She stripped me of my clothes like she’d practiced it in her mind a thousand times. Her fingers danced over the shrapnel scars on my chest, and she paused to kiss every one. Her care was a better bandage than any I’d had at the hands of a doctor. Soft lips and fierce eyes, no words and no hesitation, Tessa took what she wanted, touched where she wanted.
It was her first time, but it felt like mine. Every touch, every kiss I’d experienced before was obliterated by her until all that remained was us and this.
Like a starving man at a queen’s feast, I kissed, sucked, nibbled her carefully, trying not to rush an experience so important to her despite the lust clawing at my skin. It was important to me too, and meant more to me than she’d ever know.
I lost count of the different sounds she made—I must have tasted nearly every inch of her skin before settling between her legs. Determined for her to experience everything, I kept everything external, cupping her ass with my hands, focusing on her clit with my mouth, suckling and licking her labia, barely putting my tongue inside her. I didn’t stop until her back arched off the bed and she came, moaning my name like she’d said she would.
She thrust a condom at me from under her pillow. I raised my eyebrow and she grinned. Wordlessly, I rolled it down my length and paused to look at her flushed, beautiful face. Her hands scrabbled for me, and I let her move me into position, stretched out on top.
Tessa moaned and bit my lip when I let my weight press her into the bed. “That feels so good.”
I kissed her with the hunger that had built since we’d met, wanting to devour her and sear the memory of this moment into my heart forever. “Are you sure you want to do this, Tessa? We can still stop if you’ve changed your mind. This can be as far as we go.”
She reached between us and grabbed my cock, stroking it up and down her folds before settling it into place. “Shut up and give me what we both want.”
She may have become an expert with a vibrator, but I still pushed slowly inside her, wanting not only to savor every second, but not to rush her first time. She was so tight, so wet, so impatient. Her hands gripped my ass and she used her feet as leverage to slam me fully inside her. We both cried out, and her fingernails raked down my back as she tried to pull me even closer.
For a moment we stayed like that, lost in the most complete embrace I’d ever felt, at home in her arms and inside her.
I withdrew and plunged in again, pulling back so I could read her face, make sure she was okay. She was grinning ear to ear and slapped my shoulder when I stopped.
“Don’t stop, Mark!”
I traced the curve of her lips with the pad of my thumb. “You’ve got the biggest smile.”
“What’s not to smile about? I’m finally getting what I want.” She ground her hips into mine, and I couldn’t think for the haze that filled my senses. Tessa Winters had stolen my common sense, my thoughts, and my heart. So I gave her what she wanted, went faster when she told me to, went harder when her body told me to. Her eyes went wide as her pussy clamped down on my cock, squeezing my own orgasm from me as hers rolled over us both.
If this act damned me, I’d greet Satan with a smile.
I’d have lived the rest of my days with my arms around her, but she was more practical than I was, and kicked me out soon after so we wouldn’t get caught.
As I left her bedroom, reality crashed down on me. If her dad found out, I’d lose my job, maybe more. He’d probably see to it I never worked again.
And I didn’t care. I was drunk on her and what we’d done.
Nothing else seemed as real as the last few hours with her had.
But reality would rear its ugly head in a few short months, and it would be seven years until I saw her again.
CHAPTER TWO
Tessa
The crop slaps down on the submissive’s ass three more times before I step in and stop the Domme with a raised hand. She lowers the crop and moves back.
I run a gentle hand down the man’s ass and address the Domme. “Remember, you can’t always rely on the color of the marks to know when to stop. You have to feel the heat coming off, and watch the skin for any swelling. Some people won’t show anything until the next few days, but then they’ll bruise horribly. When you don’t know the submissive, or they’ve got a darker complexion, you’re better off using a lighter touch.”
“Sorry. I just assumed because it’s a competition—”
“Don’t assume anything. The rules of kink still apply, even during the competition. Especially during the competition. Adrenaline will be high during The Submission Games. People will push boundaries, not safe out when they should, because they aren’t listening to their bodies. Some will be more sensitive. Don’t try to go hardcore because of the judges. Treat every round as though it was a private scene with a new client. They all need a fair chance.” Regret hangs miserably from her face, and I soften my tone and place a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve nothing to prove, Rowan. Not to anyone, and certainly not to me. I know you’re more used to bondage and that’s why we’re working on this instead. You improve by practicing the things you need help with, not by practicing the things you’re already good at.”
She fiddles with the end of her dark French braid. “Thanks, Tessa. I’m feeling a little insecure about being so new, and I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. I want to do you proud.”
“I know. And you’re a damn good submissive, which is why I can’t see anyone having an issue with you being a participating Dominant for The Games. Switches are welcomed here.”
She nervously taps the crop against her calf. “I’m not used to people accepting it so easily. What will they think—”
“They will think, wow, she’s an amazing Dominant! You can’t doubt yourself or they’ll smell the hesitation and bay for blood. I get it—you’ve had a strike against you in other places because you’re a switch. It’s stupid, but some people see that as flighty, like you’re unable to commit to one side, or you’re splitting your focus and that only gets you half as far. I think it’s a strength. The Underground loves a good switch—you know what it’s like on both ends of the crop. We have several members like you, men and women. I want you to be one of our representatives because I think it will be good for you, yes, but also because I think you’re going to be fucking amazing, just as soon as you stop doubting yourself.”
