With Hearts Aflame: Valentine's Day Box Set

by Maren Smith

  "We accept all comers here, Valerie," he said in the same soft voice. "As long as they pass the stringent membership requirements, they are welcome: male, female, Dom/sub, gay, straight, or bi-sexual. All manner of BDSM practices are acceptable as long as it is safe, sane and consensual—the key word being consensual. Be assured, you are free to say no, or in a scene use a safeword to be sure anything that is scaring you ceases."

  "Some of those things were awfully scary. Do people do that here? I mean blood play, knives and such?"

  "Extreme play is not allowed in The Club, but I'm sure there are members who do those things in private."

  Nodding, she lowered her eyes, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. He stilled them, the long fingers of his one hand easily spanning both of hers. Nudging her chin up, he met her eyes. The deep blue pools were still bright with emotion, her silky black lashes a becoming frame for them both. She wore little makeup, which pleased him, her natural beauty needing little enhancement. Her lips were pink and full and he had an intense urge to taste their softness. He controlled himself, however, afraid to push her too soon.

  "You've come this far, little one. Don't you want to see what it's all about?"

  Before she looked away, he saw her confusion. Something about her stirred a need within him, a need to possess and defend, something that made him want to enfold her in his arms and protect her, to remove her uncertainties and fears, to choose for her. No, this was a decision she needed to make on her own. He believed that she would. She possessed an inner strength, he was certain; he'd seen glimpses of it tonight. If it was buried too deep, this was not the place for her. He hoped it was there, bubbling just below the surface, and he appealed to it now.

  "Tell me, my lovely, are you brave enough to go after what you want?"

  Lips parting in response, her tongue swept out to wet them, making them glisten. The pulse in her throat fluttered and her skin flushed a becoming pink—the effects of an adrenaline rush quite clear. Fight or flight, which would she choose? His mood lightened as she looked up at him, the heightened emotions evident. He knew before she said it that she'd opted to fight and would rise to the challenge.

  "Yes, Master Eric, that's exactly why I'm here. To finally go after what I want."

  Chapter Two

  As Eric escorted her to the entrance, a perpetual reminder droned through his head—she is not yours, Dupree. Keep your dick in your pants. There was something about this woman which made him yearn to collar her and carry her off somewhere private, to hide her away for himself. Things he'd never imagined in forty-four years popped in his head, like commitment and exclusivity. Maybe that was it. He was middle-aged and had never had a single committed relationship in all that time. Yes, he'd had flings and liaisons and even contracted submissives, but never had he imagined anything long-term—until now. Hell, he chided himself. What was wrong with him? He barely knew her.

  "This is quite impressive, Master Eric."

  Her softly spoken words brought him back from his stroll down memory lane. Looking down on her diminutive figure, he smiled. She was a pint-sized woman, despite her full curves. Not even reaching his shoulder, his arm fit comfortably around her. She was cute and cuddly and it seemed he could tuck her in his pocket if he so chose, all the better to hide her away for himself. That recurrent thought kept popping up. Never had he felt so possessive.

  His protective side was even reluctant to show her the members' area. The crowd here was edgier than the members at The Club in San Antonio. They were a little younger and a lot more adventurous. As owner, he felt a mix of excitement and fear, excitement that he was able to widen his BDSM repertoire and fear that it was a bit like herding cats. The youngsters being willful and eager to push all limits kept the owner and the security team hopping.

  He worried about exposing Valerie to that level of kink right off the bat. If the limit list had scared her off, what would seeing some of those taboo activities do to the little innocent? As he guided her through the lounge, he felt the tension radiating off her body. His hand itched to stroke her back. He wouldn't be able to stop there, ending predictably upon the curve of her voluptuous ass, so he refrained.

  "Would you care for something from the bar? Since you aren't playing tonight, you may have one alcoholic beverage."

  "Is that a Club rule?"

  "No, it's my rule, and remember your manners, sub."

  "Oh, sorry Master Eric, I forgot. You know, it's funny, except for the half-naked women, I feel like I'm at a regular bar."

