Make Me (14 page)

“I hope so.”

He squeezes my hand reassuringly. “You will be fine. You’ve been through much worse. At least at the club, no one means you harm.”

“That’s the most ironic thing I’ve ever heard in my life. But it’s also true.” I need to focus on the story, not the experience alone. I’m not going into this seriously seeking affirmation or approval for personal reasons. Getting the membership is for Tessa—why am I acting like I care what the members of The Underground think of me? That reminder makes me feel better. “Okay, I feel better. Let’s get this show on the road.” I trace my collarbone, feeling naked. “Should I wear a necklace or something?”

“No. Leaving it bare will make them picture how good a collar would look on your gorgeous neck.”

Heat creeps up my chest and transforms into a smile when it reaches my mouth. Is he picturing a collar on me? Collaring in their world is the equivalent to marriage. What does that mean coming from him? Is this more to him now than a teaching arrangement? Needing a second, I walk to my bag and slide on the items I searched for. “What about a couple of chunky silver bracelets?” I hold up my wrists.

“They’re perfect. Like someone had you cuffed to their bed and you escaped.”

The hunger in his eyes paralyzes me until he breaks eye contact to look at his watch. “We should go before we’re late.”

“Hang on.” I move so we’re side by side, and take a picture of us with my phone.

“We look good together,” he says, voice low, almost pensive.

We do.

I follow his SUV to the club in my car. I may be his date, but no way I’m giving up all control of the situation. I can’t think when he’s near me, and if I’m trapped in his car with free hands, I might cross the line again. Things have already gotten way too personal, making me lose focus on the reasons I’m doing this.

The article will be less impactful if I’m fined for fucking him in his car.

And he didn’t act as though he wanted a repeat performance of the other night. Disappointment at the realization brings on a heaviness.

I need some objectivity.

Funky electronic music slithers out the door and greets us in the hallway as we approach the main bar about twenty minutes later. It’s busier than I expected, and I lean into Darko. “There are so many people here tonight.”

“Yes. There will be an exhibition. Most of the regular members are here as well.” He leads me through the room to the bar. It’s better for a vantage point. “I think we could both use a drink.”

“I thought drinking wasn’t allowed?”

“Two drink maximum. Getting drunk is against the rules; it’s not consent if a partner is in an impaired state, but tonight is about getting to know each other, not getting to
know
each other.”

The bartender smiles. “The usual?” She looks from Darko to me and her eyes widen, realizing it’s not Tessa he’s with.

“Yes, Claudia, my usual. And Sloane here will have an Amaretto and orange juice.”

“Right away, Sir.”

Darko leans close to whisper in my ear. “Breathe.”

“Christ, I need a drink.”

“I’ve ordered you one.” Claudia deposits our drinks and he maneuvers us farther down the bar before speaking again. “What is it?”

“I feel like a fraud.”

“We’ve been over this already. Focus on them—not yourself. We’re meant to be learning about them as people, not fretting over your authenticity. Absolutely no one knows about your lack of experience. Besides, I have more street cred here than anyone else. That alone gains you respect and points. Look at me.”

That commanding tone snaps my gaze to his.

He trails a hand up my arm to my shoulder, sweeping up my collarbone to grasp the back of my neck. His eyes blaze into mine. “You’re the most gorgeous fucking thing any of these people have ever seen. I am honored you are here with me.”

When I chose the clothes for Sloane, I’d wanted to play up the long lines of her frame without making her overtly sexual. Leaving something to the imagination at the mixer rather than giving everything away at once will be more provocative. Her face alone is enough to inspire curiosity—being Tessa’s twin will make a stir—and that is adequate. Too much attention can work against her, unfairly raise expectations or provoke jealousy.

I was too effective.

How am I supposed to keep from pulling her into my room here and pouring pleasure all over her body like warm honey?

I release her as soon as her muscles relax beneath my hands. She looks around the club, taking everything in, and I see it from her eyes. The rich green walls seem strange in a kink club, if you didn’t know that Reiley is from Ireland and misses it fiercely. I suspect the color is a piece of his safe place, though I’d never ask something so personal.

Mine is a deep blue the color of the oceans in my memories, at least at home. I am looking for a good time and a rush, not for peace, when I am at The Underground.

No room can hold my focus when Sloane’s so near. She’s added a little extra dark eye-makeup, but has kept it pretty clean, not overdoing things, which pleases me. Instead of impossibly high stilettos, the tall boots I chose make her look strong and edgy. Like someone who would be a challenge to dominate, which she is.

It was my intention to showcase her innate sex appeal but retain her mystery. I may have done too good of a job; I want her on a bed, trembling with desire.

She perks up a bit. “Okay. Who are these people?”

