ASHER (The Beckett Boys, Book Three)

by Olivia Chase

  I’d been to fancy bars before, of course. The place I’d been the other night for Cora’s bachelorette party was nice. But it was professional nice. Classy. The kind of place lawyers and professionals went.

  The men here seemed like professionals. Or at least, they seemed rich. They were all wearing sophisticated, expensive-looking clothing. But the women looked like models. Shiny hair, tiny waists, perfect complexions. I was by far the biggest girl in the room, and I instantly felt self-conscious.

  Everyone here was wearing designer dresses, and I was wearing a tight little mini-dress that Julia probably got at TJ Maxx. I’d felt beautiful back at the house when I was getting ready, but now I just felt out of place and bumbling.

  I told myself it didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to impress anyone, least of all Noah.

  I marched over and slid into the booth next to him.

  In an instant, he was next to me, his body against me, his leg pushing into mine. But I moved away so that I was out of his reach.

  “That’s how it’s going to be, huh?” he said, smiling devilishly. He reached under the table and stroked my knee. “Fine with me. It’ll make it even sweeter.”

  I marveled at his change in tone, how he’d been so vulnerable back in the lobby of my building, how he’d seemed like he really wanted to let me in. I thought we’d be going to a nice restaurant, or a movie, or one of the million of other places you could go on a first date. But now, here we were again, in some fancy loud club, and all he was thinking about was sex.

  His touch was sending heat pulsing through my core, and I cursed him for being able to have such an effect on me.

  I reached into my messenger bag (I’d had to bring it instead of the tiny little clutch—it didn’t match the outfit, but some things were more important) and pulled out the file folder Professor Worthington had given me, slamming it down on the table.

  “What’s this?” Noah asked, looking dismayed.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said, flipping open the folder and pulling out the photo, the one of Nora and Dani. “Just an interesting picture of two women you used to date, two women with the same marks on their wrists that I have.”

  He picked up the photo and looked at it.

  I’d been replaying this moment in my head the whole way over here. At first I’d thought that I wouldn’t even come, that I’d just leave Noah waiting. I’d never talk to him again, I’d resign from the case and build up my reputation with Professor Worthington through hard work in his class.

  It was too dangerous.

  What were the chances that the two murdered women had both dated Noah and had the same marks on their wrist at the time of their death? The marks looked fresh, like maybe he’d just been with him. Was that what he did? Tied them up and fucked them until he got bored, then killed them and tossed their bodies?

  In the end, though, I decided to come because I wanted to confront him. I wanted to put the evidence right down in front of him. I’d pictured us in a restaurant though, the kind of place where he’d tell me to keep my voice down and get a panicked look on his face before begging me not to call the police.

  You came because you wanted him to convince you it wasn’t him.

  I ignored that thought and waited for Noah’s explanation.

  He glanced at the photo as if it were nothing, then placed it back in the folder before sliding it back across the table toward me.

  “Is that why you came here tonight, Charlotte?” He took a sip of his drink and regarded me over the table, his gaze piercing.

  “What do you mean?” I shifted on the booth, uncomfortable. Somehow he had already turned the tables, and now he was questioning me, instead of the other way around.

  “I mean did you come here tonight because you wanted to accuse me of murder?”

  I thought about it. “Haven’t you already been accused of murder?” I shot back.

  “Have I?”

  “You’re talking in circles.”

  “Why did you come here tonight, Charlotte?” he pressed.

  He was making me nervous. He was looking at me like he wanted to fuck me, his gaze smoldering, his eyes full of want. But he’d taken his hand off my knee and now he was leaning back against the booth. He was wearing a soft-looking black sweater and the sleeves were pushed up, showing muscular forearms.

  I didn’t like that he’d moved away from me. Now that I was here, I wanted him close to me. I hated that he had this power over me, hated that I’d come here to confront him about something, and now he was the one in control.

  But why had I come here? I wondered. Was it that I wanted an explanation? If I did, then why didn’t I just come out and ask him for it?

  Because you’re afraid of the answer.

  “I came here because you invited me.” My hands twisted in my lap, and I wished I had a drink to keep me busy. I looked around for a waitress and spotted a beautiful blonde in a gold minidress setting a round of glasses down on a table a few booths down.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you, Charlotte,” Noah demanded.

  It was like a reflex. I turned my attention back to him, my eyes snapping back onto his.

  “Good girl,” he said, like it pleased him that I could follow directions. He’d said the same thing when I was sucking his cock. That I was pleasing him turned me on—then and now. “Now answer my question. Why did you come here?”

  “I came here because you invited me,” I repeated. “And because I wanted to get to know you better, like you said.” It sounded lame and cliché and such a girl thing to say, but I didn’t care. I did come here because I wanted to get to know him better. I wanted to know something about him, anything. If he had brothers and sisters, if he liked his job, what his favorite color was. Right now he was like a completely closed door, and the lock was proving impossible to open.

  “And you thought you could get to know me better by accusing me of murder?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I wasn’t accusing you of murder.”

