“I’ve never been on one,” I explain, still shaking my head. “It’s dangerous.”
“Today will be a lot of firsts for you then. And why not take a few risks in life?”
I shoot him a look, unnerved. I’m not quite sure what he’s talking about. Is he referring to my upcoming visit to Club Tiacapan tonight? My first time at a BDSM club? Or something else entirely? Disconcerted I make no further protest about the scary motorbike ride which now seems to be in my immediate future.
Enigmatically, he doesn’t elaborate on his strange statement. Moving a few steps away from me, he opens a locker and extracts two black helmets and two black leather jackets. He passes me one. It’s obviously his spare, and it dwarfs me.
Standing back, he chuckles as I put the slip my arms into the overlong sleeves then attempt to pull the excess leather around me, “Better than nothing.” He does the zip up for me, then places the helmet on my head and fastens it. I immediately feel claustrophobic which, of course, my bodyguard doesn’t miss, “Relax. We’re not going far.” Without giving me time for any further objection, he leads me over to the bike. He gets on first and takes it off the stand, balancing the weight of that scary machine, then gestures for me to climb up behind him. Not at all sure of this massive metal beast, I throw my leg over and manage, not too ungainly, to sit on the pillion. Gingerly, I grip the handles either side of the seat, but immediately feel unsafe. I’m going to fall off! He lifts his visor so I can hear him, and turns to me. “Hang on to me; you’ll feel more secure.”
Tentatively I put my arms around him, but he lets me know that's not sufficient, seizing hold of them and pulling them tight around him. His short jacket is unzipped so my hands land on his T-shirt, and I’m able to feel every muscle of his chest; incredible, solid and warm. Trying to ignore the fact I’m so intimately close to him, I attempt to keep as much of a distance as possible, not wanting him to get the wrong, or right, idea. Then the engine fires into life with a loud and disturbing roar, and a tremendous vibration starts, which does nothing to cool the heat between my legs. When we move off, my bum shifts down on the seat and settles into him, gravity preventing me shuffling back. My crotch presses against him, and I’ve no choice but to secretly enjoy the closeness.
Suddenly the bike lurches forward as he twists the throttle, applying power, and then all my thoughts are about hanging on. Tightening my hold on him, almost to the extent I’m afraid I’ll cut him in half, certain I’m going to fall off as we weave in and out of traffic. Terrified, I start arranging my funeral in my head.
It’s long before I realise that I’m not going to end up on my backside on the tarmac. He handles the bike as he does his car, confidently and surely, and soon I begin to move with him, leaning into the bends as he does. He reaches his left hand around and pats my knee in a gesture which I translate as approval. I don’t know where we’re going but begin to enjoy the exhilaration of the ride. I could get used to this. My legs are snug around his, the intimacy of the position and the vibration of the bike is making me embarrassingly wet between my thighs. Again. What the hell is happening to me?
He pulls the bike up and parks it on the pavement outside a shop, and it’s then I realise I haven’t a clue where he’s brought me. So caught up in the new sensations of being on a bike and so close to the man I’m attracted to, I’d taken no notice of the direction. But what I do know is that it’s not the way we’d have come if he was taking me to the destination I’d assumed he had planned, my home. He dismounts, and it’s clear we’re making a stop here when he helps me step off the bike and, thankfully, helps me out of that restricting helmet. I’m still shaking from the effects of the ride which continue even after I’m standing on the pavement. Jon and his motorbike, the combination is deadly. I give myself a second to pull myself together then look around. “Where are we, Jon? And why are we here?”
“Mile End.” He says succinctly. “And you’re here for your appointment.”
“Appointment?” What? I’ve got no meeting arranged. What the hell is he talking about?
He smiles that wicked smile with does nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach. “You’re going to have a day of pampering.”
Oh, shit, no. I heave a deep sigh, wishing he’d discussed this with me before. This is so not me. “Jon, it sounds great, but I need to get home and back to work.” In all honesty, such an indulgence would probably be lovely, but it’s not something I want, nor can afford to spend neither money nor time on.
