by Angel Payne
The bartender brought him his new drink, but as he reached for it, Mark clamped a hand on his arm.
“All right, Tieri. Start talking before you’re not able to.”
Dante took a quaff of the whiskey out of pure defiance. Mark huffed.
“Is it the company? Something with the family? Is your mother sick?”
“No,” Dante snapped. Hell, the man would just keep ramming if he didn’t. “No, no, and no.” He dragged a hand through his hair. The room felt too small. His skin felt too tight. “Fuck. If only it were that easy.”
He should’ve expected his friend’s reaction. A knowing snicker leaked from Mark’s lips. “Okay, got it now.”
He glared again. “Really? All figured out, huh?”
“Shut up, Tieri, and tell me who she is.”
Dante brooded into his drink. He’d let the guy crow about getting that far into his head. But the rest? He couldn’t figure out the rest. And damn it, he liked being miserable about it. The gloom gave him a reason to think about her. To hang on to her somehow.
“All right, then. I’ll assume it’s Meredith Collins. Personally, I didn’t get the connection with you two on Friday, but—”
“Shut up.” He practically snarled it. “Are you kidding me? Meredith? Don’t you know me better than that?”
Mark cocked a brow in arrogance and swigged his beer. “Guess not. But I’m all about enlightenment.”
Damn it. Now the fucker had him backed into the proverbial corner. No wonder Marker Man was in demand to consult with every major company in the city, not to mention the senate wanting him back. He scowled again at his friend’s serene profile, then muttered, “You remember the JAG officers…the three who approached us at the party?”
“Ohhh yeah.” A grin breached Mark’s lips. “The two little ones were cute. Didn’t they stick around for a while? But of course, you fixated on that leggy brunette. The one who glared like you were every box in her ‘no’ column checked off. Man, she did not like y—” The guy broke into a knowing chuckle as Dante’s face tightened. “Hell. It is the brunette. You dog! How on earth—”
“Long story. Too long. Let’s just say I ended up escorting her home. Let’s just say things progressed from there. Fast.”
“Okay. So what’s the problem? Was it shitty sex?”
“No.” He polished off the whiskey and flagged the barkeep for another. “No. Fuck. No. It was…” He grabbed a napkin and twisted the thing until it shredded. “Let’s just say I’m surprised the roof stayed on, you know?”
Mark glanced in confusion. “For her as well as you?”
He closed his eyes for a second. All too clearly, his mind filled with the beauty of Celina’s face against the pillows, the ecstasy of her body around him. His cock pulsed in his jeans, still craving the feeling of her vagina squeezing him as he’d brought her to orgasm. She’d come even harder the second time, when he’d ordered her to grip the headboard while he slammed into her from behind and thumbed her clit with every thrust.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “She—uh—well, it was mutual. Yes.”
He watched his friend barely contain a smirk. “Usually that’s not a problem, Dante.”
His new drink arrived. He was shocked he didn’t shatter the glass as he gripped it. “Usually I don’t do what I did on Friday, either.”
“Oh?”
He squeezed his eyes shut again. When he opened them, the room started to swim a little. Thank God. The whiskey simmered in his blood none too soon, bringing with it the words he’d never be able to utter sober.
“Celina’s different, Mark. She’s smart and strong…and lippy and defiant. She brought out shit in me…” He gave his throat another handshake with the Glenlivet. “Fuck. I had no idea where it came from. Jesus, I—”
A fast glance at Mark didn’t turn up a shred of judgment on the man’s face. But there wasn’t understanding there either. Hell. He was going to have to say it.
“I struck her, man. I did it hard. And not just once.”
Three seconds of assessing silence bounced back from his friend. Then Mark said in a calm undertone, “You mean you spanked her.”
Dante swallowed heavily. And damn it, fought to forget the other body parts getting heavy as well. His balls felt like chunks of coal, and his cock was a battering ram, just from the memory of how his hand had felt on the firm globes of her ass. “Yeah. I—I guess you could say that.”
“And you liked it.”
