by Sara Brookes
Quiet rumblings sounded over her shoulder. Perfect. They’d gotten the attention of the crowd. Gideon’s shaft quivered under her touch. They both flourished under this kind of scrutiny. The exact reason why they played at the club. Elena had never even invited him to accompany her to her private room at Sanctuary.
They wouldn’t be right there.
The warehouse was too intimate and private.
She snagged a tube of lubricant from her bag, applying the dense fluid to the thin shaft. She’d chosen one of the shorter, thinner plugs tonight for sounding. Most of the newcomers came looking to see something out of the ordinary, but the plug she and Gideon both normally preferred would make most of them uncomfortable.
She wanted to entice them to join, not scare them off.
Gideon inhaled sharply as she brushed the tip of the plug against his slit. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his solid pecs with a tender caress that caused his muscles to ripple. She pushed down with gentle force, waiting until he’d relaxed enough to accept the hard metal.
A soft hiss spilled from his lips as the plug slid deeper. She continued pressing until the head of his cock was covered by the cap. The metal surrounded the broad head completely, shielding her from touching his sensitive skin to keep him off-limits.
His heart beat fast at his throat as she kissed the flushed skin. “Such a good, well-behaved pet.”
She moved away, smiling at the quiet murmurs from the crowd as they got their first glimpse of Gideon in all his submissive glory.
Showtime.
Chapter Two
Alex Conners’ fingers tapped against the bottle of champagne he’d swiped from the reception as he sat in the parking lot of Element Twenty-Six. He could ask himself why he was here, but he already knew the answer. He could also ask himself why he was still sitting in the car, but he already knew the answer as well. The hesitation wasn’t because of the newness of the situation. The oddity of facing the unknown ever since he’d asked the question that had ended his marriage.
He knew exactly why he’d come here.
He needed to know if the questions swirling in his head had viable answers. He needed to learn if the sacrifice had been worth losing everything. Most of all, he needed to know if he was right. If what occurred beyond those doors was something he needed as part of his life.
His headlights shined on the various cars dotting the parking lot, an odd assortment of rusty hatchbacks and expensive roadsters. All means of transportation for the members of the club and their guests.
He drummed his fingers against the bottle as he tried to decide if he would join them. Even though he needed to know if he was right, was this really what he wanted? Was he ready to face the answers he discovered, whatever they were?
While he had a general idea of what went on behind those doors thanks to the research he’d been conducting on the internet, he didn’t know if he would fit amongst them. Vivian had scoffed at the notion he wanted to be more sexually adventurous. While it was better to know they were no longer compatible in such a way, it was still a sore spot on his mind.
It made him feel as though he’d been a failure as a husband. Not to mention as a man. The point had been driven home even more so earlier today when a box had arrived with the last of his personal things. No note. No parting of ways or even a simple “fuck you” to send him on his way. Just a plain cardboard box filled with memories.
Painful, soul-shattering ones.
Annoyed, he lifted the bottle to his lips as he chugged the expensive alcohol.
The renewed frustration forced him to get out of the car and slam the door shut. The frigid night air against the wet spot on his still damp pants made him shiver. He remembered he’d left his coat draped over the back of the chair he’d hastily vacated at the reception. But he didn’t need it. He had something else to keep him warm. He swigged the champagne again, not even tasting the decadent alcohol any longer.
Alcohol would chase the pain away.
If he left now to retrieve his rented coat he’d lose his nerve. He’d never know. Never have an answer to the desire burning in his gut to find out the answers to his questions. He shoved his keys into his pocket. Someone from the cleanup crew he’d hired would take notice and put the coat in some box to be donated to charity.
Maybe he should do the same thing with the box Vivian sent. Donate it. Then someone else could deal with his painful memories. He wasn’t going to need them anymore.
As he walked up the path, rock salt crunching under his loafers, he realized he was thrilled by the thought of what he faced. He would merely be an observer tonight. Nothing more, nothing less. He would simply see if this was the kind of lifestyle he wanted to pursue further.
That was the beauty of Open Door night, or at least it had been presented as such. The policy seemed like a good way for him to discover if the lifestyle would fit him. He would finally be able to put to rest the stupid nagging that had plagued him since he’d opened his mouth months and months ago.
Simple human curiosity. Once he discovered it wasn’t for him, he could put it behind him and get on with his life. Swallowing the last of the liquid courage, he tossed the empty bottle into a nearby trashcan.
A beefy and intimidating guard at the door held a small electronic device in his hand. He seemed unimpressed and totally unsatisfied with his current job situation. “ID.” Alex handed his license over without a word, waiting while the guard scanned the barcode. “Have a sponsor?”
“A what?” The information he’d found about Open Door night at Element Twenty-Six hadn’t said anything about a sponsor.
The guard, clearly annoyed, rolled his eyes as he returned Alex’s driver’s license. “Non-members have to have someone—”
A man suddenly pulled back the curtain. “Hey, Rocco, they need you on the upper floor. Someone’s hurt.”
“Tell Luke to deal with it.”
“Luke is the one who’s hurt.”
“Shit.” The guard shoved the mini-tablet into his back pocket as he dove through the gray velvet separator curtain.
