by Cox, Chloe
“Bad news?” he asked.
Oh shit, he’s been watching me. She racked her brain.
“I thought this wasn’t supposed to get personal,” she said, jutting her chin up at him. Was she reminding him, or trying to convince herself?
There was a pause, a moment of stillness. He studied her. Then he nodded, very slightly, and said, “Of course. Follow me.”
Jake turned around and walked into the dark, winding halls of Volare.
chapter 6
Catie had to trot after him to catch up, her heels echoing off the dark hardwood floors. She followed him through the twisting halls and confusing layout, deep into the heart of the private rooms at Volare, where she’d never had reason to be before now. She found herself wondering why they’d chosen such a confusing layout, until they reached a room at the end of sudden turn, and then she guessed the reason: disorientation. They wanted you to feel like there was nothing else in the world besides the room you were in. Like there was nothing else happening besides what was happening to you.
The walk gave her time to think, which turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. That text message from Brazzer was still on her phone. She hadn’t deleted it. What was she going to do? It seemed like she had only minutes to decide. She didn’t want to have to figure all this out under Jake’s intense stare.
Brazzer had said there was someone else on it. Would he have lied? Maybe it was just a way to spur her on. He’d been waiting for a long time. But now he seemed more sure that the story was real and would be a big draw. Someone else must have some information. Who? Would it be someone who knew anything? Who appreciated anything about Volare? Who cared about these people? What kind of story would they write if they didn’t?
Catie bit her lip. That had sounded a lot like a rationalization. But it was a good rationalization, because it was true. Catie hadn’t realized how important Volare had become to her. As strange as it might be, she had started to feel at home. She loved hanging out in the lounge at night when it was busy and had the feel of an intimate, old-timey social club where everyone knew each other, bonded by a common interest. She loved that everyone was expected to contribute to the charitable goals in some way, even if she still had no idea what the hell she was going to do. She loved that people naturally looked out for each other. She’d had about fifteen million offers of guidance, from mentoring to training to whatever, and none of them had felt skeezy. This place didn’t deserve to be depicted as some kind of famous pervert’s carnival sideshow playground.
And she was now the only one who could prevent that, even if it was her fault that the story would come to light in the first place.
She nearly bumped into Jake. They had come to the end of a particularly dark passage, and she could barely make out a large, ornate wooden door in front of him. Jake produced a key and opened the door.
It was pitch black inside the unknown room. Catie didn’t move. She felt a hand wrap around her arm and pull her forward, past Jake’s body, and then his hand was on the small of her back, pushing her into the blackness. She moved stiffly, stupidly afraid.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “And no.”
“Do you trust me?”
Her heart beat against her chest, her breath felt shallow, the air felt thin, and his touch once again short-circuited something in her brain—and still, still, somewhere inside her, she was aware of the terrible, tragic irony: she did trust him. She just didn’t deserve to.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I do.”
She felt his hand brush her hair away from her neck, and then his lips moved against her ear. His touch spread a tingling wave over the surface of her skin, and the warmth of his body against hers gave her strength. She was already losing her mind to him.
“In this room, Catie, there are two requirements. They are not negotiable. They are…inviolate. First, I will have your total obedience, in all things. Second, you place yourself under my control, completely. Do you understand?”
Catie felt dizzy. No, she couldn’t see well enough to know if she felt dizzy. Light-headed. Disoriented. Not in full control of herself. And then it hit her: she didn’t have to be in control in this room, because he was in control. Her job was simply to obey. Catie melted into the memory of how she’d felt when she had knelt for him in Lola’s office. It was better than any role she’d ever played. It was totally freeing, because she was under his control. She was under his protection. He would take care of her.
If only this were real life.
In the dark, she smiled.
“I understand, sir,” she said.
But then he flicked a switch and a single overhead lamp came on, dispelling any sense of comfort she might have had. It hung on a chain in the middle of the room, over a table and two chairs. It looked like an interrogation room from a spy movie. It would be almost funny if it weren’t for one thing: the only reason to interrogate someone is if you think they have a secret.
She was going to be interrogated.
Does he know? How could he?
She forced herself to calm down. There was no way he knew. None. He would have kicked her right out of Volare immediately if he did; he wouldn’t mess around with all these games, would he? He would hate her if he knew who she really was.
That thought was not comforting.
Jake walked out from behind her and went to the table. He shrugged off his fine jacket, under which he was wearing another tailored shirt, and hung the jacket on the back of the chair. He pulled the chair out and pushed the table sideways so there was room in front of it, and then he turned to look back at Catie.
He began to roll his cuffs up, exposing muscular forearms.
“It’s good that you haven’t moved, Catie, because I did not tell you to. You are a natural submissive, you know,” he said, regarding her with that evaluative stare again. “You cannot fail, in the way you are worried about failing.”
