“Hi Dylan,” she says coolly. “If you don't mind, we have friends waiting on us.” She pulls on my hand but I plant my feet firmly to the ground, no longer eager to leave Dylan since he was nice to me twice before he even knew my name.
“Where is your group sitting?” He asks over my shoulder. I might not be in my element but their talking as if I’m not standing between them is really starting to annoy me.
“Back lounge, you can come back later if you want. Right now, I need to get her back to her party,” Holly sneers. I look over my shoulder to glare at Holly. She’s taking this whole “divorce party” thing a bit too far. I don’t consider much about what Holly thinks of him or vice versa, only because I know Holly can be excessively judgmental as well as being one of the hardest people I know to get along with.
“Why don't you head back? Dylan offered to buy me a drink and I'd like to take him up on it.” I narrow my eyes on her, silently pleading for her to take the hint and leave me alone. Overall, I consider myself a pretty good judge of character and Dylan isn’t giving me any sort of creeper vibe despite whatever Holly’s problem with him is. Maybe they have seen each other here before and didn’t get along.
“You sure? I know it's a lot to take in,” she cackles.
Why is she all of a sudden worried about whether or not my mind is capable of processing the scene she'd thrown me into now that I am interested in talking to someone when she thought it perfectly acceptable when it was a girls' night out?
“Yes. I'm sure I'll be fine. If it'll make you feel better, I'll text you every five minutes to let you know I'm still alive.” I can only imagine what Dylan has to be thinking at this point, knowing that I am so sheltered my own friends didn't trust me to have a drink with someone. “Besides, we've already talked about it and he assured me he's not a serial killer.”
Dylan laughs at this statement and I shiver at the rich sound. “Look, I'm not trying to convince her to go play; I'm going to have a drink with a beautiful woman. I'll make sure she checks in with you and your friends. Who knows? After we talk for a few minutes, she might get sick of me and be right back. On the other hand, she might decide she likes the company and we'll both join you. Sound fair?”
It isn’t often that someone can render Holly is speechless and yet she stands next to me trying to figure out how to respond. With the exception of my decision earlier in the night to act on impulse and get my first piercing, I am notorious for allowing people to walk all over me, and keeping my opinions to myself. I wish I were able to sound as confident and self-assured as Dylan had when he told Holly exactly how he saw the night going.
Holly leans in to give me a quick hug. “Remember what I told you. Text me if you need me, be careful,” she whispers before glaring at Dylan. “Don't think I won't have eyes watching you,” she warns.
“I wouldn't expect anything less,” he laughs. As Holly storms away, Dylan slides his hand to the small of my back, pulling me close to him. “Come on, Precious. I owe you a drink.”
(Dylan)
Not only is she drop dead gorgeous with legs I can easily imagine wrapped around me while I bury myself inside her tight little body, she is feisty when she wants to be. Not bitchy, just sarcastic and playful. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that she works to repress this side of her, and I don’t like it. More than anything, I want to protect her. The stark contrast of the different sides to her personality does nothing to help me fight the hard on growing behind my zipper.
When she starts walking across the dance floor, I grab her hand. “Come on, Precious. We’re going this way.” I pull her down the narrow hallway joining the front and back areas of the club. As much as I hate the playroom, she is here on Leather & Lace night. If I have to be here, might as well see how comfortable the girl is with some of the concepts. If she’s repulsed, well, I will buy her a drink, enjoy a few minutes in her company, and then say goodnight. If she’s intrigued, then it’s game-on.
It doesn’t matter if she begs me, there is no way I will lead her up the three steps into the back room. There is a time and a place for play and I know she has already had too much to drink to consider it. Submission is something that the Dom needs to earn and given by the sub when she is fully lucid. As far as I’m concerned, that can’t happen if alcohol is involved.
“I thought we were getting a drink?” She asks, trying to pull her hand out of mine. I tighten my grip, unwilling to let her slip away from me just yet.
“We are, Precious. But we'll sit at the back bar. There are fewer people and the drinks are stronger. Come.”
No doubt stronger so that people can drink enough to work up the courage to play. Fucking Vic…
She stops in place at my command. She isn’t blindly following me. Another mark in her favor. One of my biggest turn-offs is a woman who thinks she knows what I want from the moment she meets me, to the point where I could tell her to go play in traffic on the highway and she would because I told her to. I’m not one of these assholes who like to dominate just for shits and giggles. I want to know that I’ve earned her respect and submission.
I smile when I see her move closer to me, her fingers easing in my grip. Once she knows she is safe, this beauty will be mine.
(Tasha)
While not as busy as the main bar, there are still plenty of people sitting at and standing around the back bar. It doesn’t take long for me to realize what draws people to this bar as opposed to the other. Where most bars have mirrors and displays with the higher quality alcohols behind the bar, this one has openings resembling windows without glass, affording voyeurs front row seats to the disturbing scenes taking place in the other room.
As Dylan helps me onto a stool that, following a short conversation between him and another male, is now vacant, I tell myself I will avert my eyes. I have already seen more physical torture than I planned to see in my entire life, I don’t need to see more. And yet, as we wait for our drinks I can’t help but watch someone new, this time a young male, assuming the position to have his arms bound to the top of the cross.
