Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) (32 page)

Hank winked her way but said to his audience, “She’s kinda shy. Let her know you want her up here to meet you.”

The crowd grew louder. Sage looked to her left, and her gaze snagged on Harley. “You might as well go,” the woman said, smiling. “They won’t stop—and neither will he—until you do.”

The little push Harley gave her helped get Sage out of her chair, at least. It was only then she realized she had no idea how to get onstage. V. also stood, a couple of seats down from her, and gestured her over.

“Can’t you get me out of this, V.?” she griped as she followed him around the side of the stage.

“I could,” V. said. He pulled aside a curtain and motioned her into a dark alcove. “But I’m not going to.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She could see stairs to her right leading up to the stage proper. As she moved toward them, V. popped her butt hard. “Hey!”

V. chuckled. Damn it, why was everyone laughing at her tonight?

“You’re getting soft, sub. Do I need to talk to Hank about working you harder?”

She threw him a nasty look, followed by a quick exit up the stairs, in lieu of a verbal response. Saying the wrong thing with Master V. was almost the same as asking for whatever punishment he meted out. She was wise enough to want to avoid both.

Hank was staring at the entrance when she topped the staircase. His smile when she came into view was electric, lighting her up inside despite her nerves about being the center of over a hundred people’s attention. Still she hesitated at the edge of the stage, uncertain.

Hank had no reservations. His gaze invited her; his hand stretched out to command her. Sage could do nothing but obey. When she appeared onstage, the crowd went wild, stomping and shouting and yelling encouragement. Sage startled, but Hank just laughed. When she reached the safety of his arms, she managed to share the laugh just a little.

“I thought fans didn’t like it when gorgeous rock stars got involved with someone,” she said, glancing up at him from beneath her bangs.

“I’m not a rock star.” He kissed her, and not just a peck—no, he went all out, including tongue. The audience loved it. When he drew back, satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. “I’m just a bass player.”

She snorted. “Even I know better than that. You could never be just anything.”

She hadn’t realized Hank’s mic was picking up everything she said until a feminine voice from the audience shouted, “Damn right!”

Hank winked at Sage before turning to the audience. “Only if you say so. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Sage Lyndsey.”

The audience applauded, though she was pretty sure they were just being polite. But when Hank went down on one knee next to her, the roar that filled the hall threatened to deafen her. She scooted instinctively closer to Hank.

“Sage.”

The audience calmed at her name, probably drawn to him as much as she was. She couldn’t look away. “Yes?”
Sir.

The mischief in Hank’s eyes said he knew everything she was holding back. That look mesmerized her enough that she didn’t notice anything until a small blue jeweler’s box appeared in her line of sight—in Hank’s hand.

“What—”

Hank flipped the box open. Inside was a diamond engagement ring. “Oh my God.”

Another laugh, this one half-smothered—smart man—pulled her gaze from the ring to Hank. “Marry me, Sage.”

Not a question. A laugh of her own bubbled up, and then she was on her knees in front of him. She didn’t even wait for him to slip the ring on her finger, just threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered in his ear. If the mic picked it up and shared it with the crowd behind her, she didn’t give a damn. In fact she said it again, just in case he’d missed it.

Hank was still riding high on adrenaline and exhilaration when he pulled into the parking lot at Heathers several hours later. Not where he’d ever pictured himself, not by a long shot, but as with a lot of things lately, he realized this was where he needed to be. With Sage. He had zero nerves about tonight.

Sage, on the other hand… They’d talked about this, but Hank could see her trembling even in the patchy parking-lot light. “Are you sure?”

She turned from staring at the door to staring at him. Her grip crushed his fingers together. “I—”

She got no further. Hank didn’t push her, just sat and held her hand, his thumb stroking his ring on her finger as he waited. Whatever she wanted, he would do. What he had planned didn’t need an audience, but when she’d brought up the idea of going back to Heathers to exorcise the last of her demons, he’d agreed to do it. For her. As far as he was concerned, no one in this building but V. mattered to him. He could take it or leave it—preferably leave.

