by Lynda Aicher
Hell, he’d asked her to spend the fucking holiday with him. Not in the club, but with him. She’s missed the significance of that. He didn’t ask people to be with him—it only gave them the opportunity to say no. But he’d asked her and she’d rejected him. Twice now.
He hissed, his knuckle scraping over a jagged piece of wood, taking off a chunk of skin. Damn it. He cursed again and wrapped the rag around the cut, absorbing the sting as punishment deserved. So much for not thinking about Cali. How far would he have to run before he stopped seeing her soft smile or imagining the smooth silk of her skin under his palms? But it was more than the physical things. That was the problem.
What he found under the embarrassment of being publicly rejected and the anger at having his declaration of love tossed in his face was the fucking fact that he missed her. That he still wanted everything about her. From the prim sweater sets to the wild leather-clad wanton, he loved all of her.
He paced to the tool chest and dug out a set of pliers and a chisel, refusing to debate it anymore. It was getting him nowhere but deeper into shit that was already done. She’d left him. Told him in no uncertain terms to get the hell out of her life, and he was giving her what she wanted. Like always. End of story.
It didn’t matter how much he still ached for her. She was another part of his past he’d learn to forget. Eventually.
* * *
Cali stood in the small room, her hands clasped tight before her, heart racing. Ironically it was the same room she’d waited in the first night she’d come to The Den. The night Jake had walked through the door and changed her life. She couldn’t sit this time. Was too nervous, too scared.
So she paced, the heels of her boots sinking into the carpet. The silence annoying instead of comforting. She tugged her jacket tighter around her and tried to hold back the shiver that raked down her spine, despite the sweat collecting on her skin.
The door clicked and Cali’s gaze shot to the entrance, heart stalling, her breath held. All of the tension and expectation slipped from her when two men stepped into the room.
Neither of them Jake.
“Ms. Reynolds,” Deklan said. She didn’t want to speak to him, but obviously Jake had sent the other men down instead of seeing her himself.
“Deklan, right?” Cali said politely.
“Yes.” He gestured to the other man, the one who’d interviewed her for her membership into the club. “I believe you know Seth Mathews, our third business partner. What can we do for you?”
She cleared her throat and let her palms rub over the soothing velvet of her pants. “I wanted to speak to Jake. Is he here?” She’d come to the club during the afternoon, hoping to catch him before things got busy that night.
Seth stepped forward. His long hair was tied back in a neat queue, his jeans and shirt clean and respectable. His Dom persona was packed away, but the authority that went with it was still present. “I’m sorry, but Jake is gone.”
“What do you mean, ‘gone’?”
“He left that night, after you rejected him.” The man held her gaze as he let the words sink in.
She stiffened, her gut clenching in pain.
“We haven’t seen or heard from him since.”
Oh, God. She’d made him run. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Do you know where he went?”
“No,” Deklan said from behind Seth. “I told you the collaring meant something to him. As did your rejection.”
“B-but,” she stammered, confused and suddenly very afraid of what she’d done. “I wasn’t thinking rationally. I was stunned by my ex-husband’s appearance in the crowd and just reacted. I want to explain...to him and he won’t answer my calls.”
“He left his phone in his loft. We don’t know if he’s coming back,” Deklan said.
“Oh, God.” Cali groaned, sinking into the chair behind her. “What have I done?”
He was gone. She’d pushed him away and he’d left. Her heart ached, the pain even greater than when she’d thought he’d betrayed her. Now it was her fault. She’d caused this pain. She didn’t want to lose him. Didn’t want him gone.
She felt a hand on her leg and opened her eyes, not realizing she’d had them squeezed closed. It was Seth who kneeled before her, his eyes gentle as he looked at her.
“What do you want, Ms. Reynolds?”
“Cali,” she said softly. “Call me Cali. And I want Jake back. I want what he offered and more. I want...” She couldn’t finish because it would kill her to say it and never get it.
“Were you and your ex into Dominance and submission?”
The question caught her off-guard. She recoiled as if he’d slapped her. “No. That’s why I was so appalled and shock to see him here. I was embarrassed and ashamed and acted without thinking.”
Seth nodded. “And now? Are you still ashamed?”
She searched the man’s eyes, seeking his intent but finding only questions. “I’m ashamed of a lot of things. The least of which is how I reacted four nights ago. But if you’re asking me if I’m ashamed of being a sub, to Jake, then the answer is no.”
“Why’d you come here today?”
“To talk to him,” she answered impatiently. The third-degree grilling was getting annoying. She didn’t owe these men an explanation, but they were her only connection to Jake. “To explain what happened and to apologize. To ask for another chance.”
“How do you feel about him, Cali?”
The urge to answer his subtle command flashed through her so swiftly she cringed. It was how he’d said her name. Just like Jake, the inflection almost identical to the other Dom. She bit her tongue and withheld the impulse to answer honestly.
“I’m sorry, but that’s something I need to discuss with Jake first.” She didn’t care how the other man took her response. She owed it to Jake to tell him she loved him, all of him, before she shared it with anyone else.
Seth inclined his head and stood. “If he contacts us, we’ll let him know you were here.” He extended his hand, a not-so-subtle indication that she should leave.