Alex blinked a few times, surprised he’d been abandoned. Was he supposed to just stand there and wait? He couldn’t leave, he’d never come back. He wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. Not when he was so close.
Cautiously he stepped forward, pushing aside the curtain, which separated the foyer from what he suspected was the main floor of the club. The atmosphere of the club hit him full force as he stepped inside. The walls were draped in the same dark-gray velvet as the separator curtain. Everything was opulent and expensive-looking. Extremely high-end.
Surprisingly the decorations relaxed him. Small and cozy with soft colors and intimate lighting. He’d expected dark and foreboding. Music pulsing through his brain so loudly he wouldn’t be able to think. Rough and so hard the edges of the atmosphere would slice him like a razor.
Element Twenty-Six was nothing like he’d built up in his mind.
A knot of people had gathered in the center of the room. On the stage a man wearing a white harness around his torso was secured in place by a length of rope hanging from eyebolts in the ceiling. A figure in white moved behind him, his cry of ecstasy-laced agony spilling from his lips as he was struck with a flogger. Alex made a mental note to wander over there in a bit despite the fact he wasn’t interested in impact play.
After all, he was here to learn.
He turned to the left, winding his way through the densely packed crowd. Another knot of people had gathered, this time around a smaller stage. A woman was bent over a wedge, her ass high in the air for offering. Her wrists and ankles had been bound by hot-pink cuffs as a man stood behind her holding a pencil-thin implement.
For a moment Alex couldn’t figure out what was happening. Then the thin strip contacted sharply with the woman’s ass. Caning. More impact play. He’d scanned through the information he’d found on the subject without any real interest. Given the abuse from his past, hitting wa
s something he hadn’t given much thought to. Evidently not the case for this woman. Her skin was bright red where the cane continued to hit her. Her moans of pleasure filtered out to the crowd, washing over those watching with keen interest.
Alex shifted his stance and leaned against a cloth-draped post as he watched the couple with utter fascination. While caning didn’t interest him specifically he was fascinated by the pleas spilling from the submissive’s lips. She egged the Dom on, begging him to hit harder and faster.
With a wide grin the Dom complied.
For a few minutes at least.
When the sub’s cries grew to incoherent demands the man standing over her stepped away and folded his hands in front of him. The sub screamed in frustration, tugging on her bindings.
Oh yeah, this is definitely for me.
Fascinated with couple’s dynamic, Alex drew closer, standing at the edge of the stage. He could all but taste the perspiration and need dripping from the submissive.
Alex wanted that.
He just didn’t understand why.
He also didn’t understand why in the hell whenever he thought about this very thing, he always saw himself in the submissive position. Never the dominant. He kept trying to tell himself it was perfectly normal simply because he didn’t know differently. It was better than wondering what the hell was wrong with him.
The sub on the stage struggled even harder against her bindings, her cries lofting higher as she begged her Dom to use the cane again. The expression on the Dom’s face didn’t alter as he discarded the thin rod onto a table behind him. The woman continued to beg as he walked around to her head, staring down at her quivering form.
Her pleas grew louder, the raspy quality of her voice arrowing to the base of Alex’s dick. He shifted his pants, hoping no one noticed he was getting aroused by the scene. By the thought of being bound. All he needed was for someone to call him a sick pervert.
The Dom’s hand covered the sub’s head, his thick fingers casually stroking through the strands of hair wet with perspiration. Tears ran down her face, her mascara forming thick trails across her pale skin.
“Hush, my little pet.”
Instead her cries grew louder, her desperation obvious to even an uneducated newbie like Alex. Why didn’t the Dom just give her what she wanted? Wasn’t that the point of this whole scene?
The Dom’s eyes narrowed, his hand going to the zipper of his pants. With little flourish the hard length of his cock sprang free, tapping against the woman’s trembling lips. Her pleas grew louder and more desperate as the man standing over her brushed the side of his erection against her cheek.
Alex couldn’t tell if she was begging for more or trying to tell the Dom to stop.
A sudden crack of the Dom’s hand against the side of the sub’s face propelled Alex forward before he could stop. Another slap echoed through the club as he vaulted the stage with his hands instinctively curling into tight fists. Blood boiling, he watched the Dom lift his hand again for another strike.
Oh. Hell. No.
The music drifting through the club teemed with life, fueling the sounds of ecstasy emitting from various scene areas. There were no words to the music spilling from the hidden speakers, but Gideon’s raised voice, lost somewhere between pleasure and pain, provided a chorus for Elena.
She was already deep into topspace, focused and precise with her strikes on his pink skin. Gideon’s guttural moans of pleasure seemed to escalate the harder she hit. Like always she tempered the pain with a gentle stroke or caress to his ass, the tops of his thighs or his broad shoulders.
Firm muscles clenched under her hand, allowing her to feel just the moment he would start to relax. When he did her flogger would strike and he’d sink even lower into his own head, lost on a plane saturated with pleasure as she delivered the pain.
His pleasure was hers.
Gideon whimpered as she stroked her hand down the column of his spine. His flesh was flushed and warm from her marks, just the way they both liked it. She reached around his body, tapping her finger against the pointed head of the cap.