I squint, checking out not the subs but the Dominants. I recognize most of them, and point out Sascha Black out of New Orleans and Julissa Bradford from Colorado. Their subs are both curvy blondes and their obedience is evident even from a distance, stamped all over their postures.

I continue my assessment and dismissal of the rest of the coaches and move to the subs. Most of these people will be of no real interest to Sloane, at least not tonight. I want her to meet interesting, fun people and have a good time. It is important that she see the positives of our world.

Two subs kneeling by a table aren’t interested in being here, if body language is anything to go by. They aren’t members. Whether they’re only here at the urging of their Doms, I don’t know, but it’s clear they aren’t into the place.

A small group in the corner catches my eye. Three Dominants and one submissive male. The submissive’s posture is demure, but he quietly radiates happiness, clearly in his element. The Doms are practically fawning over him. Who is he? I’ll have to investigate that later, feel him out.

“That Japanese guy in the corner, surrounded by fans?” Sloane’s noticed him too.

“Yes. It appears he’s won a few admirers already.”

“Well, well, well.” My back muscles solidify at the sound of Carey’s voice. “My favorite Dom other than myself. No need to ask where you found
her
. This must be the one we spoke about earlier.” Carey takes Sloane’s hand and plants a kiss on her knuckles. I manage to keep mine to myself, embarrassed by the caveman impulses coursing through my fists. “What is your name, pet?”

“Sloane, Sir.” Her skin is flushed.

Carey makes a growling noise in his chest and smiles when Sloane’s eyes widen. He’s a sadist as well as a Dominant, the thing I like least about him. “Darko, have you met my entrant in The Games?”

At those words, an attractive, medium-framed man steps forward. He’s fairly young, maybe twenty-two, twenty-four tops, with messily spiked auburn hair. Carey’s dressed him in motorcycle boots and a pair of black leather pants that set off his alabaster skin and toned physique. Nothing else, except for the soul patch and the piercings: double eyebrow, nose, lip, both ears, nipples.

Carey still hasn’t released Sloane’s hand. “Introduce yourself.”

“My name’s English.” The sub keeps his eyes lowered respectfully.

I shake his hand and immediately release it. “I am Darko and this is Sloane.”

“Your submissive, Sir?”

“Yes. Not collared, obviously.” I hate the way my admission makes Carey’s eyes light up, but I force myself to focus on English. “How did you hear about The Games, English?”

He bites his lip ring. “I met someone who knows a Dominant here.” His gaze burns over my shoulder, and I can’t help but follow that look to the icy blonde Domme standing by herself near the wall. He’s obviously pining for Marielle, the second toughest Domme at our club. He’s not just fighting for a chance to join our club; he’s fighting for a chance to be with her. It’s personal, which makes him someone to keep an eye on.

But the way Carey’s looking at Sloane makes me want to tear his hand from hers and steal her away.

Am I jealous or overprotective?

I haven’t felt either in many years.

Something about this tall, Superman-looking Dom gets to Darko. Tension radiates from him in waves, but I can’t help wondering what Carey is like in real life. What any of these Dominant people are like when outside under the sun. Until now, Darko’s the only Dom I’ve met and he’s intense.

Something about this man still holding my hand screams ‘dangerously good time.’ Key word: Dangerously.

His eyes twinkle the most when he thinks I’m slightly scared of him. Carey Clark must be into inflicting pain—or fear.

Playing it up a little, I bite my lip and look at the floor as if unable to make eye contact with someone so powerful. “Have you and English been together long, Sir?”

He squeezes my hand slightly too hard, drawing a sharp inhale from me, and my gaze back to his. He smiles like he knows what I’m thinking, and he wants me to know he’s hurting my hand on purpose to punish me for insolence. This man doesn’t just get off on power or control. He’s a sadist. “No. He lost his previous coach, and I agreed to step in late in the game, when I heard some interesting news.” He smirks at Darko, who steps closer, and breathes a short sentence into Carey’s ear. Carey’s smile dies in his eyes and he releases my hand.

I don’t rub the skin to alleviate the sting. No way I’m showing any vulnerability to this Dom. Carey is a few inches taller, twenty pounds heavier than Darko, but one glimpse at Darko’s face and I’m not sure who would be more dangerous in a dark alley at night.

“Come along, English. We’ve got people to meet.” Carey’s gaze slowly works from my feet up, and my skin heats along with it like I’m the chicken in a rotisserie. If I was into pain, he’d be the one I’d ask to give it to me.

But I’m not.

The tall Dom walks away with English. I don’t know if I grabbed his, or he took mine, but I realize I’m squeezing Darko’s hand harder than Carey gripped mine a moment ago. This doesn’t make me feel better about Tessa being here. Carey would be the type of man who would get off on hurting her.

