Training Sasha (Club Zodiac Book 1)

by Becca Jameson

  “A wand, Sir?”

  “Okay, so not a wand. What?”

  She was stuck on whatever a wand was.

  “I’ll tell you about wands later, baby. What goes into this tight pussy?” He slid a finger in again.

  She moaned. It felt so amazing.

  His finger came back out. He dragged it through her folds, over and over. “We can do this all night, Sasha.”

  “Nothing,” she blurted out, a whoosh of oxygen leaving her lungs. “Nothing goes into me, Sir.”

  He stilled for a moment, his finger hovering against that elusive spot, driving her impatience through the ceiling. “Nothing,” he murmured. “Though that makes sense, it also doesn’t. I know you masturbate. You have told me so, and you demonstrated your ability earlier.”

  He released her pussy with the hand not currently inside her and slid it up her body. Before she had an idea of his intentions, he pinched her nipple. Hard. Not as hard as earlier, but he got her attention. “Tell me what you’re holding back or I stop.”

  She whimpered. Was it worth this battle? Not if he followed through on his threat. “I saved penetration, Sir.” For you. “I come easily from touching my clit, especially if I use the butterfly. Really easily. So, I saved it.”

  He stilled, his finger languidly resting against the inside of her channel. “You’re telling me you haven’t experimented with even a dildo?”

  “Right, Sir.” She was mortified. Who did that? Masturbated. Daily. Religiously. Without allowing herself penetration. To visions of the unobtainable boss at her brother’s fetish club.

  She swore she could feel his smile against her cheek. “And this embarrasses you?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. It was humiliating.

  “Well, I don’t see why. It makes my cock so hard, I’m going to come in my jeans. That’s the single sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  She pursed her lips. His response seemed strange.

  Besides, she wished he would at the very least remove said jeans. Damn him.

  He inhaled slowly, his finger still lodged inside her, making her want to scream. Sure, she could come easily and with frequency. But he was torturing her. When she did it, she knew exactly where to focus her attention with what pressure and how long. He kept flitting away from the place she most needed his attention just before she came.

  Maddening.

  “How often?”

  “Pardon. Sir?”

  “How often do you masturbate?”

  No. No no no no no.

  He chuckled. “Don’t answer that.”

  Thank you, God.

  “I have never met a woman like you.”

  Like me how? Freakishly weird about her obsessive need to come while denying herself the feeling of having even an object inside her?

  “You’re so damn sexy. You don’t know it. And you’re filled with surprises that would bring any man to his knees. We’ll be discussing this again another time. But for now, I’m going to assume that my little sub needs to come so badly she’s about to explode.”

  He was not wrong.

  He added a second finger to the first, thrust them inside her, and fucked her so fast and hard the breath left her body.

  She didn’t need it. Breathing was highly overrated. She simply prayed she could follow all his rules while he drove into her. If not, she would die. It was no longer questionable.

  She arched her neck, gripped the arms of the chair, and held her breath.

  “Come for me, baby.”

  At his command, she shattered around his fingers, her channel gripping them with every pulse. It was even better than her earlier orgasm when he watched her masturbate.

  It was the first time she’d ever come at someone else’s hand.

  It was Lincoln’s hand.

  It was exquisite.

  It was perfection.

  Chapter 18

  Lincoln stood in front of the glass door that led from his bedroom to the backyard. He’d intentionally had the builder add that feature so he could walk right out into the night and take a dip in the pool.

  Tonight he didn’t even see the pool. Maybe it was still there. Maybe it wasn’t. He was facing the night, but all he saw was the running reel of Saturday’s events as they rushed through his mind.

  It was so late now, it could no longer be considered Saturday.

  After making his little sub come harder than he’d ever seen a woman give it up for him, he’d carried her limp body into her room, ensured she could stand to use the bathroom, and then tucked her into bed when she returned.

  She hadn’t spoken. Every sound she’d made was unintelligible.

  She’d been in subspace. From coming around his fingers. He’d climbed onto the bed and held her back against his front, carefully staying on top of the blankets. He’d smoothed his fingers over her temple until she fell into a deep sleep.

  It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to strip off his jeans and fuck the life out of her.

  As it was, he was struggling to see how that wouldn’t happen in the end no matter what.

  He set his forehead against the cool glass of the door and groaned. He hadn’t even taken his cock in hand after leaving her. In his warped mind, his punishment for even thinking of fucking her was to deny himself release.

  Rowen was going to kill him. That had been established several times. This was day one for fuck’s sake.

  Sasha was his. His.

  The thought of her with another man made him fist his hands. His blood boiled. No one else would ever touch her.

  But fuck. That was not the plan. Not even close. Fuck it all. He was in so deep he couldn’t see straight. What was he supposed to do?

  He couldn’t keep her. She was not his. She was his and she was not his.

  He was an ass for thinking that he wouldn’t have her but no one else would either. She deserved more. She deserved the world.

