Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2 (14 page)

She refilled his glass, risking another sideways glance to see if he was really upset. Was Chiye making him nervous or was he worried Aziza would destroy his chances? “What? That’s a perfectly reasonable question
, c
onsidering where we are and the fact that they’re friends with Ram. What kind of irresponsible best friend would I be if I didn’t ask?”

“It
is
a fair question.” West leaned forward and looked into Aziza’s eyes. “We’re not a couple, any more than you and Gregory are. Chiye enjoys the community here and though my tastes are tamer, the people watching is mesmerizing.”

She could practically hear Greg swallow. “
His
tastes are tamer?”

Chiye chuckled softly. “Don’t let him scare you. I like to try new things, sure, but my tastes aren’t as over the top as he makes them sound.”

West winked at Aziza. “The point is we are both currently single. We, like you, simply see safety in numbers. We choose to walk the world with each other for a time, instead of wandering alone.”

Aziza leaned her elbow on the table and grinned at him, fighting her desire to develop a hard crush. She already had too many to keep track of. “Good answer.”

“He’s a writer.” Chiye rolled her eyes, as if unimpressed.

Looking at them was like looking in a fun-house mirror. She knew Greg felt it too. An instant kinship. As if the four of them had always been friends. Chiye seemed to count on West the same way Aziza had always depended on Greg. Both men had been lifesavers, in more ways than one.

The music changed, and Chiye slid off her stool and wrapped her hands around Greg’s biceps. “Would you be offended if a girl asked you to dance?”

“I would be offended if she didn’t.” Greg stood and followed the energetic pickpocket-turned-aerialist and research assistant onto the dance floor.

Aziza frowned. She’d never seen Greg like this. He’d had girlfriends off and on since he’d grown out of his awkward, dorky phase, but none of them was ever serious. At least, he’d never talked about them in more than an offhand way. And she’d never seen him spun at first sight. Not even Lola the Dominatrix had done that.

She didn’t blame him. Chiye Wyn had a way about her. A way that even Aziza had a difficult time resisting. As strange as it was to see her best friend so focused on someone else, from the instant Aziza had seen her at The Hangar, she’d known they were meant to meet. To be friends.

She sipped from her shot glass thoughtfully. “I think I’ve lost my roommate to your roommate.” Another thought hit her and she groaned. “Poor Te.”

“Who is Te?” West sounded amused.

“Just a girl…who used to be a boy…in love with Greg’s giant brain.”

West snorted. “Cleared that right up. I didn’t realize you were a lightweight. Tequila might not have been the best idea I’ve ever had, especially since you’re planning to play with Ram. But you may be on to something. Chiye has always been open about her attractions, but she’s not usually drawn to someone like Greg. I’m glad. He seems like a decent guy and she’s had a rough life. Someone like that would be good for her soul.”

She was drawn to bad boys—Aziza could hear the undertones, and she could relate. Wasn’t that why she was so surprised to find herself in a relationship with Brandon, the ultimate rule follower? And why she wasn’t really surprised that she still had feelings for Ram? “I know how she feels.”

“I can see that. You looked sad for a minute there. Man troubles of your own? Ram mentioned you were seeing a police detective? I’m gathering he isn’t into the lifestyle and that’s why Ram is stepping in. Am I right?”

She nodded. He was right about the man troubles. Plural. Ram and Brandon. Brandon and Ram. After what Penn told her this afternoon, her anger toward Brandon had faded, though she should have been ticked that in his never-ending quest to protect her he hadn’t done what she’d asked. He must have some serious daddy issues, because it was obvious the Alpha drove Brandon nuts. She’d seen him change after one of the man’s phone calls, seen him tense every time a meeting with her was mentioned. What was he so worried about? That his father would use her, or that she would embarrass him?

Nothing had changed. He was still fighting her battles, and she was still what she was. Even when they were happy together, something inside her wanted more. Chafed at his possessiveness as much as she craved it.