“Have you ever seen that before, Precious?” Dylan whispers into my ear, pointing to the man who is now moving into position in front of the wooden X. I am growing irritated by him calling me 'Precious' repeatedly but figure it is something he does when he can’t be bothered to remember a woman's name. This doesn’t seem like the type of place where names matter, and given his earlier warning, it is apparent he is a frequent visitor.
My eyes widen as I see a man wearing only what looks to be a leather thong as he spreads his legs so someone can chain them to the bottom pieces of the cross. It’s fascinating to me that while leather cuffs tightly secure his arms to the wood, there is more room for movement with the chains near the floor. I shake my head, unable to turn to look at Dylan, who is now standing behind me with his broad hands resting on my shoulders.
“Do you like what you see?” I shiver as his breath crosses my bare neck. His thumbs brush gently along the back of my neck making me feel things I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before. I want to take offense at everything about my evening and yet I am captivated.
“I... I'm not sure,” I admit, turning and forcing myself to look at him. Part of me wants to tell him I am repulsed by what is taking place because that’s how I think I should be feeling. The other part of me doesn’t want to say a word because my body is reacting in a way that is far from being disgusted. The back bar area isn’t as dark as the rest of the building; I can see that his eyes are so dark they remind me of a cup of espresso served in a pristine white cup. “Why would anyone do something like that?” I ask, pointing to the back room.
Dylan chuckles, wrapping one arm around the front of my neck so both hands are resting on the same shoulder. “There's not always one right answer. The only thing I can tell you is everything that goes on back there is consensual. No one is ever forced to do anything they aren't willing to do. At that point, does it really matter why they're doing it?”
&nb
sp; “Well, no. I mean, they can do whatever they want, but why would they want to let someone do that to them? And in public, no less.” Insecurity starts filling my chest. Here I am with a devastatingly handsome man and I am coming across as a prude. I’ve read about things like this plenty of times since being introduced to steamier novels thanks to a certain series that took the world by storm, but that was fiction; something that didn't happen in real life. Now, with it taking place directly in front of me, I realize it’s not something that happens in twisted fairy tales where the domineering, beautiful gazillionaire saves the naïve young woman.
“Again, there's not really one answer that covers all the reasons other than the one I just gave you. Come with me. There's something I want to show you.” Looking around, I am terrified of what he plans to show me. No, he said no one is forced to do anything. I finish my drink and slide off the high stool. He reaches for my hand, gently kissing my fingertips before leading me away from the bar. “We need to tell your friends we're leaving.”
I whip my head in his direction, certain I misheard him. “Leaving? You have to be nuts if you think I'm going to leave with a complete stranger.”
“But I'm not a stranger. And I've already promised you I have no plans to kill you, so you have nothing to worry about.” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear allowing his fingertips to graze lightly down the side of my neck. “Trust me. You're on overload here and there's somewhere I would like to take you. Come on, Precious, let's go tell your friends you're leaving with me.”
“Tasha,” I snap.
“Excuse me?” He stops in his tracks, turning to look at me.
“My name is Tasha.” How can he expect me to go anywhere with him if he can’t be bothered to know my name? And what does it say about him that he seems confident I will leave with him at all? Is that the caliber of women he is used to dealing with on a nightly basis?
He responds by pulling me in close to him and laughing. He presses his lips to the top of my head before tilting my face so our eyes met. “I know your name, Tasha. I also know that you're precious, something to be cherished. And if I have any say in it, that's exactly what you will be.”
“Does that really work on women?” I roll my eyes, realizing that I managed to attract what is surely one of the biggest players in the club tonight.
“Don't know, but I'll tell you in the morning.” He brings the palm of his hand up to his forehead. “Okay, now that came out sounding like a bad pick-up line. I'm sorry. If I'm telling you whether or not that line worked in the morning, I promise you it will be because you've trusted me enough to give me your phone number, in which case I will be able to text you and let you know. Now, let's find your friends.”
I’ve never met anyone so sure of himself. Normally, men like Dylan come across as so arrogant I run the other way. Nick was the complete opposite of Dylan: moody, quiet, and predictable. At least that’s how he was most of the time, when he wasn’t busy telling me that I was an immature fool for having dreams and wanting to pursue them.
No, you are not going to start comparing every man to Nick. If he were so perfect, you wouldn't be here tonight “celebrating” your divorce.
“I really do need to get back to them. They all came out tonight to help me celebrate and now I've run off with you.” I look behind me to see my friends staring at us, huddled together, and more than likely taking bets on whether I am going to bail on them with the pillar of walking sex next to me. Part of me really wants to. Not because he’s a gorgeous man offering to take me to some mystery location, but because I need to figure out how I feel about what I learned about my friends tonight. “Rain check?”
“What are you celebrating? I'm sorry if I pulled you away from your own party.” He truly looks remorseful and I feel foolish for making a big deal about it. The fact that I now have to tell him only amplifies that feeling.
