by Cathryn Cade
And from the flush on her lightly freckled cheeks and the look in her big brown eyes, she was aware of him. Very aware.
Now, finally, she was here, in his club, his domain where he was an acknowledged dominant. Where he could let this side of him out to roar.
And he wanted to unleash his dom on Sara James, carefully and with control. He wanted his collar around her slender throat and his key hanging where everyone could see it.
He headed for the Club 3 office door. “I’m off duty,” he said.
“Thought you might be. We’re covered—Mase and Twyla are both on the floor, since it’s guest night. You’re just eye candy, pretty boy.”
Trace held up his middle finger without turning around. He closed the office door on the sound of Jake’s deep chuckle.
The main club room was large and lamp-lit, created from three smaller rooms of the old house. At the back a short hallway headed to four small bedrooms and a staircase slanted up across the wall to the right.
They’d turned the middle of this main room into a dance floor. Tonight several couples moved to the beat of Nickleback. A DJ hovered over a small station with colored lights pulsing. Small tables ringed the dance floor, while a long, art deco bar straight from the 1920s lined the wall on the left.
Trace threaded his way through the people coming and going from the locker rooms and restrooms, his gaze on the woman standing just inside the main doors. He lost sight of her a few times, but in the glimpses he got, she looked tense enough to bolt, her gaze wary, body stiff.
He reached her just before another dom did. Trace placed one hand on the small of her back and raised his brows at D’Aurien, a big, good-looking guy with an eye for the new subs. The other dom scowled at him. “Man, I saw her first.”
Trace savored the slender back beneath his palm. “Sara’s a new member. I’ll be showing her around.”
“Next time, baby.” D’Aurien sauntered away.
But Sara had stiffened even further beneath his touch. Unease whispered across the back of Trace’s neck. Something was off. Could he have been wrong about her?
He slid his hand up her back, turning her toward him. She turned obediently, her solemn gaze locked with his. He smiled. “What big eyes you have, little Red.”
She pressed her lips inward and released them, her gaze falling to his chest. “I like your vest,” she said.
“Thank you,” he returned. He put his other hand on her waist, reveling in the lithe curves in his grasp and the way his big hands met around her waist. “I like your dress. Prettiest outfit I’ve seen you in yet.” He liked her strappy platforms too, as they made her tall enough that her eyes were level with his mouth. Less distance that he had to bend to kiss her. She’d be on her knees for the rest of what he planned to do with those pretty pink lips.
Her breasts jiggled, and he felt rather than heard her snort of nervous laughter. “I’m covered up like a nun compared to a lot of the women here.”
“You look good to me.” Of course he was going to take her dress off and enjoy the contrast of her collared throat and bare breasts and pussy, but that was for later, when they were upstairs in one of the private rooms.
Trace reached into the pocket of his black slacks and pulled out his key, a narrow ornamental key hanging from a wide, lacy black band.
“You could put this on, be even more covered up.”
She stared at it as if mesmerized. He dipped his knees and sank to her eye level, keeping his gaze gentle, even though his dom wanted to order her to take it, that he’d waited long enough. “Sara, you with me? You want to try submitting, right?”
Her big, whiskey-brown eyes turned his way. She searched his face. Then she swallowed and shook her head, her brows drawn together. The look rocked him back on his heels, shock slamming into his chest as if she’d punched him. What the fuck?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But… I mean, I do, but…not with you.”
She didn’t want him. She wanted this, but not with him. How could he have been so wrong about the pull between them? Never in his years as a dom had he made a mistake like this.
Trace shoved his key back in his pocket and yanked his composure into place, both with an iron grip. She’d refused his key. That meant he had no choice but to back off.
He didn’t have to like it. His dom was roaring at him to grab her and toss her over his shoulder, carry her away where he could order her to submit to him. But that wasn’t how it worked. There were rules for her safety, he’d never broken them, and he never would.
He nodded brusquely, although his neck and shoulders were so tight they ached. “All right, then. Enjoy your evening. Be safe.”
Chapter Two
Trace looked over her head, his expression no longer warm but closed off. Done with her.
Then he walked away, swerving around one of the large bowls on illuminated stands, full of jewel-toned condoms in cellophane wrappers. The hidden lights made the condoms look as innocently inviting as a bowl of fruit-flavored candy.
Sara watched, her chest burning, as Trace stopped by the bar, bending his head to listen as a blonde in a tiny black vinyl dress, with all kinds of hair and a beauty-pageant smile, spoke to him. He grinned and slipped his arm around her waist. Guess he’d be choosing one of those condoms to use with her. And she’d no doubt love every moment, like a little girl with candy.
She was relieved, Sara told herself. She’d escaped from a bad marriage, and she’d just averted another big mistake. Trace was too intense. He frightened her—or at least the way he made her feel frightened her. As if she could just kneel at his feet and he’d make everything all right. Which was just stupid, because no man was going to do that for her. She had to concentrate on that, and not on the sick feeling that maybe she’d just thrown away the chance for the hottest sex she’d ever dreamed of.
