by Chloe Cox
That part had been fun.
This part, where he had to restrain himself, was less fun. The only thing that made up for it was knowing what Cave had in store for himself. Maybe Simone’s plan would de-wormify him entirely.
The door opened six inches and Cave leaned on it, giving Holt a blurry, confused look. “How’d you get up here?” Cave asked.
“You should be nicer to the people who hold spare keys,” Holt said. “Open the door.”
It wasn’t a request. Cave obeyed, then seemed surprised at himself.
Inwardly, Holt smiled. Outwardly, he loomed and crowded. Cave wasn’t that much shorter than him, although Holt had a good sixty pounds of muscle on the twig. Still, the smaller man seemed to shrink even more.
“This is a shithole,” Holt observed.
“It’s my pied a terre,” Cave said sarcastically. “You’re the security guard or whatever from Club Volare, aren’t you? I hope you’re not here to try to intimidate me. I can promise you you’re not scarier than my ex-wife’s divorce lawyer. Now who are you, and what do you want?”
It was a nice speech. It was also a lie, as far as bravado was concerned.
Holt fixed Cave with a stare long enough to let him know that he would not be answering questions. When the smaller man looked down, Holt nodded.
“I’m here to offer you an exclusive opportunity,” Holt said.
Now that word got Cave’s attention. He stood upright, and his sharp eyes came into focus. “An exclusive? What kind of exclusive?”
Holt lifted the red envelope.
Cave’s greedy hands shot out for it, but Holt held it back, and his Dom gaze did the rest. Cave backed off, sullenly eying the envelope.
“This is an all-access invitation to Friday night at Club Volare. No names, no pictures. But everyone there will be willing to talk to you about the club. And you’ll see for yourself what it’s all about.”
Cave cocked an unconvincing eyebrow. “I’ve already written about the club. What makes you think—”
Holt’s voice cracked like a whip.
“You will not disappoint Miss Delavigne,” he said.
Cave blinked up at him.
And, just because Doms needed to have fun too, Holt added, “That is not a request.”
He left Cave standing in a bathrobe in his own studio with his mouth open.
But that little bit of fun didn’t last long. That wasn’t Cave’s fault. He’d done what he could to improve Holt’s day.
It was Simone.
Holt had gotten used to thoughts of Simone interrupting his day, every day. He didn’t like it—like most Doms, he liked being in control, even of his own thoughts—but you couldn’t fight a force of nature. The woman he still loved was in trouble, and she wasn’t talking to him about it.
That she’d come to his office at all was a sign something was off. Whether she realized it or not, Simone had violated the terms of their contract by coming to him. That was clearly personal.
And that she was personally upset about Crennel…
He shook his head, and got into his car. It didn’t mean anything. Simone had seen a woman who didn’t look sober, and who did look like she’d been hurt. That would trigger the hell out of anyone with Simone’s past. Especially her past with Holt.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter as the memory flooded him. He’d helped do this to her when he’d broken her heart. So he would find a way to fix it.
He had a new plan to get Crennel. One that wouldn’t put any subs in the position to testify. His boss wouldn’t like it.
Holt didn’t care. Simone was more important.
Time to suit up.
The thing Simone missed about drinking, right at that moment, was having something to do with her hands. Specifically, something she could do with her hands that would help her not feel like a nervous wreck. A soda water with lime just wasn’t cutting it. And there was only one other thing that would fulfill those requirements, and Holt was, so far, nowhere to be seen.
It was just as well. He was the real reason she was so nervous.
Club Volare on a Friday night was a sight to behold—lots of black silk curtains and private little areas and lighting that looked like torches. Most members came out, some of them in high-fetish wear, some in just sexy-ass clothing, all of them looking to play or watch people play or just catch up with friends. If it wasn’t the hub of high society—yet—it was the hub of the society Simone cared about.
And Simone had mostly avoided it for the many months she and Holt were broken up, because she couldn’t handle seeing him.
We’re still broken up, she reminded herself.
Simone shook her head, as though that could rearrange the thoughts in her skull and somehow make it so that she was not actually still in love with Holt Manning. She hadn’t seen him since the night she went, stupidly, crazily, to his office to demand he do something about Crennel. In retrospect, she had no idea what Holt must have thought. They’d met up at the club later and she’d explained her plans for tonight—and he’d reminded her who was the Dom—but she hadn’t been able to face him since.
She had no idea what she was going to do.
And that was a problem, because she needed to be on her A-game tonight. Because tonight, Simone was going to win Cave Johnson and his magazine over to Club Volare’s side, and undo at least a little of the damage she’d personally wrought on the club she loved so much.
Well, Rose Gideon was going to win him over. If you could call it that.
“How are you, doll?” Rose said as she came over to Simone’s little nook. They’d made plans to meet in one of the cutaway little corners of the club, somewhere where they could observe everyone who entered. And Rose had made an entrance. She was just shy of six feet, red haired, and all Domme. She was one of the first friends Simone had made at the club, at least once Simone had gotten over her initial intimidation. The fact that Rose only took male subs might have helped with that.
