What Happens After Dark

by Jasmine Haynes

  “So. You feel that how you and your mom are doing after a death in the family isn’t my business.” In the oncoming lights, his jaw tensed and his nostrils flared. “Then why don’t you tell me what is my business.”

  “The sex, Luke. That’s what we are, sex. You’ve always liked that. The stuff we did this morning in your office.” Though she’d never come to his office before. Yes, yes, she knew she’d crossed a line there. But they’d fantasized about a quickie. It had been discussed.

  “Which stuff in my office?” His voice was hard. “When I was spanking and fucking you? Or when you were crying in my arms?”

  “That was an aberration.” She couldn’t tell him what it was really about. Total and complete fear of everything in her life, for God’s sake. And that was before Dumbo.

  “So you’re saying we’re just about sex.”

  Somehow that didn’t sit well either. That wasn’t how she meant it. Because they weren’t only about sex. They were about . . . She was trying to think how to put it, but he didn’t give her long enough.

  “Fine. Then let’s have sex. How would you like a spanking? Or maybe I’ll tie you up and fuck you. Or give you to a bunch of men and let them do it because I’ve had a long workday, and I can’t be bothered.” He glanced at her, eyes narrowed, gaze shadowed in the darkness of the car. “What would you prefer? Come to think of it, your preferences don’t matter, do they, since I’m your master.” He was on a roll. She’d once again pissed him off, and now he was blazing. “We’ll make this about me and look for someone I can fuck while you watch.”

  A stone crystallized in her stomach. She didn’t want him to touch anyone else. She hated the idea. Derek had done that, made her watch. When he was tired of her. He’d even hit her once when she complained. Luke never hit her. He never would. Some men just couldn’t. But Luke wasn’t above testing and pushing and goading.

  So she tossed it right back at him. “You’re the master. You can have whatever you want.” If he took her up on it, she’d die.

  “You’re right, I am the master. I am in control, a fact you seem to forget when it’s convenient. So tonight, my game.” He took a freeway ramp heading in the opposite direction from his house. “What are you wearing under that dress?” He waved a heartless hand at her.

  “Stockings. No panties.”

  “Good girl. I can’t believe you actually followed a command since you’ve been so uppity this evening. Now sit there and be quiet until we get where we’re going.”

  Bree sat in the unbearable silence of the car. She knew she’d been a bitch, dumping all her desperation concerning her mother on Luke’s head. Her father had been the same way, taking out the worst of his anger on his family, hiding what he was from everyone else who knew him. Yeah, he saved the worst for the people he was supposed to love. Luke wasn’t like that.

  Sometimes, when she had too much time to think, she imagined meeting his daughters. They would love him, adore him, think he was the greatest. She knew that about him. That’s why he was the best master, too. Yet she’d just pissed him off to hell, and now she’d have to pay the price in punishment. There was definitely a horrible little thrill in the prospect.

  Maybe she’d actually started to piss him off on purpose just to get him all riled up.

  HE DIDN’T LIKE THE PETTINESS IN THE SILENCE, BUT HE’D MADE the threat and he had to carry through. That was how their relationship worked. He could actually smell her in the close confines of his car. With the threats, the orders, she was suddenly excited, tense with desire and fear, her most potent combination. It worked every time. And he hadn’t even called her a slut yet.

  What he did added to her issues, he was sure, yet he had no idea how to change it. This was now their ritual. Anger, hot sex, then a breakdown. In those brief moments of aftermath, she needed him for more than sex. And he needed those moments. It was whacked and getting worse.

  But she was his submissive, and she’d been a bitch. That couldn’t go unpunished. It would undermine his authority. If they reversed their roles, he could lose her, because this was what she wanted, a firm hand. He had to admit his blood was up, too. She’d gotten him going with all the thoughts she put in his head. He could feel the sting of his hand as he slapped her ass, and his cock hardened. He saw her prone and tied, at his mercy for anything, and his pulse raced. He pictured her tied to a bed with a line of men wanting a piece of her, and him kneeling over her, hand fisted in her hair. “Do you want them? Or do you want my cock deep inside you while they watch and salivate with how badly they want you?” He’d take her himself no matter what she begged for; it was just a matter of how he did it. She would love it all.