  He could not give her the world. Even if he somehow lived through her brother filling him with holes, he still couldn’t have her. She was not a masochist. His life had revolved around taking women to subspace through sadism. Years of carefully and artfully arranging women to get emotional release from whatever form they needed. It was ingrained in him. People counted on him to take care of them. They arranged scenes with him weeks in advance.

  He enjoyed it. It gave him a sense of peace. It was in his blood. He owned the club for fuck’s sake. It was his life.

  Sasha would be horrified if she knew who he was and what he did. He groaned again. He pictured the look on her face if she ever saw him beating another woman until she cried. Because that’s how it would appear to Sasha. She wouldn’t understand. He would look like a monster to her, or at the very least an abuser.

  He knew better. He knew he was a master at his work—literally. He could read a sub so well that no one had ever needed to use their safeword with him. That wasn’t to say he’d never drawn blood. Occasionally that’s what a sub requested. If Sasha knew that…

  Fuck.

  Frustration ate a hole in him. He was stuck. Damned no matter what.

  He had to let her go. Go where? He had no idea. He needed to talk to Carter. Figure something out. Today was the one and only day he could have her. It had been the best day of his life. Perfect in every way. Beautiful.

  But he would only make things worse the longer he kept up this farce.

  Training her? What a joke. If he admitted it to himself, he’d known what would happen the entire time. He’d taken a risk. He’d been selfish. He never should have been the one to follow her last Friday to Breeze. He shouldn’t have offered to train her. He should have recused himself later and turned her over to Carter. Anyone else. Not him. Not a sadist. Not someone who could never be who she thought he was.

  He knew she had a thing for him. He’d known that before last week. He’d seen the way she looked at him over the years. When he caught her, her face would flush a deep pretty red and she would look away.


  It made his cock hard every time. He could deny it. But he would be lying.

  At first it had been plain sick and wrong. She’d been seventeen and he’d been twenty-five. Illegal. Thank God she had avoided both him and the club for the entire next year. At least the next time he set eyes on her, she wasn’t jailbait.

  He should have turned around that day too. Run. She’d been too young even then. Too innocent. Hell, she still was.

  Or had been.

  Until he fucking touched her today.

  He’d taken a piece of her a few hours ago, a piece he never should have stolen. It wasn’t his to take. He’d been selfish, his decision making clouded with lust. He’d thought of nothing except ensuring he was the first man who had the privilege of bringing her to orgasm. He could still taste her sweet essence on his lips. Had she even been coherent enough to notice when he sucked her juices from his fingers?

  He’d held himself together for over an hour reclining on that lounge chair with her sexy, pert, naked body plastered to his chest. He’d even given her a piece of himself—because she’d asked it of him. He’d told her things he’d never discussed with anyone. Freely. Without hesitation.

  He’d been in control.

  And then from one beat to the next, he’d lost all control when he realized how fucking sexual his little sub was. So sexual that he knew from her words and the look on her face that she fucking masturbated every day, at least once. Probably more often, though he hadn’t forced her to admit that out loud.

  And she’d saved herself. He couldn’t stop thinking about the beauty of knowing she hadn’t simply been a virgin. She’d literally saved herself entirely.

  For him?

  His chest hurt. God.

  No one would ever suspect what lay beneath the innocent-looking exterior that was Sasha Easton.

  A Dom could use that to his advantage, especially when working with a sexual submissive. One so needy that she required frequent release. Thoughts of keeping her on edge for long periods of time slammed into his imagination. Restraining her so that she had no choice but to endure that sweet edge. Making her go without for entire days. Forcing her to come so many times in a row that she lost her mind.

  The possibilities were endless with someone as responsive as her.

  For someone else, you ass. She’s not yours.

  But he couldn’t stop the mental assault that tortured him, tempting him with what he could not have.

  He groaned against the window at the memory of the moment he’d internalized how greedy her sweet body was. She clearly had an enormous sexual appetite most men wouldn’t be able to compete with.

  His damn stiff cock grew harder. Again. He needed to stop this trip down memory lane. Stop picturing the way she so wantonly blossomed for him. The way her mouth hung open in raw ecstasy. The way her eyes glazed over after she gave it all up. For me.

  He was a total ass. He never should have taken that from her.

  And Rowen. He groaned again. The man was like a brother. They had a bond. Same with Carter. All three of them had a special connection from serving in the army before coincidentally making their way to the same BDSM club and discovering this mutual background when Lincoln bought Club Zodiac five years ago. He loved those guys. They were brothers.

  And he was about to fuck that up so royally it would never be repaired.

  All because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

  Well, technically, it had never come out of his jeans, not even when he was alone today. But in the past five years it had been out. Lots of times. More than he could count. With her image in his mind.

  He’d had other women. Several of them. But he’d never let them inside his shell. He’d done what was socially appropriate by taking them to dinner before he’d fucked them, but he never felt a connection.

  And the women he dominated? He’d never felt sexual while working. It was more like a job. It filled a craving. Not a sexual one. Sadism was an outlet. Ingrained in him. Part of what made Lincoln who he was. It had blossomed from a young age and matured over time until it became his primary focus after he got out of the service.

