Reason [Club Pleasure 3] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Allyson Young

  She tried to read his tone and studied him through the veil of her lashes. Hell, yes, she wanted to go home with him. She wanted more of him, more pain, more pleasure. But Veronica’s warning reverberated in her head.

  “Should I have a safe word, Sir?” She tried that on for size.

  Jamison’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline, and he was silent for so long that she knew he was as shocked as she.

  He said gruffly, “Of course. It was an oversight. I apologize.”

  “Sir, do I need one?”

  Jamison stared at her as though she was out of her mind. And she probably was. He could cripple her, and she might have no actual recourse.

  “Explain,” he barked.

  “Sir, I don’t know if I can. I don’t trust easily, but I do trust you. I trust you to know what I need and when I can’t take anymore.”

  “You will choose a safe word. I have never made such a mistake before. And you may need it later, for I intend to punish you for your assumption. We don’t have a contractual D/s relationship, sub, not yet, maybe never. I enter only short-term connections. So choose,” he snapped at her.

  Ivone sighed inwardly. Well, that answered the sixty-four-dollar question. He was going to try to keep her at arm’s length. She had pushed him, though, and probably too soon. She wondered at her own need to do so.

  “Reason.”

  Jamison said, “Repeat that.”

  “Reason.” As in, the voice of.. Not that she was listening to that particular voice at this particular moment.

  * * * *

  Jamison had nearly been overwhelmed by Ivone’s statement. Had anyone, other than his employees and his very, very, small, select circle of friends, ever trusted him? And he wasn’t totally sure about all his employees, although they seemed loyal. He certainly paid them enough and ensured that they had good benefits. No, he couldn’t let her presume, trespass, in this manner. She was going to work her way past his defenses with that attitude if he allowed it. Fuck, she already had! No safe word! What if he had taken her to the dungeon and those there found out? He could lose his membership here and at Pleasure, and they would think he had lost his mind over this woman. And he may well have done so. He tried to regroup, all the while hiding his thoughts from Ivone behind a practiced poker face. Jamison instinctively knew that Ivone had chosen her safe word quite deliberately, and he decided not to examine the whys too carefully right then. He hoped he wasn’t getting into something here that wasn’t of his choosing. She seemed really bright under that incredibly sexy exterior, and he looked forward to peeling back the layers, although what he might find may not suit him. An old quote from a high school English class popped into his head, something about protesting too much. Jamison shook the thought out of his head and looked to Ivone to attend him. He strode out of the bedroom without checking to see if she was following, although his gut twisted to think that she might not. Maybe he should take back his invitation before it was too late. Shit, he was damned unsettled, and waffling. He hated indecisiveness in a person, most of all in himself. Change is good, you ass, he tried to reassure himself.

  Ivone again walked behind him, but this time to the coatroom where she retrieved her coat and shoes. He could scent her, a light, fresh smell that belonged only to her, separate from the toiletries supplied by the club. He saw her flash a reassuring smile toward Veronica and looked at her speculatively but chose to say nothing. Ivone was nothing like Veronica. Ivone had taken everything he had provided tonight, and he knew she wanted more. He sensed no worrisome hidden agenda, but admitted to himself that he had never looked for one before because his boundaries were so clear. Jamison Landry did women one or two nights and then moved on. He might connect with the same one at a different time, but never for more than a night or two. He liked the Club scene because it tended to keep things very clear. Except for tonight. What was it about this woman?

  “Where is your car?” he asked abruptly, trying to pull his thoughts into line.

  “I took a cab.”

  “Do you work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll take you home in time for you to get ready for work, on Tuesday morning,” he answered.

  Ivone nodded, but he noticed she didn’t speak. He checked his need to push for a verbal response. There was something about her that allowed him to cut her some slack, and he immediately questioned it. It was a three-day weekend, and no telling how things would play out. He was thinking ahead to the punishment she had earned by coming without permission and that he had promised her, and if she chose to increase it, then it would confirm his belief that she was a true masochist, to his sadistic streak.

