by Livia Grant
Don’t think about it, Garreth told himself. Think about anything else but planting his fist so far into Ethen’s face that his teeth came out the back of his head, or the fact that he now wanted to do that to Noah too. Think about the job. Think about Hadlee, standing in front of that stage with the lights of the room all dimming now, leaving only the recessed neon black lights with their purple and white accent lamps directing everyone’s attention to the roulette wheels.
She looked good in those lights. He was biased; she looked good in any lighting. Phosphorescent. Daylight. Candlelight. Hell, she’d look great in nothing but the ghostly grey moonlight cascading through the crack of his bedroom window as he laid her out upon his bed, with her arms pinned to the mattress above her and her legs spread wide apart. He could already see her biting her bottom lip, her back arching and hips grinding a helpless circle of arousal as he told her she wasn’t allowed to move, not one inch out of this position. If she did, he’d have to punish her, and she would look up at him with such longing as he said it, completely unafraid because the tone he would use would leave no doubt that his punishment would be more like fun-ishment. It would be slow and sensual, and before he was finished, she would have come so many times that she’d feel boneless in the sweat-soaked aftermath of his love-making.
“Is everyone ready to have a good time?” Chase called to the crowd, startling Garreth back to the now of the moment.
Everyone stared, clapped, and cheered, but one. Ethen’s attention was focused on the smaller of the submissives, the brunette who hugged her own shoulders and pretended she couldn’t feel the chill of it. The man was rich, powerful, and a menace. If he worked a blue-collar job and lived in a trailer, he’d probably be in jail right now for some of the shit he’d pulled. But no, Ethen was anything but blue collar. Instead, he made—and donated—the kind of money that made him very good friends in very high places.
Still hugging her shoulders, Hadlee abruptly turned her back in a not-so-subtle statement that Ethen recognized in an instant. His hand hit the table and he shifted hard in his seat.
“Good girl,” Garreth murmured under his breath. “Ignore the son of a bitch.” Ethen would be in his sights all night, and Garreth wasn’t about to let him bother her.
“Hadlee!” Chase suddenly announced, startling Garreth all over again. The dominants were already spinning for names and one of them had just landed on hers.
Garreth wasn’t prepared for the rush of tension that swept him as he took the hand of the one woman he wanted above all others, helped her up the stairs and then handed her off to another man. He schooled his features, trying hard not to look at Hadlee like a diabetic lusting after his favorite… well, shit. The wave of tension returned, this time with tidal wave force as Garreth took his first real look at the dom who’d drawn her name and recognized Noah Carver, the visiting whip-maker, dressed all in black leathers, as he both winked and smiled at Hadlee.
Good man, was Garreth’s first thought.
Motherfucker, was his second. Because she took it, with very little hesitation as she followed him back to the second roulette wheel. That’s who drew Hadlee’s lot? Not two nights ago, Garreth had watched while Noah demonstrated the safety ins-and-outs of fire-flogging. Although not a fan of whips himself, it was hard not to admire anyone with the skill to cast fireballs off the end of his flaming bullwhip or who had the precision to cut the length of a tall, thin candle all the way down to a stub in evenly spaced one-inch increments. How was Garreth supposed to compete with that?
As if he were in competition with anyone, Garreth immediately checked himself. His skin felt too tight. He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax, but he couldn’t stop watching as Hadlee followed Noah back to the roulette wheels. She picked up that small, white ball before stepping up to the second wheel so her activity could be spun. Let it be gentle, he found himself thinking as the ball dropped, whirring in a white blur around and around the track.
He heard it drop.
“Whipping!” Chase called out.
His heart sank. Every muscle he owned tightened in knots.
Shit.
Chapter 3
Hadlee walked away from the stage, following as Noah led her through the crush of people. He carried his play bag slung over one shoulder. Nothing more than a black sports bag, all she could see of the tools inside was the black plastic tube protruding out one end. She could hear the canes and crops rattling together inside.
There were a lot of voyeurs here tonight. Lots of people who would be watching the games, unable to play. Now and then she glanced up at him, but mostly she kept her eyes on the floor so she knew where she was stepping and didn’t accidentally trip over a chair leg, someone’s foot, or the errant strap of a purse that had been smuggled down into the pit. There was possibly a cellphone, perhaps even a camera, inside. Contraband that, inevitably, one of the dungeon monitors would discover. The entire group risked expulsion from the event, but there was always the risk of some idiot trying to get away with it in the chaos that preceded the start of every party.
She stumbled, and she didn’t even have the excuse of tripping over anything. Her heels weren’t more than an inch or so, but the minor twist that stumble resulted in still made her right ankle scream. She grabbed reflexively, but Noah had already tightened his steadying grip.
“You okay?” he asked, checking her first and then the floor.
