Savage Rhythm (Club Volare)

by Cox, Chloe

  She licked her lips and said, “What did he—”

  “You already asked your question,” he said, cutting her off. “My turn. But first—do you understand what I just said? It will never happen again.”

  Molly had never seen him this intense. This demanding. Declan’s stare was never anything to mess with, but now she didn’t think she could look away if she tried. This was the one time she’d ever seen him need something from her. Want, yes; desire, all the time. But need?

  He needed her to know that he wouldn’t lose control.

  “I don’t think you would, with me,” she said.

  And she really didn’t.

  Why was she so certain? She had no idea why as she watched him exhale, the muscles in his shoulders and chest roiling over each other, his neck tense.

  “I wouldn’t,” he said. His voice was rough. “My turn. Who is it you’re always trying to call?”

  Molly felt her heart lurch. She could do this. She would do this, and she would find out if she could be like this with him, be vulnerable, and not lose herself, not lose her heart and her mind…

  Oh God, was she really thinking about doing this? Letting Declan show her who she really was… Was he right all along? That it was inevitable?

  “Molly,” he said, his tone a warning.

  “My sister,” she said. “My baby sister.”

  “Why are you so worried?”

  “My dad got custody when my mom died a few years ago. Lydia turns eighteen in a few weeks, but she’s financially dependent on him. And he’s an asshole who won’t let me talk to her.”

  Declan seethed.

  “Why?” he demanded.

  Molly took a deep breath. Just get it out.

  “Dad was always an asshole, but then he got saved, too, so he became a religious asshole. After he left us, conveniently. Not sure how that blind spot works for him. Anyway, apparently I’m an ungodly slut because I got pregnant four years ago.” She averted her eyes. “I lost the baby.”

  Declan’s eyes softened and his shoulders went slack. Molly just couldn’t look at him. When he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, to brush her cheek, she tried to hide her face. She did not want to cry. She did not want this to be…

  “There’s a whole lot there,” he said.

  No kidding. Molly had tried to tell herself it was a good thing when she’d had the miscarriage. Robbie had just started parading his new girlfriend around, everyone hated Molly because Robbie told them all she was a cheating slut, she was a teenager who had been crying about being pregnant for weeks. She was sure her life had been ruined. So when it happened, she hadn’t understood why this hole had opened up inside her, why she suddenly cried for the lost future she’d been so afraid of, why every time she saw a child…

  “I can’t,” she said, choking. “Not now. Please.”

  Declan just put his arms around her. “Nope, not now,” he said. “Eventually.”

  Eventually. He was so goddamn certain! Molly blinked back tears and tried to figure out why that made her feel relieved instead of angry. Declan just…said it was going to happen, and so it was. She didn’t need to worry about it. Didn’t need to stress, didn’t need to be, once again, the one to carry all the weight…

  “Oh Christ, that’s so messed up,” she murmured into his chest.

  He pushed her back, against the headboard.

  “What?” he asked.

  She sighed. There was no point in trying to hide it. She was tired of that.

  “There is a part of me that likes it when you do that, when you tell me what I’m going to do. Because then I don’t…I don’t know…I don’t have to think about it. You have no idea how much I stress about whether to tell people about that, about how they’ll see me, about how I’ll see myself, because I don’t even know what it means, or…and I usually am so good about not thinking about it. But then you say that, and suddenly I don’t have to be—”

  He smiled. “In control.”

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  She said, “You don’t see how messed up that is?”

  “No,” he said, that deep voice resonating right through her, penetrating to her core. “Because it isn’t messed up at all. It’s a fucking safety valve. If you let it be.”

  Molly pressed her legs together and gripped the sheets. She tried not to think about how close he was, about how much he’d crowded her, about the weight of that stare…

  Stay focused.

  “What’s your safety valve?” she asked.

  “Performing,” he said, coming a little bit closer still. “And this.”

  There was no use pretending she didn’t know what ‘this’ was. What it might be.