“He’s not here yet,” Simone said, and took another sip of her soda. It was disappearing fast.
Rose gave her the once-over as she sank into her plush leather armchair, crossing one leg over the other and somehow making it a Domme move.
“You’re nervous,” Rose observed.
“Of course I’m nervous,” Simone said, and used the excuse to watch the entry again. She wasn’t actually nervous about the party, or the plan. She should have been.
She just didn’t have any nervousness left over after she got done thinking about Holt. Falling in love with him again was definitely not part of the plan. Getting her heart broken again? Also not part of the plan. And nothing had changed—Holt was still a straight line to her squiggly one. She would never be able to live up to his expectations, not in the long run.
Right?
“Hmm,” Rose said. Her arched eyebrow brought Simone back to reality. The last thing she wanted was news getting around about her and Holt again. People seemed to have accepted that they had an arrangement, and no one had gotten in her business about it beyond that, and Simone wanted to keep it that way.
Rose sensed it, and released her.
“It’s your brilliant plan,” Rose went on. “You should be proud of it.”
Simone smiled ruefully. “I just can’t help but worry that I’m wrong, even when I’m pretty sure I’m right. I’m not very good at spotting—”
“But Holt is,” Rose cut her off, with a tone that suggested she didn’t like hearing Simone disparage herself. Then Rose smiled. “When he called me I just assumed he was paying me back. Imagine my delight when I learned I could help you out at the same time.”
Simone stiffened. It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. Rose was not a switch, and neither was Holt, and they didn’t have that chemistry. It was just a turn of phrase. But the idea of Holt and another woman made her crazy.
“Paying you back?” she asked.
Trying to be subtle.
Rose rolled her eyes.
> “Relax,” Rose said. “He was worried about you when you split up, that’s all.”
“We’re still split up,” Simone said. She sipped her soda.
Rose raised another eyebrow.
And Simone, for some reason, had discovered a masochistic streak.
“He was worried about me, so…what? He asked you to keep an eye on me?” Simone licked her lips, and couldn’t stop herself from what she said next. “He asked you to make sure I didn’t get drunk and screw over the club again? Is that it?”
Rose’s expression didn’t change. It was infuriating. Dom/mes were basically impossible to fluster.
“Not specifically,” she said finally. “And I would have done it anyway, Simone. You know that. Speaking of the devil, where is your Dom?”
Simone tried to act cool. “I haven’t seen him yet.”
And then suddenly Rose’s attention was elsewhere. Her mouth puckered into a glossy O of surprise as she focused beyond Simone’s shoulder. “Why, hello there.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth like she was trying to summon a stray cat. “That’s your scary magazine writer, isn’t it?”
Simone turned to see Cave passing through the gauntlet of security they had at the entrance. Luke was on the door, and Gavin was nearby. Both knew to watch out for Cave, but even if they hadn’t, it would have been painfully obvious who the interloping society columnist was. The man was wearing a suit—an actual suit—and not a bit of fetish gear in sight.
“Oh boy,” Simone muttered.
Rose smiled a very Dommy smile.
“It never ceases to surprise me how intimidated you subs are, even with each other. He’s an adorable pup, that one. I could spot him from a mile away. And he’s mine.”
Without another word, Rose uncrossed her long legs, eyes set on her target, and walked across the room at a languid, easy pace. For a moment, Simone’s heart was in her throat. What if she was wrong? What if Cave had zero interest, wasn’t a sub at all, and he really was just—
And then she saw Cave’s face when he saw Rose coming toward him.
Oh.
She had been approximately one hundred percent right.
Simone felt a brief bubbling of relief, even enjoyment—and almost pride? At being good at her job—before it all fizzled. Because now that Cave was here, and in the very capable hands of Rose, all Simone had left was the elephant in the room. Or her heart. Elephants everywhere, basically.
Elephants that all wanted her to think about Holt.
And the fact that she was very much in love with him again. Or still. Maybe she’d never stopped. Maybe she’d been lying to herself all along. It hardly mattered. All that mattered was what she was going to do about it.
Was she strong enough to walk away from him, even just as her Dom? Because if she kept going like this, she knew where it ended. And she didn’t know if she could repair a broken heart twice.
She gripped her soda-in-a-cocktail-glass in her hand, the icy water condensing on the sides grounding her, just a little bit.
They’d agreed to meet at the party, but Simone had been secretly relieved when she hadn’t seen him, because she had literally no idea what to do. But the longer it went on, the more anxious she was getting. The further away from him, from a scene, the worse it got. If she ran away from him, she would break her own heart, and lose her release in BDSM, at least in the short term. If she stayed, she’d end up with a broken heart anyway. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from wondering, at any given moment, where he was. What he was doing. Who he was with.
Just thinking about him made her skin feel hot. She could swear he was here, looking at her, from just the way…
Oh God.
He was there. He’d been there for…she didn’t know how long. At the other end of the room, at the end of the bar.
Watching her.
Their eyes met, and a smirk tilted his mouth. He looked incredible in a leather vest. Strong, dark, dominating. Simone realized she was holding her breath.