  He glanced over at her huddled on her side of the car, knees pulled up, body turned awkwardly against the constraining seat belt.

  Maybe in a true dom–sub relationship, this is exactly how it was supposed to work. She shut him out, pushed him, acted the bitch to incite him. He was supposed to react; that was his role. He felt uneasy that they were once again escalating the play, the anger, beyond what was good for her in view of what he suspected about her father. Yet she responded, she’d opened up afterward, if only briefly. He told himself that was enough.

  Christ, he wanted this, too, the game, the heat, the push-pull of angry emotional sex. It was a high. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

  “I’m yours to command, Master,” she said softly, the thread of excitement running through her voice.

  “You’re so fucking easy, slut,” he murmured.

  “Only for you, Master.”

  “I’ll put that to the test.”

  Pulling off at a hotel complex near the freeway in the heart of Silicon Valley, he chose one of the more luxurious offerings, which was also reputed to be notorious for business hookups.

  “I thought we were going to a club,” she said, uncurling her legs and sitting straighter in the seat.

  “I never said that.”

  “But—”

  He shot her a look, and she cut herself off. “Don’t but me,” he said. “I’m pissed. You’re going to do everything I say with no questions asked. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And what are you?”

  “I’m your dirty slave slut.”

  “Yes, you are. Now take off that bra. I told you I don’t want you wearing anything under your clothes.”

  “But in front of my mother—”

  “She’s not here now.”

  Bree wriggled out of her bra, then tossed it in the backseat. His seat belt already unfastened, he leaned over her in a quick move and slid his hand up her skirt. “Spread your legs, pretty little whore.”

  She gave him space between her thighs. She was warm, wet, and he savored her wide eyes, the feel of her clit under his finger, and the gasp that fell from her parted lips.

  “You want this. You’re already wet and hot over it.”

  “Yes.”

  He tipped her head back and crushed his mouth to hers. She was sweet, the kiss deep, and it sent his blood pressure soaring. “Dirty bitch,” he whispered against her mouth. Then he pulled back and licked her cream from his fingers. Christ, he loved the taste of her.

  “I might want to finger you under the table, and you will spread your legs for me immediately,” he told her as she smoothed her dress down over her thighs. “We will sit for a while and pick out my victim together. I want you to have to choose the woman you’re going to watch me fuck.”

  She swallowed, a light sparking in her eyes, then she nodded. At what point would she stop him? When would she grab his arm and tell him it would kill her to watch? How far would he have to go before she told him she didn’t want him to do it?

  There was an exciting rush to the scenario, like a gambler placing a bet too big to pay off if he lost, but he felt Lady Luck beside him and couldn’t resist the temptation.

  She worried her lip. “How will you pick someone up if you’re sitting with me?�
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  He smiled like a shark. “Ladies love stealing from the competition, don’t they? When we find one, you and I will simply part as if we’re only business associates. Then I’ll charmingly tell her I want my associate to watch.” He smiled, wide and false, waiting for her reaction.

  She didn’t reveal anything. He’d given her too much time to steel herself.

  He climbed out and let her get her own door. He didn’t hold out his arm to escort her as they entered the lobby, which was large and glass-fronted, filled with potted plants, the marble floors teeming with travelers, mostly business dress as if they were wearing uniforms. Registration had a short line as they passed, heading for the bar entrance.

  Inside, the ceilings were high, the seats fairly full, and the noise at a low hum. The booths around the perimeter were raised and separated by mirrored planters full of leafy greenery. In the center, candlelight flickered in the shiny surfaces of the black lacquer tables.

  He spotted a couple leaving a corner booth and herded Bree toward it. The man gave him the up-and-down as they passed, his gaze skating over Bree, then he smiled as if he figured it was the older man, younger woman pickup scenario. Based on the twenty-something blonde he was leading out, perhaps the guy was seeing his own reflection.