She accepted his hand and forced her legs to hold her weight as she rose. She licked her lips and withdrew her fingers from his grasp. “Thank you,” she said before moving to the door, ensuring her spine was straight and her shoulders back the whole way.
“Cali.”
She paused, turning to the two men who assessed her with serious faces.
“Jake is a brother to us,” Seth said. “The little brother we’ve both fought to protect since he first bound us together. He’s never given himself to anyone. Doesn’t let anyone in.” He lifted his hand, a silver chain falling to dangle from his fingers. Her collar. “This was a huge step for him. A leap we thought he’d never take. He wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t love you.”
Cali blinked back the moisture in her eyes. “I know that now. I knew that then, but I wasn’t thinking properly. I want that collar. I want what he offered. All that he offered...if he ever comes back.”
Seth approached once again. “Then you should hang on to this until he returns.” He pulled her hand up then gently pushed up the sleeve of her jacket to expose her wrist. He met her eyes, silently conveying the importance of his actions as he wrapped the chain around her wrist, making three loops before latching the clasp. The silver infinity links sparkled against her pale skin, causing the flesh around her neck to tingle with longing.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her gaze blurring as she stared at the beautiful collar. She resolved right then that it would make it to her neck. That she would come back every weekend until Jake returned.
She wasn’t giving up on him.
On them.
On what they had and all they could still have.
He was her Dom and damn it, she belonged to him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“That’s fuckin’ amazing,” Doug grumbled from behind Jake. He moved into the cramped storage space and made his way around the newly refinished St. Andrew’s C
ross Jake had been working on non-stop for the last two days. Doug gave the freestanding cross a strong shake; the object barely budged.
Jake clamped his arms over his chest and waited for Doug to finish his inspection. Damn. He hadn’t needed this level of approval and reassurance since he’d wandered into this club over twenty years ago. But right then, Doug’s praise was like a flimsy lifeline he desperately needed to cling to.
Doug’s fingers stroked over the smooth finish then gave a sharp tug on the cuffs dangling from the chains at the top. He glanced at Jake, a slow smile curving his lips. “Your skills have only improved with time. I like the addition of the arm rests.” He pointed to the small padded ledges that would support the occupant’s arms, enabling the person to stay on the cross longer. “The detailing makes it stand out as a work of art. Every sub who walks through our door will want to be strapped into this.”
“Thanks,” Jake mumbled, wiping his hands on his now filthy jeans. The material, like his hands, was stained with grease, wood varnish and paint. He’d taken extra care with the intricate design he’d painted on the cross, differentiating it from just another piece of BDSM equipment. The polish he’d applied gleamed under the dull lights and would absolutely shimmer under the bright lights of a stage.
“Did it work?” Doug asked.
“Did what work?”
“Your forty-eight hour marathon of labor. Did it get rid of the shit eating at you?”
Jake exhaled and stared at the ground. Did it? Not even close. “Shit’s still there,” he admitted.
“Running never did solve things.”
“Been talking to Deklan?” Jake shot the other man a wry smile. “He said the same thing.”
“Always did think that kid was smart.” Doug chuckled. He moved from behind the cross, pushed some rags off a chair and took a seat with a low groan. “Damn, these bones are getting older than I want them to be.” He rubbed a hand over his knee before he looked at Jake. “I’ll listen to whatever you want to say.”
Jake found another chair and spun it around to straddle it, resting his arms on the back. The ache in his chest had eased over the last few days. Not the part missing Cali, but the part that was devastated and humiliated at her rejection. Distance had given him perspective. During the long hours of manual labor, he had plenty of time to replay the incident over and over until he’d come to some understanding.
“I found the one,” Jake admitted, lifting his gaze to meet Doug’s. “And she rejected me. Publicly. Threw my collar at me in front of the entire club.”
Doug winced. “Ouch. Fuck. What happened?”
“I collared her. Big show, on stage.” He sighed, clamped his hands in his hair and thought back to that moment. How perfect it’d felt, slipping the chain around her neck. “I wanted the declaration to be grand. To show how important it was. I was so proud of her. I wanted to show everyone in the club just how exceptional she was. How lucky I was to have her. It was perfect. Right up to the point where she saw her ex-husband in the audience and freaked out in the middle of the Scene.”
Doug’s brows shot up. “Her ex-husband? I take it he wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“No,” Jake scoffed, anger tinting the word. He shook his head. “He wasn’t supposed to be there. Dumb-ass me didn’t think about it being First Friday. Evidently, her ex decided to join our club as well. Somehow, the detail of his link to Cali was missed. But it doesn’t matter, because she blames me for it. Thinks I arranged for him to be there.”
“What kind of fucked-up thinking is that?”
“A logical one from her perspective,” he admitted. “Complicated back-story, but I get where she’s coming from. Why she’d think that.” After the soul-purging Scene he’d put her through the time before, it was a very logical jump for her to make.
“Do you? Really?” Doug looked at him skeptically. “Because if you do, then what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Running. Obvious.” But running from what? Himself? Her? Rejection?