  “You came here and showed me a picture of two dead girls, which by the way, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be doing in such a public place, and then you compared the marks on their wrists to the marks on yours. Marks that I put there.”

  “I wanted an explanation.” I kept my eyes on his, daring him to contradict me. I didn’t care how devastatingly sexy he was, or how successful, or how much he turned me on. I deserved an answer.

  “For what?”

  “For the fact that two dead women have marks on their wrists identical to the ones you put on mine.”

  “So what you’re saying is that you believe I am the only person capable of putting marks on someone’s wrists, is that correct?”

  “Don’t talk to me like a lawyer.”

  “Then don’t make me feel like I need one.”

  He took another sip of his drink. I wanted to look away from him, because he still had that look on his face, the conceited look of a man who is completely in control of a situation and knows it.

  “Fine,” I said. “Yes, I think it’s a little suspect that you happened to leave marks on my wrists that are identical to two murder victims who also have a connection to you. And while in theory, yes, there could conceivably more than one person going around leaving marks on women’s wrists, I doubt it’s that prevalent.”

  I stared at him, satisfied. I expected him to give me a look of appreciation. I felt like I’d just won my case.

  But he only looked amused, like I had a lot to learn about the world.

  He didn’t say anything, and it was disarming. I wanted to look around for the waitress, but I didn’t want to look away from him. It felt like he’d be winning.

  “Come here,” he commanded. “I’m going to tell you something.”

  “Tell me from over there,” I said.

  “Come. Here.” His voice was aggressive, commanding, with a slight undertone of something else I couldn’t put my finger on. It was almost threatening, like if I didn’t do what h
e said, there would be consequences.

  I slid over until I was right next to him. Noah reached under the table and pulled my legs onto his lap. He took my hand in his, turned it over until he was stroking my palm softly with his fingertips. The pad of his thumb slid over my wrist, tracing the marks he’d left there last night.

  “Do you know what these marks mean, Charlotte?” he asked me.

  “That you like to tie people up during sex.” His touch was hypnotizing me, and I could feel that familiar pull toward him. The pull that made my skin feel like it was on fire, that got me wet, that caused me to be pushed to the floor of a limousine so that I could suck his cock. It was like a wave, pulling me under, and I was helpless to resist. But he’d invited me here because I’d told him I’d wanted to get to know him, and now he was turning everything right back to sex. And on top of that, he was evading my questions about the murders.

  I pulled my hand back from his. “No.” I shook my head. “Noah, I came here because I wanted… I thought that…” I trailed off and looked at the table. I felt stupid, saying the words out loud. That I wanted to come here to talk to him, to spend time with him, to go on a date like a normal person. But whenever I tried to talk about those things, he acted like I was being a silly little school girl. And maybe I was.

  He reached out and took my chin in his hand, turned my face back so I was looking at him. “Do you trust me?” he asked. His eyes were still burning, that same lustful look he’d been giving me ever since I met him. But I could see something beneath that. He wanted me to say yes, wanted me to trust him. It mattered to him.

  I swallowed. “I don’t even know you,” I said weakly.

  “Not the question.”

  “I’m not…. I mean, I don’t…”

  “I want to let you in, Charlotte. I want to show you things about myself.”

  “Then why are we here?” I asked, frustrated. “We’re at some kind of pick-up bar. This isn’t the kind of place you take someone if you want to get to know them better.”

  “And why is that?” He was still holding on to my chin, only now the pad of his thumb was making slow circles over my skin.

  “Because this is the kind of place you go before you have sex.”

  “Do you know what kind of club this is, Charlotte?”

  I frowned.

  “What do you mean?” I looked around, trying to see what he was talking about. “An exclusive one?”

  He stared at me, not saying anything, and it reminded me of being in a law school interview, where the interviewee wanted you to figure something out on your own, without them having to give you hints.

  I turned and looked around.

  The music pulsed through the speakers hanging over the dance floor, men and women dancing in time to the beat. At the bar, I watched beautiful women flirt with beautiful and rich men. Were they hookers, maybe? Was this the kind of place you came if you wanted to pay for sex?

  I watched as a man took a girl by the hand and walked her to a door on the far side of the room. The door opened and I caught a flash of black walls and a black staircase before they disappeared. It looked like some kind of basement, which was odd for a club of this caliber. Why would a fancy club like this, in such an exclusive part of the city, have a basement? My brain was searching for something just out of its grasp.

  And that’s when my eyes landed on the collar sitting on the table.

  A cold shiver of fear went up my spine.

  This wasn’t just a club.

  It wasn’t just a sex club.

  It was a BDSM club.

  I didn’t know much about BDSM, except for what I’d seen in the movies. My roommate, Julia, had read a couple of novels about it. I’d seen them strewn around the apartment, pictures of handcuffs and whips on their covers.

  I turned to Noah. “This is a BDSM club,” I whispered.

  He nodded, waiting for my reaction.

  That same fear ran up my spine again, and my arms broke out in goose bumps.

  But the fear wasn’t because I was afraid.

  It was because I was excited.

  And that was frightening.