Maybe she wasn’t cut out for a relationship. She had issues of her own.

She turned to West. “Do you know where Ram is?”

Speaking of issues and needs.

He shook his head. “He said you worry about him. Or is that excitement I hear?”

“He apparently says a lot.”

West shrugged. “He’s a lightweight when it comes to tequila too. You shouldn’t. Worry about him, I mean. Now I’m not saying he wasn’t a first-prize ass when we met, but whatever he was going through, I think he’s coming out of it now. Ram is lucky to have you as a friend. He has no idea how lucky…but he will learn.”

“He’s lucky to have
you
,” Aziza countered. “I wanted to thank you for that. Giving him a place to stay. He hasn’t made it easy for me to help him lately.”

“Pride is a stubborn thing. It can lead to the worst kinds of decisions. But he chose to accept my offer of hospitality for what it was. It means he wants a chance to have more.” He gestured toward the stage with his chin. “Speak of the devil and he will appear to steal you away from me.”

She shifted in her seat and looked over at the stage, where someone was setting up a freestanding St. Andrew’s Cross. Holy shit. Ram was there, on the far edge of the stage while two regulars set their scene. He was shirtless, his arms crossed, and he was looking straight at her. Just like her dream. She swallowed. “I should go.”

“Since Greg is busy, I’ll have to fill in.” West covered her hand and she jumped when a feeling like static electricity zapped her skin. “I assume you two negotiated earlier since he hasn’t come over to get you?”

If telling him he could do whatever he wanted was negotiating… “Yes.”

“From your expression I’m going to assume that in this case
negotiate
means you agreed to do whatever he wanted.” West’s laugh was rueful. “Ram has skills, I’ll give him that. It’s inhuman, the way he draws you all in. To think, before I met him I thought
I
was charming.”

“You are.” She thought about her fantasy that afternoon. “Believe me, West, you are.”

Aziza stood and began her push through the crowd toward the stage, thinking she really sucked at thinking. She was so much better at making rash decisions, living for the moment. This was more her speed. At least, the old Aziza’s speed. She knew what to expect from this, how it would make her feel—only for some reason she knew it would be better as a Fireborne. Better with Ram.

She wanted what he was going to give her. To play harder than she had before. To stop skirting the edges of what she wanted and take more.

Practically trembling with excitement already, Aziza tried to calm herself by concentrating on her larger plan for the evening. She’d let Ram play her onstage without using any Fireborne abilities so that everyone who was looking could see. She’d bond with the girls during her aftercare and find out if there was anything that linked the murder victims besides being members who’d played with Ram. Maybe unearth some bit of evidence she could follow that would guide the Enforcers away from him and back to the real killers.

None of that was unreasonable or unrealistic. None of that was a lie. But as she moved closer to Ram, her body already tingling with anticipation and desire, she knew none of those reasons was why she was going to submit to him.

She needed this. Craved it. Her fantasy had it dead-on—she was repressing the part of herself that was too powerful to be hidden away. Inside her veins it was singing, screaming for release.

Ram will give us what we need.

Aziza drew a shaky breath when he took her hand and guided her onto the stage.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he murmured in her ear as the music pulsed around them. “Changing your mind?”

“No, Sir.” She shook her head, skimming the crowd and seeing the three distinctive bouncing girls and, farther away, Greg whispering in Chiye’s ear as she watched Aziza with wide, interested eyes. “Let’s stick to the plan.”

She felt him smile against her temple. “By all means,” he purred. “Remember when I told you how I watched you? Back when I was just your silent guardian, your invisible shadow? When you wanted to try everything and I had the best seat in the house?”

“Yes,” she whispered, allowing him to guide her to the dark-wood cross. It was padded with red vinyl and fitted with leather suspension cuffs for her wrists and ankles. Beside it, a small table held items that instantly made her thighs clench and her breath leave her body in a rush. Two floggers, one leather and one rubber. A dragon tail. One of those slender, tiny, evil sticks topped with an innocent-looking heart. “Oh shit.”