  “Oh,” she said, trying to figure out where to look. If she looked up, into his eyes, she’d be lost. He could get her to do whatever he wanted. She already knew that. She’d lose all control of the interview, of…everything. But he was so close, now she was stuck staring at his chest. His abs.

  Not much easier.

  “It must have been hard during the last six months, when you couldn’t perform,” she said. “You must have—”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said, his voice thick. “I need a sub who can actively consent, who can actually use their safeword. Being famous makes most women too compliant. I’ve been fucking frustrated.”

  “I don’t know if it’s all the fame’s fault,” she said, digging her heels into the bed, pushing herself back as far as she could go. He was like a hypnotist. Maybe she could look down. Oh God, that little trail of hair…

  She said, “What do you need release from?”

  “Same as you. Bad memories.”

  “Of what?”

  “Look at me, Molly.”

  The command cracked the air and pierced her brain, forcing her head up. He looked different. It was like when he was on stage, or like he had looked in that office at Volare, like there was almost a freaking aura around him.

  “This ends now,” he said. “No more running, no more fucking pretending. We’re doing this honestly.”

  She breathed a little faster. Didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t know if her body could say no, didn’t know if she could make her mind say yes.

  “You remember what I told you on the dock?” he asked, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw.

  She would never forget.

  “You told me I’d beg,” she breathed.

  “Now,” he said, grabbing the waistband of her shorts and pulling her down the bed, dragging her with him so she was on her back, lying in front of him while he straddled her. “Now is when you beg. Tell me what you want.”

  Fuck.

  Molly closed her eyes. She could do this. She had to do this. If she didn’t, she’d always, always wonder…

  “I want you,” she said.

  “Eyes open,” he ordered. “Be specific.”

  Molly ran her hands through her hair and tried to cover her face. He grabbed her wrists—oh God, she thought of that dream—and pinned them on either side of her head, this huge man looming over her, on top of her…

  She groaned and pressed her hips into his.

  “I want you like this,” she panted. “I want you to…dominate me.”

  “Specific,” he said again.

  He held both of her thin wrists in one large hand and trailed a finger down the center of her chest, between her trembling breasts.

  “What was your dream?” he said again. “You don’t answer me, and I swear to God I will spank you before you even sign a contract.”

  She squirmed. Spank her? The throbbing between her legs intensified.

  “You,” she said. “It was you, taking me. You tore off my clothes, and…”

  Molly stopped. She couldn’t believe she was saying this. The last time she’d said any of this to someone it had been Robbie, and then later, when he wanted everyone to believe she was a slut who had cheated on him and gotten pregnant, this was how he convinced them. He told t
hem all about the things she wanted in bed. Every time she showed herself to someone, it blew up in her face.

  Declan seemed to know, seemed to read her. Again.

  “Do you trust me?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I trust you,” he said. “God help me, I trust you. You’re my sub. Say yes, and you’re my sub.”

  Molly felt it rise up from deep within her trembling body, something she just couldn’t fight anymore, something that felt right for the very first time. “Yes,” she said.

  Declan fisted her shirt in his hand and tore it clean off.

  chapter 13

  So goddamn beautiful.

  Molly didn’t even know. Had no idea.

  She lay under him, cheeks flushed, eyes wide open, lips wet, parted, panting. She wore a white lace bra, the pale skin at the tops of her breasts beginning to flush, her chest heaving. She looked stunned, either that he had actually ripped her shirt off, or that she’d liked it so much.

  And then she moaned as she rolled her hips up, into his aching cock, and he clenched his fist even tighter around her ruined shirt. Holy. Shit.

  He couldn’t take her yet. First he had to stop. Had to explain the rules. Had to wait for the bigger stuff. It felt like trying to stop a freight train. He settled on top of her and breathed deeply.

  “This is about testing limits, Mol,” he said. “You liked that.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Still scared, her eyes still wide, still darting about, her mind still obviously racing.