He stared at his friend. “How can you be so conversational about this?”
“Just answer the question. Did you like it?”
“Yes, goddamn it. I liked it, okay?” The room tilted in commiseration. Who was he kidding? He’d loved it. He wanted more of it. Now. More of taming her fire, harnessing her lightning, making her scream and writhe and orgasm for him.
“Fuck!” He couldn’t keep the memories from filling his mind.
“And you probably liked the rest of it too.”
That shaved a discomfiting hunk off his buzz. “What the hell do you mean, the rest of it?” he snapped. “There was no ‘rest of it’!”
Mark frowned. “No pulling her hair? No growling a few orders? Having her get into position and stay there?” The man’s mouth ticked up. “No loving how that made her turn to putty in your arms? And maybe a few other consistencies too?”
“Shit.”
“So there was a bit of the rest.”
He clawed his hair again. “I’m at least ten years older than her.”
“Doesn’t fly in my book, Tieri. Look at the woman who put this bastard’s ring on her finger.” He thumbed his chest.
“Yeah but you didn’t throw Rose over the bed and whack her ass to—” He stopped when he focused enough on Mark’s face to see the affirmative glints in his eyes and the growing grin beneath his gold beard. “Holy shit.” Both words came out as growls. “Hell. We’re a couple of goddamn perverts.”
“No, my friend. We’re a couple of Doms.”
He raised a brow. “What?”
“Doms, Dante. Dominants. People who enjoy being in control. Men who like nothing better than taking the lead during a sexual sequence and controlling every second of a woman’s pleasure. And for many of us, when that woman makes us earn the privilege of her submission, the experience is even more…errmm…addicting.”
Dante dug a hand into his hair again. He stopped when his palm hit his forehead. “Addicting,” he echoed. “Jesus. That’s a good way of putting it.” And a lousy way too. He needed another hit of Celina Kouris and highly doubted there was a detox program for shit like this.
“I’m just a little stunned you didn’t know this about yourself until now.”
“And how long have you been doing this shit then, spanky?”
Mark shrugged. “I was about twenty-two when I discovered the lifestyle. I was just damn lucky Heather liked it too. Of course, the Dom/sub world wasn’t what it is today. Clubs were still in people’s basements. There wasn’t as much education about things, and—”
“Wait. Back the truck up. Clubs? There are clubs for this stuff?”
Mark chuckled. “Yes, my friend. With my public profile, Rose and I can’t exactly keep a spanking bench and a St. Andrew’s cross in the corner of the bedroom. We’re fond of a few private places in town known for their discretion and private rooms.”
Dante let that sink in while he ordered a glass of water. Sobering up fast became a priority. He was exhilarated and perplexed at the same time. So much of the way he was wired now made sense. He was Italian, for Christ’s sake; sex had been part of his vernacular since he was a kid. But until Friday with Celina, it had also been a simple physical act he could leave behind as easily as a used condom. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about what they’d done and how they’d done it. With this new chunk of knowledge, he felt like Columbus in the New World. Terrified to stay. Terrified to leave.
“And Rose goes to these places with you?” he queried. “Willin
gly? Knowing what she’s going to let you do to her?”
“What I’m going to do with her, yes. She’s my collared submissive as well as my wife.”
“Collared…” Recognition flared. “You mean that little choker she wears around the house—”
“Signifies that she’s committed to me as a sexual submissive. It also represents my commitment to her, as her Dom, that I’ll never abuse the gift of her surrender, and I’ll always make sure she gets what she needs from our dynamic.”
“When you go these clubs.”
“Most of the time, yes.”
Dante couldn’t help slashing an incisive stare at his friend. “And she’s fine with all this?”
“Kid in a candy store is more like it.” Mark chuffed and chucked a wadded cocktail napkin at him. “Don’t snort, asshole. I’m serious. Last month, she even surprised me for my birthday by securing an overnight suite at Dark Escape. It’s become her favorite club, I think. She likes the eucalyptus in the aftercare lotions.”
“Aftercare.” Dante leaned close again. “That sounds key. Explain.”
