Masks of a Tiger

by Doris O'Connor

  Cherie's deep brown eyes locked with Neeve's, and she got the distinct impression that she was passing some sort of silent assessment.

  "You okay, doll? Ink can be a bit overwhelming when you're not used to him."

  "You think?" Neeve couldn't keep the hint of sarcasm out of her voice.

  Trikus chuckled into her shoulder, and Cherie frowned.

  "You're Estelle's outrageous friend, right? I recall seeing you briefly at our ceremony." Cherie paused, smiled, and touched the heavy collar around her neck. This one wasn't delicate like Estelle's. Cherie's collar was a wide leather band secured with a small padlock, and it positively screamed ownership.

  "You really want to watch that sassy mouth of yours, doll, before someone decides to shut it for you in ways you may not like." Cherie smiled as she said the words, but they held an edge of steel, and Neeve thought it wisest to keep quiet.

  "I get that you're new. I get that you're confused, but whilst you're here, keep your head down and show some respect. If you can't do that, then you should leave right now."

  Cherie spoke so quietly Neeve had to strain to hear the words over the music that started up just then. Trikus released her and handed her a clipboard with a Rules of Conduct sheet.

  "If you're staying, sign this, and follow Cherie to the bar. The show is about to start on stage, and I need to make sure everyone stays in safe parameters" Trikus didn't look at her as he spoke. His eyes scanned the room behind them, and it startled Neeve to see how busy the club had become. She's been so absorbed in what had been happening right in front of her, she'd missed the club filling up. Her heart gave a very suspicious little bump inside her chest when she spotted Grisha on stage. He'd stripped down to his low slung jeans, his ebony skin gleaming under the spotlights now illuminating the stage at the far end of the club. His muscles bunched and rippled as he rolled his shoulders and moved his head from side to side. He looked deep in concentration as he studied the implements set out on a little table. Alcohol, swabs, fire sticks, floggers, and a lethal looking whip battled for space with a bucket of water, several small fire extinguishers, and a fire blanket. A roped off area around the stage set the gathering crowd several paces back, and Neeve's stomach clenched when Grisha lit a candle and tested the heat with his hand.

  His words to her came back to haunt her, and the just healed skin on her wrist throbbed in remembered pain. Grisha chose that moment to turn round and assess the crowd, and Neeve froze in place when his gaze zoomed in on her. He smiled, a toe curling, lazy, possessive smile that made her skin prickle and her breath hitch. She jumped when she felt a hand on her arm, and the connection was broken. Her intense physical reaction to seeing him in the flesh left her reeling, and it took her a while to register Cherie was talking to her.

  "Sign the papers, doll. You don't want to miss the show. Grisha is the best at this."

  Neeve didn't doubt that for one minute. He oozed authority and strength on that stage, and her guts churned with an unfamiliar emotion when she saw the three young women join him on stage. She was not jealous, surely? Why would she be? She hardly knew him, and she couldn't care less about those women. Blasted exhibitionist, nameless bimbos, that's what they were.

  She must have mumbled the last bit out loud, as she furiously scribbled her name under the sheet of paper, because Cherie laughed, and this time when Neeve looked at the other woman there was genuine warmth and understanding in her deep chocolate colored eyes.

  "They're just here for the scene. Grisha hasn't claimed any sub, yet." The emphasis on yet wasn't lost on Neeve, and she grumbled her annoyance.

  "Easy, doll, put your claws away. I may be wrong, but I get the impression our Grisha is all yours if you want him." She too glanced toward the stage, and Grisha winked at her, before switching his attention to the subs in front of him. There seemed to be some sort of a discussion going on between him and the three women kneeling in their submissive pose in front of him.

  "He's checking their hard and soft limits and judging how far he can push them." Cherie offered the explanation with a smile. "Ink is right, you know. You have a very expressive face and wear your emotions for all to see. I'll explain as he goes along if you'd like."

  "Yes, please."

  Cherie nodded and gestured for Neeve to follow her to the bar. The long counter was almost deserted as most people now faced the stage, and Neeve propped herself up on one the barstools.

