottom. He takes it out and hands it to me.

  “Thanks,” I say. It’s orange juice. Cute.

  “Something to eat?” he asks, gesturing to the vending machine, but I’m a little nervous now, and nothing looks really good.

  I shake my head. “Actually, I’m good with just having the juice,” I say. I fumble at the top but it’s like soldered together or something because it doesn’t budge. He reaches for it wordlessly, and I watch as his huge fingers grip the small can. He pops the top and hands it back to me.

  “I wasn’t suggesting, Chandra,” he says. There’s correction in his tone. A delicious shiver trills through me as my body remembers this. Him. All of it. The way he takes charge and cares for me in his calm, decided manner.

  Noah. My heart aches for the man I once loved, and we’re only standing in a damn break room with a vending machine.

  It’s more than that, though, and I know it. The present, right here and now, clouds the beautiful, heartbreaking memories, like frosted glass on a storefront window. All I need to do is lean in, breathe against the cloud, wipe it all away, and the memories will loom crystal clear and vivid. I can’t deal with the way my mind and body are assaulting me with memories, and I try to get a handle on things.

  He leans a hip against the counter and crosses his arms on his chest. Damn, the years have been good to him. When I knew him, he was younger and thinner, and though he had the same intensely blue eyes and stern jawline, the same wide breadth of shoulders and strength of stature, he was thinner, like a sapling reaching heavenward. The years have hardened his eyes a bit, and most definitely hardened his body. I tear my eyes away from him and look at the vending machine. It blurs, though. I see wrappers and cellophane. “Just pick something,” I say with a shrug.

  With a nod, he turns to me, swipes his card, then punches numbers. Little packets of food topple to the bottom of the machine. He reaches in to get them, then lays them down in front of me. There’s a cereal bar in a green package with the picture of an apple, a cello-wrapped six-pack of peanut butter crackers, and a pair of toaster pastries wrapped in a royal blue package with silver edging. I reach for the toaster pastries and grin at him. My mama refused to buy these for me, but I loved them, so when I moved out on my own, I bought them by the caseload. He always gave me shit about it.

  Now he just winks, and my stomach dips.

  I tear open the package, pull out an iced pastry, and take a bite large enough I can’t speak. I wash it down with orange juice, then take another bite.

  “Not hungry, my ass,” he mutters. He’s gotten himself a can of coke which he swigs down before he tears open the cereal bar.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and sip the juice again. “Glad there’s a breakroom.”

  “Yeah,” he grunts. “Except he somehow neglected the damn coffee.”

  I don’t drink coffee myself, but I remember Noah always drank at least three cups of coffee a day.

  “You always did like your coffee,” I say contemplatively, polishing off one pastry and reaching for the second. My belly churns in satisfaction.

  “I did,” he says softly. “Still do. I guess some things never change.”

  Chapter Six

  Axle

  I shouldn’t be looking at her mouth and imagining it wrapped around my cock. I like to pride myself on my self-control, but just looking at those full, luscious lips, the way she runs her tongue along the lower one when she’s contemplative...

  I shouldn’t be staring at her full, gorgeous breasts, and wondering if she still has those dusky pink nipples that peak when I run my hands along her naked skin before I even touch them.

  I feel myself sinking into temptation I’ve avoided for so damn long. This woman was always my kryptonite, but I’m no fucking Superman.

  I joined the priesthood because I knew something was wrong with me. At least that’s what I thought in my youth. It wasn’t right to want to do twisted, sadistic things to another person. When I was in high school, I fantasized about taking girls across my lap and spanking them until they cried, cuffing their wrists, binding their ankles with rope. Fucking their mouths while their eyes were hidden behind blindfolds. It wasn’t right that I’d slip my belt off before bed and imagine slapping the leather against a girl’s full ass.

  I didn’t know back then that there were other people like me.

  And when I confessed my depraved cravings in the darkest recesses of the confessional, I was told to avoid the temptation, not to dwell on impure thoughts. To fill my mind with prayer. After several years of trying this advice and failing miserably, I forced myself to join the priesthood. If something was wrong with me, I’d choose a life of celibacy. I would eradicate the perverted desires from my mind and cleanse my body with the sacraments.

  I stayed chaste until Chandra and when presented with the temptation of her submission, her excitement when I dominated her… I couldn’t say no. I fell headlong into my sadistic fantasies, and I found them even more addictive and tantalizing when I actually did them.