  Eric chuckled at her comment. "When was the last time you were in a regular bar, Valerie? Because I can assure you, that some of our subs are more modestly dressed than many vanilla women that frequent the bars in LA."

  "Oh? I guess it has been a while, Sir."

  Escorting her to the bar, he watched as she struggled to climb on the tall barstool in her tight skirt. After two attempts, while trying to hold her skirt down in back, she gave up and simply stood by its side. With a laugh of pure amusement, Eric grasped her around the waist and set her atop the stool. "Let me help you."

  Her delicate blush charmed him further. If he weren't careful, he'd be worshiping at her feet by the end of the night, not the other way around.

  "Order anything you'd like." Signaling to Samson, a fellow Dom who did double-duty as bar manager and dungeon monitor, he ordered an ice water for himself and then turned to Val expectantly.

  "You're not drinking, Sir?" she asked in surprise.

  "No, I'm on duty."

  "The boss rarely imbibes, little missy," said the deep gravelly voiced bartender. "An occasional shot of Gran Centenario Tequila or a sip of champagne is all I've ever seen him consume. So what can I get you?"

  "I'll have the same, please."

  Quirking a brow, he nodded and moved off.

  "You don't have to be a teetotaler on my account, little subbie."

  "I'm not a big drinker, other than a frozen margarita on girl's night out. It's probably best if I keep a clear head anyway. I have to drive back to Long Beach tonight."

  Nodding in approval, he turned her stool to face the room. "So what do you think of the lounge?"

  "It's very glitzy, Sir."

  "Excellent, exactly what we were going for—glitz and elegance, without being too pretentious."

  "Did you have a hand in the decorating?"

  "Only final approval. My sister Emily did the brunt of the design. She owns a studio nearby in Rancho Park."

  "Did she live here already?"

  "She relocated here when I did. We are the only two left in our family so we try to stay close."

  "Is she a member here?"

  "No, she isn't into the club scene anymore—other than decorating them."

  "I'm sure that's a relief to you. Having a sister around could get awkward in a place like this."

  Eric fought to keep a straight face over that comment. She didn't know the half of it.

  "Can I ask you a personal question, Sir?"

  "You can ask, and I'll decide whether I answer," he said, grinning at her inquisitive nature.

  "Master T was so kind and helpful to me, but I sensed a tension between you two."

  "Don't let his boyish good looks and charm fool you," he scoffed. "He's a lady killer and he likes older women. He was involved with my sister a few years back and broke her heart. I haven't forgiven him for it yet."

  "I must say I'm disappointed; he seemed genuine. It must be hard to work with him."

  "He is a genuine ass. Enough of Lil T, I want to know about you."

  "Lil T? Surely you're joking."

  "He's little for his age, not his size. He shares the name of the CEO which got very confusing."

  Her tinkling laughter escaped and encompassed him. He noticed that several other members heard and turned to look, charmed as well. She seemed classy and refined although the leather outfit was all wrong for her. His phone buzzed, a problem somewhere he was sure. Checking the screen, he frow
ned and signaled to Samson.

  "I'm sorry, Valerie. I need to attend to a problem." Samson stepped up then and Eric nodded toward her. "Samson will watch you while I attend to an issue in the playroom."

  "I'm swamped, boss. Terry called in and Marcia is late. It's just me back here. I'm afraid I couldn't give her all my attention." He gave her a once over, then turned to look behind the bar. "She's little; my naughty slave cage is empty. I could put her in there in a pinch."

  Val's cry of alarm and her hands flying to her mouth in shock prompted Eric's eye roll… newbies. The least little thing petrified them. Being naked, restrained to a cross, and flailed with a flogger often didn't faze them, but in a gilded cage, safe and secure while their Master attended to business seemed beyond the pale. Go figure.

  "Never mind, this is her first night and she's skittish. I'll put the reins on her and bring her with me." Eric pulled the length of chain from his pocket and clipped it to her collar. She gave a small whimper of alarm. With a little tug, he brought her down from her stool.