  Luke ushered Bree into the empty booth. “Now, pick a victim,” he said with a genial tone.

  “It’s your taste, you need to choose.” She gave him an expressionless gaze, then added, “Master.” The pause said it all. She wasn’t happy. Good.

  “How about that one?” He jutted his chin a couple of booths over at a brunette in her midthirties with outstanding breasts.

  “Whatever you want, Master.” She was much quicker with the Master this time.

  “No. I’m feeling like a redhead tonight.”

  She flattened her lips into a straight line and said nothing.

  He was having too much fun at her expense. He put his hand on her knee. She didn’t move. “Spread your legs,” he murmured.

  She was her master’s submissive and did exactly as she was told. Her skin was warm, the stockings sleek as he slid beneath the skirt. He held her gaze as he reached the top of her thigh, felt bare flesh and the silkiness of her trimmed pubic hair.

  Her breath puffed a little faster, and in the candle’s light, he saw her pupils dilate.

  “You’re wet.” He stroked lightly. “You’re ready to watch. You want to, need to. I’ll tie you down, force you to watch, and that will make you even hotter. Maybe I’ll make her lick you, too, the way that woman did the other night.”

  Her chest rose and fell, her skin porcelain above her low-cut neckline, and a pulse beat faster at her throat. Then she licked her lips.

  “Thirsty?” He stroked her thigh, soaking up the shudder that ran through her.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice almost seeming to crack.

  The waitress was overextended and harried, rushing between tables, and hadn’t noticed them yet. “I’ll get you something.” Giving Bree a little time alone would be the perfect strategy. She would survey the available women and make herself crazy wondering exactly how far he’d go. “What would you like?”

  “You’re the master, you should choose for me.”

  “Hard liquor,” he said, sliding out of the booth, then he leaned in, his face down to hers, the scent of her shampoo washing over him like the sweet caress of a flowery Hawaiian breeze, yet spiced with the aroma of her arousal. “You probably need to be drunk for this.”

  26

  BASTARD, BREE THOUGHT AS HE WALKED AWAY. SHE WAS LIGHTHEADED and wet between the legs from his touch. He was too good-looking, too sure of himself, too sure of her. Picking a buxom brunette just to point out the flaw of her small breasts to her. Or a redhead. Trying to drive home that he needed someone else. Then putting his hand up her skirt.

  He made her wet and needy with fear and excitement.

  What if she said what she thought, what she wanted? What if she told him she hated the idea of another woman having him and yet a terrible thrill raced through her at the same time? What if he got mad? Her life was full of scary what-ifs. She was afraid of things that hadn’t even happened, always trying to come up with ways of making sure they never would happen, anticipating reactions, plotting, planning, keeping her mouth shut, pretending.

  He stood at the end of the long bar, his finger crooked at the bartender who was already running from one end to the other, grabbing bottles, glasses, mixers. Yet Luke was the kind of man people jumped for when he signaled.

  Instead of a highball glass, the man pulled down two champagne flutes from the glass shelving along the mirrored wall of the bar. The low lighting flickered in the reflection and the room seemed to narrow down to Luke and the bartender as he poured champagne. Champagne made her more tipsy than a hard drink, the bubbles going to her head faster.

  Then Luke was laughing, his smile deep, wide, head slightly turned. A woman about Bree’s age sat on a stool next to him. A redhead. She was pretty, her hair short and sassy. Was that why he’d gone to get the drinks rather than waiting for a server to come to the table? Bree drummed her fingers. He turned fully toward the redhead, holding only one flute of champagne, the other one still on the bar. They laughed together this time.

  Bree’s skin flushed hot. She never said what she wanted or what she didn’t want. It was always yes, Master, whatever you want, sometimes with passive-aggressive sarcasm, but she always said yes. She didn’t care what men did to her, as long as they wanted her, made her feel special, desirable. If Luke had given her to the dom at the club on Friday, she wouldn’t have minded as long as he’d stayed with her and told her how excited it made him, how hot and hard, how it was all about her.