  It was wrong, so wrong, and my conscience plagued me for defiling her.

  Our break up was a mutual decision. She had a life to live. And I had
to do the right thing.

  I left the priesthood amidst shame and speculation, and I didn’t look back. I left a black mark on my past, a smear of shame and failure. I chose damnation.

  I pull myself back to the present.

  She looks even more beautiful than I remember. Wide, dark brown eyes framed with impossibly black lashes, striking and feminine. Beautiful, creamy dark skin that fairly glows with a faint tinge of pink along her high cheekbones. Full lips that are naturally pouty, even at rest, a delicate little chin. Her figure is fuller than when I knew her, and I want to run my hands along the curves at her hips, the fullness of her breasts, her taut, beautiful ass.

  She’s nibbling her breakfast and sipping her juice, swinging her legs under the table like a little girl.

  I reach for my phone and hit Tobias’ number because I need to fill him in and hell, I need something to distract me.

  He answers on the third ring. “Axle?”

  “Hey, man.”

  “What’s up?”

  I fill him in on almost all of the details. I’ll have to tell him about Chandra. He’ll see the security footage when he comes in anyway. But now isn’t the time.

  “So it doesn’t look like we’ll be opening anytime soon,” he tells me. “The city’s ordered all non-essential business closed until further notice. Electricity’s out in certain zones, and there have been four casualties alone in NYC. The blizzard warning is still in effect. Main roads are shut down. They’re telling everyone but emergency personnel to stay off the roads.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter.

  “Do we still have power?”

  “So far, yeah.”

  “Good. If we lose power, the heat goes down, too.” He pauses. “So, man, one thing you need to know. I get all security feed routed to my home, too. For safety purposes. Nothing in the private rooms, as I’ve promised the long-term members. But the main areas are all under surveillance, and I keep an eye on things.”

  I know what he’s seen, then. Hell, he could right at this very moment be watching me sit in this room with Chandra.

  “So you know,” I say. He knows I’m not alone.

  “Yeah. Something you want to talk to me about?”

  I glance over at her. “Yeah,” I agree. “Can it wait until you’re here?”

  “Of course,” he says.

  I need to talk to him about more than Chandra, though. “I need you to go through that footage,” I tell him. “But let’s talk about that when you come in, too.”

  He sobers. “Sure, man. Everything okay?”

  I remember the black covering on the surveillance camera above the bar. “I’m not sure,” I tell him honestly. I want to know why that camera was covered and if it had anything to do with her being sick the night before.

  I look at Chandra sipping her juice, and know I’ve got at least one long day ahead of me, maybe even several.

  “Favor, though, man.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you keep the footage in the dungeon and bar area off while I’m here?” I don’t want him laying eyes on her at all. Chandra belongs to me, and I want to secret her away. Just for my own eyes. Chandra cuts her gaze to mine and they go wide, but when she catches me looking at her, she looks away.

  “Already done,” he says.

  “Much appreciated.”

  I’m not going to do anything with her, but I don’t like the idea of us being under surveillance.

  I hang up with Tobias and turn back to Chandra.

  “What was that all about?” she asks. She wipes her mouth with a napkin and balls up her empty package.

  “Checking in with Tobias,” I tell her. “We needed to go over a few things.”

  “I see,” she says thoughtfully. The she leans back and closes her eyes. “I haven’t had something like that to eat in a good, long while.”

  “Good,” I tell her. “That’s total shit.”

  She opens one eye and peers at me. “The Noah I knew didn’t swear.” It isn’t chiding, but more like she’s confused.

  I chuckle. “As if the Noah you knew was a moral man? No, Chandra. You misremember.”

  But her burning gaze tells me that’s bullshit. She doesn’t misremember a damn thing.

  Tearing her eyes away from mine, she shrugs, but she’s only feigning nonchalance. She feels this between us, the electric vibe of hunger and need that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to erupt.

  “Well, anyway,” she mumbles, and her voice is a little shaky and husky. She leans back and closes her eyes. “Those tasted delicious.”

  You tasted delicious, my body chimes.

  God. Being in here with her is doing crazy shit to my head.

  She opens both eyes and stares at me. “What happened to you?” she asks. “When did you leave the priesthood? I heard rumors, but I want to hear it straight from you.” I don’t expect her boldness, but I should. It’s one of the things I loved best about her.

