by Chloe Cox
But no level of skill could change the fact that whenever Holt was around, Simone felt it. Her body screamed for attention, her skin tingling on the surface, her thighs brushing together as she walked. It was a reminder of everything good about this place.
And it was a reminder of everything good that she once had—or thought she could have—before she’d pretty much set her life on fire.
“There are theme rooms,” Simone said, careful not to meet Holt’s eye. “But for the most part the private rooms are for, well, privacy. And they are, um, well equipped.”
Cave clapped his hands. “‘Equipped!’ Now we’re talking. Show me that.”
“You do have a one-track mind, don’t you?” Simone laughed. Despite herself, part of her liked Cave.
“Isn’t this a one-track kind of place?” Cave asked.
“Actually, it’s the opposite,” Simone said, opening the first door on the right. They were greeted with red satin walls, mirrors, and enough black leather for a biker bar. She and Holt had used this room, once, back when they were together. He’d clamped her nipples, tied her up, and made her come so hard she thought she was having a stroke. Just the sight of it got her heart racing.
‘One-track’ kind of place? Ha.
“There are many tracks,” she said, looking around at all the other discreet but functional rigs. “Many, many tracks.”
There was a pause.
“You are not kidding,” Cave said finally. He pointed. “What the hell is that?”
“That,” Simone said, “is a St. Andrew’s Cross.”
“And that?”
“A suspension harness.”
“Is that—”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Simone said quickly.
She didn’t dare look at Holt. She didn’t know if she wanted to see if he was remembering all the things she was—or if he wasn’t.
He’d kissed her on that St. Andrews Cross, right as he entered her.
He’d—
“This is personal for you,” Cave said.
Simone started. She’d been lost in thought, looking at all this stuff. But Cave wasn’t. He’d been watching her just as all those memories had rushed through her. He was watching her now, with his elbow propped up in one hand and his chin sitting in the other, his eyes full of sympathy.
Behind him, stationed by the door as though he were just a disinterested security guard, Holt stiffened.
“Well, of course,” Simone said.
“And how are you?” Cave said, lowering his voice. “I mean, how are you doing? You look great, by the way. Really fantastic.”
Simone steadied herself with a practiced smile. She knew what this was, but she was still off balance. If she looked great, it was definitely because of recent events concerning—
“Seriously, you really have this amazing glow,” Cave went on.
Simone tried not to look at the source of that glow, but she couldn’t help it. She stole a glance at Holt.
He hadn’t moved. But he was watching them, his brow furrowed. He was tense. Wary. Primed.
And Simone realized so was she. She looked at Cave, who watched her with such studious and interested understanding that it was almost like he was giving her a performance of a sympathetic friend, and she got that wave of prickles up her spine, like the tension right before someone cracked the whip.
Cave raised an eyebrow at her.
“Now, are we going to talk about the real dirt, or what?” he said.
“Honestly, probably not the way you want,” Simone said carefully. “This is about Club Volare and the Love for Life charity event. There’s so much good stuff here, and really my past is just so boring in comparison.”
Cave laughed outright.
“Lady, you are beautiful, rich, kinky, and you like to drink,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You were never boring.”
The present tense on that rankled. Actually, pretty much all of it rankled.
“Then believe me,” Simone said, soldiering on, “when I say that your story should be about people who find something that they’re missing at Club Volare. Something they didn’t even know they needed until—”
“Until?” Cave prompted. His eyebrows arched.
Simone didn’t look at Holt.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel his eyes on her.
“Until they’ve tried it,” Simone said softly. Cave was watching her. Holt was watching her. Both men looking for a sign of weakness, for very different reasons.
She smiled brightly.
“How do you know if BDSM is boring if you haven’t tried it, Mr. Johnson?”
Now it was Cave’s turn to blink. “I’m more into pleasing women, personally.”
I bet you are, she thought. A theory was forming. Maybe if she was right about Cave, Simone could figure out some way of getting this interview back on track…
“Man, look at those hooks!” Cave almost yelped. “Those look downright dangerous,” he said. “Harmful, even.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Simone said, though Cave didn’t tear himself away from the suspension rig he was fondling. “Pretty much everything you see here is about ensuring the safety of our members. We have an insane amount of protocols and procedures to make sure everyone stays safe, and there are always club monitors roaming around, and we look out for each other. Always.”
“Hmmm,” Cave said, fingering a leather strap. He looked up at her, sideways. “And who was looking out for you?”
“Excuse me?” Simone said.
In her peripheral vision, Holt took a step closer.
“I mean, it just seems pretty obvious to me,” Cave said, his voice still dripping with that saccharine sympathy. “You’ve just replaced one dangerous hobby with another. Only here you’ve found people who get off on hurting you. And you like it.”
The words cracked across her back like a whip, and they were meant to. For a second, Simone was stunned into silence. That was…vicious. And insightful. Like he’d gone straight for what had once been her greatest fear.