Not to mention his friendship, his protection. Having him check in every time she was at the gym made her feel safe, cared for, like she mattered. He was probably done with that too.
She swallowed and looked away from Trace and his blonde. This club was full of guys, nearly all of them available.
She just had to pick one, right?
“Hey there, gorgeous,” said a voice in her ear.
Sara started and turned to find another man standing beside her. At first glance he could have been Trace’s brother. Tall, blond, slender, wearing a dark shirt and pants, he wore his hair longer than Trace’s, curling around his ears and collar.
He surveyed her with a smile of appreciation on his handsome face. No, he was more like an echo of Trace. One without the intense virility of the original. His nose was shorter, his eyes closer together, and his gaze was hungry all right, but it didn’t look inside her. His eyes reflected his desires, not hers. He was just a guy looking for a good time.
“Hi,” she said, smiling back.
“I’d like to buy you a drink,” he said, smiling into her eyes. “How about it?”
What the heck. He was cute, he was wearing one of her favorite men’s colognes, Dior for men, he found her attractive, and he didn’t shred her into a quivering mass of pheromones. He was safer than Trace, much safer.
“Sure,” she agreed. “I’m Sara.”
He put one hand on the small of her back. His hand was hot through the fabric of her dress. “I’m Kevin.”
A short time later, Sara came to the sickening realization that she had made a mistake. A very big mistake.
After downing a drink while she sipped a margarita and exchanging a few remarks half-heard over the music, Kevin had disappeared into the men’s room while she sat at the bar, his key around her wrist, and tried not to gape at the people around her.
Nearby, a couple was making out at one of the tables. The man held his nearly nude date on his lap, kissing her deeply as his hand worked between her thighs. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, but she sure seemed to be enjoying her situation.
On the dance floor, people were rocking out to
Three Doors Down. One woman was doing an enthusiastic strip tease while several people ringed her and applauded.
Sara smiled as a familiar man shouldered through the crowd to her. Tall, bearded, broad-shouldered, Dack wore his long hair tied back. Tonight he wore a tight black T-shirt and pants. He also wore, incongruously, a pair of amber-lensed sunglasses. She had never seen him without them, but on him, they worked.
“Hi, Dack.”
He stopped before her, one hand on the bar, commanding the space around him. “Hey, Sara. How you doing?”
“Fine,” she said.
He peered at her wrist. “See you got a key. Who you waitin’ on?”
Her stomach twisted with embarrassment. She wished for a moment that she knew no one here. She felt like a kid justifying herself to a teacher. “His name is Kevin.” Crap, that had come out sounding more like a question than a statement, as if she were asking for his approval.
Dack’s jaw tightened. She sat up straighter, flustered and irritated. First Trace, now Dack was not happy with her.
“Sara,” Dack said. “This being your first time, you make sure you and he are real clear on what you will and won’t do. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay. Sure.” He was worried about her. That was nice.
“And it would be best if you stayed in the public area.” He jerked his chin at the array of big leather sofas and chairs in the back of the big room, in the deep shadows of the upstairs balcony.
Sara nodded because Dack waited for her to do so, but she had no intention of doing anything in front of other people. That might be his thing, but she hoped Kevin wasn’t also into public sex, or she’d be using her safe words sooner than she’d expected.
Dack looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he looked past her, shaking his head in some silent communication.
Sara looked over her shoulder, straight into Trace’s eyes. He stood at the bar a short distance away, the blonde still hanging on him. He had his arm around her, his hand on her ass, but he was scowling at Sara. As if she had no right to do what she wanted in his club. His displeasure sent a cold shiver through her. Part of her wanted to slip off her stool and beg for his forgiveness.
Argh, what was she thinking? This was exactly why she did not belong with him. She didn’t want another man whose opinion could turn her into a quivering mess. She was here for sex, hot and fun. That was all.
Sitting up straight on her bar stool, she turned her back on him with a toss of her head.
Dack scowled at her. “Sara, here at the club, you need to—”
“Hey, babe, you ready?” It was Kevin again, pushing through the crowd to her side. He slid his arm around her and pulled her close, facing Dack, who gave him a hard look. As if he was making sure Kevin knew she was looked after.
Kevin returned the look in a way that said the two men knew each other and didn’t like what they knew. What was going on? Was Dack unhappy because Trace was? She knew they were close, like brothers, according to Daisy. Or was there something more going on here?
She liked Dack, and she trusted him. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but a new song started, loud and raucous. Doubtful he could have heard anything she said anyway. She shrugged mentally. She planned to be careful, and besides, she could feel Trace’s gaze burning a hole in her bare back, and she had no intention of letting him intimidate her.
She turned to Kevin and nodded to show she was ready.
Ignoring the niggling unease in the pit of her stomach, she followed him through the crowd, skirting the dance floor and the seating area of big leather furniture. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she saw the couple she’d walked in with. The woman was bent over, skirt up to her waist. Her husband stood before her, and she was sucking his cock while another man stood behind her, taking her from behind.
Kevin’s grip tightened, and Sara had to run to keep up as he towed her along a short, lamplit hallway and into a bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and turned to her. He sniffed and tossed his hair back, his eyes glittering.