  “How is this supposed to help me to get to know you?” I asked Noah, frustrated.

  “Do you trust me?” he repeated. His hand slid down my neck, tracing a line over my collarbone, then dipping just inside the top of my dress, running over the top of my bra.

  The goose bumps on my arms broke out all over my body, and I was afraid Noah was going to be able to tell.

  “I’m not…I don’t know.”

  “You need to trust me,” he whispered. He pulled me close so that our foreheads were touching. He smelled like expensive cologne and shaving cream and something else, something Noah.

  “How can I trust you when you let me get to know you?” I breathed.

  “This is how you get to know me,” he said. “This is who I am.”

  “But how does this help me get to know you?” I asked.

  “By understanding why I need this, you will start to understand everything about me,” he said. He kissed the side of my neck softly, his lips brushing over my collarbone, bursting my skin into flames.

  “You’re not making sense,” I said. I could feel myself getting seduced, getting pulled under by his kiss, his touch, the way his body felt close to mine. I needed to keep my head clear, but it was impossible. He had a pull and power over me that I couldn’t understand, that I was helpless to resist.

  “No,” I said, pushing away from him. “This can’t all be sexual. I just…I’m not okay with it.”

  “This isn’t all about sex, Charlotte,” Noah said, pulling me back toward him.

  “How isn’t it?” I challenged.

  “Seeing what I need, what I expect from you, will be the only way you can possibly begin to uncover the reasons why.”

  “And then I’ll understand you better,” I finished.

  “Yes.” He put his hand onto mine, intertwining our fingers.

  I reached out and touched the collar on the table with my other hand. It was surprisingly flexible, with a fleece liner that was soft around my fingers. “Do I have to wear this?” I asked.

  “You don’t have to do anything, Charlotte.”

  I swallowed. It seemed like a load of bullshit – that I needed to do something sexual with him to get to know him better. He was older than me, and more experienced. He was good at manipulating situations, twisting them and turning them until they fit into whatever little box he wanted them to. This was the skill of a good lawyer. He was extremely successful in his career, and I wondered how much of this was spilling over into his personal life.

  I looked down at the collar, imagining him putting it around my neck, pulling it tight. Would I be tied up? Would he blindfold me? Spank me? Would he drip hot wax on me? I didn’t know the rules.

  I remembered that girl going down into the basement with that man. The walls had been dark, the whole scene sort of foreboding. I should have been scared. But instead, I was intensely turned on. The thought of being at Noah’s mercy, bound and gagged or blindfolded made me wet.

  I wanted to give in, to let him do whatever he chose with my body, to use me in whatever way he desired. But there was something else, some connection I felt to this man, even though I’d only just met him. He said this would bring us closer, but I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

  I bit my lip, considering, my heart and head locked in a battle, trying to find a way to meet in the middle.

  In the end, Noah made the decision for me.

  He kissed me softly on the lips, and when he pulled back, leaned his forehead back against mine.

  I opened my eyes, staring right into his.

  “Please,” he whispered. He brought my hand to his lips, kissing each one of my fingers soft and slow, his eyes never leaving mine.

  It was so real, so raw, so vulnerable.

  In that moment, I felt so connected to him, I would have given him anything he’d ask for.

>   I took his hand in mine and squeezed.

  “Yes,” I said. “Take me. I’m yours.”

  The music pulsed around us, the rhythm hypnotic as Noah reached out and picked the collar up from the table. He placed it carefully around my neck, being careful not to fasten it too tight.

  There was a long chain hanging off the collar, but he held my hand instead of the leash. He knew I was nervous, knew I was a stranger in this new world, knew I needed to be introduced to it slowly.

  He led me away from the booth and onto the dance floor.

  A couple of men at the bar turned to watch as I was led toward the basement door, and I was surprised to find that I liked it. It was a turn on, these men knowing that I was about to be taken by Noah, that I was going to submit to him, to allow myself to be completely vulnerable and at his mercy.

  Noah pulled me closer to him, his hand sliding around my waist, his grip tight on my hip. “I don’t like the way they’re looking at you,” he said into my ear. “But I can’t blame them because you’re just so fucking sexy.”

  I blushed. Were the men really looking at me with lust? It didn’t seem possible, not with all the beautiful women in this club. But I liked that Noah was possessive of me, that he didn’t want anyone else looking at me.

  Noah pushed open the door to the basement and led me through, down a black stone staircase that led into a long hallway. The hallway was carpeted in plush dark red, the lights dim.

  There was no music down here, but the beat from upstairs reverberated through the ceiling. It made my heart pound, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the bass of the house music, or from anticipation.

  The hallway curved around, out of sight behind a large black pillar. From somewhere in that direction, I heard the crack of a whip, followed by a woman’s moan.

  My hand tightened around Noah’s.

  He pulled me close to him and held me tighter. “You okay?” he asked, pushing my hair out of my face tenderly.

  I nodded, my mouth dry.

  He kissed me softly on the lips. “Do you know what a safe word is, Charlotte?”

  “I think so.” I swallowed. “It’s what you say if you want to stop.”