Where had she heard that before?
But before she could remember, Simone saw Holt. He was bearing down on Cave like he was going to turn the wiry little jerk into a wiry little pretzel, his shoulders rolling in that way he did when he got all protective.
She caught his eye.
Cave was still entranced by the leather straps on the suspension rig, which was why he remained oblivious. It was almost a shame. Simone almost wanted someone to witness her locking eyes with Holt Manning, shaking her head, and then…
Holt backing off.
He wasn’t happy about it. He was still glowering like a storm cloud. But he put his hands up, nodded, and then gave her the most searing, lustful look she’d ever gotten in actual, real life.
He was letting her stand on her own.
A lot of PR people would try to play Cave’s game, but Simone had found that just being honest with people was almost always the best way to go. And she didn’t like playing rigged games anyway. She sort of wished she had Holt’s super Dom mind reading powers, but maybe she wouldn’t need them.
“Look, Cave, you clearly came here with some spin for your story already in mind,” she said. “Is there any shot here of fair coverage?”
“I’m always fair,” Cave said, tearing his focus away from the suspension rig. “But I admit I am feeling a little disappointed. Aren’t you a submissive? Doesn’t that mean you like taking orders? C’mon, tell me.”
Friendly Cave was back. Simone smiled. “I don’t think I would take orders from you.”
Cave frowned, his eyes going sharp. He was frustrated and it made him angry, like the kind of guy who would complain about blue balls.
“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that this place didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you,” he said. “And you can’t seriously expect me not to write about it.”
Simone looked. Holt was still standing behind Cave, his muscled arms cr
ossed over his big chest. He nodded at her.
“Nothing happened to me,” Simone said. “I made some unbelievably bad choices all on my own, and that is mine to own. You can’t take that away from me. And you know what else? I got better. I did that. It was a boatload of work, but I got help from this club and the people in it. And that is a good story. People should know about that. I will talk to you about that. So if you want to talk about my problems in this article, I obviously can’t stop you, but you should damn sure get it right.”
God, that felt good to say.
But Cave was smiling.
Why was he smiling?
“Then tell me about that night,” he said.
A chill settled on Simone’s overheated skin like a shroud. Cave knew something about that night. And there was only one person who could have told him.
Crennel.
And all of those feelings came back with that shroud. Feeling that she was worthless. Unlovable. Broken. The sick thing was, part of her wanted to tell Cave all about it, just for the temporary approval she’d get. That was the same part of her that would want to drink again afterwards.
She licked her lips. “What night?” she said, almost mechanically.
Cave raised his eyebrows, his thin smile getting thinner.
“You know what night, Simone.”
It was like she was in a trance. A time-traveling trance. Trapped in that moment when she hit rock bottom.
And then, for the last time, she looked at Holt.
It wasn’t just that he looked like he wanted to kill Cave, but was holding back, for her. It wasn’t just that when he looked at her, he looked at her like he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. That he’d seen the absolute worst of her, and he still wanted her.
It was that when Holt looked at her, in that moment, he was completely, totally confident. In her.
The spark of it ignited somewhere in her chest, burning away the last wisps of that shroud of remembered feelings and leaving Simone standing strong in the present.
“No,” she said. “This club is a wonderful place, and my mistakes are not a reflection on anyone but me, and I will not be the story. And if that’s all you’ve got, Cave, the interview is over.”
Cave laughed again. He laughed. And he stepped toward her, like she hadn’t said anything at all.
Probably because he forgot Holt was behind him.
“Come on, Simone, how do you expect people to believe your magical healing sex club fairy tale if you won’t address the rumors that you—”
Cave’s words ended in a squeak as a heavy, vise-like hand came down on his shoulder.
14
Holt let the growl rumble low in his chest as he swiveled Cave Johnson around to face him. The idiot’s face was pale and he looked suddenly nauseous.
Good.
“She said the interview is over,” Holt said, his fingers digging into the other man’s soft shoulder. “And we have a zero-tolerance policy for people who don’t respect limits.”
Cave blinked.
“Want to test it?” Holt said.
Holt wished this P.O.S. would test him. Holt had never been angrier, not even on the job. This man had walked into the club and used every sneaky rhetorical trick to try to break Simone, just for a story. For entertainment. And Holt had to watch while Simone took it for the sake of the club.
All he wanted to do was beat some respect into Cave. But he knew it was about more than Cave trying to get Simone to talk about the worst night of her life. It was because Holt himself had contributed to that night. He’d come down on Simone so hard he’d scared her all the way to rock bottom. And nothing in the world would change that.
Cave opened his mouth, and Holt growled.
Cave shut his mouth.