Holt’s eyes swept down her body like a wave of fire. He drank in the sight of her hips pressing tightly against the dress—without any underwear lines, at his request, of course—and then finally made his way back to her face.
Then he uncrossed his arms and, with one, slow finger, beckoned his sub to come join him.
Simone swallowed. She didn’t have a choice. Her body went where he commanded.
What the hell was she going to do?
18
The walk across the Club Volare main hall to where Holt stood at the bar was the longest walk of Simone’s life. The man was some kind of wizard. His eyes on her could stop time.
She hardly noticed the decorations, the lights. Chains gleamed, music played, subs served beverages in strategically minimal clothing, most of it glowing under the black lights that turned the dance floor of the regal old mansion into something resembling a goth club.
All of it was mere background. Because the way Holt was looking at her, as she walked to him, obeying his silent order, was exactly the way he’d looked at her when Cave had tried to mess with her. It was the way he’d looked at her when he’d defended her.
When he’d finally said all the things Simone had wanted to hear from him, just months too late.
Maybe if he’d meant what he said. Maybe if she could believe…what? For just a second, when he’d defended her to Cave, it had seemed like maybe it—they—could work. If she got her second chance, if she could be sure she wouldn’t disappoint him again, maybe, just maybe…
No. You know why it could never work.
And yet she couldn’t stop torturing herself, any more than she could stop her slow motion walk to the only Dom she’d ever loved. Simone grit her teeth, her body at war with herself. The closer she got to him, his eyes never leaving hers, the harder it was to keep her emotions in check.
And it pissed her off. Almost as much as the revelation that Holt had asked Rose—and probably others—to “keep an eye” on her while they were broken up.
Her mind seized on that like a lifeboat, and she felt the anger welling up inside her. Simone wasn’t used to being angry, except maybe with herself, but at that moment it was a hell of a lot easier than feeling heartbroken. The one thing she had was that she’d earned her sobriety. She’d done that. And she’d done it without Holt’s help. She’d done it while having to nurse her broken heart at the same time, and he was the one who fucking broke it! And the idea that he hadn’t been there for her, but he’d had people watching her? That he could dump her, but still think he had a right to know how she was? Just so he could feel better about it?
By the time she reached her destination, she was both livid and turned on. Which was confusing. Which made her even angrier.
And Holt freaking knew it. Her Dom’s eyes had changed as she’d come closer. There was still the confidence. Christ, he was never not confident. But he was cool now, too. Detached. Observing her. Unhurried and unworried.
It made her crazy.
“This is soda water,” Simone said, finishing her drink and slamming it down on the bar. “In case you were wondering.”
Holt studied her. Said nothing.
Infuriating.
“And if I had fallen off the wagon before our current arrangement, it wouldn’t have been any of your business at all,” she said bitterly.
The only warning was the flash in his eyes.
Holt pulled her toward him, then reached down and lifted her, his big hands wrapped around the underside of her thighs, right below her ass. He was so quick she didn’t have time to react. She just went limp. In a split second he had her sitting on the edge of the bar in front of him, very, very aware that she wasn’t wearing underwear. Because he’d told her not to.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Then he put his big hands on her bare knees and slowly, excruciatingly, spread her legs until she was spread completely.
Totally exposed. To him, only. His body blocked the sight of her bare pus
sy from the rest of the partygoers, but a few looked anyway. She was clearly a sub in trouble.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t flip you over and spank your naked ass on this bar in front of everybody right now,” he growled. “And know that I might do it anyway.”
Simone looked at the hard, demanding face of her Dom, and knew it was hopeless. Her heart beat in her chest, but she felt it between her legs, driving a ceaseless rhythm through her that made thinking—let alone lying, let alone evading—impossibly difficult. The tension between how much she wanted him and how afraid she was of how much she loved him stretched her to the breaking point, and she broke.
“Because you had no right to check up on me after you dumped me,” she said. “You had no right to care if I started drinking again.”
A flicker of emotion passed across Holt’s face. He didn’t say anything, but he rested his big hands on the tops of her thighs, and started pushing them up, his thumbs reaching down her inner thighs.
Her eyes half closed as he teased her.
“And if you started drinking again now, it would only be my business as your Dom,” he said, his voice calm. Deep.
She sighed. “That’s right,” she said.
“Because we don’t work as a couple,” he said.
“That’s right,” she said again. Willing his hands closer. She was ruining the bar underneath her. “We don’t work as a couple.”
Holt pushed her dress to her waist, his hands at the crease of her hips, his thumbs so, so close. She didn’t dare look away from his eyes. She just wished she could read them.
“Why?” he said.
“What?” she said.
He smiled slightly, and squeezed her. She sucked in breath in a needy hiss.
“Why don’t we work as a couple? It’s a simple question,” he said. “You will answer it.”
And he started to slide his hands back down her thighs, away from her aching center.
“Damn you,” she said, gritting her teeth. Then she forced herself to open wide and meet his eyes one more time.
Screw it. Tell the truth.
“Because I’m not good enough for you, and we both know it!”
