by Cathryn Cade
She hadn’t seen him all week. She’d been to the gym twice, on Tuesday and Thursday evening, but Dack hadn’t been there. Jake had. It had been beyond embarrassing having to look Jake in the eye, but he’d merely nodded both times—although she could have sworn she’d seen a twinkle in his icy gray eyes. She’d blushed like a teenager but managed to hold her head high and smile at him as if she was cool with his having seen her bare ass draped all over his friend and partner.
Now she slipped the collar over her wrist and headed into the club. Luke Bryan was belting out “Country Girl”. Daisy smiled eagerly as she walked toward the dance floor, where several couples were already shaking everything they had. She scanned the bar, the floor and the back area for a tall, broad-shouldered man with a dark ponytail but saw no one who even resembled Dack.
With a shrug, she sashayed onto the dance floor and put her hands in the air, shaking it as the singer instructed. There were two other single women dancing among the couples. One grinned at Daisy, and they danced together for a moment, until the crowd eddied. Daisy swung around and found herself facing a tall cowboy in a hat, jeans and boots, and no shirt. Grinning, he held out his arms in a look-at-you gesture.
Daisy finally recognized Trace and laughed, shaking her hips for him. They danced together, and the song ended in a guitar riff. He nodded, his smile flashing beneath the shadow of his hat.
“Thanks for the dance.”
“You bet, cowboy.”
He tapped her arm with Dack’s key dangling from it. “Dack should be here soon. He’s stuck in traffic.”
“Must be the night for it. Sara’s stuck at home with a dead vehicle.”
His eyes narrowed. “Sara, huh? Didn’t think she was into this scene.”
She shrugged. “She wants to try it.”
“How’s she getting in?”
“Dack said I could invite her.”
“Did he.” His mouth flattened slightly.
Uh-oh, she hoped she hadn’t let the cat out of the bag there. Maybe Dack wasn’t supposed to let all three of them in for no charge. Daisy had nearly fainted when she saw how much they charged for membership. She looked at him guiltily.
“I should start paying, huh? This is my second time here.” How she would afford it, she hadn’t a clue. Maybe they had an installment plan, or layaway.
He shook his head. “Nah, you’re Dack’s guest.” The music started again, Zack Brown Band in a cheerful song about living country. Trace leaned forward to speak in her ear. “I’ll see you later, Daisy. Have a good time.”
Daisy nodded automatically, but she stared after him as he sauntered away. She swallowed hard. What exactly had he meant by “see you later”? See how much of her later?
Daisy threaded her way off the dance floor straight to the bar. She needed a drink. Seeing another couple holding margaritas, she ordered one. She offered to pay for it, but the bartender shook his head with a smile. Good, maybe she’d have two or three more. Trace’s comment about “seeing her” had reminded her forcibly that she was here as the guest of a guy who wanted to see all of her, and probably in the midst of a crowd.
Stepping up onto a bar stool, Daisy turned to survey the room as she took a sip of tart, frosty lime and tequila. Her heart leapt with excitement and trepidation. Dack was striding through the crowd toward her. He wore a battered straw cowboy hat, Levis and boots and a sleeveless western shirt that flapped open to reveal his gorgeous, hairy chest and the happy trail down over his six-pack.
As he stopped before her, she held up her drink in a toast. “Howdy, cowboy.”
His eyes narrowed in that hot, dangerous look that made her quiver, and she realized with a shock of pleasure that he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. Had he taken them off for her?
He tapped the wrist his key dangled from. “You gonna wear this?”
She nodded. “Yes, Dack.”
His face softened at her response. “Then put it on, Petal.”
As she did so, he leaned past her, his shirt and then his hairy chest brushing her bare arm. His touch and his warm scent, clean male with a hint of shaving cologne and sweat, filled her senses. “Gimme a margarita, Julio.”
Daisy settled the choker around her throat and took another breath of warm, Dack-scented air. Being this close to him made her dizzy. Or maybe it was knowing that she was now his for the evening.