  "Give me that jacket. I'll put it behind the bar for now. He'll get it later."

  Neeve handed the jacket over with some reluctance. Somehow, without it, she felt exposed and vulnerable, which was a ridiculous notion. It was only a jacket, and no one was paying any attention to her as the show started in earnest, which was just as well. Neeve barely took in Cherie's murmured explanations, as the flames on stage called to the deep, dark part in her soul, she'd kept such tight control on lest it destroy her.

  Her stomach clenched, her breathing grew labored, and beads of sweat pooled in the valley between her breasts and trickled down her spine. Cherie pushed a glass of ice cold water into her hands and Neeve gulped the liquid down in one. On stage, a fireball erupted from the end of the whip, the crack audible over the music, as Grisha twirled it over his head. The whip curled over the restrained sub's ass, leaving a red mark in its place. Neeve lost herself in the spectacle. Again and again Grisha swung that whip, a master at play, his concentration and control over the fire absolute. He was one with the whip, placing it exactly where it needed to go, eliciting moan after moan from the bound woman, until she screamed her orgasm at his murmured permission.

  The other two waiting subs reached a similar state after he traced patterns of fire over their exposed skin, dousing them as quickly as they flared up. Ink joined him in the simultaneous fire flogging that ensured the last sub flew off into her own nirvana.

  By the time the show drew to an end, Neeve sat clutching the bar counter with a white knuckled grip. In her mind's eye she saw falling timbers, heard the rushing fireball's approach. The heat of the engulfing flames scorched her skin, her mother's agonized screams ringing in her ears. Strong hands pushed her out of the way, as the hallway collapsed, taking her dad down with the rubble. Heat burned her lungs; pain crawled over her skin, and Neeve gasped, the memories as real as the day it happened. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even scream. Locked in the prison of her mind, tears blinded her vision, and she fumbled to escape, to get away, to seek the only oblivion she knew, the bite of pain, the heat of the burn. She fought the muscled arms restraining her. Adrenaline rushed her system. She kicked and bucked and punched the man trying to calm her down, oblivious to the pain in her hand as her knuckles connected with hard jaw bone. The furious curse rang in her ears, and her head snapped back as the man grasped her hair and pinned her against the bar. The edge dug into her back, and she struggled to breathe against the bulk of the man obliterating her view of anything else. Just as everything went fuzzy, his weight lifted.

  "Get the fuck off her, Jordayn, before I have your pelt for a rug." Grisha's deep voice barely disguised his fury, yet the hands settling on her waist were gentle as he tugged her into his comforting embrace. He nuzzled into her neck, and Neeve's tense muscles unlocked at his whispered, "It's ok, sweetheart. I'm here. Let go. I've got you."

  ****

  It was only the fact that he was holding his woman that stopped Grisha from letting his tiger loose and ripping the flesh of the wolf's body sliver by agonizing sliver. Neeve's needs were more important, and she didn't need to see him shift right now. That would more than likely tip her right over the edge. She clung to him, her eyes wide and unseeing, and he continued to talk to her in Russian, sweet endearments his mother used to call him when he was little, designed to calm him down when he woke up from his own nightmares. He resolutely pushed the unwelcome reminder away and calmed his anxious tiger by inhaling deeply of Neeve's unique scent. Her fear had intensified it, and he couldn't keep his beast's possessive growl un
der wraps.

  Both Ink and Trikus, who had sprinted to the bar with him, and now had Jordayn pinned over the counter, threw Grisha an astonished look.

  Cherie smiled.

  "Take her to one of the dungeons, Grisha. Ink and Trikus will sort this, or I shall serve the idiot's balls for Sunday lunch." Cherie's tiger snarled her agreement, and Neeve jumped and snuggled closer into his frame as though she was seeking his protection.

  "Cherie is right, Grisha. Leave him to us. You go and sort your sub out. Use my private dungeon. You will not be disturbed." Ink's grim smile didn't reach his eyes. Half shifted he looked every inch the lethal predator he was, and Grisha shifted Neeve slightly, so that she wouldn't see his friend's transformation.