“If you were a hugger, I’d be all over you.” Her blue eyes are wet, but she smiles.
“Fuck it. Let’s be kinky.” I pull the slight brunette into a tight embrace, letting go when she giggles. “Good?”
She nods.
“What’s a guy got to do to get a little attention around here?” The submissive wiggles his bare ass and pouts.
“Funny, I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.” Rowan shoves his face back to the pillow, and smiles as his hips quirk back and forth a couple times.
I wink at her. “Now let’s see about fine-tuning your flogging. Your left hand’s a little weak.”
An hour later, I’m satisfied that Rowan’s worked the kinks from her confidence and her submissive’s soft moans fill the air like the sound of torn velvet. It was never a question of Rowan’s skills or sensitivity. She just needed to know she was doing well; a little external validation from someone she trusts and respects. An uncertain Dominant puts everyone in the scene at risk. The submissive will feel that uncertainty and feed it back to the Dom—who will then feed that back to the sub until everyone’s in a bad place. Fear and self-reproach have no place in kink.
I leave them with her thighs wrapped around his waist to finish the scene as they see fit and deal with aftercare—something I know Rowan excels at.
I’ve always loved the sound stilettos make on tile floors. When I was in elementary school, the tapping of the teachers’ heels down the halls seared itself into my mind and I’ve always equated it with authority. Stomping a little harder, I make my way through the long hallway stretching two stories below
the street. Instead of pressing down on me, I feel secure knowing I’m underground. Less eyes to pry and witness my freedom.
The elevator carries me up to the fourth floor offices as I ponder our newest member. We’re an elite BDSM club, the best of the best. If you fancy yourself a Dominant, it doesn’t matter who you know and it doesn’t matter how much money you flash around. If you’re a submissive, you can’t fuck your way in; unless you’re invited by a top Dominant like myself and then vetted by Reiley, you earn a membership by going through three scenes with three different Dominants. Two must determine your worthiness.
Rowan’s new to us but knows what she’s doing.
She was the best thing that came from my recent trip to Canada, to a kink club up in Montreal. Reiley had sent me there to recruit a couple new members, but Rowan was the best of the bunch—and we only want the best. I convinced her to come back with me—would have begged, but that’s not my style.
While I love Seattle and The Underground too much to leave it permanently, if I was to move somewhere, Montreal would be at the top of my list. Amazing festivals, gorgeous men and women, the city pulsed with an understated vibrancy. They know exactly how amazing their city is, but there’s no arrogance, only acceptance and pride and the quiet knowledge that you’ll fall in love with it too.
Maybe Reiley will open a branch there one day. Our London and Tokyo branches do extremely well. We’ve already got Seattle, LA, New Orleans, New York, and Miami. Maybe a little Great White North flavor would be good for us—and them. Something to keep the people warm during those long, icy winters.
Frigid’s another word for stiff, right? Nothing wrong with that. On second thought, that has a certain charm as a potential theme...I stride off the elevator toward Reiley’s office. Heavy, brushed steel double doors put strength into the minds of people walking in for the first time. Their thickness reinforces the message of privacy innate in any dealings at The Underground.
I knock twice and open the door. Reiley holds up a finger and I close the door quietly and take a seat, waiting for him to finish his phone call.
“—not even a real code, mate.”
He’s lived in America for ten years. I’m not sure if that’s enough time to lose an accent, but his Irish brogue is always stronger when talking to someone back home, or the rare, scary times when he’s angry. Right now it’s thick enough to stop a bullet.
“Then don’t. I don’t work for you. You’d do well to remember that.” He viciously ends the call and sets his phone face down on the desk, turning his attention to me. “Feckless prick. I miss the days where you could slam a phone’s receiver down on someone. Thumbing a touchscreen isn’t quite as satisfying.”
“Glad I caught you in a good mood.”
His smile always reminds me of lightning. He can seem as dark and foreboding as a storm at midnight, but he grins and lights up everything around him in an instant.
His blue eyes twinkle. “Almost as good as catching me with my pants down.”
I laugh and he pours us both a drink from a bottle in his drawer. Scotch. Neat.
He empties his glass in one gulp. “How did Rowan do?”
“She’ll be a credit to us once she realizes we’re not going to judge her as less than for being a switch.”
“Good.”
The scotch is smooth as silk on the way down but has one hell of an after kick. I chase it with a second swallow. “Have you ever thought of opening up a club in Montreal?”
He raises his eyebrow. “Feeling Canadien?” His French accent is impeccable.
“Ever been?”
“Not to Montreal. I went to Toronto, which I hear is like visiting Montreal’s stuffy older brother, though I liked it well enough. You miss the city of saints already?”
“It had a great vibe—and the locals told me it’s also called Sin City. Somehow, the debauchery felt light compared to Las Vegas.”