He leaned on his elbow, cocking one lean hip, and surveyed her from the shadow of his hat brim. “You look real pretty, Petal.”
“Thanks. You look pretty hot yourself.” She grabbed her drink to quell the urge to put her hands inside his shirt and pet him. They were at the crowded bar, after all. His clothing appeared worn, not as if he’d run out and bought it for the occasion, like some of the other faux cowboys circulating.
And he was grinning at her, humor dancing in his eyes. “In fact,” he drawled, “I think I’m gonna have to call you Daisy Duke tonight.”
She rolled her eyes. “Great. I guess I can stand it for one night.” She’d been called that in middle school, when the boys were into reruns of Dukes of Hazzard.
He picked up the margarita that appeared on the bar before him and jerked his head. “Come on.”
Daisy took a hasty sip of her drink rather than spill it and slipped off her barstool. She followed him through the crowd. The place was crowded tonight, with men and women talking, laughing and dancing as Kenny Chesney belted out a song about a beach somewhere.
The leather sofas were occupied, but one of the chairs was empty. Dack folded his long frame into it and patted his thigh, looking up at her.
“Do I get to sit this time?” she asked over the music.
“Only if you do it quick,” he shot back. Meaning otherwise he’d make her lie across his lap again.
She shook her head but perched on his thigh. His big hands on her bare waist, he pulled her closer so she was leaning against his chest. Cold liquid splashed her wrist. She took another drink, a long one, and leaned forward to set the remainder of her drink on the small table by the chair. Lifting her wrist, she licked the sticky lime from her skin.
“You always drink that fast?” Dack asked, watching her mouth as he took another sip of his own margarita. She teased him, giving her wrist another swipe with her tongue.
“No, but I’d rather drink it than wear it.”
He cocked his head, eyeing her skimpy shirt. “Wouldn’t want that, ’cause you’re already wearing too much.” He took another sip and set his own drink down beside hers.
He looked up into her eyes, his gaze implacable in the shadow of his hat. Heat swirled down through her, tightening her nipples and dropping down deeper inside her. Oh, she loved that look. Was he going to ask her to slip out of her cutoffs? She was wearing a pair of nude lace bikinis that were more of a tease than a cover-up.
“I’m glad you’re here, Petal,” he said, his hand slipping down to cradle her bottom, his thumb stroking her bare thigh under the frayed edge of the denim. Oh, good, he was focused on her ass, not her breasts.
She snuggled closer, her hand on his chest. “So am I.”
“Good.” He bent his head and kissed her, his lips warm, contrasting with the edge of cool lime and salt on his tongue. Daisy cocked her head, kissing him back eagerly. She slipped her arm around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest.
He kissed her for a long, heady moment. Daisy sank into the kiss. She’d been waiting all week for his mouth, she realized. The brush of his facial hair on her skin, his warm lips exploring hers with slow pleasure, the tangle of his tongue with her own. She moved closer to him and shivered with anticipation as she felt him shift beneath her, a long stiff shape poking her hip.
He raised his head, and his hands lifted to pull her arms gently from his neck. He looked down at her breasts. “That was nice, but you have way too many clothes on,” he said. “This time I want you to take your top off for me, Petal.”
Daisy’s stomach clenched. She wriggled her bottom enticin
gly on his hard thighs. “Wouldn’t you rather I took my shorts off?”
His face hardened, his gaze going cool. “No, or I would have said to do that.”
Daisy froze. Oh crap, this was it. She swallowed and forced herself to lift one hand to the ties beneath her breast. Around her, people laughed and danced and played. Someone behind her was getting a spanking, and farther on a man was groaning with pleasure, the slap of flesh rising in the lull between songs.
She fiddled with the ties and bit her lip, giving him a pleading look. “I’d really, really rather not.” Not yet.
He brushed her hands aside and began to untie her top himself, his gaze holding hers. His warm, calloused fingers brushed her midriff. He was challenging her, letting her know that this time there was no choice for her.
Her stomach jumped again, fear squeezing her arousal in its icy fist. Daisy shook her head and shoved his hands away. She scrambled off his lap. “I-I can’t. I just—I can’t.”
