No Safeword

by Claire Thompson

  Romance Unbound Publishing

  Presents

  No Safeword

  Claire Thompson

  Edited by

  Donna Fisk

  Jae Ashley

  Cover Art by Kelly Shorten

  Fine Line Edit by Kathy Kozakewich

  Consulting Editor – Jamie D Rose

  Ebook ISBN 978-1937337803

  Copyright 2016 Claire Thompson

  Copyright - Cover art image Mystock88photo | Dreamstime.com

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter 1

  Jaime’s boot heels clicked on the asphalt as she walked along the back alley toward Asheville’s only real underground BDSM club, The Garden. As she approached the unmarked entrance, she took off the denim jacket she’d worn over her leather vest for the long bus ride from her apartment and shoved it into her gear bag. A thrill moved through her as she gripped the large door handle. It had been too long since she’d smelled the heady scent of sweaty, aching desire or felt the sharp sting of leather against skin held tight by soft, strong rope.

  Please, please, please, let me in.

  She shook her hair from her face and blew out a breath as she pushed the heavy metal door inward. The doorman, Barry, had let her slide once before. With luck, maybe he’d do it again. Jaime’s heart sank as she saw, not Barry, but a forty-something woman with dark, short hair framing a narrow face, her lips painted a shiny crimson, standing behind the counter that separated the entrance from the rest of the club.

  “Welcome to The Garden,” the woman said, her eyes moving over Jaime in subtle but obvious appraisal. “You here alone or with a partner?” She tilted her head slightly, looking past Jaime in case someone else was about to appear.

  “Alone.” Jaime’s nipples were already responding to the thrilling crack of leather and whoosh of cane emanating from the room beyond the entrance. She could hear the breathy cries and squeals of the lucky subs engaged in scenes at the various play stations scattered throughout the club. Though it was only ten on a Friday night, the place was already in full swing.

  “That’ll be twenty dollars, please.” The woman waved toward a framed flyer on the shiny wooden counter that outlined the cost of entry for single men, women and couples. Though single women got a discount, it was still more than Jaime could afford. Beside the price list was a stack of consent waivers that absolved management of responsibility for any mishap during play sessions. “Do we have your waiver on file?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Jaime replied. “It’s been a while since I was here. Uh, is Barry here?”

  The woman shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t know any Barry. I’ve been here going on two months now. Did he used to work the door?”

  Jaime nodded, her heart sinking as the prospect of a BDSM scene that night slipped away. She turned at the sound of the front door opening. Several people entered, dressed in leather and hoisting gear bags, clearly ready to play. They were talking and laughing as they approached the counter behind Jaime.

  Jaime fingered the two folded five-dollar bills in the back pocket of her jeans as if, by touching them, she might make them miraculously multiply. “Uh, the thing is,” she said as she turned back to the woman, “I’m a little short tonight. Is there any way I could maybe, uh, skip the cover, just this once?”

  Jaime saw the flash of sympathy in the woman’s eyes, but after a moment’s hesitation, she replied with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry, hon. I don’t have that authority.” The group behind Jaime had quieted, and she wondered if they’d heard the humiliating exchange. She turned, ready to flee, when the woman reached a hand across the counter, placing cool fingers lightly on Jaime’s forearm. Her smile was kind. “Let’s just get these folks taken care of and then I’ll see if Anthony, the owner, has time to talk to you.”

  Jaime stepped aside as the woman took the other people’s money and their signed waivers. As she watched them enter the club, Jaime felt like a kid with her face pressed up against a candy store window.

  “I’ll be right back,” the woman finally said. “You stay put, okay, hon?”

  Jaime nodded. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Though she was now thoroughly embarrassed, the woman had been so kind, she knew she’d have to see this through, no matter how humiliating it might be to admit her impoverished status to the owner of the club.

  It wasn’t long before the woman returned, followed by a tall man with silver hair. “Good evening,” he said in a deep, sonorous voice as he stepped through the opening. “I’m Anthony Gerace, owner of The Garden. Charlotte informs me you might like to visit the facilities before committing to a play session?”

  Though the man was easily over sixty, he remained handsome, with dark eyes in an angular, strong-featured face. He was impeccably dressed in a pale gray tailored silk shirt over broad shoulders, his legs encased in form-fitting dark gray leather pants that looked soft as butter and molded alluringly over his sizable package and muscular thighs. Sixty or not, the guy was a total hunk. “What is your name?” His voice was soft but commanding.

  “Jaime. Jaime Shepard.”

  The man extended his hand and Jaime did likewise. To her surprise, instead of shaking her hand, Anthony lifted it to his face and lightly brushed it with his lips. She could feel power emanating from him like a force field, and the touch of his mouth against her skin sent a shudder through her loins she couldn’t control. His dark eyes moved over her like laser beams and she had the uncanny feeling he was assessing not only her features and clothing, but the very depths of her being.

  “You are submissive.” It wasn’t a question.

  Jaime nodded, and then found herself adding, “Yes, Sir,” the title of respect a natural addition to the sentence.

  “It has been a long time—too long—since you have had the opportunity to serve, am I right?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jaime whispered, something inside her unfurling like a flower blossom.