“Yes, fine.” Hadlee flushed. “I have bad ankles.” She waved it off with a laugh that sounded every bit as nervous as she was. She hoped he wouldn’t pry for details she didn’t want to give, and thankfully, he didn’t. He just pulled her around the person who suddenly backed his chair into the middle of their narrow path and forged a new track through the crowd. They were heading toward the bar and a quiet table that was still empty, probably because it was tucked halfway behind a wood post. Noah waved, flagging for the attention of a server who didn’t see them.
“I’ll catch the next one,” Noah said, craning his head to see how far away the ‘next one’ was. She was all the way at the bar, loading up her tray with drinks.
Hadlee tried to smile and hoped he misinterpreted her lack of enthusiasm for nervousness. She really didn’t want to do this. Hadlee was no stranger to pre-scene negotiations. Ethen had been her first introduction to that, and somedays she thought she could still feel that horrible blush of embarrassment as he quite casually traversed a long list of the most embarrassing questions anyone had ever asked her. Just the thought of going through that again made her want to cry, but it was a necessary evil. She was about to be whipped by this man. He had a right to know if she had any health issues, or a fear of whips, or an inability to tolerate pain, or anything else that might lead to triggers that might prematurely kill their scene.
Although Ethen had never allowed it, she knew she ought to ask him some questions too. She didn’t know him any better than he did her. She didn’t know his level of expertise, whether he’d ever used a whip before, or even if he could hit what or where he was aiming without accidentally catching himself on the backswing. She didn’t want the whip to wrap her face or her stomach, or catch her too far down her legs. What kind of whip was he going to use anyway? Single-tail or signal-whip? Bull whip? Dear God. Her blood chilled in her veins, sweeping that sense of cold all through her.
“Here, let me get that.” Dropping his playbag under the table, Noah held her chair.
Smoothing the back of her negligee and holding it to her thighs, Hadlee sat, but halfway down she heard it. A deliberate, animalistic snorting. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw them—Ethen and his menagerie. They were only two tables behind her, staring at her; the menagerie behind their black leather animal masks and Ethen, coolly, from behind the drink he was sipping. It wasn’t anyone from the menagerie that had grunted at her like that. One look from Ethen told her that.
She quickly looked away again. Maybe she imagined it. She stole a quick peek at Noah, who was both trying to get
comfortable on his own chair and still trying to flag a server, but it was the start of the night, so it would be a while before their turn came around. She’d imagined it, she decided. Even if she hadn’t, so what? It was a sound effect; sound effects shouldn’t bother her, right? Folding her hands in her lap, she squeezed her fingers to help keep her grounded through the interrogation.
Negotiation, she quickly corrected, but potato-pahtato, they both mentally and emotionally felt the same.
“Ha ha!” Noah said, at last catching one of the server’s eyes. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Water, please,” he ordered just as soon as she waded to their table.
“They have a bar,” Hadlee hesitantly offered. “Players are allowed two drinks a piece.”
“Luv.” Noah softened his refusal with both a smile and a wink. “You’ll appreciate my being stone-cold sober once you’re on the cross and I’ve got my whip in hand.”
Her stomach dropped. It must have shown on her face, because he softened even more.
“I don’t drink before I play,” he explained. “It’s a personal choice. Don’t let that influence your decision, though.”
“Water,” Hadlee told the waiting server. Not that she wouldn’t have liked a stiff drink right now, but she hadn’t really ever acquired a taste for alcohol. At least, not unless it was dressed up under a lot of fruit, whipping cream and sugar. As fragile as she currently felt, if she had a drink and then stumbled, she didn’t want the added pressure of even the smallest joke made at her expense.
“Okay,” Noah began once the server moved on. “Why don’t we start with the basics? Do you want to continue with the contest?”
“Yes,” Hadlee immediately replied, a little startled because quitting hadn’t once entered her mind. Was it in his? Had she done something wrong already? “Why would you say that?”
“Just asking,” he assured. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into something you don’t want. Not everybody likes or can take whipping. For one thing—” He shrugged. “I don’t even know if you enjoy impact play.”
“Sometimes,” she answered honestly. Hiking her chin, trying not to sound as if she were boasting, she added, “I’ve been whipped before.”
“Did you like it?”
Hadlee fought back a shudder. The flesh of her back crawled. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore it. “Not particularly. It was for punishment,” she added, as if it were some kind of personal flaw she needed to explain away and she immediately hated herself for doing that. “Just because I didn’t like it, that doesn’t mean I can’t do it again.”
“Punishment,” Noah echoed, head tilting as if he didn’t quite understand the concept. “For what?”
“For—” breaking a rule, she started to say, but Noah stopped her.
“Look at me,” he said, tone dipping toward disapproval.
That tone made the skin of her back crawl even more. Reluctantly, she raised her eyes from her lap and pinned it to his. She didn’t like this. She had a very open expression, as Ethen used to say. It was how he always knew when she needed correction; her eyes gave away her guilt. She didn’t want to think about what they might be giving away right now.
Very slightly, Noah indicated behind him with the tilt of his head. “Was it him?”
Blinking twice, Hadlee followed the direction of his nod to Garreth, standing sentry in the shadows against the wall one more crowded table and about ten feet back. That flood of warmth got hotter, spread further, filling up her chest and trickling down to drip between her thighs.
