Second Time Lucky (Club Decadence Book 5)

by Maddie Taylor

  “Sorry, but we need to get you inside. I don’t like you being out in the open this way.”

  He let her toes touch and once she was steady, he was off again. Soon the electric doors were swishing closed behind them.

  “I’d have carried you, but that would have drawn undue attention.”

  She nodded her understanding.

  “We need a cart.”

  As he stepped away, she looked around and was amazed to see the identical Walmart she shopped at in San Antonio. Everything was laid out exactly the same, groceries to the right, clothes and household items in the center, hardware to the left. With a clang of stuck carts, he soon had them on their way, wedging her between his much bigger body and the buggy.

  “Lean on the handle. Let the cart take some of the weight off that leg,” he ordered as he steered them both to the left at a much slower pace.

  He stopped by health and beauty first, throwing shampoo, body wash, two toothbrushes and toothpaste in the buggy. She grabbed a bottle of conditioner and dropped it in as they passed. The next aisle was hair color where he paused.

  “Blonde or redhead?”

  Unsure, she blinked up at him. “What?”

  “They’ll be looking for a brunette. Pick one.”

  Her hand went to her hair as she took in the array of brands and colors. She had no clue. She’d never dyed her hair herself, a trip to the salon one of the few luxuries she allowed herself on her budget. Hesitantly, she grabbed a color only a few shades lighter than her own medium brown. He promptly put it back and plucked a box of red off the shelf.

  Plucking the box back out, she eyed the label. “Rich copper. I don’t know.”

  “Baby, with those green eyes, you’ll be even more of a knockout as a redhead. Trust me.”

  She smiled at the unexpected compliment while he slid the box out of her grasp. He dropped it back in the buggy and with a nudge, on down the aisle they went.

  Next came hardware. At first, when he began tossing an odd array of items into the cart, she paid it little heed, but when his collection grew, his intent became clear. Gape mouthed, she stared at the oversized chamois mop, Duck tape, paint stirrers, 25 feet of natural fiber rope, two wooden dowels about two feet in length, and four doubled-ended snap hooks.

  She leaned over and gawked at the mop. It looked exactly like a flogger with about twenty short tails. Glancing back at him, she breathed. “You’re not serious.”

  His arched brow was her answer. Moving on, he guided her a few aisles over to the kitchen section.

  “Your turn. Twenty dollar limit, your choice, but if there isn’t at least one wooden spoon in your lot, I’m putting something back and replacing it. Be creative, we’ve got at least two weeks, probably more, before we go home and toys will help pass the time.”

  She stared at him. He merely returned her gaze a moment, then with a hand on her behind, gave her a gentle prod to get her moving down the kitchen gadget aisle.

  About ten minutes later Mara’s assortment had been added to the ever-growing pile in the cart. Her contribution included the requisite wooden spoon, a five pack actually, in different lengths. She’d also selected a rubber spatula. Mara was an experienced submissive, enough to know that wood had less give and the more narrow the point of impact, like the bowl of the spoon, the greater the sting delivered. Therefore, the spatula she chose was the biggest she could find, the wide end about the size of her hand. It shouldn’t sting as much as his paint stirrers or the spoons, at least in theory.

  After that, in went a four-pack of hot pink chip clips, and a rubberized freestanding paper towel holder. Smooth on one end, the base on the other resembled a flower and unbelievably had a suction cup on the bottom. It was molded all in one piece, so nothing would snap off and get dislodged in embarrassing places. When she dropped the phallic shaped item in the cart, he stared at it a moment, then up at her, his brow arched with interest.

  She shrugged. “You didn’t stipulate the items had to be for bondage and discipline.”

  “True.” Without further commentary on the purple dildo-esque gadget, although his grin gave away his wicked thoughts, he did some quick calculations. “That’s only fifteen bucks.” He’d then sent her back for more.

  Less than a minute later, she returned and threw a bright yellow item in the cart. “Can we go now?”