Tears blinded her, mercifully washing away the sight of his bearded face, his mouth flattening into a hard line.
Turning, she fled into the crowd. She didn’t stop running until she was in the women’s lounge.
Dack watched his pretty little blonde dodge through the crowd—running away from him. Running from his domination. A few of the people nearby looked at him and then away. He knew every one of them, and they knew him, knew he was one of the owners, one of the head doms here.
His gut clenched. Took a lot to embarrass him, but this definitely qualified. Daisy had bolted and left him alone and wanting, although his arousal was fast disappearing. She’d challenged him again, and this time she appeared to want to have nothing to do with him. Nothing like rejection to cool a guy off.
Goddamn it, what was it with her? Yeah, her tits weren’t all her, he could tell that. Augmented breasts not only looked different than natural ones, they felt different. Firmer somehow. That turned some people off.
Not him. Hell, she was hot and gorgeous, and if a bigger rack helped her feel sexy, that was fine with him. He had nothing against people having a little work done. But if she’d had plastic surgery to feel more attractive, then why the hell didn’t she want him or anyone else looking at the augmentation?
Her breasts were pretty, as much of them as he’d seen in the dimness of the back bedroom the weekend before. And she’d liked it when he put his hands on them and played with her nipples, so she wasn’t in pain. She’d mentioned scars, but he hadn’t felt the ridges of any scar tissue on her silky skin.
Damn, he’d never understand women. And right now, he wasn’t sure he wanted to try. But she was in his club, and she was upset. And as much as he hated women pitching a fit, the thought of her crying alone in the bathroom or her car brought out the protective side of him. A big part of being a dom was caring for those who were submissive.
He shoved himself upright and went in search of help.
His luck turned for the better. Twila, one of his favorite fem dommes, was at the bar waiting for her girlfriend. The tall redhead had a fake rack too, and she was displaying her D-cups tonight in a tight leather vest, matching chaps over bikini bottoms on her slim hips. She grinned at him as he walked up, but her look quickly changed to concern. “What’s up, big guy?”
He motioned her aside, away from the crowd at the bar and explained what had happened. With a grimace of sympathy, she followed him to the bathrooms. “You want me to bring her out to you?”
“Nah, I want you to talk to her, okay? If you can, uh, get her into the locker room.”
She frowned. “You gonna come in there?”
“No, but I was thinking I could listen from the connecting door to the janitor’s closet.”
Twila nodded. “This one’s special, huh?” she asked, acknowledging that he was going to a lot of trouble to draw out of Daisy whatever was bothering her.
She didn’t wait for a reply, and Dack was damn glad. How did he answer that? He wanted to dominate Daisy, and he wanted to fuck her. All friggin’ week, he’d thought about her when he laid down in his king-size bed at night, and she’d been the first thing on his mind when he woke with his usual morning wood. So, yeah, he guessed that made her special. Or maybe it just made her fuckable; he didn’t know.
He was scowling as he ducked around a partition and into the room where their janitorial supplies were stored. The men’s and women’s bathrooms were spacious, and both had shower facilities and adjoining locker rooms with a comfortable sitting area for members who wanted to chat without being out in the bar. The women’s side was done in soft peach and cream that coordinated with the wood paneling.
Dack would have yanked the membership of anyone caught doing what he did next, but this was an emergency—of sorts. He unlocked the door that led from the closet into the women’s locker room. Then he left it ajar just enough so he could see Daisy, huddled in a chair with her head in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking, and he could hear her soft sobs. The sound ripped at his guts.
Twila walked into the locker room and perched on the ottoman in front of Daisy.
“Hey,” Twila said gently, for her anyway. She had a low, husky voice that was made for raucous laughter and hollering across a softball diamond. She leaned her elbows on her knees. “You must be Daisy.”
His Petal looked up, swiping her face with her hand. His heart contracted. Ah, shit, her pretty face was wet, her eyes already red from crying. She nodded warily, her shoulders hitching with another sob.
Twila handed her a couple of paper towels. “I’m Twila. Friend of Dack’s.”