“Thank you. He’s...something.” I don’t want to offend Darko in case they are friends and that scene was all for show, a pissing contest between Dominants.

“Yes he is.” His jaw tightens. “There are some people I want you to meet. Follow me.”

It’s hard not to stare at anyone as we walk through the crowd. Some of them ooze charisma, drawing the eye even though they’re not necessarily gorgeous or in revealing clothing. Others are in revealing clothing one would expect to find in a BDSM dungeon, and I feel horrifically modest to the point of prudishness, but vinyl shorts and nipple pasties aren’t my thing. Darko chose perfectly for me and, overall, I’m fairly comfortable. His choices suit me and put me at ease. I squeeze his arm in gratitude.

The few voices that whisper my sister’s name as we pass make my stomach clench. Everyone seems to know her, or maybe it just feels that way. With a deep breath, I push away thoughts of her and focus on the task at hand: making a good impression on the people Darko feels are influential so I can impress them and make him proud.

Except I should be focusing on the article, instead of Darko and how to impress him. We had sex once. Amazing sex, but it was one time. Despite our moment the other day, he hasn’t initiated anything else. Obviously he’s not looking for more with me than what we have.

Fabulous.

I have to focus on what I’m here for. The article. Tessa. This will be great intel for it. The people behind the floggers.

What did Darko say to Carey?

I’d have to be blind to miss the blatant stares of appreciation women and men drape over Darko as we pass. Some glare at me, some ignore my presence, which is somehow worse, like I’m nothing more than a flavor of the week. Just another sub.

We approach a small, round table, with two women and two men seated at it.

“Oh dear, we’ve got a gatecrasher.” One of the women stands and embraces Darko with a smile. She’s got to be five-foot-nine before taking the four inch heels into account. I’m almost too dazzled by her appearance to feel jealous.

Gorgeous and dark-skinned, she’s not curvy, nor lean and toned like I am. Her body is athletic without being defined, giving her the air of comfort and strength. Sensual lips and an adorably pert nose would make her look young, if it wasn’t for the knowing look in her hazel eyes. Long, wavy blonde hair frames a face that could be in magazines.

“Wow.” I clap a hand over my mouth. Damn it.

She widens her eyes and pushes Darko away with a delighted grin. “Who is this you’ve brought me, Darko?”

“This is Tessa’s sister, Sloane. Sloane, this is Robyn, one of the Dommes of The Underground.”

“Nice to meet you...” Shit. We never addressed if I should call Dommes Ma’am, or Mistress, or how to find out their preference.

Her mouth twitches. “You can call me whatever you’d like, sweetness.”

Pretty sure even my DNA is blushing right now. “I’m sorry, you’re just really beautiful.”

She turns to Darko. “Can I borrow her?”

Darko smiles. “She’s not one of us yet.”

“I hope she stays.” Robyn sits back down and motions to two empty chairs. “Join us.”

One of the men at the table, with curly brown hair and icy blue eyes, squints at me. “You are so different from your sister.”

“I hope that’s not a bad thing.” I cross my legs.

He addresses Darko, but his eyes stay fixed on me. “Tessa was fine with Sloane’s participation?”

Robyn wags a finger at him. “Thomas, it is horribly rude to talk about one lady when another is in front of you. Tonight is about people wanting to be a part of this. We already know Tessa. Some more than others.” She raises her eyebrows at Thomas.

“Of course. I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him, trying to appear gracious instead of suddenly voraciously curious. Does this mean Thomas has been Dominating my sister? Is that what Robyn meant about some knowing Tessa more than others? She said we, though. Has she—what was the proper term?—
topped
Tessa too?

Darko lays a hand on my forearm and nods at the tiny woman with small features, alabaster skin, and black pixie hair. “This is Laura.”

Her smile is friendly. “I won The Games a few years ago.”

My estimation of her shoots up. She looks so delicate it’s hard to picture her beating out an intense group of submissives, hungry to earn a membership. “Who was your coach?”

“We didn’t have coaches then.”

“Oh.” She must be amazing to have done it alone. What brought on the change in format? Did someone get badly hurt at the competition?

The last man at the table, an attractive blond in a black suit, heaves a theatrical sigh. “Well, if no one else is going to introduce us, might as well do it myself.”

Robyn snorts. “Calvin loves ‘doing it himself.’”

“I’m just that good, Rob.” He holds his hand out and I shake it, noticing for the first time he’s wearing eye makeup. It’s pretty and enhances the dark green shade of his eyes. “I’m Calvin.”

“You’re a Dom here?”

“No. LA branch, but I visit as often as I can. I love it up here.” He winks at me and pinches Thomas’ cheek. “Gorgeous men in these parts.”