  Sean leaned over and stared at the last item for a moment before bursting into loud laughter. Although it was early, the store was busy and heads turned in their direction, both customers and workers, including a young man of about twenty who was busily stocking the shelves nearby.

  “Sh… you’re drawing attention.”

  As he doubled over, hee-hawing and convulsing over the handle of the cart, she crossed her arms and stared at him, tapping a toe and arching a brow in annoyance.

  “Seriously, Sean. How old are you? Two?”

  He stood, wiping his eyes. “I can’t help it. That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.” Reaching in the buggy, he pulled out her last pick and began reading the package for the Banana Bunker. It was a bright yellow, banana-shaped plastic storage container about nine inches long and two inches wide, the center third was ribbed and expandable.

  Watching him turn it over in his hands, she looked around to see if people were staring, feeling sure they would know exactly why she had picked that particular item out. One woman, an attractive forty-something redhead with big boobs, was watching Sean covertly, although not doing a good job of it, especially with her eyes continually darting from his package, to the one in his hand. The stock boy was watching them as well, not trying to be furtive at all, but staring outright. Mara grabbed the package and dropped it back in.

  “Let’s go before Wendy Walmart over there whose been drooling over you like a kid in a candy store decides she can’t take it anymore and begs for your banana in her bunker.”

  She turned and walked away knowing he followed by the sound of his renewed guffaws and the rattle of the shopping cart. Of the hundreds available out front, naturally they picked the only one with the juddering wheel.

  “It says it’s expandable so that your bunker will fit any size banana.” Again, he snickered, thoroughly amused.

  “Yeah, did it say if it was unisex? Because I’m thinking I know exactly where to stick that bunker?”

  “Ah, ah, your sass is showing. Do we need to make a trip to sporting goods and pick up a nice set of ping pong paddles?”

  She spun around to protest, noting his teasing grin straightaway.

  “C’mon. Where’s your sense of humor?”

  “Sorry, I must have left it back on aisle fifteen with wanton Wendy.” Her back to him, she didn’t have to suppress her grin, but the giggle that shook her shoulders gave her away.

  “Little imp,” he scolded playfully as he bent and nipped her ear.

  As they walked to the grocery aisles, Sean took an abrupt left turn. “We need to go down here.”

  Here was the baking section where he threw in vegetable oil and a small bottle of extract. She smiled; vanilla was her favorite scent and flavor. Now he was being reasonable. She changed her mind when he stopped in front of the baking utensils and picked up a long rectangular wooden cutting board with a handle. He hefted it, as if getting a feel for its weight and took a few swings in an underhand motion. He arched a brow her way as he placed her new paddle—no sense pretending it was anything else—in the basket with everything else.

  An hour later they left with a cart heaped full of goodies and enough groceries to last a week.

  * * * * *

  It was nearly noon before they returned to the beach house, their home away from home for the foreseeable future.

  “Whose place is this, anyway?” Mara asked, carrying the few light bags he allowed, while Sean hefted all of the rest, closing the trunk with his elbow and proceeding her up the walkway to the steps. At the bottom, he shifted the bags to his left hand while he pulled his gun from the shoulder holste
r beneath his jacket.

  “It belongs to Sergeant Beckett, Joanna’s dad. This is his vacation home. No one will see the connection. He also has a fairly good security system already installed.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, he ordered, “Keep close.”

  She curled her fingers inside his belt, hanging on as they began to climb. At the top, he flipped up a covered keypad and punched a few buttons, studying the display.

  “Constant green,” he commented as he keyed in another code.

  “What does that mean?”

  “No breaches detected since we left. Stay behind me just in case.” Setting the bags on the porch, he pressed enter and when the alarm flashed, he opened the door.

  While he made her wait in the entryway, he did a quick sweep of the house. After giving the all clear, she helped him carry the bags into the kitchen and put the groceries away. With the coffee set to brew and the oven pre-heating for cinnamon rolls with Cinnabon icing, Sean’s favorite thing ever, she turned to watch him spread the $20 lot of kitchen gadgets across the kitchen table.