  Jamison drove a huge SUV, and he settled Ivone in the passenger seat, and then drove toward his home, competently, like he did everything else.

  “Take your coat off,” he ordered.

  Ivone shrugged out of the coat and folded it over the back of the seat, refastening her seat belt.

  “Open the glove box, and recline the seat until I tell you to stop.”

  Ivone did as she was told. The windows were darkened, and the streets weren’t very busy at that time of night, but there were still enough people out and about that if they were stopped at a light, then others might be able to see inside. The light from the glove box would make it easier to do so. Jamison didn’t want Ivone to get in trouble should someone spot her naked in public. Being reclined made that possibility less likely unless a big truck pulled up alongside. Something he counted on. This had been a fantasy of his for years, and he had never found a woman he wanted to act it out with until now. He believed she would enter in this wholeheartedly and quit questioning himself. He would simply pay attention to her cues.

  “There’s another button to raise the front of the seat. Push it until you can comfortably put your feet on the dash, on either side of the glove box.”

  Ivone complied without hesitation. The little light lit up her labia and having her feet splayed up there on the dash opened her right up. It was a big vehicle, and Jamison was a fair distance away. He wanted to look over and see her, if he couldn’t touch while he was driving.

  “Put your hair behind your neck, down your back so your breasts aren’t covered,” he said.

  There Ivone sat, held in place by the seat belt, on display, the warm, evening air from the vents flowing across her wet folds and taut nipples. He saw her finger the towel he had placed beneath her, but she said nothing, didn’t protest, didn’t squirm, or he would have stopped his plan immediately. Jamison pulled from behind the semi he was following and cruised to a stop beside the truck at the red light. Ivone closed her eyes, only to pop them open when Jamison leaned way over and stroked one nipple, then the other. He didn’t have time to decipher the look in her eyes, but he could smell her arousal, and that clued him in. Ivone liked the hint of danger of exposure and the thrill of exhibitionism. The light changed and the semi groaned up through the gears. Jamison matched his speed, ignoring the traffic, and then slowed right down to fall in behind.

  “Sir?” Ivone asked.

  Jamison ignored her, knowing it would increase her anticipation. There was no hint of worry or anxiety in her voice, merely curiosity, and she was still relaxed, not afraid. His cock was so hard that his leathers creaked. The bridge was coming up and there was often a long wait there. He knew the driver of that truck had been looking. The meet and greet had told him that Ivone was fine with her body and comfortable with others watching a scene with her as the star. He felt, rather than saw, her tense with anticipation as the truck slowed and Jamison swung around it to pull up at the bridge. The wait time was seven minutes.

  Jamison could smell Ivone’s increasing arousal. It filled the cab, attracting his cock like a bee to nectar. Good deal. Her original idea of no safe word was going to be tested severely starting right now. He knew the truck driver was male. He had seen the man’s face looking back at him in the side mirror after the first stop. He now had an unknown, silent partner, and Iv
one was going to be their mutual entertainment. Jamison now could feel her excitement, and his hard-on was still straining at his leathers. He could have sex twice a day in a good week, although he didn’t often have the luxury of a bedmate, and Ivone was promising to up that average. He shoved the stick in neutral and engaged the emergency brake. Seven minutes would be plenty, and the enraged honks behind him would signal time. He slipped off his seat belt and shoved the steering wheel up to allow for some maneuverability. Ivone was nicely displayed and she hadn’t moved a muscle.

  He began by rolling and pulling her nipples, being careful not to make the already tormented nubs sorer, but hoping the other man was getting an eyeful. He leaned closer to Ivone.

  “Tilt the seat up more.” He smiled when her little hand unquestioningly slipped down to do his bidding. Now she was nearly prone, her hips higher than her head and her legs spread wide. She really wanted this, and exhibitionism obviously wasn’t a hard boundary.

