"So did you always live in Philadelphia? When did you move here?"
"Actually we lived a few miles outside Philly in New Hope and then Ridgewood, New Jersey after I got married. I only moved here a few weeks ago after my divorce was final."
"Why here?"
Kristen chewed and swallowed a piece of veal before answering him. "My cousin, Will, has lived in Tampa for the past six or seven years and I loved the area the few times I came down to visit him. I wanted a new start, so here I am. What about you? Have you always lived in Tampa?"
"No. My brothers and I were born and raised in Charlotte, North Carolina. After the Navy, Ian and I decided to open our security business here. Mitch was raised here and like you, we visited a lot and liked it. We were still getting our security firm on its feet when Mitch approached us about the club and the rest, as they say, is history."
"It must've been difficult and expensive. I mean the club is beautiful and I can't imagine what it took to transform the place while starting another business. And, oh my God, it sounds like I'm trying to find out how much money you have. Don't answer, I don't want to know. I'm just going to remove my foot from my mouth." She was babbling but couldn't stop. It was a bad habit which occurred when she was embarrassed.
Devon didn't look upset, instead he seemed amused. He held out a piece of steak and peppers on his fork. "Here, replace your foot with this."
When she reached for the fork, he pulled his hand back. "Uh-uh, Pet. Open your mouth and close your eyes. I want to feed you."
Kristen's eyes widened before she leaned forward and did as he requested. He eased the fork into her mouth taking care not to stab her with the tines. When she closed her lips around the fork and moaned as the flavors hit her tongue, he would have sold his soul at that moment to replace the fork with his throbbing cock. He eased the fork out of her mouth, allowing her to chew and swallow the food. "Mmmm, it's delicious."
Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat and tried to be discreet about adjusting himself. "Glad you like it. I'd offer you more but I think if I did, I'd cum in my pants."
Her eyes flew open again and she saw the desire in his eyes. He wasn't teasing and she clenched her thighs together trying to ease the persistent ache which had taken up residence between them. "Um...so...um...what about you? You said you have a brother, Ian. Any others? Are your folks still in Charlotte?" She could have sworn a sad look passed his face but it was gone too fast to be sure.
Devon paused for a moment. He always found it difficult to talk about his brothers. It was also one of the reasons he never dated outside the club. With a submissive, they didn't need to know him beyond the surface, beyond what he was willing to give. He rarely mentioned John to people who inquired about his family, since it always made the conversation depressive and awkward. "We have a younger brother, Nick. He's in the Navy stationed in San Diego. Ian's the oldest. Mom and Dad are still based out of Charlotte but they travel a lot. My dad, Chuck, is in real estate and has done well for himself. He has a corporation now with a board which runs it for him when he's out of the country with mom. Mom, Marie, is a plastic surgeon, although now she only practices in Charlotte enough to maintain her hospital privileges. She has a small stake in a practice with four other doctors, but her main focus is working in third world countries for Operation Smile."
"Isn't Operation Smile the organization which offers surgeries for kids with cleft lips or palates?"
He nodded and took a sip of tonic water. "Or other facial deformities, yes. When we were young, my brothers and I traveled all over the world with my folks and by the time I went into the Navy, I was on my third passport. We spent every summer digging wells, building schools and huts and everything else we could do to help."
Every time she thought she couldn't find him more attractive, he went and proved her wrong. "Wow, that's amazing! I've never been out of the United States except for Jamaica on my honeymoon and the most I ever did when I was younger was volunteer at the animal shelter five minutes from my house."
He could imagine a younger Kristen playing with and caring for a bunch of animals looking for forever homes. She probably cried after each one got adopted. "Yeah, well, it was fun when we were younger but by the time we were in junior high, we wanted to stay home and hang out with our friends and girlfriends–typical teenage selfishness. When we hit high school and started working, my grandparents on my mom's side would spend the summer at our house so my folks could go do their thing. Nowadays though, Ian and I try to take a week or so a few times a year to meet up with my parents in whatever country they're at and spend the time doing what we can to make some poor village a little less desperate for the people who live there."
Kristen could tell how much he loved his family by listening to the affection in his voice. Although her parents and step-parents got along well and she loved them all, there were times she wished her folks were still together and had given her a brother or a sister.
"Kristen."
She looked up, realizing her mind had wandered and the waiter was clearing their plates while Devon stared at her.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Did you want coffee or dessert?"
"Oh, no thanks. I'm full." And I want to leave for The Covenant and jump your bones–but she wouldn't say that out loud. Too bad they weren't allowed to play at the club.
"We'll take the check, thanks," Devon told the waiter, who nodded before taking their plates to the kitchen.
As he reached into his pocket for his wallet, Kristen jumped and grabbed her evening bag. "Let me split this with you."
She froze when he let out a low growl. "If you take anything other than a lipstick out of your purse, I will pull you across my lap right here and spank you until the cops show up."
She sat there, stunned at his fierce expression. "I just thought since this was our first date and I was the one to ask you out..."