  His chest felt suspiciously tight at the thought of his sub, and he set off to take her away from prying eyes. Her death grip on him loosened the farther away they got from the noise of the club, and by the time they stood in front of the heavily padded dungeon door, she struggled in his arms.

  "Wh—where are you taking me?" She pushed against his chest, and he put her down on her feet, using his body to hold her up against the wall, while he keyed the required code into the key pad by the door.

  "Relax, sweetheart. I'm taking you to Ink's dungeon to keep you safe." Her eyes widened, her heart rate increased, and he framed her face with his hands as the door swung open and the overhead light came on automatically. He pitched his voice as low as he could in an effort to reassure her, and some of her renewed anxiety left her. "I promise nothing will happen that you do not want to happen, Neeve."

  He willed her to look up at him, and when she finally did, his insides churned at the depths of pain reflected in moss green eyes. Like the deep sides of a pond they clouded over with unshed tears.

  "Trust me, sweetheart. Let me take some of that hurt away."

  A sob rose from her, and she shut her eyes. A lone tear trailed down her cheek, and he followed the path of that tear with his gaze, over her cheek, down the slender column of her neck, and into the deep V of her burgundy dress. His cock leapt into action, and he resisted the temptation to trace the path of that tear with his tongue. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths, the clingy fabric of her dress accentuating every one of her slight curves. Her nipples puckered into hard little nubs, clearly visible through her dress, under his silent scrutiny, and Grisha smiled.

  "You can't. No one can. I shouldn't have come here." The whispered words carried enough pain to make Grisha want to shift and rip whoever hurt her so badly limb from fucking limb. The strength of his reaction floored him with its intensity. From the first moment his tiger had recognized her scent outside the marquee his sole purpose had been to claim her. He had not been able to get her out of his mind, hoping against hope that she would turn up at Club Ink. Despite her claims that she wasn't submissive, and despite the man's reservations that she wasn't what he was looking for, that he had no intention of settling down, his tiger wasn't listening.

  He'd known the instant she'd set foot in the club, his tiger itching to get to the woman he'd chosen to mark as his own, but he'd had a show to do. So, he'd ruthlessly clamped down on his animal side and concentrated on the task instead, aware that she'd watched his every move. What he hadn't anticipated—and fuck it, he should have really, after the way she'd burned herself at the ceremony—was that his show would prove to be a trigger for her.

  He had a fairly good idea why. Trikus's report had been very thorough, and Grisha knew only too well the effect childhood traumas could have on a person. He crunched his teeth in frustration and willed the memories away again. He'd left that part of his life behind years ago and seldom thought of it anymore. Something about Neeve's vulnerability—hidden as it was under her tough words, snarkyness, and devil-may-care attitude—had dragged the past up kicking and screaming. The fact that he'd caused her earlier breakdown, albeit without meaning to, did not sit well with him.

  He took a step away from her, and he suppressed a grin at the way her body followed his, before she startled and pulled back, chewing her bottom lip. He hardened to the point of pain, and he balled his hands into fists to stop himself from touching her. Sex with Neeve would blow his mind, even vanilla sex, if the sexual chemistry hovering between them was anything to go by. The problem was Grisha wanted more than just sex. His tiger whined, and Grisha shut his eyes and shook his head. He wasn't expecting the tentative touch to his chest that burned as though she'd branded him.

  There was concern in her topaz eyes before she dropped her gaze to her hand resting over his heart, and she frowned. He covered it with one of his own, and she drew a raggedy breath into her lungs. Her scent increased again, this time laced with the sweet musk of her arousal, and Grisha cupped her chin with the other hand to make her look at him.

  "Why shouldn't you have come here, sweetheart?" Her eyes fluttered to his face, and she swallowed hard.

  "I only came to drop off your jacket. But then you were starting your show, and I couldn't … I mean … I'm not sure what happened back there, but I'm okay now, and I need to get home." She glanced briefly into the dungeon, and a shudder went through her. He squeezed her hand and increased the pressure of his fingers on her chin. She blinked and brought her focus back to him, like he'd wanted her to.