  "You know the rule, subbie. Unattached guest subs have to be tethered in the play areas. It's for safety, especially in your case. We can't risk you wandering off and freaking out."

  "It makes me feel so…" She searched for the right word.

  "Submissive?" Eric supplied.

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Good, that's exactly as intended. Shall we go?"

  Eric led her to the back of the lounge, passing the bar and crowded dance floor, stopping at the large archway and recessed alcove that hid security doors beyond. Tucked inside was a small reception desk where an attendant waited patiently. One of the security team, he made sure no one entered without appropriate access authorization and unless properly dressed. This meant collar and cuffs for subs. After a respectful nod to Eric, he studied Val, pausing at her neck, wrists and feet. Taking out a bin, he held it for her. "Your shoes, little sub."

  She gazed at him in question. "What?"

  "All submissives are barefoot in the playrooms," Eric explained. "Hurry up now."

  Although curious about the rationale for this odd rule, she still relinquished her shoes readily, thinking, 'When in Rome…' Once her shoes and small clutch were stowed safely away, he handed Eric a claim ticket and buzzed them through.

  "Why no shoes?" Val asked.

  Eric could tell her mind had already changed tack and he wondered at her reaction to the mysterious carnal world that was within her reach.

  "Historically, back to ancient Sumeria and Egypt, only the rich and powerful wore shoes. Prisoners and slaves went barefoot to show a separation between the classes. Along with fines, judges also forced the guilty to go without shoes for civil crimes. Removing the privilege of footwear was a lesson in humility and dealt a significant blow to the criminal's pride. Although some of our Doms say it's to prevent escape, going barefoot actually serves to make you feel more submissive and sets the tone for play."

  As the door unlatched with an ominous clank, he heard Val murmur, "I feel like Pandora and her box."

  He chuckled at her insightfulness, however exaggerated. Akin to Pandora, the opening of the doors, a simple but naughty action, symbolized Val's entrance into his world, the consequences of which, like the Greek myth implied, could be profound and far-reaching. "Any more questions before we go in?"

  Her puzzled expression amused him greatly. As her brow crinkled with concentration, he knew without doubt that she'd forgotten what she'd asked. He assumed the anticipation of her first glimpse of the world of BDSM had chased it right out of her mind. He watched with amusement as she struggled to remember the thread of their conversation and knew the precise moment when it all fell in place.

  "Ah yes, the shoes... I think some of your Doms are indeed mistaken. I could give someone a run for their money in bare feet, but in four-inch stilettoes—not so much."

  Eric chuckled at her observation. Val was witty and straightforward, both quite refreshing. Placing a hand at her waist, he whisked her quickly inside. "Stay close now," he ordered as he tucked his end of the leash inside his belt.

  "On a four-foot chain, do I have a choice?" Val asked in hushed tones. Eric didn't take the time to address that bit of sass, as the sound of voices raised in anger immediately drew their attention. His eyes zeroed in on a scene at a St. Andrew's cross. Two men were arguing, held apart by several dungeon monitors. A tall, thin woman was crying nearby being comforted by one of the Dommes.

  Taking Val firmly by the hand, he hurried over to the scene. The altercation had effectively halted play throughout the large main room and he wanted answers. Looking at Jerome, his head of security, he asked for the rundown.

  "It appears that Master Richard's scene was interrupted by Marco, here."

  "Richard and Lyla were in a scene together?" Eric's voice inadvertently broadcast his surprise. Lyla had the reputation as a ball-busting Dominatrix. Her subs were often large muscular men, who were easily reduced to docile, obedient slaves with just the threat of the red Dragon's Tongue single-tail whip she usually carried at her waist. "It was just the two of them?"

  Jerome nodded and shrugged, obviously not knowing what to make of the pairing either. Eric couldn't wrap his head around it—Lyla and Richard were both dominants. Eric's gaze swept to Lyla who was crying crocodile tears if he'd ever seen them. Too much drama awaited in that corner he suspected, so he addressed Richard first. A long-time member and Dom of considerable experience, he expected nothing but the truth from him. "What happened?"