“Big time.” I try not to look at Darko.

“I’ve got to ask. Do you and Tessa ever...” Thomas’ voice trails off.

“Ever what?”

“Thomas!” Robyn pats my hand. “Ignore him. I bet you get that question all the time, being on the sexual bucket list.”

“The what?”

She licks her lips. “A sexual fantasy. Having sex with gorgeous twins?”

“Oh. Yeah, we got that a lot, mostly when we were younger, but no. We’re close but not in that way.” We did get that a lot, mostly from horny adolescent guys when we were in high school, but ew. Incest isn’t sexy and we’ve never done anything with each other.

“Shame.” Thomas winks at me. Despite the ick factor of what he’s saying, he’s got charm, and I can’t help but return his smile.

“It’s been twenty-three days!” A willowy redhead flings herself dramatically to the floor at Thomas’ feet, halting conversation, and places her head on his lap.

He nods. “Since we’ve been together, Janine, yes. But not since you’ve been topped.”

“I couldn’t help it. I’m not a nun.”

“I know.” His palm cradles her jaw and she leans into his touch. “But you know the rule.”

“What rule?” The words spill from my lips, and I hang my head, mortified at my own nosiness and possible breach of protocol.

Thomas smiles indulgently. “Janine, show her your back.”

She eagerly moves to kneel in front of me and pulls her long hair over her shoulder, revealing her back. Faint bruises forming the loose shape of a tic-tac-toe grid start above her shoulder blades and disappear beneath her corset.

Thomas sips from the ruby liquid in his glass. “Janine here is a submissive but also a masochist. She gets off on pain more than pleasure.”

“Pain
is
pleasure,” she corrects with a haughty tone.

“Which is why she isn’t allowed to call the shots,” Darko whispers against my neck. My nipples tighten even as I tense at the thought of pain as pleasure. A spanking is one thing, but I’ve had the shit beaten out of me and how anyone can get off on that is baffling. I’m not built that way. But if she’s into pain, and Thomas—or another Dom like Carey—is into inflicting pain, then wouldn’t that be a perfect match?

My confusion must show, as Thomas smiles. “If it were up to my lovely sub, she’d have me flay the flesh from her back before fucking her senseless. She’d show up at the hospital, wet, writhing, and happy, requiring extensive medical care.”

“I can take more than any other submissive here.” Her lips curl proudly, and I understand. Submissives are the ones in charge, but some of them, like Janine, need a Dom strong enough to say no when it’s for their best interest. The power runs both ways, but a sub paired with a Dom thinking only of themselves will be hurt.

I address Janine. “And how do the bruises come into it?”

“He makes me wait until the bruises or marks heal before playing with me again.” Her red mouth should be a photo in the dictionary next to the word, ‘pout.’

“I do not wish to work with a flawed canvas. The harder we go together, the longer in between scenes—we must give the marks time to heal. If I don’t go as hard, there will be less time in between sessions. I can go very deep and make her wait. Unfortunately, she gets greedy and scenes with others if she has to wait ‘too long.’ I’ll give her what she wants, but she pays for it after.”

“Languishing away, waiting for your hands again.”

Thomas reaches for her and allows her to sit upon his lap. “Languishing. So dramatic. I heard you had a session with Gilles just three days ago.”

“Yes but only for stress relief. It’s you I really want.”

He tenderly kisses her temple. “And you can have me any time you wish. But I will always keep you safe. Will you watch the exhibition with me?”

Darko’s lips brush my earlobe as he speaks. “He’d top her every day, but not inflict the level of pain she likes. It’s for her own good he has the rule. Her tastes and needs would have her harm herself—much like someone with a sweet tooth indulging in candies all day every day. Delicious but unhealthy.”

The company is friendly, but I’m feeling overwhelmed. I’d thought the people of The Underground would be dangerous and depraved, not charming and engaging. They make it easy to want to stay, but the scenery around the club is turning me on—something new for me, to be in a place where sexual desires are encouraged and nurtured. Celebrated.

The sight of so much undulating flesh and possessive touches to submissives does things to me. Darko’s too close and not close enough; my skin suddenly aches for his touch, for his reassurance that I’m more than just another submissive to him. I’m proud to be the one at his side, but what am I to him? I shake it off. “What kind of exhibition is happening?”

He grins. “The surprise kind.” He hands me a drink. “Come, they’ll be starting soon. We need good seats. And I want you to myself.”

That makes me warm inside.

The drink is refreshing and a perfect blend of alcohol and mix. Darko pulls out a chair for me a few tables back from the stage where an ebony-skinned man and woman sit on cylindrical platforms. Darko settles into the chair on my right, and the rest of the crowd rush to seats of their own.