Mark paused, seeming to read him. Definitely knowing, as his best friend, that he didn’t bother to pick apart something with a hundred questions unless the subject was important. Really fucking important.
“All right, let me ask you this. What did you do for Celina when you were—er—finished with things on Friday night?”
“Cleaned her up. Gave her a massage.” He stopped just short of saying the usual, though that would’ve been the truth. As for after that? All right, those parts weren’t so usual. “All right, so I spent the night. Then I kind of made her breakfast.”
Mark nodded and gave a big grin. “Breakfast. Not bad.”
He shrugged. “Just a frittata.”
His friend’s eyebrows jumped. “A frittata?” He tossed his head back, laughing. “Inferno, just check this one off. You’ll have no trouble picking up on aftercare.”
The remark, meant as encouragement, wreaked an opposite effect. As the water flushed everything from Dante’s skull except a headache, another aftereffect of sobriety barged in.
Rationality.
What the hell made him think he’d be “checking” anything off Mark’s magical checklist anytime soon? Okay, he was a Dominant. It was a missing link for him. A huge one. It also explained why he couldn’t let go of the woman who’d helped him discover it—and brought him no closer to doing so than before.
Which made him wish he’d stayed shit faced.
“No,” he muttered. “I don’t think I’ll be ‘aftercaring’ anything or anyone soon, man.”
He expected the line to be the stumper for his friend. Instead, Mark nodded knowingly again. “Aha. Now we’re at the meat of things.” He tilted his head back. “Let me see if I can get this right. Your Celina got up and didn’t even look at your frittata. She looked at you like you suddenly had a pumpkin for a head, got you out the door as fast as possible, then hasn’t returned the hundred phone calls and three hundred texts you’ve left her since. And you think if you keep pounding at that door hard enough, it’ll cave, and she’ll be standing behind it, ready to change her mind. Am I close?”
Dante didn’t answer. He hailed the bartender and ordered another drink. A double this time.
“I’m that right on the money, huh?”
“It doesn’t change a thing, you fucker.”
Mark didn’t volley back to that. Dante assumed the bastard would finally let him return to a drunken stupor in peace, until the man turned on his bar stool and fully faced him.
“You want to know why I’ve got this so right? Because I went through the same thing with Rose. Okay, I didn’t cook her a goddamn frittata; you superachievers really piss me off sometimes. But the reaction? The terror in her eyes? The whole look that says ‘what the hell did I just let this man do to me, and why did I love it so much?’ Been there, man. Done that.”
He inhaled hard against the lead weight in his chest and returned his friend’s direct stare. “So what did you do to change her mind?”
“Kidnapped her.”
He waited for the I’m-just-shitting-you grin. It didn’t come.
“What do you mean?”
Mark shrugged and gave a lopsided grin. “All right, so I did let her walk onto the yacht under her own choice. But after that, she was mine.” He blinked only once. “I tied her up. Made her listen. Forced her to feel and experience the beauty of her submission, to accept that surrendering to me unlocked something in herself she couldn’t ignore.”
“The yacht,” Dante repeated. “So this was when you two were still at the training in the Bahamas?” When Mark nodded, he whistled low. “You don’t waste time, Marker Man.”
“Remarkable women don’t come along every day.” He leaned over and clapped Dante’s shoulder. “Let me guarantee you one thing. If you two really blew the roof off her place, then she’s still confused too. She still can’t stop thinking about it either—and you’ll never have a better opportunity to fight for her.” His brows kicked up a little. “If you want to fight for her?”
He returned his friend’s scrutiny so hard, his jaw ached from clenching. “What the fuck do you suggest I do? Kidnap a US Navy JAG officer, carry her off on a goddamn yacht, and tie her up until she listens?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Methods should be modified for the subbie, my friend. I think your friend Celina might react to a more literal approach. And I believe I have just the secret weapon to help us achieve that.”
“What exactly is that?”