  Anthony stepped back, breaking the spell, at least momentarily, for which Jaime was both grateful and a little let down. “I would be delighted if you would be my guest at the club this evening,” he said.

  Jaime’s heart lifted as she glanced shyly up at the owner, wondering if he was offering to scene with her? She quickly dismissed the idea as unlikely in the extreme. Anthony Gerace didn’t strike her as the type of guy who engaged in casual play at a public club, even if he was the owner.

  “I really appreciate it. Usually I would have the cover. It’s embarrassing—”

  “Not at all.” Anthony cut her off with a wave of his hand, his smile kind beneath those dark, compelling eyes. “I well understand how hard it can be to make ones’ way in this world. I’m glad you came here tonight. It’s my privilege to host you this evening.”

  Jaime smiled. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Before you play,” Anthony continued, “I have something I would like to discuss with you, if I might have a moment of your time.” As he spoke, he let his eyes move once over her face and body as if she already belonged to him. She nodded, unable to help herself, the thought of refusing an impossibility.

  Again he extended his hand, and this time he took hers in his, pulling her gently forward. “In my office, if you please.”

  Charlotte, who stood nearby, drew in a soft gasp and Jaime turned to regard her. She met Jaime’s eyes and smiled, giving a small nod of what seemed to be encouragement. “Lucky girl,” she mouthed silently.

  Intrigued, excited and a little frightened, Jaime allowed Anthony to lead her by the hand through the club. Longing sizzled over Jaime’s skin as they moved past the various play stations, many of them containing new bondage equipment since the last time she’d been at the club.

  Anthony lifted a heavy satin curtain to revea
l a pocket door, which he slid open. Gesturing for Jaime to precede him, they stepped into a small but nicely appointed space, more like a sitting room than an office, with comfortable chairs and a sofa placed in a conversational configuration in the center of the room. There was a small desk in the corner, a thin, sleek laptop the only item resting on its polished marble surface.

  Anthony pulled the door closed, shutting out the sound of the club beyond. “Let me take that for you.” He reached for Jaime’s gear bag and lifted it from her shoulder. His fingers brushed her bare arm as he took the bag, his touch sending another involuntary shudder through her frame. She looked up at his face. He was staring down at her with a darkly inscrutable yet unmistakably masterful gaze. She stared back, transfixed, her pussy moistening, her nipples hardening into marbles beneath the thin leather of her vest.

  She could feel the sexual tension thrumming like an electric current between them. Or was it only on her side? He was, after all, old enough to be her father. Suddenly unsure, she managed to wrench her gaze from his. She moved toward one of the chairs to sit and get her bearings, but Anthony’s words stopped her. “You may sit down, of course, but I think you might be more comfortable kneeling on a cushion. I believe that is where you belong.”

  It was then she saw two large floor cushions set on the carpet between the furniture, in the place where a coffee table might be. Jaime drew in a breath, her hand fluttering to her mouth.

  Where you belong.

  “You will remove your boots and pants,” he instructed. “You may leave on your panties and your top, for now.”

  Jaime reached down and tugged at her boots, pulling them from her feet one at a time, along with her socks. Standing straight, she unzipped her jeans and rolled them down her legs. She stole a glance at Anthony, who had taken a seat on the sofa.

  He was watching her intently, appraisingly, and the slow heat of a blush moved over her face and neck. He pointed to the cushion nearest him. “Kneel up,” he instructed. “Shoulders back, hands clasped loosely behind your back.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The words, again, came unbidden. She settled on the soft silk. The carpet was padded beneath the thin cushion. It felt good—it felt right—to be on her knees after so long. Though she remained nervous, a certain submissive calm settled over her as she squared her shoulders and straightened her spine, her hands finding each other behind her back.

  “I’ve invited you back here, Jaime, because I sense something in you, something I would like to explore further. I appreciate your trust and patience during the process. I have an opportunity that might be something you want to consider, but first I need to find out a little more about you. I apologize in advance for the mystery, but I’ll make it all clear soon enough. Is that all right with you, Jaime?”

  Anything you want is all right with me, Sir. As long as it involves whips and chains. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Excellent.” Anthony appeared satisfied, as if she’d just passed some kind of test. He leaned back against the sofa. “Before I get down to my proposal, I’d like to ask you a few questions about yourself. Please just answer them as openly and honestly as you can. There is no right or wrong answer. First, the basics. How old are you?

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “In a relationship?”

  “I’ve been single a while now. I was with my last boyfriend for nearly two years.”

  “A D/s connection?”

  “Kind of. Just not the right one. I actually moved down here from Vermont to be with him.” She shrugged ruefully.

  “What caused the breakup?” He seemed genuinely interested.

  Though this was the most unusual setup for a play scene Jaime had ever encountered, she decided to go with it. “When we met, Jake claimed he was a Dom, but by the end of the relationship, he was the one begging to be tied up. It got, you know, really strange. He’s a sweet guy, and I tried to make it work in the context of submitting to his desire to be sexually dominated, but it just didn’t feel right, you know? We both finally agreed to end it about six months ago. I’ve been single since.”