  Yet right now, she was miles across a crowded room, and he was laughing with another woman. It was terrifying. She wanted to crawl across the floor and beg, debase and humiliate herself, anything to get him to stop, to notice her.

  The bartender brought his change, Luke waggled his fingers at the two champagnes, and suddenly there were three. Luke and the woman tipped glasses together, and she drank deeply, her eyes steady on him. Then she ran a finger down the sleeve of his suit jacket.

  Bree flinched as if she felt the arc of electricity between them.

  Please don’t make me do it.

  She didn’t want to watch him. And yet, as he gazed down at the big-breasted redhead, Bree could feel the wetness between her legs, every breath in and out of her lungs, her skin sensitized, her heart pounding. There was a certain excitement in being a voyeur, especially remembering what he’d said he’d do to her, tie her down, make her watch, make her do things. Yet at the same time, jealousy fueled her blood. God, he could probably see mountains of the woman’s cleavage from that angle.

  Bree didn’t have cleavage.

  He didn’t look at her across the tables, didn’t turn. But she felt him. He knew she couldn’t take her eyes off him, knew her thoughts. Do bad things to me. Anything you want. Everything you want. She knew he was totally and completely aware of her.

  He leaned on the bar and let the woman touch him, just his arm, but still an invasion of his personal space. She flipped her hair back, probably thinking it was sexy, and even over the distance, Bree thought she heard an annoying tinkle of laughter.

  Would he bring her to the table? He’d bought her a drink. It was the start of something.

  “You’re just too damn pretty to be sitting all by yourself without even a cocktail.”

  Bree jumped, knocking her knee on the underside of the table. The man slid a glass of white wine to her and slipped into the booth. “Mind if I join you?”

  Forty or so, short dark hair, suit and tie, handsome, with a nice smile and a wedding ring he didn’t bother to hide. Her gaze shot to Luke.

  He was otherwise occupied.

  “You looked so thirsty. Waiting for some girlfriends?”

  She shook her head and didn’t touch the wine.

  “A man then.
” He raised a brow and looked even more attractive. “Is he late?”

  A normal person would have used the opportunity to give Luke a little payback. Bree was suddenly terrified and not in a good way. She didn’t know how to talk to men, how to flirt. She didn’t know how to pay Luke back, and she didn’t even want to. She wanted Luke to direct everything, not have to take charge herself.

  Go away. She tried to say it with her eyes, yet all she could manage was another headshake.

  “So you arrived early.” He smiled, and it was nice. “Is he going to be jealous if he sees you drinking wine with another man?” His eyes sparkled in the waver of candlelight. “Maybe that will be a good thing.” He waved the backs of his fingers at the wine. “Go on, taste. I got you something sweet because you look so sweet.”

  Man, he was bold. And sure of himself. Just like Luke. She chanced a glance at Luke. He’d turned and he saw, picking up on her every move like radar.

  She was suddenly parched under his penetrating gaze and grabbed the wine to slake her thirst. It was far too sweet, more to her mother’s tastes, but the man . . .

  She looked at him, his handsome face and more than decent body. Why was he hitting on her? She wasn’t the USDA choice piece of meat here tonight. The woman with Luke offered more cleavage. So did the brunette Luke had pointed out.

  “Name’s Frank.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “And you are?”

  “Her name’s Bree.” Luke’s low voice didn’t even startle Frank, nor did the menace in Luke’s tone as he went on. “She’s taken. Buzz off.”

  Frank kept on smiling. “So I was right. Jealous lover in the wings.”

  Luke pushed the wine away from her fingertips and back at Frank, then replaced the glass with a champagne flute. “Jealousy would imply I have something to worry about.” Luke shark-smiled the guy. “I just prefer that Bree isn’t bothered by lounge lizards.”

  Frank laughed out loud, turning a few heads. “I haven’t heard that term since I watched the old fifties movies when I was a kid.”