  She walked forward, frowning. “There’s a lot of ouchie stuff here, babe. Good thing I had the foresight to buy a few fun toys.”

  “Baby, your idea of fun is a foot long, the other nine inches.”

  “And your point is?” she deadpanned.

  He laughed in the middle of stowing the hardware items on the top shelf of the pantry. “My point is you love the ouchie stuff.”

  She shrugged conceding the point. Seeing a produce bag that they’d missed putting away, she peeked inside. “Look who’s talking. When exactly did you sneak this in the cart?”

  He eyed the bag holding the fresh ginger root and shrugged. “I also bought soy sauce, rice and chicken for stir fry. Your mind must be in the gutter.”

  “Right,” she drawled.

  The sexy tilt of his mouth as he grinned made her forget the ginger and think of his full lips and talented tongue instead.

  “Mara-baby,” he began, pulling her close and licking up the side of her neck. “You know the game.” He caught an earlobe with his teeth, nipping it gently. “A sub serves at the pleasure of her Master. Thank fuck you get off on it as much as I do.”

  She snorted as she picked up another overlooked item. Peppermint oil, not vanilla as she’d foolishly thought. “I think you’ve turned sadist on me. Burning oils and inflammatory roots up my ass are not in our contract.”

  “We don’t have a contract yet and since you love warming gels and oils, burning roots and inflammatory oils are the next step, so they won’t be excluded when I write it. As always, you’ll have a safeword if things get too hot.”

  She snorted at his little play on words.

  He kissed her nose before taking her hand and leading her to the adjoining living room. “Before we get into any of that, we need to talk.”

  Groaning audibly, she dragged her feet, earning her a frown. The words, ‘we need to talk’ were becoming synonymous with Mara spilling her guts or Mara saying something incredibly stupid, or Mara agreeing to do something crazy like testifying against Victor Mendoza. With them back together, she was convinced in the future, it would also mean Mara gets a paddling over Sean’s knee.

  “Can’t we have breakfast first, or coffee at least? I’ve been up for three hours and I’m going into caffeine withdrawal.”

  “Stop exaggerating, we’re talking first. When did you get to be so obstinate?”

  “About three hours ago when you dragged me out of a warm bed to go grocery shopping and denied me coffee. FYI, that tends to make me grouchy.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll have to remember to use one of our brand spanking new anti-grouch implements before we leave next time.”

  Arriving at the sight of their obviously preordained tête-à-tête, he settled onto the plush looking couch and pulled her astride his lap.

  “And, do I need to remind you we had to go shopping for coffee before we could make it?”

  “No.” Glancing down, she smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle in his shirt, doing anything to keep from looking at him. “I’m sorry for being such a grump, but our talks haven’t been very pleasant lately. I’m being avoidant, not obstinate.”

  “The perfect reason to do this and put it all behind us.”

  “What exactly is ‘this’?”

  “You’re going to tell me a story, an autobiography to be exact. Let’s call it The History of Mara. Afterwards, we’ll clear the air with a spanking, which will be therapeutic for us both.”

  Mara could only focus on one thing at a time, so she zoned in on the scarier of the two. “Except for one sweet chapter I had with you, The History of Mara is a horror story, Sean. Dark and ugly.”

  Her fingers idly toyed with his buttons, straightening his perfectly straight collar as her mind raced to figure a way out of this. Stilling her nervous fingers with one hand, he captured her chin with the other and brought her head up, staring intently at her as though he could see straight into her soul.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time I know the whole of it? Keeping it to yourself is what kept us apart.”

  She nodded, swallowing discernibly. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  “You mean my alcoholic mother and the unknown sperm donor who inseminated her. Or do you mean the revolving door of daddy wannabes who wanted to get into my pants more than my drunk mother’s?”