  “And you’ve met your submissive needs with scenes at clubs? But your finances are constrained at the moment and this limits your ability to satisfy those needs?”

  Jaime nodded. “Constrained. Yeah. That’s one way to put it.” Dead broke is more like it. “I, uh, I lost my job a few months back…” She trailed off, embarrassed. This was feeling more like an interview than the prelude to a hot scene with a sexy Master. She shifted on the cushion, her knees suddenly aching.

  “What is your occupation? How did you lose your job?”

  “Look, I’m not sure—”

  “Please.” Anthony leaned forward, placing his large hand on Jaime’s bare shoulder. Again just his touch sent a powerful current of need through her. “I’m not being idly curious. I need to know about you, Jaime. If you would indulge me a little longer? As I mentioned, I sense something in you. Beyond the physical beauty, which is abundant, I see in you a sensual submission, or at least the potential for submission, that is rare. I’ve made my fortune by going on my instincts, and my instincts are telling me you have what it takes. Trust me just a little longer, Jaime. Let me find out what I need to know, and then I’ll tell you my proposal. No matter what you decide, you are free to use the facilities here at The Garden whenever you like—free of charge, my guest at any time.”

  Jaime was silent as she tried to process everything the man said. She was hugely pleased at his assertion of her submission, her sensual submission—she quite liked the sound of that. His reference to making his fortune intrigued her, and then there was the completely unexpected gift of free admission to The Garden any time she wanted! Her body tingled with anticipation at trying out all the fabulous new equipment waiting just beyond the door, hopefully with Anthony as her Master and guide. If she had to put up with some embarrassing probing into the financial ruin of her life at present, so be it.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “You’re throwing a lot out here. This is all kind of mysterious, but I admit it—you definitely have my attention. What did you want to ask?”

  Anthony leaned back again and smiled. “Your job. Tell me what happened.”

  “I was—am—a paralegal and I was working at this small law firm, Gordon & Chase, I don’t know if you’ve heard of them.”

  “The name rings a bell,” Anthony said.

  “Well, you might have seen the stories in the papers a while back. It was right after Jake and I broke up, and he’d moved out. I thought I could carry the full rent myself, since I had a steady paycheck at the time.” She snorted derisively in hindsight at her foolishness. “I’d just bought a new car, too, plunking down all my savings on the down payment.”

  Did he really want to hear this stuff? Since when did one’s job status have anything to do with setting up a scene? Jaime, who had been staring at the intricate patterns on the woven carpet as she spoke, glanced up at Anthony. His expression was intent, his focus entirely on her. “Go on,” he encouraged.

  Apparently he did want to hear it, the whole miserable saga. Jaime shrugged inwardly, somehow sure she could trust this man, and more than a little curious about his proposal, whatever it might be. “Long story short,” she continued, “the two partners were involved in some big embezzlement scandal and a whole lot of shady stuff I don’t really understand, and the place was closed down. I never even got my last paycheck.”

  “Insult to injury,” Anthony remarked, shaking his head sympathetically.

  “Yeah,” Jaime agreed, the surreal nature of what was happening suddenly hitting her. When she’d come out tonight hoping to slip into the club for a little BDSM action, she certainly hadn’t envisioned herself kneeling with her pants off in the back office and telling the owner about her career woes. It was, she had to admit, somewhat cathartic to tell someone about it—as far as her parents back in Vermont knew, she was still gainfully employed.

  “The whole thing was a nightmare, but I
figured I would land on my feet, right?” She grimaced. “I hadn’t counted on the taint of the place following me.”

  “How long since you lost the job?”

  “Six months. I’ve been working in retail and trying to hang on, but it’s not going so great. In case you were wondering, it’s pretty much impossible to live on minimum wage. My credit card is maxed out, my rent is past due and I can’t even drive my car because I’m afraid if I take it out of the garage, the repo man will get it.” Jaime clamped her mouth shut, aware she was rambling, certain he must be bored and turned off by her pathetic little story. There was no way this sophisticated, erudite gentleman could be interested in her stupid problems. The patterns on the carpet blurred as her eyes filled with sudden, unwelcome tears.

  “A lesser woman might have given up.” The man’s voice was calm but firm, not a trace of pity in his tone. “Gone back home to her parents perhaps, or looked to a man to save her, but you persevered. That takes courage. Courage is an important trait in a submissive.”

  Jaime lifted her head, blinking away the tears. “Thank you, Sir,” she said softly.

  “Enough about that,” he continued, to her relief. “Tell me about your specific experience in the scene. Beyond what sounds like a rather unsatisfactory relationship with your boyfriend, have you ever been in a Master/slave relationship with a real Master, someone who understood your deep-seated need for submission, for erotic pain, for total sensual subjugation at the hands of another?”

  “Ooh,” Jaime breathed, the words moving over and through her like a hard but perfect caress.

  “Answer the question.”

  “No, Sir,” she whispered.

  “But you long for it.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she admitted.

  “Have you ever undergone any sort of formal training—positions training, endurance, pain tolerance, sexual service?”

  “Formal? Like with a trainer?”