  Jamison pulled her folds apart with one hand, framing her clit and opening. He wished he could show the driver her nice little asshole too, but aside from making her push her buttocks against the window, he didn’t know how to manage it in the time they had left. He wanted everyone to have a fleeting glance at this sexy, gorgeous woman but he wouldn’t put her at risk. Five minutes. Shit. Not wanting to block the view with his other hand, Jamison took the small anal wand he had placed in his pocket after the little discussion about the safe word. He ran it over Ivone’s folds, watching in satisfaction as she writhed against it. He began to fuck her with it in short, swift strokes, holding her wide open, seeing her moisture glisten in the light from the glove box. He glanced at the sign. Two minutes. No time. He pulled the wand out and slid it down her perineum and then into her puckered opening, knowing that the semi driver would understand where it had gone. Ivone cried out in passion. He then pushed his middle finger up her pussy and pressed her clit at the same time. Ivone arched and came, without permission, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth slightly agape, her breasts heaving. Jamison caught peripheral movement and realized the driver was leaning out the window, taking a picture with his phone. Not that a cell would capture anything at the distance and in the relative darkness. It wasn’t Ivone’s face the driver wanted a picture of, he was sure, and it thrilled Jamison that he had the real thing. That Ivone was his. He couldn’t even withdraw that thought, because he realized it was exactly what he felt. He had shown a complete stranger that he owned this woman and that she had accepted him, trusted him with her pleasure. The predicted honks had him sliding back to his seat and starting up the vehicle. Ivone didn’t move or say anything for the remainder of the journey.

  He pulled up in front of his home, right at the top of the circular drive. John had the front door open by the time Jamison made it around to help Ivone down. He left the wand in her and denied her the coat, although he threw it over his arm. Time to establish his boundaries and push hers further. He guided her up the wide steps and past John, into the foyer, pressing her down to kneel at his feet.

  “Thank you, John. Put some water in the master bedroom please, and then go to bed.” He passed John Ivone’s coat.

  “Yes, Mr. Landry. And breakfast?”

  “Let’s try for eight, but organize something that can wait until nine if necessary.”

  “Certainly.”

  Jamison watched his only live-in “servant” tuck the coat into the hall closet and then make his dignified way down the hall. John had been with him for years, since before his father died. John knew him inside and out and totally accepted him, which was more than Jamison could say about his father. That man had been impossible to please and never thought Jamison would amount to anything. The old man had left everything to Jamison by virtue of his gender alone, assuming that he would take care of his sister. That was the only accurate assumption Landry Senior had ever made about his son. Perhaps because of that, if not in spite of it, Jamison had built his father’s financial empire into something much greater than the old man had been capable of. It was too bad that he hadn’t been able to work on himself to become less dark, a more approachable sort. Maybe if his mother had lived past his birth, if he hadn’t killed her in gaining his own life, things would have been different.

  John hadn’t ignored Ivone. Jamison hoped she knew that. He wasn’t being ignorant by not introducing them either. It was simply that he wasn’t certain where this was going. He had never brought a woman home and put her into immediate submission before. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he had brought one home. His playroom was sadly underutilized. He had seen John’s surprise, although the old Brit was too well trained to let it show very much. He would introduce them at breakfast tomorrow unless Ivone asked to leave before then. He knew he was testing her, and couldn’t make himself slow down. It was like he wanted to get any issues out of the way so they could move forward. He was doing everything he could think of that might push her away, and desperately hoping nothing would do so. Putting Ivone into submission just as she entered his house was symbolic, spontaneous, and very important to him, even if he hadn’t planned it. No wonder John had been surprised. Jamison had surprised himself! He bent to pull Ivone to her feet. Her expression was neutral but those mismatched eyes flashed at him for a moment. He recognized a temper, a fierce spirit behind all that submission. He had really wanted a compliant woman, he mused, so if Ivone challenged him, it would be a battle of wills, unless it was a reasonable challenge of course. If there was such a thing in a D/s relationship. Of course there was. Jamison knew the protocol, although he found he had stepped outside of it tonight and that was disconcerting. Time would tell.