“Do not fucking talk,” Holt warned. “Listen. People make mistakes. In fact, you’re making one right now. The difference between you and Simone Delavigne—one of many differences, because I promise you, you are not fit to breathe the same air as her—is that Miss Delavigne, as you will address her from now on, is strong enough to take responsibility for her mistakes. She owns them, she corrects them, and then she endures public scrutiny without batting an eyelash. Your readers would be smart to trust what she says, but it is an a matter of absolute urgency for you, personally, that you respect what she says, even if you think it’s a fairy tale. That’s another personal promise from me to you. Do you understand me, Cave?”
Cave’s mouth still wasn’t working. He swallowed, eyes unblinking.
“Nod if you understand me, Cave.”
Cave nodded.
“Now get the fuck out,” Holt said.
He gave the rat bastard a little push and that seemed to get his legs working again. Cave speed-walked out of the room, stopped to quietly and respectfully close the door behind him, and then raced down the stairs, his steps echoing in a rapid staccato that made Holt smile.
“He left so quick he almost left a tiny little cartoon cloud behind him,” Holt said, grinning at Simone as the last of Cave’s footsteps faded.
The tension broke like a summer rain.
“Like he had Wyle E. Coyote after him,” Simone said, a smile flashing across her face.
“You comparing your Dom to Wyle E. Coyote?” Holt said.
And then their eyes locked.
Goddamn.
It hit him like a thunderclap: he loved her. He loved her more than ever. And he wanted her. Seeing her stand up, gather her strength, be the woman he knew she could be, made him want her more than he thought possible. He wanted all of her. But more than anything, Holt wanted to go back in time and fix what had gone wrong.
Because if he could, Simone would look at him the way she was right now, in this moment, all the time. Like she loved him, and trusted him.
Maybe he would have said something in another second. But too quickly he saw that flash of recognition pass over Simone’s face. She knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking it too. They were in that moment together.
And it scared the hell out of her.
She wasn’t ready for his love. But she was ready for his domination.
He could do that.
Simone realized she was shaking. And it wasn’t because of Cave Johnson.
It was because of the towering Dom in front of her.
It was because, for a moment, she forgot she wasn’t in love—couldn’t be in love—with Holt Manning. No matter how much stronger she felt with him at her side. No matter how much he made her feel wanted or loved, in the moment. Because she knew how it would end.
She just wished she didn’t.
“I could have handled that,” she said, grasping for something to fight about.
“You did handle that,” Holt said, his face unreadable. “You told him it was over. I enforced the club’s rules.”
Simone nodded. But there was something she was missing. Besides the crazy unnerved panicked sort of feeling that was rising inside of her, there was something about Holt’s body language. What was she missing?
“But,” Holt said, his eyes glittering down at her, “you didn’t stand up for yourself.”
“What?” she said.
Holt smiled as he took of his suit coat and hung it on the back of the closed door. When he turned around, he was rolling his cuffs up those sexy-as-hell forearms.
“You stood up for the club,” Holt said, his eyes locked back on her. “Not yourself.”
Simone knew what he was doing. He’d seen her start to freak out, so he was taking control. It was what she needed.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t drive her crazy. Because he was freaking right. Again. She hadn’t stood up for herself because she hadn’t wanted to admit anything had happened. Because she didn’t want Holt to know anything had happened that night beyond what he already knew.
“It’s not really any of your business,” she said. “You’re not my boyfriend.”
“No,” Holt rumbled. “I’m your Dom. And
I think you need a little discipline.”
He looked her up and down with that hungry gaze, and her body started to come back to life wherever he looked. It was uncanny. He could just look at her breasts and her nipples would harden. She was already wet, her expensive clothes feeling too tight around her overheated skin.
She already needed him.
Damn him. She wanted to fight, and she couldn’t. She wanted to push him away, and she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t let her. And he freaking knew it.
“Strip,” he said. “Now.”
She hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to.
Because she did.
“Strip or I’ll do it for you,” Holt said, his eyes darkening.
Simone felt his words wash over her, bathing her in…God, what even was that? Hunger. Need. Heat. Like she was in a dream, her hands moved to the buttons on her blouse, the zipper on her skirt, the clasp on her bra. She stepped out of her thong, her breasts swinging free, and caught the look in his eyes.
Feral. Animal. Need.
But with iron control, he didn’t move. Just let her stand there, naked, exposed. The strength of her Dom always took her breath away. Always frustrated her. Always made her yearn for more.
Without warning he broke, striding toward her with two quick steps. He bent slightly and lifted her over his shoulder, her nakedness pressed into his freaking work clothes, and before she knew it he had her on the St. Andrew’s Cross.
Simone blinked into the light as he fastened the restraints on her wrists, leaving her ankles free. This was the St. Andrew’s Cross where he’d told her he loved her.
He’d kissed her, told her he loved her, and fucked her to oblivion. Right here.
Before she could dwell on that Holt stepped back, demanding her attention. She gave it. She had no choice. He looked her up and down one more time, surveying what was his to play with. Then he cupped her cheek in his hand, and turned her face up to meet his.