Daisy hid behind the paper towels, making a noise like a kicked puppy.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Twila asked her. “If that big bozo did or said anything, I’ll go kick his ass right now.”
Daisy must have given her a look of disbelief, because Twila laughed. “I’m a black belt. I can bloody his nose, anyhow.”
Daisy shook her head. “It-it wasn’t him,” she managed. “It’s m-m-me.”
Twila nodded. “So, you had some work done on your breasts, huh? Me too. Yours look really nice. You should be proud of how you look.”
“I-I am, but I—” She was off again, sobbing as if her little heart was breaking.
Dack clenched his fists, grinding his teeth together. He wanted to bust out of the closet and demand that she stop crying. Hell, he was ready to drop down on his knees and beg her to stop.
“So, are you sorry you had the work done?” Twila asked.
Daisy shook her head again. “No, but I-I had to.” She gulped in a big breath and looked at Twila, her tilted eyes flooded with new tears. “I had b-breast cancer. They t-took both of my—my breasts.”
Dack froze, his blood turning to ice. Very slowly, he leaned his forehead against the doorframe, recoiling when his hat bumped the door. He stood with his head bowed, his eyes closed. Shit, shit, shit.
“They took both of them?” Twila asked gently. “Radical mastectomy, huh? Girl, that’s rough.”
Rough? It was unbelievable, brutal. How the hell did women live through shit like that? The thought of his pretty, spunky Petal undergoing it made him want to throw back his head and howl.
Daisy nodded and then sobbed into her paper towels.
Twila cast a look of sympathy toward his hiding place, as if she knew what he was going through. Then she scooted over to the sofa beside Daisy and put one arm around her, ducking her head to peer into her face.
“Dack said they’re real pretty,” Twila said. “The plastic surgeons did a nice job for you. And you liked it when he touched you last time.”
As he watched, his Petal nodded. “But-but that was kind of in the d-dark, and no-no one else was looking. It was d-different.”
Twila nodded. “Well, yeah. But, Daisy, if private and in the dark are all you want, then…what are you doing here?”
Daisy took a long, sobbing breath. “I want…I want someone to help me just break through my fears.”
&nb
sp; Twila looked frustrated, but her voice remained gentle. “What fears?”
“That…that I’m not a…a real woman anymore,” Daisy wailed. “It’s been m-months since I healed, but”—she waved a hand at her breasts—“I feel like these are a neon sign, telling everyone that I’m damaged goods.”
“Ah.” Twila nodded. “Gotcha.”
She sighed and patted Daisy on the back and then let her go, leaning back to cross one long leg over the other. “Daisy, what you have to remember is that everybody in this club has had a fight of some kind to get here. Most of us, we’re fighting what other people tell us we should feel and think and do. Society says one woman, one man, in the dark in a bed with wedding rings on.” She joggled her booted foot, and Dack could see her own agitation. He knew it wasn’t easy being gay, even in this liberal city.
“Maybe they’re right,” she went on. “For most people, I guess that works. But for me, it doesn’t. I’m not only gay, I’m a domme. Sounds like it doesn’t work for you either. Let me ask you this—did you like what you and Dack did together last time you were here?”
Daisy nodded, at first looking down. Then she lifted her head. Dack’s chest swelled with pride as she looked Twila in the eye, owning her feelings. “Yes. I did. It was…the hottest sex I’ve ever had.”
Twila grinned wickedly. “Dack’s pretty hot, all right. For a guy.”
Dack nearly snorted. He knew that dig was just for him.
But although Daisy was smiling, she was also nodding like she meant it.
“So.” Twila’s smile disappeared as she put her domme face on. “If you’re going to come to the club, and wear Dack’s collar, you need to be open to doing what’s asked of you. If you can’t do that, maybe this scene isn’t for you. But more than that, think about what you’re doing to Dack. If you come on to him, and then don’t follow through…that’s just a big tease, Daisy. And he deserves better than that.”
Daisy nodded, her mouth trembling. “Yes,” she agreed. “He does.”