But I should have known he’d brush off any remonstration. Ignoring my protest, he puts his hand under my chin and turns my head up to face him. “Trust me, okay? It will do you good, and get you prepared and in the mood for tonight.” He waits patiently for my response.
I step back, unsure what he’s talking about. “Jon…?”
“Please, Mia, trust me.” Suddenly I realise his voice has deepened and oozes authority. It’s his Dom's voice! And it has the effect of making my feet move as though under his control, as he pushes me in the direction of the door to a very upmarket looking salon. Shit!
Although I’m earning good money now, I’m always aware my next book could be a flop, so this is the kind of luxury I would generally avoid. When I get my hair cut, it’s just at the local hairdressers, not a chic place like this; sometimes I don’t even bother to pay to have it dried and styled unless it’s for a special occasion. My suspicions that this establishment is going to be well out of my price range are confirmed once I get inside, and cast a glance at the ‘menu’ on the wall. Quickly I absorb that as well as hair styling, the place offers massages, waxing, saunas, pedicures and manicures and that the price list is frighteningly exorbitant.
“Jon,” I turn to speak quietly to him. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to afford this.”
His answer is simple. “You’re not paying.”
As I open my mouth, again to voice my objections, a gorgeous woman comes striding over to meet us. My mouth stays open but no words come out then, realising what a fool I look, I close it. The woman is incredible looking, her mixed heritage lending her an olive coloured skin that glows. There’s not a blemish on her smooth complexion, and her chiselled face could be one featured on a glossy magazine cover. Not a hair is out of place, and her make-up is perfect. She towers over me, her stunning clothes accentuating her slim, toned body. I’m intimidated just standing in front of her, and when she reaches her arms around my companion to give him a full body hug coupled with a full kiss on the lips, I wish I had a gun to hand. I hate her.
“Morning, Gorgeous,” Jon greets her warmly once she lets him go. As she takes a step back from him, he holds her at arms-length, his eyes roaming her body, taking her in. “Beautiful as always,” He tells her in that way a man speaks to someone he’s very close to.
That’s it. She’s going to die. There must be a weapon around here somewhere.
“And who’s this?” Gorgeous seems to notice me at last and, to her credit, she gives me a genuine welcoming smile. I’m still going to kill her, though.
“Dexie Sanders.” I introduce myself as my alter ego. Mia wouldn’t be able to stand up to this woman. I notice Jon cocking his head to one side; his eyes creased as if amused. Does he know what I’m doing? Yes, the bastard has probably sussed it. I try to damp down my jealousy before it becomes too obvious while wondering what I’ve got to be jealous about in the first place! He’s not mine; he’s quite within his rights to shag whoever he likes!
Jon takes a step closer to me. “She’s had a bit of a hard time of it recently, so a complete pampering’s in order. Oh, and she’s coming to the club tonight, so it’s the full works today.”
As a knowing look comes over Gorgeous’ face, my brow furrows. What difference does going to the club make? And what exactly are the ‘full works’? But I don’t have time to query what exactly he’s getting me into as Jon squeezes my hand gently. Then, directing his request to Gorgeous and not me I notice, asks her to give him a call
when I’m finished. Finally turning to me with a smirk, he touches his hand briefly to my cheek and leaves. As I’m suspiciously wondering just exactly what that look and contact were for, I realise we still haven’t settled the business of who’s paying. I can’t let him pay. Not for something as personal as this.
Gorgeous is appraising me and takes no time before she tries to get things straight. “Is your relationship with Jon professional or personal?” She gets directly to the point.
Hmm, of course, she wants to know. I’d love to say personal and see her reaction, but I have to be honest. “Professional”
Her friendly expression doesn’t change; she doesn’t show relief, so perhaps I’m reading it wrong? Maybe I’ll simply maim her. Then she gives me a sympathetic smile. “If you need protection from Grade A then you must be having a hard time. Let’s start by getting you nice and relaxed with a sauna and then a massage.”