  He bent down and kissed her. He found her stiff, nervous at first, but as he gently sucked that bottom lip he felt her begin to bloom underneath him. Slowly she unfurled, relaxing into it, until she was straining against him, her kiss hungry and hard. He wanted to bring her that release as often as he could. It had the same effect on him. Quieted his mind, let his body rule. He pulled away before he could fall into it—he needed to keep his head.

  Now her eyes were softer, but still focused. She looked melted into the bed, but he could feel the heat coming off her.

  He had never wanted anyone so much in his life.

  “You are my sexual submissive,” he said. He was breathing hard. “We’re gonna talk about what that means later. There will be a contract. Terms. Right now, you obey. You answer me honestly, you tell me what you’re feeling, and you do what I tell you, unless you need to safeword out. Understand this one thing: I am in control.” Fuck, he was rushing. “Your safewords are red, yellow, green, like a stoplight. Do you know what that means?”

  “Oh Jesus, Declan, yes,” she moaned. She was writhing underneath him, ready to explode. She had no idea how much he wanted to cut loose.

  “Do you know when to use them?” he said. “If you’re ever—”

  “Oh fuck, Declan! Have I ever been shy about telling you what I think?” she shouted, trying to rise up at him, her eyes shining, her skin glowing, her entire body asking to get fucked.

  Declan grinned, and tightened his grip on her wrists.

  “Don’t start being shy now,” he said, dropping her shirt and yanking down her zipper. “And don’t try to top me from the bottom, not unless you want a bright red ass.”

  A muffled sound escaped her, a kind of shocked giggle. She looked deliriously happy, feverish, like a dam had burst and now she was just ready to go. He stripped off those cutoffs and let his hand roam back up the inside her leg, feeling the soft, supple smoothness of her skin, watching her shudder and shake with every touch. She looked half there already, her eyes lidded and far away. That wasn’t going to fly. No way he was missing this. He needed to see her, and she needed to be seen. That much was obvious from the way she tried to hide away what she was.

  He stroked her between her legs, outside her panties, coaxing another moan from her. They were damp, and he inhaled sharply at the thought of how freaking wet she was.

  “These come off,” he said roughly, tearing at her underwear. She lifted her hips and shimmied, biting at that plump lower lip again, and kicked them off. “And this,” he said, unhooking her bra.

  She was naked.

  Molly Ward, naked, in his bed.

  He took a moment just to look at her. Her limbs long and tan, her stomach and breasts pale, everything soft. Her nipples a darkening pink, already tight and erect, just asking to be pinched and sucked. Fuck yes.

  “Fucking amazing,” he muttered. She was gorgeous, soft, wet. He got between her legs just to look at her, and the insecurity crept back into her face. Nervousness. Discomfort. He already had her at a disadvantage, naked while he was clothed, but that was the point. This wasn’t equal. She was his to enjoy.

  And she was a little afraid of it. Afraid of being that vulnerable. Afraid, and aroused.

  “Nuh-uh,” he said, sliding his hands up her legs, her stomach, over her breasts. He gave them a playful squeeze, then leaned over her, his face close to hers. “That’s what this game is, sweetheart. You let go, and you’re mine. I’ll make you forget about every other man who’s ever hurt you. You’re done with that. And you gotta know what I see when I look at you. Watch me.”

  “What are you—oooh,” she gasped.

  He’d slipped just one finger inside her. Just one. So wet, so soft, so tight around him. He let her wrists go as he moved his finger inside her, and she pressed her fingers into his shoulders, bearing down on him inside. Gently he placed his thumb on her clit and her hips jerked while her eyes got that faraway, frightened look, like she was too overwhelmed by what was coming and wanted to run away.

  “Declan—”

  “Shhh,” he said. And he slipped his forearm under her, lifting her to a sitting position without ever taking his finger away. “You’re scared.”