“Canadian sins are riddled with apologies and ever so quaint.”
“Very polite.”
He sips his scotch. “And I’m sure your interest has nothing to do with their law enforcement being called The Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
I grin. “That can’t be a coincidence.” The kinkiest subs I’ve ever met have been members of the police force. All those cuffs and no one to grope. “But Montreal would be a great location for a new branch.”
“I’ll look into it.”
I duck my head, acknowledging his statement. Reiley never speaks empty words. If he says he’ll do something, that’s a promise—or a threat, depending on your relationship with him. I clear my throat. “I’ve decided to give Tanner control over entertainment for The Games.”
“Agreed.” He leans back in his chair and loosens his tie. “She’s hungry for it, and that usually means she’ll keep herself in line and deliver.”
“I heard she put on a Florentine Flogging demo that went over well while I was gone.”
“Yes. Though I had to curtail her original idea to have real razor blades on the ends instead of rubber ones for show.”
I lower my glass in surprise. “Jesus.”
He shakes his head. “No idea what she was thinking with that.”
“Trying to be hardcore? The sub’s back would have been turned to hamburger. I’ll have another chat with her, make sure she doesn’t go too far.” Much like Rowan. At least Tanner took Reiley’s redirection. The Submission Games are a chance for submissives to bypass the usual protocol and win a membership to The Underground—among other prizes. Dominants from any of our clubs can sponsor a submissive, or submissives not connected to us can participate if one of our Dominants agree to be their coach. The coaches have a lot at stake as well; the better their contestant does, the better their prizes are. But the sooner their contestants are eliminated, the more time is taken from their memberships. It’s not something entered into frivolously.
But Rowan is going to be a participating Dominant, one of the Dommes putting the contestants through their paces during the rounds. It’s the responsibility of the participating Dominants to eliminate contestants, weeding out those unsuitable to us and the community we’ve built. Last year, I was a participating Domme.
This year, I’m in charge of the whole shebang. If I fuck it up...
I gulp more scotch.
Reiley scratches at his stubble, though it’s leaning more towards a beard than I’ve ever seen it. “Have you heard from Sloane?”
His hair’s too long too—when was the last time I saw him this disheveled? I nod. “She booked us in for massages in a couple days. While she no longer thinks kink is a danger to me, apparently I looked a little tense the last time I saw her.”
He drags the bottom edge of his glass against the table. “Flogging people is murder on the shoulders. I’m glad you’re getting on better.”
“We’ve been spending a lot more time together—when she’s not with a certain someone.”
“I’ve barely seen Darko since Sloane entered the picture.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, and not just from the alcohol. I’ve known Darko for years, a fellow Dominant at the club, around longer than me, but my twin sister Sloane was convinced BDSM was bad news—that I’d been using it to self-harm. She’d been laboring under the misapprehension, thinking I am a submissive and, being an investigative journalist, decided to do an exposé on The Underground to show me the dangers of kink.
Her self-righteous indignation still makes her blush when I bring it up, but honestly, no one was more shocked at what she found at The Underground than she was.
Impersonating me, she got into the club and met Darko, convinced him to teach her submission, and immediately started training, attacking kink the way she doggedly pursued all of her journalism pieces. Instead of taking him down, she fell in love and earned a membership here. Darko found out her original intentions and was understandably hurt, but I read the article in the newspaper she wrote to win him back and it made me cry. She’d connected t
o herself and to Darko in a way that I’m ecstatic for her—and completely envious of. I want to find that connection that makes me risk looking like a complete moron for love. She put herself out there to win him back, and who wouldn’t want to be loved so deeply?
Not that I’ll ever tell her that. She’d begin trying to set me up with someone immediately if she knew I was such a sap for a happy ending.
It’s only been a few weeks, but they’ve been stuck together like Velcro with matching smiles. Whether it lasts, time will tell, but she’s stopped hovering over me like a neurotic helicopter, so it’s win-win.
I grin. “I think they’re good for each other. She needed to loosen up.”
“They both did.”
“And you?”
He swallows more scotch. “What about me?”
I nod at his phone. “How are things?”
“Ticking along annoyingly slowly. I might need to take a short trip.” His eyes darken, and he smoulders in silence for a moment. Reiley doesn’t disappear often, but when he does it’s never for anything frivolous or fun. The man needs a serious vacation.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shakes his head. As close as we are, he’s intensely private and I’ve learned from experience not to push. If I need to know something, he’ll tell me.
I finish my drink and stand. “Well, the Games are shaping up nicely. I just wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you, Tessa.”
This man saved my life once. Maybe more than once. I want to find his submissive and give him a fraction of the freedom and happiness he’s given me. Darko and Sloane are so happy—I want that for Reiley too. He’s given us the kingdom where we’re able to rule ourselves however’s best for our needs. I want to give him his queen that will rule it at his side.
Every recruitment I go on I’m not only looking at the Dominants—I scope out the submissives too, hoping to find someone with the potential to be Reiley’s. Words will never come close to expressing my gratitude—finding Reiley’s kink counterpart would.
Take Me (The Submission Games Book 2) Page 2