  What happened to me? Besides losing every single relationship that meant everything to me?

  She deserves the truth.

  “I left the priesthood shortly after we broke up,” I tell her. “I had no business being with you and you know it.”

  “Depends on who you ask,” she says, looking away. “But we were consenting adults then.” Her voice trails off. There’s a pregnant pause, then her eyes come back to mine and she swallows. “We’re consenting adults now.”

  I ignore the need to gather her up in my arms and kiss her into silent submission. I swallow, pretending that my whole world isn’t crashing down around me, and continue. “I left the priesthood and went off on my own. Got into car repair.” I should have chosen hard labor from the beginning instead of believing I could purge my sins with celibacy. I had no family to speak of and she knows that, but the priests I knew would no longer talk to me, parishioners naturally shunned me, and I needed to find my way. I deserved the shunning. I broke my vows. “I left our town and moved away.”

  “And I found you like a needle in a haystack.” She smiles, but the smile is soft and sad, and her eyes grow wistful.

  “Something like that,” I say with a smile. “Now, your story.”

  Her eyes shutter, and she looks away.

  “You can figure out mine, no?”

  It’s an evasion tactic, and now I need to know what she’s hiding.

  “No,” I say, my voice taking on a stern edge that’s natural to me. To us. “You tell me.”

  She looks back to me and lowers her lashes in submission. God, I missed this. She responds so beautifully to my commands. When I’d give her an instruction, she’d melt into me and cling, warming me through like sunshine. She thrived under my firm hand. Chandra was created to submit and flourished under my love and dominance.

  “I don’t want to tell you everything,” she says, shaking her head. “Not now.”

  “Chandra,” I warn. What is she hiding?

  Her lower lip trembles. She always hated defying me, and she hates it now.

  She takes in a deep breath and looks up at me. “I, too, did the right thing. I left my home. I broke off my engagement.” She looks away. “I moved to NYC and went to school.”

  “When?”

  “Four years ago.”

  Something’s got a hold on my throat, it’s tight and I can’t speak. The woman I love has been right here, near me, for years and I didn’t even know.

  I pull out a chair and sit down across from her. “What’d you study?”

  “Writing.”

  Interesting. My girl always was a creative one, and my heart surges with pride that she claimed this for her own. “Yeah? What kind of writing?”

  A corner of her lips quirks up. “I write romance,” she says. “My parents don’t know, of course. But I have three published novels, and I’m working on my fourth.”

  I blink. Her parents were modern-day Puritans and didn’t believe in fiction, and she’s written romance?

  “It was… how Marla and I hit
it off,” she goes on, twisting her fingers together. “I don’t know if you know this, but she has the largest, most comprehensive stock of kinky romance novels of any bookstore in NYC.”

  “Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “Of probably any store in the world.”

  And then it dawns on me. Chandra writes romance novels and loves Marla’s store for her kinky books.

  I quirk a head to the side, both pleased and curious. “Do you write BDSM novels?”

  Her cheeks flush a lovely shade, brightening her eyes. “Yes and no. Some aren’t classic, consensual BDSM. Some are… Dubious consent. Darker.”

  Dubious consent? I don’t even know what that is, and I’m already hard. I adjust myself under the table.

  “Under a pen name?”

  She nods. “Of course.”

  “I want to read them.”

  “Noah—Axle… they’re for women. And you’d be shocked if you read them.” She crosses her arms over her chest as if to protect herself. “They’re really dirty.”

  I laugh out loud. “Good girl,” I approve. “Very good girl. If we weren’t shut tight in here because of the snow, I’d be at Marla’s today.”

  Now she’s so red I bet she can feel her own cheeks flame but then her eyes grow concerned. “What do you mean, stuck tight in here?”

  I tell her what Tobias told me.

  “I have to go,” she says.

  I shake my head with finality. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until it’s safe.” As if on cue, the wind howls like a mourning woman outside the break room window, and snow swirls heavily. She stands and peeks out the window. The streets are nearly vacant.

  “Damn,” she whispers. “But I’ll bundle up and go anyway. I mean, I appreciate your protection and all, but I have things to do.” She turns from the window and heads to the door.

  “Yeah,” I say, blocking her way. “And that isn’t happening.”

  “Excuse me?” She tilts her head to the side. “Listen, just because we have history doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do. I won’t drive or do anything stupid, but I am going home.”