“Not what.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket and punched a button. “Who.” His smile deepened. “Hello, my pet. How are you? No, I’m still here with Inferno Boy. I’ll be home soon. I called to ask you a question. How would you like a field trip to Dark Escape?” He held the phone back a few inches as a high-pitched shriek erupted through the ear hole. “I think that means she’s in.”
Chapter Eight
Celina glanced at Eve and Reiley again as they hurried from the “L” station and crossed Jackson Boulevard, hunching their shoulders against the knife of icy wind cutting up from the river. The street banners flapped over their heads, making it look like the cartoon turkey on them had invented a new dance step. She wondered if the big guy would be boogying in some snow during his big parade this year.
She stopped and hesitated as they got to the doors with the gleaming letters declaring they’d arrived at the Willis Tower. The two of them must have spiked her coffee yesterday morning, because she still couldn’t believe she was here, tagging along for yet another party. “Because last week ended up so well,” she finished in a dark mutter.
“What are you grumbling about back there, Kouris?” Eve called above the beat of her platform party heels as she led the way into the building.
“Pascal, are you absolutely sure this is where Trev’s party is?”
She knew Trevin Nash was turning thirty. She also knew he’d do anything to make an impression on Eve. But a birthday bash at the most iconic skyscraper in the city, still called the Sears Tower by many because it was that famous, seemed out of budget even for their cocky coworker.
“Cel, just go with the flow for once, all right? This is gonna be…fun!”
Something felt weird about the pause in her friend’s statement. Eve was genetically wired to spit out the word “fun” every fifteen minutes or so. But her voice had definitely hitched, even if her sashay hadn’t. Celina shot a look of concern at her friend’s leather-jacketed back. Maybe she was starting to have cold feet about Lieutenant Nash and all his swagger. That was just fine by her. Just because the guy worked for the navy didn’t mean he wasn’t as flash hungry as a private-sector attorney. But bling was an irresistible siren to Eve too. On the other hand, Eve hadn’t watched what money could do to people. How it broke hearts and lives.
Great. Hadn’t she picked out the perfect mindset to bring i
nto a building like this? Celina clomped along behind her friends in a pair of black high-heeled boots Reiley had persuaded her to buy on sale in June. Their footsteps bounced off the lobby’s gleaming floors and shiny walls, making the place sound like a basketball court, if basketballs were now made of million-dollar bills. She tugged at her skirt, now wishing she hadn’t also let Rei talk her into wearing fishnet hose with her outfit.
“Would you stop that?” Eve chastised as they got onto the elevator. “Your skirt’s so long, people can only see two inches of the hose anyhow. And I can’t believe you wore a turtleneck too.”
She glowered at them both. “I feel totally out of place. Like Julia Roberts at that polo match in Pretty Woman.”
Reiley glared. “You look like Julie Andrews, circa The Sound of Music.”
“Before she left the convent,” Eve added.
“Way before,” Reiley asserted.
The elevator got to their floor. Celina didn’t even pay attention how high they’d come in the building, but if her mild vertigo was an altitude barometer too, she guessed they were well past halfway. She got off the elevator after her friends and entered a lobby that dripped of opulence, elegance, and a classic Hollywood vibe of romance. Indigo and red velvet drapes were complemented by matching settees and understated lighting. The black carpet was so thick, it felt like treading on memory foam. Music played through hidden speakers, a throbbing dance beat turned soothing by strings and a singer who mixed Madonna’s eroticism with Adele’s soul.
Not the kind of music she’d expected to hear at Trev’s birthday bash.
Not the kind of place she expected Trev to pick at all, actually.
“This is weird,” she murmured. “You guys, don’t you think this is weird? Is anyone even here? Are we sure this is the…right…”
She stammered into silence as a figure seemed to materialize from the curtains. A black T-shirt outlined every hard striation of his tapered torso. Charcoal cargo pants covered the endless inches of his legs. Leather biker boots encased his feet. His ink-dark hair was a rough tumble against his set jaw. And then she confronted that deep-as-midnight gaze, shaded with just a hint of indigo, enduring its probe straight into her psyche, trembling as it stabbed right into her sex.