Catie tried to keep her face expressionless. She had been wrong. Nothing about this would be easy.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
Jake hitched up his slacks and sat wide-legged in the chair. His body language was unmistakable. He was in command. Except for the modern dress, he might have been a king or a conqueror or something, commanding his forces from a throne.
“Come here,” he said. “And kneel.”
She was glad her skirt was short enough that it didn’t cause her much difficulty, but the floor in this room was hard and uncomfortable, not like the carpet in Lola’s office.
“It’s proper manners to kneel before me, you know,” he said, like they were just having a normal conversation. “There are all sorts of things many Doms will expect you to know. Different commands, different etiquette. That they are all different strikes me as an argument for treating each encounter, each partner, with the unique respect that it or they deserve. But many Doms are idiots. I do not advise you to become involved with idiots. In any event, I don’t necessarily hold with formality of manners, though in some cases I may demand it, and then I will tell you so.”
Catie met his eye. “Then why am I kneeling, sir?”
“Because I like to see you down there.”
He smiled wickedly at her.
“Not everything has a reason, Catie. Some things just are. First lesson.”
“I know that one already,” she said. “Sir.”
Catie immediately wished she could take that back. She’d said it because she’d thought of him, of her attraction to him, and how it seemed to exist as its own entity in the world, its own force of nature, and she’d just instinctively told the truth about it. There was no reason for it. It simply was. It was like the way she was alone in the world, and had no one else: it simply was. Wondering why didn’t change anything.
Oh God, please don’t ask me what I meant.
But Jake was simply watching her with that half smile. Did he know what she’d meant? Or was he thinking of his own life?
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“Good,” he finally said. “Get up and sit in that other chair.”
She did, glad to be out from under his stare. Maybe it would give her a chance to collect herself. Compulsive truth telling was not something she could afford to do. She couldn’t lose control like that again. She had to keep focused. She wanted to keep focused—on him.
The chair itself was a simple metal frame with a metal seat. It looked grim, but wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. It was neutral—she didn’t feel it much, one way or the other. She supposed that was by design, too. It would certainly let her keep her mind on other sensations.
“First important question: what are your hard limits?”
She stared at him.
“I don’t know.”
“That is not an acceptable answer. You have been here long enough to know that.”
Catie studied Jake, sitting with that relaxed sense of command, calmly looking at her with his uniquely aristocratic wildness, and realized, with both horror and elation, that she couldn’t think of anything she wouldn’t let him do. That was insane. It couldn’t be. Yet he brought out all the darkness in her, every crazy whim or impulse she’d ever had. How could one man do that?
“I know,” she said. “I can’t explain it. But I don’t trust myself to answer, because I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed, and she heard him suck in his breath very quickly.
“Go on.”
“I think I need you to help me figure them out,” she said quietly. “I think it’s different…with you.”
“But you hardly know anything about me, Catie.”
She smiled, not able to help herself. “Some things just are, sir.”
Jake’s hands closed into tight fists and his knuckles got very white, but he never stopped looking at Catie. His face was stone. Only his eyes were alive, burning with an intensity that might have frightened another woman. It didn’t frighten her. It made her want more. With a start, Catie realized that she wanted to know about Jake. She wanted to know him, to be inside his head, the way she felt he’d been inside hers. More than that, she felt like she needed it. But whether it was for Brazzer or herself, she wasn’t yet willing to say.
Except she was the one in the hot seat.
chapter 7
She squirmed and allowed herself to look up at him. She’d been wrong about the positioning of the light above; as he drew his own chair in, it was slightly behind his head, casting his face in shadow. He studied her for several long seconds before he seemed to come back to himself and remember they were there for a purpose.
“We begin with an interview,” he said, his expression returning to normal.
“An interview, or an interrogation?” she blurted out.
Now he smiled at her, his eyes still shining. He seemed entertained, leaning back in his chair with his shirt pulled across his chest. He looked up at the light and then down at the table. “Well, it’s not a subtle set-up, is it?”
Catie swallowed and tried not to look scared.
He leaned forward, watching her face carefully. “You know the club safewords, of course?”
She nodded. “Green, yellow, red. Like a traffic light.”
“And you were telling the truth when you said that you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then I wonder why you look frightened.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but got up and then, swiftly, walked somewhere behind her, into the dark. He didn’t explain what he was doing. He didn’t explain what he had meant. He just let her wait.
When he came back into the tent of light spilling down from the light hanging overhead, he carried two boxes—one black, one white—that he placed on the table in front of her. The white one was a leather chest with a lock large enough to be a suitcase. The black one was smaller, about the size of a shoebox.
“This interview has a purpose,” he said. “To train you, I have to know you. I have to know what you like, what you do not like, what you think you will hate but in fact love, and why. I have to come to know you better than you know yourself in some ways.”