That does sound lovely! Then I falter, she must know Jon well if she knows what he does for a living. Just how does she know him? As she puts her hand on my back to guide me to the back of the prestigious looking salon, I remember myself and stop. Facing her, I tell her honestly. “Look, I’m sorry, it all sounds fantastic, but I can’t afford it. Can you just do my hair?”
She gives a deep laugh; even her mirth sounds alluring. “Jon gets a big discount here, Cherie. Don’t worry about it. And the bill always goes directly to him.” She turns me back around; her manicured fingernails resting on my shoulders. I notice her fingers are long, her nails bright red with sparkling jewels stuck on. Elegance on legs. In my jeans and blouse, she’s making me feel shabby and very unattractive. Bemused, and not a little intimidated, I let her push me through the salon, and the question suddenly hits me as I wonder just why Jon gets a discount, and exactly how many women he’s brought here to have earned the right to it? The green eyed monster starts rearing its head again. This is stupid. I’m lusting after a man so far out of my league it’s ridiculous. Oh, stop thinking about him. There’s more to worry about now. What the full treatment is for a start. And what his parting smirk was all about.
Somewhere between the entrance door and the rear of the shop I’m being led to I grasp, despite my objections, that I seem to be going to have a spa day whether I want one or not. A door is opened for me, and I enter to find a huge changing room, more than twice the size of that of any shop I’ve ever been in. Gorgeous directs me to strip down and shower, then either completely naked or with the option of leaving my knickers on, cover myself with the towelling robe that’s hanging on a hook. I take the offered option while wondering why I’m here and why I’ve given in so easily. Gorgeous seemed so insistent, though, and what woman could refuse a day of being spoiled and indulged? Oh, bugger it! I make the decision to enjoy myself putting aside, for now, the issue of how on earth I’m going to pay for it all, determined Jon will not be picking up the tab.
After having followed the instructions, I hesitantly exit the cubicle to find a different, and younger woman waiting for me. With a sigh, as I notice she’s just as polished and elegant as Gorgeous, I follow her to the sauna, where she explains the process, and then leaves me alone. As I sit in the steam and relax, I find I’m able to let my mind drift, my worries from the previous week seeping away just like the sweat from my pores. It seems all too soon when I collected, instructed to take my time having a cooling plunge bath, after which I’m taken to a different room, told to strip off again and place myself face down on a massage table.
The massage feels wonderful; I’ve not had one before and soon start thinking it’s something I’ll be trying again. My muscles relax, and my breathing deepens as the ministrations of the expert hands have a calming effect, even after the sauna I’d still been tenser than I’d realised. Before long, I find I’m half dozing, with thoughts of the evening ahead floating through my mind.
Now I’ve met Gorgeous; it hits me just how ridiculous and presumptuous it is to think Jon would look twice at someone like me. She’s the sort of person he would play with, an experienced and incredibly beautiful woman, obviously comfortable in her own skin. I want to go to a club for research; I remind myself. Jon’s been kind enough to offer to get me entrance into the prestigious club, but I’ve no right to make any more demands on him other than that. I can’t expect to spend the evening hanging onto his coat tails; that would mean I’d just be ruining his night. All he’s expecting to do is to get me through the doors. Then he’ll be free to go off and play with one of his obviously many play buddies. Perhaps Gorgeous herself is one of them?
Then, as my stomach churns at the thought of seeing him play with anyone else, especially someone as elegant and assured as the salon owner, it seems like every muscle in my body clenches, making the masseuse pause to ask me if anything’s wrong. To cover it my annoying reaction, I stammer out that I’m just hungry and try to push thoughts of watching Jon playing with another woman out of my head.
She quickly finishes up, then, to my astonishment, once the massage is over, there’s a plate of delicious food waiting for me, a hot and cold finger buffet selection, as well as a glass of champagne! Ignoring the voice in the back of my mind telling me to think about the cost, I decide to make the best of it and take in every detail as background for a future book. Reassuring myself that research expenses are tax deductible, after all.
Having consumed as much as I can of my fabulous lunch, I’m taken back to another room, once more in my robe. I have my legs and underarms waxed – a painful experience I have no wish ever to repeat. But when the woman starts to draw off my knickers I grab them and ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing.
