Conviction

by Jane Henry

  Well, yeah, I did.

  “Beatrice says you’re friends with Zack,” I say, feeling defensive. “Any friend of Zack’s is a friend of mine.”

  He snickers. “Weird logic, babe. Answer the question.” Now his voice holds an edge, and I wonder where he’s going with this.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then yes. You walked out of that party with me, therefore that makes me your keeper. For now. And I saw you tossing back those shots like they were water. So let’s do something else instead of destroying our livers.”

  I snort. Jesus. “Are you for real?”

  And before I know what’s happening, he tugs my wrist and pulls me close, with one fluid motion pinning me up against the brick wall of the building behind us. My instincts war with my desire to be dominated. I’m a fighter. I could have this man sprawling on the ground in front of me and begging for mercy if I wanted to, but I love the way my heart races. I love the way I feel small and subdued like this. He doesn’t know who I am. I eye his large form. A quick duck and knee to the groin area would have him groaning and incapacitated in seconds, but I have to remind myself that he’s not my aggressor. This is something way different, and hell… better.

  I blink up at him. His arms are on either side of me, caging me in, and his blue eyes are locked with mine. He’s huge and he smells so fucking good my mouth practically waters. I’m not used to men like this. I’m the one in charge, calling the shots, and making sure that men fucking respect me. I swear to God I can’t even remember the last time I was with a guy. There’s a teasing glint in his look, but a hint of steel I can’t deny. My head spins like I just stepped off a merry-go-round.

  He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Yeah, babe. Question is, are you gonna do what you’re told or not?”

  My heart flutters even as my mind reels with how wrong this is. “And if I don’t?” I whisper. There’s something about him that says danger and I fucking love it, like toeing the edge of a cliff, or standing by train tracks with the approaching screech of metal on metal rumbling in the distance warning me. Danger’s so close I can taste it, but I love the way it makes my heart race. How I feel so damn alive.

  He shakes his head with a hint of regret that makes my panties dampen. God, I need this. “If you don’t? Then I might have to make you.”

  I feel my insides clench in warning.

  Beatrice warned me. Was this what she was warning me about?

  I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “Oh yeah?” I whisper.

  And then I know: I want him to make me.

  A siren sounds in the distance, a crowd of people walk past us laughing and jostling each other, and far away a dog barks, but all I can focus on is the sound of his breathing and mine. I swallow hard and blink, but then decide I’m gonna make this happen. I’ve never once had a one-night stand but hell, something tells me this guy will make it worth it.

  I slide under his arms pressed on either side of me, gently nudge him back, grab his shirt and tug him down to me. He looks at me in surprise, but I don’t wait, I fling my hands around the back of his head and tug his beautiful, gorgeous mouth down to mine and kiss him hard. He moans, pushing his body closer to mine, but within seconds I realize it’s because he’s taking back control, backpedaling me, and my wrists are pinned to my sides. My heart races, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the excitement, or fear—maybe all of the above—but I lose my mind a little. Wriggling my wrists free, I pretend to reach out to hug him, then reach around slap his beautiful, perfect ass. The sound reverberates around us like the clanging of a gong, and his whole body tightens. His blue eyes darken and he seems… dangerously amused.

  “You just slapped the ass of a dominant, sweetheart.”

  A… what?

  A nervous giggle bubbles up without my consent, but the giggle is soon swallowed in the wind as he dips down, tucks his shoulder into my belly, and lifts me straight up in the air and over his shoulder like a caveman. I half expect him to roar and pound his chest or drag me by the hair and call me woman in grunts.

  Holy shit! What the hell is he doing?

  “Ahhhhhh!” I scream, but he silences me with a firm but teasing swat on the rear, and I swear the smack goes straight to my sex. I halfheartedly whack his back, but I don’t really try to stop him because I don’t really want to.

  “You like ass smacking, Zoe?” he asks. “Lucky for you, I know of a place where you’ll fit right in. We’re close to my stomping grounds.”

  What? What’s he talking about?

  “I was teasing you!” I protest, wiggling like puppy, but his huge arm traps my legs, his voice rumbling over my protests.