His laugh was devilish. “I paid attention, Aziza. I know how much you can take. How much you need. I know what you never tried and that no one ever came close to giving you enough. We aren’t in private and you don’t belong to me so we can’t use the other toys you enjoy.” She let him raise her arms and attach her wrists to the sturdy cross, wondering what he was planning to do about her clothes as he continued. “The ones you liked to have them put inside you and turn on while you were being played. I promise you won’t need them.”

She shuddered. The front of her body was pressed against the vinyl padding and she was facing the wall on the side of the stage, turned at an angle so everyone could see what he was doing to her. The perfect angle for West to have a view of her backside from his table.

Ram hadn’t attached the ankle cuffs yet, and she felt, more than saw, him kneel behind her, unlacing and removing her boots and socks, until her feet were encased in nothing but her sheer black stockings. With the loss of her tall boots, her arms were pulled tighter by the cuffs and her heels barely touched the floor.

He rose and pressed himself against her, his fingers easily loosening the corset around her waist and dropping it near the table, then reaching for her skirt. Every action was arousing her, making her feel lightheaded. Making her heart race. “Focus on my voice, Aziza. I’m taking off your skirt now and then I’m going to cut the back of your shirt open.”

“Cut?” She was struggling to focus. “With what?”

Ram held up a gleaming single-edge knife in her line of vision and her breath jammed in her throat. She hadn’t seen
that
on the table.

“The show, love,” he muttered against her hair. She could smell him. Wild winds and spice. Ram. “Are you ready to give them a show?”

Like Lois Lane. The killers with a fondness for knives. The pretense. Only this didn’t feel anything like pretend. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted in a silky tone.

She swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”

Her skirt dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of it, turning her head to see bodies pressing closer to the stage. Watching. Everyone was watching. She could feel them. Only now she was choosing it. Wanting it. Letting them all see.

It was exhilarating.

He pulled at the back of her shirt and she felt the cool slide of the blade at the top of her spine. Even over the music, she could hear the fabric rending as he sliced it away and the sound sent a shivering sensation all over her body.

“Aziza, I believe you have lost your faithful companion to young Chiye Wyn. They’ve disappeared into the dungeon…her favorite room. I’m glad. Now that one small part of you that wants to pretend to be a good girl can disappear. There’s no one here who will judge you for letting go. Will you let go for me, Aziza?”

“Yes, Sir.” The cool air hit her back as he undid her bra and spread the fabric apart, baring her skin to his gaze.

When he attached the stiff-leather ankle cuffs, Aziza moaned at the snug restraints.
Yes.
She needed to be held down so she didn’t float away or burst into a thousand pieces.

It dawned on her then that Ram wasn’t playing to the crowd the way he usually did. He wasn’t doing a demo or performing. He was quiet, intent. She could
feel
his focus on her, or she imagined she could—his arousal, his restraint…his desire to make her scream.

“Look at all that glorious bare skin. I’ve seen you naked before, Aziza.” His voice was low as he picked up the flogger, though she knew no one could hear them over the bass. “I’ve been inside you, felt the heat of your thighs as you rode me, had your lips wrapped around my cock.” He traced her spine with the soft, slender leather tails, making her shiver again. “But I have never seen anything more erotic than you bound for me. Under my control.”

She moaned, letting her neck relax until her face pressed against the cross’s small forehead rest. He hadn’t even started yet and she felt like she was going to burn up.

Burn.

“Ram,” she whispered, lifting her head as the thought occurred to her. “What if I lose control?”

“Trust me, Aziza. This is what you need.”

The first thudding lash across her upper back made her gasp, and heat began to build under her skin as he painted a pattern of slow, even strokes over her shoulders and back and the bare cheeks of her ass. She hummed with pleasure as the pattern repeated over and over, and she squirmed with enjoyment as the strokes grew heavier, landing in the same spots with uncanny precision every time.