  “Go down the hallway and into the first door on your right,” he instructed her, stifling his wool gathering. “There is an adjoining bathroom. Take care of the wand and then choose a dildo from the case on the wall of the playroom. Stand under the cross and wait for me.”

  Ivone pattered forward, having slipped out of her shoes. He watched her slender body move gracefully down the hall, her high, rounded buttocks swaying, brushed by the soft waves of her hair that hid the lovely length of her back. His breath checked in his throat, and his vision grew narrow. He felt a spurt of defensive anger that she could so easily affect him this way and resolved to punish her for it, fully aware of how unfair that was, but seemingly helpless against it. He was again totally conflicted. It was as if she were medicine that he badly needed, and he didn’t want to take it, even if it meant good health, didn’t want to give into his need for her. He went quickly to the bedroom and searched for a hair tie that he had last seen in the catchall dish on the dresser in the master bathroom. His sister tended to leave her stuff all over his house when she visited.

  John had already managed to set a crystal pitcher of water and two glasses on a tray there. Jamison hesitated and then put one of the glasses out of sight. He wanted them to drink from the same glass, to have no separation between them. He ignored the symbolism of his act, stripping out of his shirt. He then went in search of his sub, looking every inch the Dom in his leathers.

  His breath caught again at the sight of her, standing submissively beneath the cross, the red-beaded dildo in her hand. It was his favorite, its dark color looking so hot as it split the folds of women and impaled them. He instantly wished he had something different for Ivone. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was now acting like a spoiled child who desperately wanted something and then questioned if it was really what he wanted after all, if it was the right choice. Jamison resolutely pushed his thoughts away and tended to the immediate. He took the toy from Ivone’s hand and pushed it up between her spread thighs from behind, knowing she was ready without needing to check. She stood on tiptoe until it was seated but didn’t protest, and he pressed a kiss on her shoulder. Shit, he hadn’t even kissed her properly yet, just got to the discipline and the sex. He had to get back in balance, as he found how much he wanted to kiss her. He tied her to the cross, making sure her joints
weren’t under pressure, but stretching her taut. He then blindfolded her and stood back to stare without the risk of her seeing anything written on his face. He found it difficult to maintain an inscrutable look with her. She was perfect. Small, firm breasts tipped with cherry-red nipples. Waxed folds shielding what he knew to be a delectable, flavorful cunt between her rounded thighs. Her legs flowed from one curve to the next and ended in tidy, narrow feet, tipped with golden polish. Jamison longed to brand her, tattoo her with his initials right on the round of her belly where it met her hipbone. Maybe pierce her clit hood and attach a fine gold circlet. He walked around to run a hand down her spine, marveling at the suppleness of her skin and enjoying the shiver she made. He gathered her hair up and fished the elastic out of his leathers, awkwardly securing the mass on top of her head. Her back and ass shone under his gaze, the reddened patches from her previous paddling still obvious, although fading, and her thighs looked tender. Jamison decided on the single tail.

  * * * *

  Ivone stood in intense anticipation. The dildo stretched her, but not as much as Jamison’s cock had done earlier. She knew it would ground her if he let her come. She hated it when her vagina clenched on nothing, and he probably knew it from experience. She quit thinking of how he came to have the experience. How could she feel a bite of jealousy about a man she had just met? She wanted his experience, needed it. And she was the only one in the room with him right now. She wished he would get on with it. She still trembled inside from the exhibitionism in the vehicle. God, the sense of exhilaration it had given her, displayed and brought to climax publicly, the spice the danger of getting caught adding to her arousal. Not that she believed, somehow, that Jamison would truly put her at risk. She had loved it and wondered how he had known she would. She needed a bit more time to process what had transpired, but she was okay with it. Yet it still felt like he was testing her, and she wondered why. Did she affect him as he affected her? Was he wrestling with that knowledge as well? Did the intensity worry him? Scare him? Make him think that this was different from all the other times he played? Because it was so very, very different for her.