  He flinched. She not only saw it, but also felt it like a roundhouse kick to the gut.

  “I told you it was dirty, Sean,” she whispered. “That’s why I never wanted you to find out.”

  “I know it’s not easy, baby, not by a long shot, but if we’re going to move forward I need to know. I want to help you cope with the shit storm you’ve been dealing with as much as to eliminate the secrets that have been keeping us apart.”

  “I don’t want you to know the rest. You heard me in Cap’s office. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Tell me how you got mixed up with Victor Mendoza.”

  She glowered at him. “Now who’s being obstinate?”

  The hand cupping her face slid around to the nape of her neck and pulled her face closer. With his forehead pressed against hers, he intoned low and stern, “Talk to me, Mara.”

  “Fine, you want to hear about how bad things got?” A bite of anger crept into her voice and she didn’t mince her words. “It went downhill after step-dad number three nearly raped me while mommy dearest was passed out on the living room couch.”

  “Is that when you ran away?” He spoke in a controlled murmur, although she heard the telltale vibration. This wasn’t easy for him either, but he felt strongly that he needed to know. With that knowledge and sensing the control he was exerting over his rage, she cut the crap and got to it.

  “I couldn’t stay, but running didn’t make things any easier.”

  “It rarely does.”

  Her eyes came up to meet his. Running from Sean had only made matters worse.

  For the next hour, he held her in supportive silence, his arms locked like iron bands around her, lending her his strength. She revealed all of her filthy secrets. About stealing a wad of cash, nearly five hundred dollars it turned out, from step-daddy’s wallet after she cold cocked him with a lamp. She told him about living on the streets of D.C. frightened and alone for weeks until her money ran out, how Victor had found her and took her in, fed and cared for her, promised to protect and love her, and how like the naïve girl she was, she believed him.

  She glossed over the specifics of the three years she’d spent hooking for Victor, like the interminable line of nameless men wanting to get off with a teenage girl while their wives minded their own children at home. One man had the gall to show her a picture of his wife and three teenage daughters. It had made her sick that he saw no correlation. She didn’t disclose all of that to Sean, what was the point of him knowing all the gory details of the ugly business of teen prost
itution.

  While she told her ugly story, Sean held her quietly, his hand stroking gently, but beneath the surface, she could feel his rage simmering, maintaining control for her sake but ready to boil over at any second. She spoke without stopping, knowing if she did, she would break down and not be able to finish. If one thing was certain, she was going to finish. She wanted the retelling done, unwilling to go through this ever again.

  Mara explained how she’d tried to get away only to have him haul her back, beating her for her daring. The one time she’d gone home her mother had been sauced. Her stepfather on the other hand, had a different reaction. Unlike Victor, he hadn’t merely threatened the cops; he’d actually called them the moment she stepped on the porch. She’d left that day—running again, her standard M.O.—leaving behind the only home she’d ever known, crap as it was, and never looked back.

  After that she fell silent, feeling drained, the need for coffee and food having long since vanished.

  “How did you get away from him, baby?”

  Her head came up at the strange hitch in his breathing. His cheeks were wet with tears. She gently wiped them away with her fingers. “Please don’t cry, Sean. It was a long time ago.”

  His hands came up and caught her wrists. “It’s as fresh in your memory as if it was yesterday. Isn’t it, nightingale?”

  “I try not to think of it.”

  “But you do. All the times I found you staring off into space with a creased brow or a pained look on your face, you told me it was nothing, but you were remembering, weren’t you?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes something entirely benign jars a repressed memory loose.”

  “It haunts your dreams.”

  With her face buried in his chest, she nodded again. The nightmares had lessened as the years passed, infrequent during the time she was with Sean, only to reemerge in the time they’d been apart.

  “I want to rip his fucking head off, but that’s too good for him, too easy. He needs to suffer. To go to prison and become the bitch of someone named Luther or Bubba and learn firsthand what it’s like to be violated, repeatedly and not be able to do one damn thing about it.”