Doug puffed out a breath and stood. He dropped his meaty hand onto Jake’s shoulder, giving it a short squeeze before he walked to the door. “I get to keep that, right?” He pointed to the Jack’s refurbished cross.
Jake chuckled, letting his hands fall to his thighs. “Yeah. The bike trailer’s full. Consider it due payment for the many hours of therapy services.”
“Well, shit, boy. Didn’t know you needed therapy.” Doug opened the door and glanced back. “You should really think about selling your equipment. There’s a lot of people who’d pay good money for quality BDSM shit like yours.”
Jake lifted his chin in acknowledgement and went to mentally dismiss the statement. But then, maybe the other man’s idea was worth thinking about. Seth had said something before about Jake doing that as another revenue stream for the club. He’d shrugged it off then. After all, this was just a hobby. Something he’d grown into, not trained for.
He jerked up, the need to see the cross in use suddenly pressing and demanding. Calling down the hall, he got another employee to help him carry the cross out to the floor. Doug saw them coming and quickly got some tables rearranged, making space for the new piece of equipment near the center of the open room.
The response was almost immediate, the club members admiring the stunning St. Andrew’s Cross with ripples of appreciation. Jake pulled a rag from his back pocket and polished away the fingerprints left from moving the large structure. He stepped back and looked the piece over with a critical eye. It was just as he’d envisioned it. His cock hardened as he imagined Cali strapped to it, open and waiting. Her eyes begging him for more.
“Will you, sir?”
Startled out of his thoughts, Jake looked down at the submissive kneeling at his feet. Where’d she come from? She was kneeling in the perfect obedient pose as she waited for his reply. What did she want?
“Please, sir,” she said. “Will you use it on me? Will you let me be the first?” The sub’s voice and body shook with repressed desire.
The dominant in him surged to the forefront. The woman had blond hair—straight and long, past her shoulders—but he could make due. “Stand,” he ordered.
She complied immediately, keeping her eyes down. She was shorter, her hips fuller than Cali’s. But it didn’t matter. Did it? He was a Dom, for fuck’s sake. This was what he did, had done since he was legal to do so.
“Safe word?” he asked, tossing the rag still clenched in his fist to the side.
“Popsicle.”
Jake logged the answer, his brain latching on to the unusual stop word with practiced ease. Every sub was different, and keeping track of the words was part of his job.
Jake circled around the sub, taking stock of what he had to play with. “Tools of choice?”
She inhaled. “Cane, please.”
Jake’s gut tightened. A pain whore. Canes were hard-core and stung like a bitch. She was a very trusting sub to ask for that when she didn’t know him. He called her on it. “Trusting, aren’t you?”
“I trust Doug, sir,” the sub said. “You’re a friend of his, so I trust you by extension. And if you made a cross that looks like that—” she paused, her gaze caressing the cross, “—then I trust you know what you’re doing.”
He met Doug’s eyes over the crowd that had gathered. The man nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. So she could take what she was asking for. Jake nodded to the Dungeon Master on the floor and the man moved forward to assist in strapping the sub to the cross.
“Strip her. I want her back,” he ordered. He didn’t want to see her face. Jake felt the Dom persona dropping over him as he stepped up and removed her flimsy blouse. Her breasts were large, but they didn’t interest him.
The Dungeon Master took care of her bottoms. Then Jake grabbed a wrist and strapped it into a cuff. A wrist that was bigger than the one he wanted. The one he was used to.
Shit. He couldn’t do that. He owed it to this woman to focus on her. That was his job.
She trusted him and he couldn’t fail her. Too.
Pain stabbed at him, twisting with the truth of his thoughts. He’d failed Cali when she’d trusted him. Failed his parents when they’d trusted him. Failed Seth and Deklan. And now, now, he wouldn’t fail again. Damn it. He’d never failed as a Dom.
Not ’til Cali.
Cursing himself, Jake stalked to the equipment wall and ran his fingers over the line of canes in the cabinet. Each one varied in length, stiffness and texture, which would define the level of pain inflicted with each strike. He selected one on the lower-level of pain infliction, since he didn’t know the sub.
The crowd parted as he returned to the woman. She was completely strapped to the cross now, her back heaving with deep gust of breaths as she inhaled. Anticipation rippled like a viable energy over the bystanders. Everyone waiting in expectation for the Scene to start.
Jake twirled the cane in his hands, the familiarity of the tool rubbing against his palm. But instead of the usual rise of adrenalin that came with a Scene, he was suddenly filled with repulsion. Not at the act, but himself. What was he doing?
Growling, Jake forced himself to stand behind the sub. She had followed every rule of a perfect submissive. She was a woman who had been in the lifestyle for a while. Who knew what she wanted. Before, this would have excited Jake. Before, he anticipated Scenes such as this, where both parties went into it knowing what they wanted and how to get it. Before, he would have been hard just looking at the strapped and bound woman.
Before Cali.
He raised his arm, the cane held high in preparation to strike. Silence descended upon the club as everyone waited for that first hit, the high hiss of the cane as it moved through the air until it stopped with a crack against skin. Jake’s muscles tensed, his arm shaking with the strain of denial.
All he had to do was follow through. Finish the motion. Be the Dom he was supposed to be. Had always been.