  "Neeve, don’t ever lie to me. If this thing between us is to have any chance of working, then you need to be honest with me. Any relationship needs honesty. In a Dom/sub relationship honesty is of the utmost importance. Communication is the key, or I could end up hurting you badly, or trigger something in your past, that will cause you emotional pain or worse. Just like my show tonight. That's why you had such an extreme reaction, didn’t you, sweetheart?"

  She fidgeted under his stare, and tears filled her vision. She resolutely blinked them away and stuck her chin out.

  "What thing between us? I told you before I'm no sub, and I'm not going to jump into bed with you. I don't even like you." She dropped her eyes back to where their joined hands were still resting on his chest, but she didn't pull away, and Grisha leant in close, crowding her back against the wall.

  Heat crept into her cheeks, and her breaths grew labored, but she defiantly held his gaze. He pointedly stared at her rapidly beating pulse point and then back into her eyes.

  "Liar." He whispered the words, satisfied to see her eyes darken as he licked a path along her jaw and then took her trembling bottom lip between his teeth and bit down slightly. She whimpered in response, and he traced her lips with his tongue, willing her to open for him. When she did, he tasted heaven. The scent and taste of her drove his tiger wild, and it took every ounce of his self-control and years of being a Dom to not give in to his baser instincts. The need to brand her, to see his marks on her skin, to demand her complete submission, burnt through his veins like liquid fire.

  She melted into his frame when he took the kiss deeper, her feminine sighs spurring him on. He allowed her to tug her hand free and grasp his shoulders, sensing her need to be in control, to push him a little. He ran his hands down her sides and cupped the globes of her ass, lifting her farther up his body. Her legs went round his waist, and when she returned his kiss with all the passion he'd sensed in her, he knew she'd surrendered.

  A chuckle behind them broke through the lust filled haze surrounding them, and Neeve froze in his arms. She tried in vain to disentangle herself.

  "Please, let me go. This is insane."

  Chapter Five

  Jesus, what was wrong with her? Neeve buried her head in Grisha's shoulder and tried to lower her legs, but she should have known he wouldn't let her. His hold on her increased, and he pinned her back against the wall, while he barked an order at the man who interrupted her. A man who no doubt had a perfect view of her shaven pussy barely covered by the lacy thong she wore. Or he would have if Grisha had not chosen that moment to thrust his groin as close to her as was humanly possible. The seam of his jeans ground into her clit and caught at her piercing. The little tug of pa
in made her moan, and she couldn't help but wiggle her hips against him to increase the delicious pressure.

  The deep, animalistic growl erupting from his chest caused more of her juices to flood her pussy, and she hastily followed his order of, "Hang on to me, sweetheart. We need to take this to the dungeon."

  The way he said the word dungeon sent a shiver down her body, as images of him in another dungeon filled her mind. The barely functioning rational side of her brain screamed at her what the fuck she was doing, but her body just wasn't listening. Being this close to him, the need to stay in his arms consumed her. Her empty pussy ached to be possessed by this man. The heat of his thick, rock hard cock burned her through his jeans, and when he placed her on the huge bed dominating one side of the room, she didn't want to lose the contact. He chuckled into her neck and licked the sensitive skin. The curiously rough texture of his tongue sent her nerve endings tingling, and she locked her ankles behind his butt, and ground her clit against him again.

  God, she was so close, so damn close, if only…

  Her eyes flew open, and the world tilted when he disentangled himself from her in one easy move. Before she knew what happened he had her lying over his knees, her dress pulled up to her hips, thong pulled down to her knees pinning them together. One of his arms over her back held her down.

  "Don't move, sweetheart, or this will hurt." She froze. Surely he wouldn't spank her? And why did the thought of that make more of her juices leak out of her? Why was she not screaming no, or red, or whatever the hell one screamed in such circumstances? Instead, she was in danger of staining his jeans with her arousal.

  "Don't you dare spank me. I'm not five years old!" Even to her own ears the protest sounded feeble, and Grisha swatted her ass several times in quick succession. The force behind those swats pushed her further into his lap, and tears sprang to her eyes. He massaged her ass cheeks, and the hot burn eased and spread in tingles of awareness. Her pussy clamped, and she felt the wetness on the top of her thighs.