  “Stop that.” He’s more serious than I’ve heard him yet, and now I begin to wonder what’s going on here, but my mind is still hazy.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, but he doesn’t say anything, just takes these huge, massive strides that bring us to a shiny black door. With his free hand, he turns the knob and pushes it open, then lowers his shoulder and slides me down his chest to the floor. With my body pressed up against his, I can feel his latent power, and my core contracts with heat and arousal. Some big, muscled guy is standing in the doorway, and his brows shoot up in surprise.

  “Master Braxton,” the guy says.

  Um. Master?

  “Evenin’,” Brax says, taking me by the hand and tugging me into some sorta community room with loveseats and padded chairs.

  “Where the hell are we? And why did he just call you master?”

  Brax sits heavily on a chair, nabs my wrist, and in a matter of seconds has me belly down over his knee. He slides one hand through my hair and tugs my head back.

  “Club Verge is a BDSM Club. I’m a member.”

  I can’t think much beyond a startled Jesus as he continues.

  “You like smacking my ass?” he says in my ear, his voice deep, his breath warm against my sensitized skin. A delicious shiver runs through me, and I swear I can hardly think, then his hand smacks my ass, a good sharp crack that takes my breath away and holy hell that’s hot.

  “Umm,” I mumble, closing my eyes against the heat that washes over me. I have no idea where I am, and I feel strangely like I should. This isn’t my jurisdiction and NYC’s friggin’ huge, so I don’t know where I am, and I have no idea where this night’s gonna lead. I only have the vaguest idea what a BDSM Club even is. But, for some reason, I trust this guy that I hardly know, and Beatrice’s warning only makes this hotter.

  “I asked you a question,” he corrects, his voice tightening and somehow more serious than before, a note of authority that makes my spine prickle.

  “Apparently not,” I whisper.

  “We do not go through that door unless you’re with me. You’re my guest here. I’m dungeon monitor, and this is one of the most renowned kink clubs in NYC which means there are rules.”

  A nervous giggle bubbles up. “No shit?”

  He chuckles and pulls my hair a little harder. “No shit.” A beat passes. “We go past these doors, you need to trust me. When you wake up tomorrow and your head’s clear, I don’t want you to regret this. So think before you answer. You with me, Zoe?”

  Am I with him? This is the most exciting thing I’ve done in months and now this hot guy who makes fire pulse through my veins wants to bring me to his club where he’s like all powerful? Even the tone of his voice now is doing crazy sexy things to my body. Ha. I don’t need to think twice. I’m not reasoning with my head now anyway.

  “Yeah,” I say, my words are in some kinda tunnel. “I’m with you.” I figure it’s because I haven’t been laid in a year and my body is primed like embers in a glowing fire, ready to ignite. He grins, gets to his feet, and leads me toward the door that looks like an entryway, and just as we go to enter, a couple clad in all leather wearing so many piercings I can hardly see skin, comes out the door.

  “Master Brax,” the girl says, and the guy nods his greeting with a polite, “Sir.”

  Th
at sobers me up a little, when I’m reminded that the people here call him things like master and sir, but it’s also hot as hell in a weird, sorta scary way. We enter through the door, and I’m skipping to keep up with his long strides. People recognize him as we walk, nodding and saying hello, but he just grunts and nods, clearly on a mission to get out of the crush of people. This place looks fun, though.

  “Hey! Hey, there’s a bar. Buy me a drink, master?” I snicker at my own joke, but he only purses his lips and walks faster.

  Walking me through a hallway, the noise dims and now my heartbeat really does kick up. Where are we going? What exactly have I agreed to? There’s a vibrant green door all the way down at the end of the hall. Still holding my hand, with his free hand he takes a set of keys out of his pocket and slides it through the keyhole. He pushes the door open.

  “This is my room here,” he says. Without another word, he shuts and locks the door behind us and pockets the key. I look around curiously. There’s an enormous bed in the center of the room piled high with pillows, a wardrobe, a little refrigerator, and to the side, a doorway to what looks like a bathroom. There are throw rugs on the floor, a little loveseat in one corner of the room and lots of space. But there are other things I’ve never seen before, some leather-looking things hanging from the wall and little contraptions made of metal. But I don’t have time to look at much, as he’s already sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling me between his knees.