  “It’s been…a long time,” she said. Every time he moved his finger she got stuck on a word. “Maybe I’m just…”

  “Finish your sentence.”

  For the first time since she’d said yes, she looked away.

  “I don’t know if I can come with you watching me,” she said. “I don’t know if I can come with you. With anyone. It was never that easy with anyone else, and now…” She shrugged. “I don’t know, Declan, I’m kind of a mess. Every time I start to let go, I feel like everything’s going to come crashing down around me. Great pick for your sub, huh?”

  She gave him a sad smile.

  Declan could have killed whoever it was that did this to her. All the people responsible, every single one, the whole world, whatever. Instead he put both arms around her and pulled her close, onto his lap, until her nose was practically touching his.

  “You’re perfect,” he said, and kissed her until she put her arms around him and sighed. When she felt supple and warm and just as lost in him as he was in her, the boundaries between them starting to blur to nothing, he took her hands in his and lifted them above her head.

  “Hmm. What are you doing?” she murmured.

  Wordlessly, Declan slipped one of her wrists into a soft leather cuff, then the other. Then he held her while he sat up on his knees and attached the line connecting the cuffs to the hook he’d had bolted into the low ceiling.

  “Showing you there’s nothing wrong with you,” he said. Molly tested the cuffs, and saw she was truly restrained, her weight in his lap and her legs wrapped around his waist while her arms were above her head, suspended from the ceiling. She looked at him, smiling and worried all at the same time.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “You can’t move,” he said simply, running his hands up her sides, smiling to see her shudder. “You can’t run away.”

  He brushed her hair out of her face with his left hand then gripped a fistful of hair, holding her head in place. “You can’t even look away.”

  “Declan,” she huffed, and her abs contracted as she pulled on the cuffs, her breasts right at eye level. Too tempting.

  “I’m going to make you come,” he said, “and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”


  He took one rosy nipple in his mouth and lathed it with his tongue, sucking until it was hard and pointed. Molly ground her hips into him helplessly, and gasped when she felt his rock hard cock.

  “That’s for later,” he murmured, moving to the other breast. “All you can do right now is let go.”

  “Oh God, Declan, what if—”

  “Shut up,” he said roughly, pulling slightly on her hair. She gasped again, bit that lower lip. “No more speaking unless spoken to, unless it’s your safeword.”

  Her eyes glinted up at him, that ball busting look he’d loved so much, back in the beginning. She rocked her hips against his cock—Jesus, was that good torture, knowing he had to wait until he’d shown her what she could do—and said, “Yes, sir.”

  Oh that did it. He held on to her hair and thrust his hand between her legs, finding her even wetter than she’d been before, even sweeter. He ran his fingers up and down the length of her folds, teasing a low, comfortable hum from her throat.

  “Tell me how that feels,” he said.

  “It feels—oh.”

  Molly jerked her head as he abruptly pushed two fingers inside her. She twitched around him, breathing irregularly while he sought out her g-spot and curled his fingers against it. If he went for her clit directly she’d short circuit and burn out. Declan was going to build something deeper.

  “I’m going to fuck you right here, later,” he said, moving his fingers in and out, around and around, pressing against that spot. “You’re gonna take all of me.”

  “Fuck,” she muttered. “Fuck.”

  He pressed his palm against her mound and rolled it with the rhythm of his fingers, making her swollen flesh slide against her clit, her legs shake, her arms strain at the cuffs. He looked down to see her abs contracting up and down, up and down, as she rocked her hips into him, her body picking up the rhythm even if her mind was all over the place.

  “Look at me,” he said. “Nowhere else.”

  Molly pressed her lips together and nodded, her eyes shining with bright tears, locked on him. He let her hair go, knowing she wouldn’t move, wouldn’t disobey an order, natural submissive that she was, and let his hand trail down her back. She arched at his touch, gasping, her inner muscles clenching. She was so damn sensitive, how could she be afraid she wouldn’t come? That she wouldn’t let go?