He held up his hand. Under no circumstances would he let her put a penny toward their dinner. "Do not finish the sentence. You may have asked me out, but it was only because I thought you were seeing Brody. Otherwise, I would have done it. I've never allowed a woman to pay for dinner and I'm not going to start now." He wasn't going to mention he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a woman to dinner who hadn't been his mother or niece.
"Isn't that a little sexist?" She sat back and placed her hands in her lap.
Kristen may have written a book based on the BDSM lifestyle, but there was still a lot she didn't understand. He leaned forward, his arms resting on the table. "Let me explain something about Doms to you, Pet. We like to...no...we demand to be in charge when it comes to certain things. Aside from the sexual aspect, we want to ensure our sub's safety and comfort. To treat them as if they are the most precious thing on this earth. I know a few Doms who will tell you their favorite part of a scene is the aftercare, because it's when their subs need them the most. It's when they connect the most.
"We care for our subs, giving them everything we can and wishing we could give them the moon if they asked for it–whether it's for one night only or a long term relationship. We don't do it because we're sexist or think they can't take care of themselves. We do it because it pleases us in a way you can't imagine. It's something we crave beyond the basic human instinct and need to have sex. The lifestyle is so much more than kinky sex and giving up or taking control. And all we Doms expect from our subs in return is respect and obedience...well, that and their orgasms. Now if you want to argue with me about money, I will be more than happy to continue the count. I believe we're at sixteen."
She'd tilted her head as she listened to all he said. This was what she'd been looking for when she'd gone to The Covenant for research. There was only so much she could find on the internet, but what she hadn't been able to comprehend was the passion and need of a Dom to take control. Now she understood that part of BDSM but she still had to discover why a submissive needed to give up the control. "No, it's fifteen. You said sixte
en when you thought I was lying about the log cabin."
"Well, now it's back to sixteen for arguing with me about the count and the check."
"That's not fair," she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest like a petulant child.
Devon chuckled–she was adorable. When the waiter returned with a small leather folder, he handed over his credit card. "Whoever said life is fair, Pet, wasn't a Dom."
CHAPTER 7
The assassin took a swig of whiskey and watched as Eric Prichard rounded the corner onto County Road #32. The former Navy SEAL was starting the fourth mile of his evening run with four more miles to go. It wouldn't be dark for another forty minutes or so and the target would be turning around at a bank of mailboxes a little further up the road to backtrack toward his home. But if the coast was clear this time, he wasn't going to finish those last four miles. The assassin had been observing the man's habits for the past week, looking for his opportunity to strike.
After locating Prichard, he realized he would have to do the job away from the man's residence. The former SEAL and his wife had four children and even though the assassin killed people for a profit without a second thought, he drew the line at murdering children. It was the only time his conscience wouldn't let him kill unless necessary, but oddly enough, the moment a kid turned eighteen they were considered expendable. Had his earlier target's eighteen year old daughter been home when he broke into their house and shot her parents six months ago, she would have been a third body the police found. A slumber party saved her from certain death.
It'd been three months since his last kill for the man paying him because the bastard didn't want to get his own hands dirty. The first kill on the list of seven men occurred six months ago. His temporary employer wanted them spaced out so no one would notice a pattern. Seven dead former Navy SEALs from the same team would raise a lot of questions, but by that time there would be no one left who could figure out the how's and why's. After he took out Prichard, the assassin would head to Tampa to track the last four names on his execution list–Ian Sawyer, his brother Devon Sawyer, Brody Evans and Jake Donovan. He would have to find a way to take them out together while still making it look like an accident since, according to the files he had been given, they worked and hung out together along with two other former SEALs. He might be able to take out one or two before they realized they were targeted and went underground, making it much harder to kill the rest of them.
Stalking men who had been trained to do the stalking themselves, was a delicate job. Over a week ago he found a used car dealership two towns over from bum-fuck Iowa where his target lived. The business lacked decent security so he picked the lock to the office in under a minute and helped himself to the keys to their available vehicles, some of which were kept in an overflow lot a few blocks away. Using a different car and different disguise each day, he was able to keep his target from spotting him, but there had been a few moments when the man seemed to sense he was being watched, so the assassin had to be smarter than his prey.
Finishing a count to three hundred the killer-for-hire put the car in gear, took one last sip from his flask and pulled out from behind an abandoned laundromat. By now his target would be running back toward town on a straightaway while facing oncoming traffic. Although the man ran along the narrow shoulder, he didn't flinch when cars drove past. He passed Prichard twice this week on his run, but there had been cars with witnesses on the road.
Taking the turn Prichard had disappeared around minutes before, the assassin straightened the steering wheel and accelerated to the posted fifty miles per hour speed limit. His target was where he expected the man to be, unknowingly running at a decent clip toward his tragic death.
One hundred yards. He could see the target's black shirt, military green sweatpants and white sneakers.
Fifty yards. He could read the yellow lettering spelling out 'U.S. Navy' on the man's chest.
Twenty yards. The target looked at his watch and upped his pace.
Ten yards. The dead man running made eye contact with him a second before the assassin swerved.