  He tugs my hair back and kisses me, slow and sweet at first, as if asking permission. God, I want to forget everything tonight. I want to feel and live this in the moment, get totally swept away in the spontaneity of it all.

  He pulls his mouth off mine long enough to grunt, “Christ, you’re gorgeous.”

  “Uh huh, sure,” I say, without even thinking of what I’m saying. “You must be drunker than I am.”

  With a low growl, his knees part and he tugs me straight over one of them so that my body is on the bed and my pussy is pressed up against his knee. Before I know what he’s doing, his hand cracks down on my ass with a wicked slap! First one, then two hard smacks land.

  It hurts but feels so damn good that I give myself over to whatever the hell he’s doing. A dim part of my brain says, Hey, wait a minute, he’s spanking you, but I don’t really care because all I wanna do right now is feel, and hell do I ever.

  “Say you’re beautiful,” he orders. The hazy fog in my mind clears and I wonder where he’s going with this.

  “What?”

  His response is another good ass smack that zings right to my core, which pulses as if his hand is magically connected to my pussy.

  “You heard me.”

  Another spank has me gasping for air. “Okay. I’m beautiful!” I say, following his instruction before shit gets real. I may be totally plastered and riding the waves of excitement here, but I’m no fool. I’m over the knee of a man twice my size with a palm of steel, and he’s telling me what to do, so like a smart girl, I do what he says.

  He tosses me up onto the bed. “Confidence is sexy, sweetheart,” he says, kneeling over me and taking both my wrists in hand, placing them above my head, then his mouth comes down to my neck and he suckles the skin there like he’s starving, and I’ll stave his hunger. I moan and wiggle, but he’s got me trapped. “Say it again.”

  “I’m beautiful,” I breathe, and I know it’s a lie. I’m fat and my boobs are weird and my belly’s flabby, but somehow, saying the words, hearing him draw them out from me, for one brief minute I believe them. “I’m beautiful,” I breathe again, hoping that I’ll earn another luscious swipe of his tongue on my sensitized skin.

  “Good girl,” he says. “You’re gorgeous, and I want to kiss my way down those lush curves of yours until you melt like ice cream on a summer day.”

  I giggle at the analogy. “I could deal with that.”

  He releases my wrists and his mouth comes to my shoulder, his teeth grazing the tat there. “I’ve wanted to bite that tattoo ever since I saw you on that dance floor.”

  “You’re crazy,” I say with a giggle, but Jesus he’s my kinda crazy. He lowers himself to me, his mouth at my ear.

  “Am I?”

  “I’m on birth control,” I choke stupidly, needing him to know this has to go further. That I need to be fucked tonight, not wooed or charmed or any other fucking respectful thing.

  “Excellent,” he breathes, reaching for his wallet. “Still, we don’t take risks.” He slips a condom out of his wallet, places it next to him, then strips down to his boxers.

  “Dress off, Zoe.” His voice is husky and deep, and I realize then that this man wants me. He wants me. And hell, if that isn’t sexy as fuck. “Now, babe.”

  I do what he says like a trained puppy, my body having a mind of its own.

  Tonight, I’m going to forget everything.

  Just for tonight.

  Chapter 3

  Braxton

  The light shines through the bottom of the window where the shade doesn’t quite meet the windowsill, reminding me it’s morning. Zoe’s tucked up against me, her voluptuous, full ass pressed against my cock, and damn if she doesn’t give me morning wood. She’s lightly snoring, totally dead to the world.

  I glance at the time on my phone. Verge should be empty now as only long-term members have access to the private rooms, and everything else has been locked up tight until later today. I’ve got shit to do, though, an appointment in a few hours and since it’s my first time on the job with my Myers, I need to get there on time.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I say, giving Zoe’s bare ass a playful smack.

  She grunts, rolls over onto her tummy, and groans. “Noooo. God, that was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months. No fair. I’m not getting up.”