  "I had Lyla on the cross and was flailing her bottom pretty good when that little shit Marco came up and sucker punched me." He dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief and showed him the blood that was still oozing. "If I hadn't been into the scene, that boy would have never gotten the drop on me."

  "She said her safeword, Master Eric, but he didn't stop. I was afraid for my Mistress's safety under his lash." Marco, a young sub of about twenty-five, was vehement in his defense of his Mistress. Although submissive, he hardly fit the stereotype, looking like a middle linebacker, standing over six feet tall and weighing at least 220 pounds. He could easily bench press his 120-pound Mistress.

  Eric shifted his gaze to Richard. "I'm confused. Lyla is a Domme, but she was under your lash, Richard?"

  "It seems she is a switch, Eric."

  "That's a lie. You coerced her," Marco growled. For a submissive male, he was anything but deferential when it came to Lyla's safety.

  A tug at his waist distracted Eric. Looking down, he saw that Valerie was attempting to get his attention. "What is it? I'm in the middle of something here."

  He arched a brow when she crooked a brazen finger at him. Was she seriously trying to give him a command, right in the middle of his own club? This had better be important or she'd feel his displeasure, agreement be damned. Frowning at his ballsy sub, he leaned down.

  "She set this up, Master Eric. Lyla is up to something."

  Eric straightened in surprise, finding Val's insight uncanny. She appeared confident in her appraisal of the situation as she stood staring up at him. His eyes flicked to Lyla, and he immediately noticed a change in her demeanor. No longer clinging helplessly to the other Domme, she had a look of satisfaction on her face. What's more, she looked rather smug.

  Another tug at the chain had him turning around again. Standing on tiptoes this time, Val strained toward his ear. "Can you bend down a little, Master, so I can whisper in your ear? Please?"

  He almost lost it and burst out laughing when she tacked on the courtesy at the end of her request. A gutsy little thing, she was, and evidently on a mission. Curious, he accommodated her by bending close once again.

  "If I was a betting woman, I'd say she is trying to make Marco jealous. And the smug look on her face says that it's working."

  Amazed at her perceptive powers, Eric stood again. "Come with me, little subbie. Let's see if you're right." Moving with Val in tow, he came to a stop in front of the devious Domme and frowned his di
spleasure. She had single-handedly brought his entire Club to a standstill. "Quite a spectacle we have here, Lyla. Care to give us your perspective? Was Richard ignoring your safeword?"

  "Uh—well…" Her eyes flickered to the two men behind the Master Dom. They waited for her answer, the crowd around them silent, eagerly waiting to see how the scene would play out.

  "Come now, Lyla. Did you give Master Richard your safeword?"

  "Ask if she and Master Richard discussed a safeword and what word she gave him." There was an audible gasp from the audience as the newcomer interrupted the Doms' discussion without asking permission.

  "Stay out of this, nosey brat."

  Another gasp rose from the onlookers as their attention turned to an angry Lyla. Eric knew then that Valerie had hit the nail on the head.

  "Richard, what safeword did you negotiate with Lyla?"

  "Red, we decided to use the stoplight. This is a travesty, Eric. I demand action be taken, serious action."

  "Marco, what safeword did you hear Lyla call?" Eric asked next.

  The soft voice came again from beside him. "Take care, Marco. You are innocent here. Don't compound the crime by trying to cover for her. Think of all the witnesses."

  "Valerie," he warned, pulling her around in front of him. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he whispered softly into her ear, "I think I've got it from here. You are new and don't know our protocols. I need you to keep your comments to yourself. Trust me."

  Eric's patience tested, he challenged the young submissive again, "Well, Marco?"

  "It was daisy, Master Eric, my Mistress's favorite flower. I heard it clearly from across the room."

  "Marco! How could you betray me?"

  Eric's tone was stern and uncompromising as he addressed the manipulative woman. "You gave a safeword, but not one Richard would recognize. Instead, you used one that only Marco would know expecting him to react as he did. What is this about, Lyla? Don't lie, because I am this close to cancelling your membership and tacking on a lifetime ban."