  For a long time, he led a double life, living with his mom, working, and attending college by day while learning everything he could from Master Christopher as his apprentice by night. The day he finally graduated with his business degree was the one and only time he ever saw Master Christopher outside of the underground club.

  The mentor and friend he’d come to love had attended his graduation, shocking Lincoln and humbling him. Afterward, he had given Lincoln a gift, a crudely wrapped package that made Lincoln smile trying to picture the older man wrangling wrapping paper and tape.

  Master Christopher showed Lincoln more emotion in that moment than he’d seen in all the years he’d known him. “I’m proud of you. Open this in private, son,” was all he said.

  Lincoln had nodded and watched as his mentor walked slowly away, swallowed up by the crowd. Lincoln had soon been swept into his mother’s embrace and had waited until later that night in the privacy of his room to open the gift. There were two things inside—an intricately crafted soft leather whip that Lincoln was certain Master Christopher had made himself and an envelope.

  He admired the craftsmanship of the whip for several minutes before setting it back in the box and taking out the envelope. Carefully tearing the end, he extracted the single trifold page. When he opened it, something else fell into Lincoln’s lap. A check. Shocked and unwilling to look at the dollar amount, he leaned back to read his mentor’s words.

  Dear Master Lincoln,

  I can call you that. You have more than earned the title. I want you to know how proud I am of everything you’ve accomplished. If I’d had a son, I would have wanted him to be exactly like you. Strong. Confident. Intelligent. And a Dominant in every sense of the word.

  You have persevered through hard times, fighting for our country and then putting yourself through school while taking care of your mother and burying your father. I’ve watched you grow into the finest young man I know.

  I know you are destined for great things in life. The world is your oyster. But I also know your passion will always lead you back to BDSM. You are a true Master Sadist. They are rare and precious in the community. Any masochist, male or female, would be privileged to submit to you.

  Years ago, in my youth, I had the lofty idea that I would open my own club. I spent my adult life saving to make that a reality. I never had the guts to go through with it, always finding excuses. The truth is I didn’t have the business sense to manage a club.

  I’m an old man now, ready to retire my flogger and my whip. My hands are no longer as steady as they once were. I won’t be returning to the club anymore. I’m leaving this evening to join my daughter and her family in Colorado. They’ve invited me to move in with them. I’ve missed seeing her as often as I should, and I want to watch my grandchildren grow up.

  I saved a bit of a nest egg over the years, and I want you to have a piece of it. Open a club of your own and fulfill my dreams. You have the strength, the education, the youth, and the skills to be the best club owner in Miami.

  Take this check. Do as I’ve said. It’s time for me to leave the sadism to the younger crowd. I’ll be watching for your name and smile with pride when I see your success and prosperity.

  It’s been a pleasure having you as my apprentice. I hope it has meant as much to you as it has to me.

  Good luck. Make me proud. Follow your passion. Trust me when I say you are a true sadist. You are ready. Go. Grab your dreams. Don’t let the years slip away like I did. Nothing will make me prouder than to watch you making my wish a reality from a distance.

  Peace,

  Master Christopher

  For a long time that day Lincoln sat there, holding the single piece of paper and fighting his emotions. The thought of Master Christopher moving across the country dug deep and left a hole in his chest. Lincoln had grown accustomed to seeing his
mentor at least once a week. When he finally managed to pick up the check that had fluttered to his lap, he was stunned.

  The next day, Lincoln had set out to make Christopher’s dream—and Lincoln’s too—a reality. Two months later, he’d met John Gilbert and knew that fate had brought him to Club Zodiac.

  Lincoln opened his eyes, jerking back to the present. His mind had wandered for so long he didn’t even know what time it was. He righted himself and stared out into the night once again. He wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But he knew several things about himself.

  Why the memory of that letter and all it represented filtered into his mind tonight of all nights, he would never know. But it jolted him back to reality. He was a sadist first and foremost. Not a lover. The two things didn’t go together. He was resigned to the knowledge that he would never find the right sort of woman to permanently take to his bed.

  Hell, he had not even taken Sasha to his bed or even his room.

  No. He had to separate himself from her, get her out of his system. He was doing a disservice to Master Christopher by even thinking about taking on a sexual submissive and hanging up his whips.

  Sure, he could try, but how much time would pass before he missed the thrill of sadism and grew to resent the woman who kept him from it? In the end, he would only hurt her more.

  This had to end now.

  He needed to explain to her that this wasn’t working. It could never work. She was the wrong kind of sub for him. He was the wrong kind of Dom for her. She needed to understand that before this went one second further. Before she got hurt. Before he got hurt. Because dragging this out any longer would be detrimental to both of them.

  He needed to arrange for her to leave. He needed to make a call. He just hoped Carter wouldn’t come over with a rifle when Lincoln woke him up this early on a Sunday morning.

  Chapter 19

  As Sasha slowly came awake, she sighed, burrowing deeper under the covers. Her pillow felt unusually soft, her sheets smelling odd as if she’d switched detergent. She was so tired. Not ready to get up. As she stretched from her balled-up position to roll onto her back, her nipples grazed the top sheet.