She grins, and leaves the room, returning moments later with Gorgeous. Gorgeous looks me straight in the eye, and asks without preamble, “You’re going to the club tonight?”
“Yes?”
“Well, you need to be neat and tidy. That means a full wax. Jon will expect that.”
While I write about a Dom’s preference for a sub to be bare, I’ve never been tempted to shave down there myself. And I haven’t a Dom to please in any event, so I shake my head firmly. “No, there’s no need for that.”
Gorgeous laughs. “Chérie, you don’t want to disappoint your Dom you know.”
What the hell is she talking about? I know all about the consequences of disappointing a Dom, I’ve written all about the lifestyle, and I know if he wants you to do something you do it, or risk a punishment. But she’s very mistaken if she’s got the idea that Jon’s my Dom. It’s laughable. So I tell her so.
Shrugging her glossy black hair over her shoulders, she gives a throaty chuckle. “That’s what you think, chérie. It’s obvious to me Jon thinks something else. Now, shall we get on with this?” She turns to the other woman whose name I hadn’t caught and tells her she can go. Apparently Gorgeous is going to take over herself. I stare at her, confident that she’s got it all wrong. Jon is not my Dom. Not even for tonight. He wouldn’t be thinking that way, would he? Surely not! But embarrassingly a flush comes over my body just thinking about the possibility, and I wrap my robe around me, hoping to hide my body’s automatic reaction.
Gorgeous watches me, waiting for my permission for her to start, a faint amused smile on her face as she lets me work it through in my head. No, I’m not going to let her shave me. No one is going to see in any event. As I think about it, mulling over what to do and how to politely refuse, I shake my head. But then a little devil inside me wakes up and suddenly I decide, fuck it, why not give it a try? I write about this, shouldn’t I at least experience just once something I only have theoretical knowledge about?
I know many men like their women bare. Is this how Jon prefers his subs? But whether he does or not is beside the point isn’t it? Oh, shit. In for a penny and all that. Perhaps I should go for the full treatment. So hoping this isn’t going to be something I regret, a little cautiously I nod my agreement.
Her smile turns to one of approval and she starts to prepare what s
he needs, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. I decide I have to know. She’s about to be getting intimate with me, so I don’t see a problem getting personal with her. “What’s Jon to you?” My eyes narrow as I wait for her answer to the question that’s been bugging me all morning.
She laughs out loud again, a throaty, sexy sound. “I won’t lie, chérie, we’ve been together. But not for a very long time. I played with him on a couple of occasions and I have to tell you the things that man can do with his pleasure stick means you’re in for a really fun time!”
“Pleasure stick?” I have to giggle, even though I’m not sure how to take her revelation. She’s not with him now, but they’ve obviously been close. “Not heard it called that before.”
“Well,” she grins, “Just don’t call it that at the club.” She glances at me and sees that I’m fidgeting, uncomfortable. “Go on, ask.”
Not bothering to tell her I’m highly unlikely to get anywhere near his pleasure stick, or whatever else it’s likely to be called, I swallow. She’s right; I’ve more questions, although I’m not completely sure I want to know all the answers, so I hesitate before asking, “Why does Jon get a discount here?”
Smiling, she reaches for the wax as she tells me. “Well, first of all, he did all the security for me. I had a gang after me for protection money, but by the time he sorted out all the alarms, cameras, bullet proof glass and so on, I didn’t have to worry anymore. Of course, setting everything up cost a fortune but a lot less in the long run than making regular payments to the gang. They leave me alone now. He recommends me to other Doms and subs at the club too, so I get a lot of business from Taicapan.” She pauses, before continuing, “And, to be truthful, Dexie, he’s sent me a few girls in the past because we cater to his particular tastes.”
“Particular tastes?” I repeat, parrot-like, not sure I like the sound of that.
She gesticulates, waving at the paraphernalia in the room. “Waxing, for example. And the lotions we use, he likes the smell. I tend to use things scented vanilla which is a little screwed up if you think about it.” I frown as she gives another delicious chuckle.
Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2) Page 15