Catie kept her expression carefully alert, maybe a little apprehensive. This was exactly what she feared: if Jake got to know her—really know her—and why she had come to Volare, she would lose everything. And yet, some part of her felt giddy, wanted to indulge in the fantasy that maybe he would get to know her, and he’d like her. The thought was like a little spark of warmth, flickering just out of reach. It was seductive. Tempting.
Fantasies are for children, Catie. You’ve got adult responsibilities.
She dragged her thoughts back to the present and shook off the comforting fantasy, reminding herself that she needed to live in reality. She needed to get biographical details about Jake, not give him her own.
“Do I get to know you?” she asked. “I mean, you brought it up. Sir.”
His head jerked up, his body paused in the act of sitting down in his chair. His brows were raised in one of those expressions of genuine surprise that leaves ripples along the whole forehead, but the sudden expressiveness of his face made him look younger. She suddenly wondered what he looked like when he really laughed.
The expression faded as he sat back in his chair, replaced by that twinkle in his eye.
“The interview has rules,” he continued. Apparently he would only answer her questions when he felt like it. “I will ask the questions. You will answer them with total, complete honesty. If you cannot answer a question, you will choose a card from this box.” He pointed to the black one.
Catie looked at the box. It seemed somehow ominous.
“And if you do well,” he said, “perhaps I will let you come.”
It was the first time he’d mentioned sex. The word “come” penetrated right to her core, resurrecting the ghost of the last orgasm he’d given her. It hummed throughout her body in anticipation. He would touch her. He would do things to her. At any moment. She had to try to keep her head in the midst of all that.
“Yes, sir,” she said softly.
He smiled quickly, and then his face became grim, serious. He rose from his chair with the familiar athletic grace and shoved the table aside, leaving no barrier between them. The sound of the table sliding across the floor hung in the air as he stood over her.
“Grip the seat of your chair with your hands,” he said. “Do not let go unless I tell you to.”
Catie felt for the edge of her seat and squeezed. She kept her eyes locked on his face as he swung his arm down, almost carelessly, and flicked open the buttons of her button down shirt in one motion.
She had picked her outfit in a kind of panic, not knowing what the dress code for this sort of thing was, and in the end she had gone with a sexy business sort of look, thinking it made her look respectable. He’d just destroyed all pretense at respectability. She felt…despoiled.
Her body tensed for him.
“You were right to wear a bra that clasps in the front,” he said, looking down at her. “I would hate to cut something so fine.”
With the same ease, he snapped her bra open and pushed it aside, leaving her breasts exposed. She took a deep breath, her eyes locked on Jake as she felt her nipples tighten.
He took his fill of the sight of her, then turned and opened the white leather chest. She couldn’t see what was inside, but what he took out glinted in the harsh light.
“First question: do you have prior experience with BDSM?” he said.
“Yes.” She was focused on his closed hand, the one that held whatever it was he’d taken out of the box.
He arched an eyebrow and circled in around her.
“I told you I required complete honesty,” he said. “Complete. Anything less will be punished.”
She shuddered. If he only knew. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her:
“Complete,” he said again.
What was he getting at? She had tried some stuff, but not…
“Not like this,” she s
aid. Why was she breathing so hard? “I tried, with my ex, but he wasn’t…it wasn’t really his thing.”
Jake was silent. Then:
“I reviewed your application after our first meeting. My understanding was that you obtained a reference from a BDSM club in Chicago.”
Oh shit. She had, sort of, in that when Master Roman called to check out her application, she’d paid Danny to pretend to be the owner of a small BDSM club, small enough that no one would have heard of it, and he’d flubbed his lines, like he always did, and said Chicago. She’d never even been to Chicago. She’d had to pretend she’d made a mistake on the application.
“Yes, sir,” she said, “I had an internship at a comedy theater that summer.” Please let it have been in summer. “But I didn’t really… I was never comfortable enough to fully participate, I guess.”
“Why not?”
“Because of what I said before. We weren’t a good fit.”
“Why not with anyone else?”
She stayed silent. There hadn’t been a BDSM club, of course. But it was true she’d only made half-hearted efforts. She didn’t have a ready explanation.
“Was there anyone you trusted?” he asked. “Think.”
Catie blinked, and told the truth, “No.”
Jake reached down with both hands, a chain glittering between them, and then there was something biting down on her nipples. She looked down and saw that he’d pinched each nipple with a shining metal clamp. His fingers remained poised on the levers, gradually letting them close ever tighter around her flesh. The pain shot through her in sudden, shocking spurts, each one terminating in the nexus of sensation between her legs, where it blossomed into pleasure.
“And yet you just allowed me to put metal clamps on your nipples, and you never once moved your hands from the seat,” he observed. “As ordered.”
Catie was having trouble breathing. She’d never felt anything like this. Her abdominal muscles contracted in time with her short, labored breaths, and she felt sweat begin to bead on her collarbone. Her mind raced to keep up with the physical sensations that tore through her body.