  God, she’s adorable. Her hair is adorably mussed up, pointing in every direction before she pulls a pillow over her head and blocks my view. The sheet’s all tangled up in her legs, barely covering her. She’s got a swirly heart tat just above her ass, and her full thighs and curvy hips make me even harder.

  God, what I wouldn’t do to scene with this woman.

  I gave her a few smacks to the ass last night, and she responded well. How would she respond to more?

  “Zoe. C’mon, babe. You’re not in my place or I’d let you sleep in. We’re still at the club, and even though we’re likely the only ones here, I’ve got to get you home. Where do you live?”

  She mumbles something completely incoherent.

  I fist the pillowcase and yank the pillow away. She grasps for it, and turns, her face darkening with anger. “Hey. Give me that!”

  “Enough,” I say, using the deep, dominant tone submissives usually respond to well. She blinks up at me, and her mouth parts open a little, then she winces at the light streaming in the window.

  “Oh God, my head hurts.”

  “You hungover?”

  She closes her eyes and whimpers.

  “Babe, how much did you drink?” I start to question the decision I made last night. Was she so shit-faced she couldn’t really agree to what we did? Fuck.

  She shakes her head. “I have no idea.”

  “More than three shots?” I ask.

  She snorts, pulling the sheet up over her head. “Fuck yeah. I had three shots before Bea and Zack even got there.” Suddenly, the sheets fly away, and she sits straight up in bed, all wide-eyed. “Oh my God. Zack. Zack. I told him I’d go!”

  Zack? What the fuck?

  “Oh God,” she says. She’s out of the bed now, scrambling for her clothes, with one hand pushed up against her forehead as if to hold her head in place.

  “Hey, wait a minute. Just chill, babe.”

  “I can’t chill! I just remembered I told Zack I’d be there. I’ve waited four months to make this appointment and I can’t miss it. You have no idea. I’m sorry but I can’t tell you anything else.”

  What is she talking about?

  “You’re hungover and don’t e
ven know where you are,” I say. “At least let me get you something for your headache?” I feel responsible, since I was the douchebag who fucked a drunk girl.

  She pauses and when her eyes meet mine, though the look is brief, I see something I hadn’t seen before, something that breaks my heart a little. “You’re a good guy, you know that? Please, yes, I would love some pain relievers.”

  “Can I take you somewhere? Hail a cab?”

  She pulls on her panties, bra, and dress, her fingers clumsy. I reach for the top of her dress and help her shimmy it up over her breasts. She’s hot as hell and I’m hard again just looking at her, but I’ve gotta help her out.

  “Yes, please,” she says. “I have to get back to my place and figure things out.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. I pull on my own clothes, then grab my phone and dial a cab. Ten minutes later, we’re standing outside Verge and the cab pulls up. She’s taken the meds I gave her and has two bottles of water in hand.

  “Drink those up, Zoe,” I tell her. “And when you get home, call me.” I take her phone, program my number in, then hand it back to her.

  “I will, promise,” she says, but her eyes don’t meet mine. “Thank you, Brax.” Her voice shakes a little, and I wonder why.

  I open the door to the cab, and watch as she slides in. “Bye, Zoe,” I say, a sense of finality hitting me in the gut when the door shuts. She isn’t gonna call me. I know she isn’t. My phone rings as the cab pulls away, and I have a weird sense of loss. She’s waving at me but not looking in my direction, like a celebrity followed by Paparazzi.

  I’ve had many one-night stands, and I can’t afford to have anything serious right now. So why does what I just did feel so wrong? With a sigh I answer my phone. “Yeah, Braxton here.”

  “Brax.” It’s Stefan Myers, the guy I’m meeting with late this morning to pursue my next job. After I sold the body shop when the hours there and at Verge started to pile on this past winter, Myers was recruiting. He’s a high school friend of mine and a private investigator. When he found out I was a bouncer and dungeon master at Verge, he suggested a proposition. What I later found out was they needed more brawn than brains for their operation, and Zack, who’s an NYPD detective, gave me a strong recommendation.