The hair on the back of Sara’s neck stood up. He looked different, acted different than he had before. The look in his eyes was intense, but in a way that was all wrong.
She took a step back, perspiration pricking her underarms and palms. “Kevin, what’s going on?”
“Whaddya mean?” he asked, his head going back in exaggerated innocence. “I’m ready to party.”
Her unease deepened. “Are you—have you taken some kind of drugs?”
He laughed, throwing back his head to reveal his white teeth. “Just a snort of the good stuff, babe. You should try it.” He gave a whoop of excitement and waggled his brows at her.
“You snorted cocaine?” Oh, shit. That was why he’d gone to the men’s room.
She had to get out of here. She knew just enough about cocaine to know it could change one’s personality, strip away all inhibitions. She sidled toward the door, real fear coursing through her now.
Only a few steps to the door; she could make it. She’d just act casual. “Y’know, I’m not into partying like that. I’m sure you understand, I’ll just—”
“Whoo-yeah!” he crowed as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’m feeling good. Now come here and make me feel better, sub. I want you on your knees, begging for it.”
Sara broke for the door. She had just reached it, her hand on the knob, when he grabbed her arm in a bruising grip. “C’mon, I know you want it, sub. You like it rough? I can do rough.”
“You bastard. No, I don’t want it rough, and I don’t want you. Let me go.” She braced her feet for leverage as she pulled against his grasp. Her ankle turned in her flimsy sandals, and she lurched against him. He was so much stronger than her.
Time slowed, every tiny movement and sound recorded in perfect clarity, like a horrible parody of a ballet. She heard the muffled thump of the music from the dance floor, the sound of his breathing, and smelled his cologne and the faint scent of cleaners. Felt his hand biting into her arm, the heat of his body against hers and the texture of his shirt under her fingers as she shoved at him.
Sara sucked in a breath to scream. Kevin clamped his hand over her mouth and laughed again, shoving her down on the end of the big bed. “Oh no. None of that, baby. We’re just getting started.”
He grasped the top of her dress and yanked—hard. Sara wrenched her head away from his hand and screamed as the flimsy knit tore with a dull ripping sound, scraping the side of her neck before falling away. He dragged it down, hauling her panties with it.
Naked in his arms, Sara knew real terror. Now there was nothing between them, not even the illusion of protection lent by a dress and panties. He was going to rape her—right here, just feet away from a club full of people.
“No!” she screamed. Her breath sobbing from her lungs, she went for his face, clawing at his eyes with her nails, kicking to try to knee him in the balls. “Help! Somebody help me!”
He gave a yell of pain and threw her onto the bed, his face contorted with rage, eyes wild and now red, blood welling from a scratch. “You little slut! Now you’re really asking for it.”
Sara saw his hand coming, but all she could do was close her eyes. His knuckles hit her on the left side of her face, and the blow knocked her head sideways. Pain radiated from her cheekbone and her brow.
She braced herself to keep fighting him, even through the pain, because now he wanted to hurt her—that was clear.
Then he flew backward, letting go of her so suddenly that Sara fell off the bed, landing hard on her hands and knees. She scuttled back into the folds of the bedspread, hoarse animal whimpers emanating from her throat, and stared through her tousled hair.
Trace—it was Trace. He had Kevin in a headlock, his arm around Kevin’s throat, one arm twisted behind his back while his captive struggled, choking. Kevin’s face was dark, his eyes bugging out as he struggled for air.
“You son of a bitch.” Trace’s voice shook with rage as he tighten
ed his grip, shaking Kevin like a wolf with a smaller animal in its jaws. “I’m gonna kill you for this.”
“Whoa, keep it calm, brother,” Dack ordered, appearing beside them. “Trace, ease up. Get him out the back. Cops are on the way.”
“Get Sara,” Trace ordered. He looked down at her, his face livid, eyes so fierce she huddled deeper against the bed. “Check her over. Get a blanket.”
“We’ll take care of her. You take out the trash.”
Dack crouched before Sara, his head cocked to peer into her face. He looked furious too, she noted dimly. Sara could only stare at him, shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. She felt cold, as if she sat in an icy draft.
“Come here, babe,” Dack said gently. He reached for her slowly, and when she didn’t protest, too numb to do so, he gathered her into his arms and lifted her. He carried her around the bed and sat, holding her with her back to the door.
She curled into a ball. His arms enclosed her, warm and strong, one hand patting her back.
“Get me a blanket,” he said over her head. Then he bent his head to her. “Sara, it’s okay. You’re safe now. I got you. I got you. Sweetie, did he have time to, ah, penetrate you in any way?”
She struggled to form the words. “N-n-no,” she managed. “No. B-but he—he said he was going to—to make me beg for it. I tried to leave, I did, but he—”
“Yeah, I know,” Dack said, rocking her gently. “I know. Well, you won’t have to worry about seeing him ever again, darlin’. Hush,” he soothed. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re fine now.” His voice was a low rumble over her head and under her ear, reassuring. “Kevin’s a worthless, sadistic asshole, and he’s goin’ down for this. That I promise you.”