A half hour later, he dropped off the used and now damaged car, wiped it clean of prints and retrieved his own vehicle. He typed off a one word text on his burner cell–Done–then pulled out onto the road leading to the interstate where he would dismantle the phone and throw a part out the window every few miles.
CHAPTER 8
Once they were on their way to The Covenant, Kristen became nervous again. She had been twisting her hands together until Devon reached over and took hold of her left hand, intertwined their fingers then rested them on her thigh. His thumb was now brushing her thigh, below her hemline, back and forth. With those soft, reassuring caresses, she tried to settle into the comfortable silence and let her mind wander.
She hadn't thought she would be interested in BDSM but after her interaction with Devon earlier at the club, she wasn't sure now. She'd been so turned on, she had ended up masturbating in the shower before Kayla and Will got there. And instead of Master Xavier urging her on, this time it had been Master Devon.
"I meant to ask you earlier but we got a little sidetracked. Did you bring your limit list with you?"
Kristen turned her head to examine his profile as he drove. "Yes, it's folded in my purse. I also reviewed the protocols."
He nodded and glanced over at her before returning his attention to the road. "Good. I'll look over your list when we get to the club. Do you have any questions about the protocols?"
She thought back to the papers she read. Most of the rules were pretty straight forward but she still wanted to clarify a few of them. "Yes, I do. Some rules were listed under the heading "High Protocols" while others weren't. How do I know when I'm supposed to follow the "High Protocol" rules?"
He'd been happy when she agreed to leave her car near the restaurant and ride to the club with him. He left the convertible top closed, not wanting the wind to ruin her styled hair. He wanted to save the pleasure for later when he got a chance to run his fingers through those soft brown curls. "Most of the members follow the relaxed protocols unless we are having an event which would require the more rigid ones, and everyone is notified of those in advance. There are a few Doms who insist their subs follow the stricter rules but if one of them approaches you, I'll let you know. If it does happen, remember to keep your head bowed, do not make eye contact with the Dom or their sub, if they have one, and ask my permission to speak before saying anything to them. Never be rude to a Dom in any situation. You'll be next to me most of the time but if for some reason I'm not there, and a Dom is bothering you, immediately look for a Dungeon Master who wear gold vests or a security officer who wear red button-down shirts with a black bowtie and let them know. Just because you're a submissive does not give a Dom or another submissive permission to harass you for any reason. Most of our members are not a problem, but like every large group it has its jackasses and bitches."
"What's the difference between the Dungeon Masters and the security officers?"
His squeezed her hand before releasing it, needing both hands to navigate the sharp turn from the highway ramp to the road leading to the club. He missed the warmth and reclaimed her hand as soon as he was able. "The Dungeon Masters are experienced Doms who keep an eye on the scenes going on throughout the club. I think we have a total of thirty-two of them. They ensure all play at the club is safe and keep the subs from getting injured in case a Dom overlooks something such as a restraint too tight or a sub not using their safe word when they should. The security officers keep an eye on everything else and are the bouncers of the club."
She thought about what he said and there was one thing which confused her. "Why would a submissive not use their safe-word when it's obvious to a monitor they should?"
Devon sighed as he stopped two cars back from the guard shack at the entrance to the club parking lot. The lead car must be either a newer member or guest who the guard didn't recognize because he was checking
the driver's ID with a handheld computer. It was another one of Brody's toys the club used on a regular basis. "Sometimes what a sub thinks they want isn't what they need and not saying their safe-word can be a destructive behavior. How can I explain it?" He paused. "Do you know what 'cutting' is?"
She'd heard of cutting before. "Isn't it when a person, sometimes teenagers, cut their arms with razors blades?"
The line of cars was now moving again and the guard waved at Devon as he passed. "People who cut themselves in order to feel whatever it is they are looking to feel, don't cut deep enough to bleed out but it's still dangerous. They feel compelled to cut themselves for whatever reason causing damage to their bodies, and they usually can't stop without psychological help. It's what a sub who doesn't use their safe-word when they should is doing–damaging themselves in order to feel whatever it is they are trying to feel. A good Dom needs to know how to find the fine line between what a sub needs to make them feel good and what is going too far and damaging the sub's psyche and body. If a DM thinks a sub is pushing his- or herself too far to the point of severe injury via a Dom, the sub is referred to one of our contracted psychologists and can't play again unless they get an okay from the doctor. It doesn't happen often but we're serious about our submissives' safety here–physically, psychologically and emotionally."
He'd parked his car a few minutes earlier and sat there finishing his explanation before opening his car door. When she reached for the latch to open her own door, he stopped her. "Do not even think of opening your door. Stay there until I come around or I'll add to your spanking count."
She couldn't help herself as she laughed out loud at his firm tone. "Is this one of those things that brings you pleasure, Master Devon?"
God, how he loved how she combined his title with his name. He'd heard it from the mouths of hundreds of subs over the years but never had a woman gotten him hard by saying those two words–until now. "Yes, my little subbie, it is. Now stay there."
Leather & Lace: Trident Security Book 1 Page 8