“No,” she said, appalled to think she had done or said something to make him think that. “Garreth has never… would never…” She couldn’t even make herself finish that thought.
“Okay, okay.” Again, Noah stopped her. But then his gaze slid slightly sideways, focusing in on another target. Someone now behind her. God, no. Her skin crawled not just on her back, but everywhere. Her chest constricted. It took everything she had to remain sitting here, breathing as if nothing at all were wrong.
“Him?” Noah asked again, gaze sliding back to hers. “That guy who grabbed you earlier?”
Hadlee didn’t bother turning around. She knew exactly who he meant. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her lips numb.
Noah tapped the table twice with one lightly resting finger. Shifting in his seat, he rolled his shoulders in a visible attempt to shrug off any further questions. “All right. The house safeword is red, so we should find another to use just between us. That way, I’ll know to stop if you need it, preferably without bringing the local thuggies bearing down upon us.”
She shook her head. “How about… cowboy? I can’t think of ever needing to use that word in anything we’re going to do tonight.”
Noah half-smiled. “Works for me.”
Hadlee waited for her usual tangle of knots, the ones that always strangled in at her whenever she prepared to submit to being hit. She’d almost marked impact as a hard limit, but once upon a time, being spanked had been something she had loved and tonight was all about recapturing that missing half of her Self. Besides, she was in a room full of people with strict protocols in place for her safety. Better than that, Garreth was here tonight, and he was always watching.
“Would you like to know how this is going to go?” Noah asked.
Dance with the one who brought you, as the saying went. Garreth was not her partner for tonight.
“Yes, please.” She turned her attention back to Noah.
“We’re going to find a station—” He paused as the server returned with their drinks, waiting until she left again. “I like that over there,” he continued as soon as she’d left again. Sitting a little straighter, he pointed and Hadlee turned in her chair in an attempt to see over the crowd. Chase was up on the stage, head bowed to something Emma was saying. Everyone else was either in a quiet spot, negotiating their scenes or claiming a station. There was an open cross, but Noah wasn’t pointing to it. Rather, he indicated the hoist lift, far across the room. A corner of his handsome mouth quirked. “I’m thinking, maybe a dual duel.”
Hadlee turned back to him. “Wh-what’s a... dual duel?”
“Ever been flogged?” Noah answered by way instead. Bending sideways, he picked up his playbag from where he’d dropped it and set it on the table between them.
She shied as if it were a snake. “The wheel said whipping, not flogging.”
Noah arched an eyebrow. “I won’t be straight-up whipping anybody for thirty minutes. Very, very few people can take more than a stroke or two, even with a warmup. I’ll have to be extra careful as it is to keep from flaying the skin off you. I’m not here to punish you, luv. And I don’t want you coming away from anything I do feeling as if I have.”
She really didn’t want to come away from this feeling punished either. Nothing about tonight was supposed to be about punishment. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime, and she had to admit, when Noah pulled out two flogger bags, with tails lovely encased in colorful cloth and only the contoured wooden handles protruding from the top openings, she did feel something. A kind of giddiness. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“These are my lovelies.” Noah unwrapped each implement and lay them, one across the other, upon the table. “They’re made from cow hide. Feel the softness.”
She hesitated, her gaze automatically going to Garreth. He was looking their way. Something on her face must have signaled him, because he promptly shoved off the wall and circled the tables that separated them.
Noah seemed to know he was coming and the corner of his mouth curled. “What do you think, mate?” he asked, raising his voice. “Want to help me and my lovelies do a little damage?”
Hadlee froze in her seat, staring from him to Garreth. She couldn’t have heard that right. Surely Noah hadn’t just invited Garreth to scene with them? Her clit thumped, a pulse that struck like a warm, suckling mouth.
“I’m working,” Garreth said, low and slow,
as if he wasn’t sure he’d just heard that invitation either. Her clit thumped again.
“Rules say we can get help from any DM if we need it,” Noah reminded.
Hadlee sat frozen in her chair, pulsing.
Fixed on Noah, Garreth didn’t even look at her. Temptation, however, had tightened all the lines of him. “You want my help?”
“I am pretty impressive,” Noah gamefully agreed, then flashed her a wink. “Still, I’m sure there’s at least a dozen things in this lifestyle that you’re better at than I.”
Garreth scoffed. “Not when it comes to whips I’m not.”
“That’s why you’ll use these.” Reaching into his playbag, Noah withdrew two more floggers. These had shorter falls, encased in long, thin, black-suede sacks. He lay those on the table next to the first pair. “These are lighter, a little more stingy compared to my lovelies, and made out of deer.”
“Flogging is not whipping. I thought you drew whipping.” Almost hesitantly, Garreth came closer. He still didn’t look at her but, stealing an empty chair from the nearest occupied table, he sat down between her and Noah. Beneath the table, his knee brushed hers and her whole body flushed with that same anxious tingling as before. She was starting to love that feeling.