Gideon hissed, ecstasy brightening his cheeks and causing small lines to form between his eyes. Now he was thinking too much, too worried about displeasing her. She needed to get him into the place where his instincts kicked in.
A loud commotion caused her to pull her next strike, obliterating her endorphin high in a split second. A quick glance over her shoulder indicated the noise had already caught the attention of the gathered crowd.
She’d lost them.
Wonderful.
“I’ve got to see what’s going on over there. In the meantime…” She reached down, tapping hard against the metal cap surrounding Gideon’s cock. His gasp sounded over the noise, his body straining against his bindings.
Such a good and attentive sub.
And damn whoever had decided to ruin his moment.
She hated to leave him, especially since she had a strict rule about never abandoning a sub at any time during a scene. However, the disturbance seemed to be getting louder and louder by the second. Where the fuck was Rocco and the rest of the security detail working on Open Door night?
Annoyed, she tucked her flogger into her belt and stepped off the stage. The crowd parted easily for her, seemingly confused if this was part of some scene. She crossed to the area where a knot of people stood. A quick glance over her shoulder showed she was only a few feet away from Gideon and could easily get to him should he struggle.
She also noticed Ian, the Dom Chaplin had left in charge, standing next to the stage. He tilted his head slightly, a signal he would keep an eye on things for her. Satisfied Gideon was in good hands, Elena turned and tapped Michael on the shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
Michael sneered, gesturing to where Tommy struggled with someone. “We’ve got a rule-breaker.”
“Wouldn’t be Open Door night if there wasn’t one or two in the bunch.” She stepped closer to Michael, pressing her mouth close to his ear so only he heard her. “Deal with this asshole and toss him out. You’re creating a disturbance and upsetting everyone. We’re trying to attract new members, not dissuade them.”
Confident the men could handle this mess, she started to turn around in order to return to her station and Gideon. Tommy’s frustrated growl and subsequent curse signaled she wasn’t going to be able to simply walk away.
She whirled around, more than pissed now. “What the hell are you doing? Get his ass out of here.”
“I’m trying to.” Tommy pinned the man to the ground by sitting on his back, using his knees to secure the man’s upper arms. One of his beefy hands was spread wide over the man’s head, forcibly pushing it to floor. Even then the man continued to struggle. “This newbie here tried to play hero when Rick slapped Aimee. Jumped up onstage like some kind of stupid prick, thinking he was saving the day or some other kind of bullshit. Hate these newbies and their fucking knight-in-shining-armor complex.”
She glanced over to where Aimee huddled in Rick’s arms. Her head was buried under his chin, her hands clutched tightly against his shoulders in a death grip. His hands smoothed over her trembling back as he held her tightly. “Is slapping in her limits?”
“Yes, of course. Always has been.” Rick’s chin tilted defiantly. “Check her files if you don’t believe me.”
She didn’t doubt his word. Both Rick and Aimee had been members of the club for a long time. Elena had even attended their collaring ceremony six months ago.
Why did crap like this have to happen when Chaplin was nowhere to be found?
“She going to be okay?”
Aimee’s breath hitched as her soft cry split the now-quiet room and she burrowed her head harder against Rick’s chest. “Yeah. I’ve got her. She just dropped too fast thanks to this jerkwad. She’ll calm down in a few minutes. If you don’t need us anymore I’m going to take her into a private area.”
She nodded, grateful the gathered crowd
parted for the couple without hesitation. At least most of these fools knew how to act. Maybe she’d have to talk to Chaplin about discontinuing Open Door night, especially because it seemed to be more hassle than it was worth.
As she stepped closer to deal with the offender, she noticed Tommy had managed to subdue him by lacing the man’s hands behind his head and using a headlock to keep the man’s head angled down to the floor. The standing position allowed her to see his clothing was well-made and his shoes were expensive. Damn rich assholes thinking they could just barge in and take over with their arrogant attitudes and wads of unlimited funds.
It meant he wasn’t someone who’d just walked in off the street in order to get some sick thrills. Not as though someone could just walk in the club even when they opened their doors to the public.
Policies and rules were in place to prevent such a thing.
But it meant he was in need of a serious attitude adjustment.
Just as she was about to deliver her brand of correction the scent of champagne filtered into her lungs, sweet and pungent. The smell brought her up short. The club didn’t serve champagne. She knew, she’d scolded Chaplin often enough about the fact the club didn’t serve enough high-class alcohol for its stringent one-drink limit. Surely the scent hadn’t followed her all the way from the wedding.
She gave the man the once-over again. Not slacks. Tuxedo pants. High-end, well-polished shoes. The scent of Allison’s favorite champagne.
Not some rich asshole who thought he could waltz in and take over the club.
Alex.
No point in ignoring him now, as much as she wanted to pretend he’d just appeared from nowhere. “Let him go, Tommy.” She kept her voice firm but authoritative. It wouldn’t do to have the situation boil over to become unmanageable. No reason to create any more of a spectacle tonight or at least make this one worse.
Tommy snorted and rolled his eyes even as he continued to struggle with his captive. “I can’t and you damn well know it.”
“I know how things work around here too.”