“Um, it's stupid, really.” I don’t want to tell him that we are celebrating my freedom. Newly divorced women aren't normally something most men want to deal with. Most women who've just gone through that are bitter and damaged, at least for a while. For me, it was more like saying goodbye to the roommate from hell, the one I was stuck with until our lease came up for renewal. The only thing that changed with our signatures on the paperwork is my official relationship status and my last name.
My divorce didn’t break me; the decade spent with a man who wanted to dictate every facet of my life is what shattered me. Sure, it has been an adjustment to be alone now, for the first time, but it will be for the best in the long run. I just need to keep my head on my shoulders and not fall prey to the first man to show an interest in me. Especially not when that man is as charismatic as Dylan is.
“Precious, if it's worth celebrating, it's not stupid. And obviously your friends don't think it's stupid since they're here with you.” His voice is almost gentle now, barely audible over the techno beats filling the air.
“You have to promise you're not going to laugh or run the other way if I tell you.” I’m not sure which reaction scares me more. Despite the fact that he is extremely forward, I want to get to know Dylan better. There is no harm in that, right?
“Scout's honor,” he says, raising three fingers in the air. “If it means something to you, I'm not going to laugh about it and I don't scare easily.”
“Were you even a Boy Scout?”
“Yes ma'am, made it all the way to Eagle Scout. Does that surprise you?” He cocks his head to the side, waiting for my answer.
“Well, um...” I have no clue what to say in response. If I admit that it does shock me, he’ll more than likely want to know why. If I say it doesn’t surprise me, I’ll be lying and I hate liars. “Maybe a bit. You just don't seem like the scouting type.”
“You're sweet, you know that?” He kisses my hair again, his arm holding me to his chest. “So, what are we celebrating tonight? You should know that I don't deal well with my questions not being answered.” There is no humor in his eyes at this last statement. I wonder just what he means by ‘not dealing well’.
“My divorce, okay?” I look up at him, expecting him to say goodbye and bolt the opposite direction. After all, what type of woman celebrates her divorce? When he doesn’t move, I continue. “My friends all hated my ex-husband, so now that the divorce is final, they said it was time to celebrate. Personally, I think they just wanted a reason to come here tonight and shocking me out of my comfort zone was as good a reason as any.”
He looks over to my friends, raising his chin slightly when he sees they are still watching us. “Are those your friends over there?” He asks, tilting his head in their direction.
“Yep, Holly since we were little and the others since fourth grade.”
“And they brought you here to get you out of your comfort zone?” He doesn’t look amused by this idea. I nod, feeling like a child about to get in trouble. “Did you know what was going on before you got here? I mean, I know you hadn't been here before, but please tell me they told you what you were going to see.”
I feel his body tense against mine. I’m not sure why my lack of prior knowledge affects this man I barely know, but it’s apparent that he is upset.
“Nope, all I knew was it was something called Leather and Lace night. I think they knew I wouldn't come if they told me what it was about.” I look from him to my friends and then to the back room. “And they would have been right.”
“Come on, Precious. We're going to say goodnight and I'm getting you out of here. This is exactly what I hate about places like this; people who have no clue thinking it's something fun to do.”
“I never said I thought it was fun--”
He cuts me off, cupping my face in his hands. “Not you, them. They're your friends, so I'll refrain from saying anything that would upset you, but let's just say I have serious issues with a lot of people. Pretty much anyone who doesn't understand the fact that this isn't just kinky sex to some of us.”
I can hear the c
old sincerity in Dylan's voice. Whatever is bothering him, it’s really bothering him. “And you swear you're not trying to lure me to a deserted road somewhere to kill me and dispose of my body?”
“Nah, I prefer out by the airport for that, but that's too much work for tonight,” he laughs. “I had a long week at work, so even dumping you out as I drive is more energy than I want to expend.” Even in the best of times, Nick and I hadn't had this easy banter between us and I am curious to see where things might lead.
“Okay. But I'm warning you now; they're probably going to threaten the safety of your testicles. Don't pay any attention to them. They have this idea that since I married my high school boyfriend and then sat home every night for years, I have no clue how to interact with other human beings.” I really need to shut up. I bury my head in my hands, embarrassed by my word vomit. “I'm sorry, really. I'm not usually this...”
“It's okay, Tasha. Whatever your friends wish to dish out, I'll guarantee I've endured worse. Let's go.” Well, at least he used my name. I try to maintain a friendly distance from him, but he pulls me close to his side.
(Dylan)
It’s a damn good thing I’ve learned to keep my emotions in check over the years. When Tasha tells me her friends thought it would be fun to bring to her play night without her having any clue what was going on, I just about lose it. If she had come with a group of guys, chances are high that I wouldn’t be so polite.
“Guys, we’re going to take off,” she says as we approach the quartet of women who claim to be her friends. They are regulars here, some of the bondage babes, and I don’t care for any of them. They like to get good and buzzed before going to the playroom. Holly, the woman who tried to “save” her from me, could be an amazing Domme if she learned how to control herself. As it is, she waits until she is too far gone to remain in control and the guys love her for it.
Unexpected Angel Page 3