“Am I doing the right thing?” Sage finally asked.

Hank bent over the center console, his pull on their clasped hands bringing her to him until their brows met. “I think you’ve done the right thing all along. What really matters is, do you think you need this?”

She nodded. An answer or an acknowledgment? He wasn’t sure. The seconds ticked by, but he ignored everything except the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips. Sage had told him more than once that she loved the rough texture on the pads of his fingers, loved feeling it against her skin, her nipples, inside her. Hank focused on the pleasure, not the past. And waited.

Sage’s blue eyes, bright with fear and something else he couldn’t name, finally met his again. “I want to do this.”

“Why? To prove to the people in there”—he nodded behind her—“that you’re the ‘good sub,’ not the ‘bad sub’ they labeled you?” Because he didn’t give a rat’s ass what they thought. She was his, and perfect. He knew it, and he’d made sure she did too.

“No.” Sage’s sigh brushed his mouth with warmth. “To prove to myself…”

“What?”

She didn’t answer; instead her lips met his, opened, asking for his tongue. He gave it to her without hesitation, savoring her taste and the beauty of the passion surging in her expression, overtaking the fear. It made his chest ache, his cock tight. He’d wondered if he could even perform with the anger that swelled in his chest every time he thought about this place, but with Sage, hunger was never more than a glance away.

Sage graced him with a smile when the kiss ended. “To prove to myself that they don’t matter anymore. I can say it all I want, but the reality is, there’s only one way to know for sure, and I don’t want them—not Kevin and not the dozens of faceless ‘thems’ that still haunt me—to have that kind of power over me ever again. You’re the only one I surrender to.”

“You just remember that when we walk through that door, sub.”

Sage shivered, her gaze going dark and hungry at the word. A habit they’d gotten into, sort of shorthand for
time to play
. She called him
sir
, and he called her
sub
. He’d noticed whenever V. used the name for Jane, Sage’s eyes would shine with envy. He’d started to enjoy it too, almost as much as when he called her his baby.

Telling Sage to wait, he exited the Jeep and retrieved his bag from the back, then circled to open her door. Sage twisted to face him, one leg reaching for the ground. The high heel she wore made that leg seem a mile long. Hank gripped her calf and brought it to his mouth, drew the scent of her arousal deep into his lungs as he nipped her ankle. Sage’s bangs fell forward over her face, but they couldn’t hide the sultry smile she flashed when she took the hand he offered to help her down.

The loose blue-green shirt she wore barely covered her navel, just hitting the top of the leather skirt that slimmed down her thighs almost to her ankles. When she’d walked into V.’s living room in the outfit, Hank had almost swallowed his tongue. The barely there straps of her shoes left her feet and blue-green toenails naked, just as her hair piled high on her head and the unbuttoned collar of her shirt bared her neck. And his mark. Call him possessive, but he’d made sure anyone who looked at her could see that she belonged to someone. After tonight, that would be even clearer than it was right now.

V. and Jane crossed the lot toward the Jeep, the two of them in what was probably termed “club wear”—latex and skin. The sight didn’t bother Hank as much as it would have a few months ago. The couple had scened frequently with them, V. teaching Hank what he needed to know. The experience had been invaluable and, at this point, even enjoyable. Having V. at his back when he took his sub into this place had been Hank’s only caveat. V.’s presence insured that Hank was allowed in as a visitor, but most of all, that Sage was surrounded at all times.

A booming rhythm echoed through the walls as they walked into the entry area of Heathers. The door closed behind them, locking out the lights of the city, and Sage tensed. Hank wrapped an arm around her and walked toward the reception desk.

“There is some paperwork you need to fill out, Hank,” V. told him, ignoring the man behind the desk. “Do you want Sage to visit the locker room before we go in?”

Hank turned to look at his sub. Sage’s face shone pale in the gloom, but she nodded. “I should probably use the restroom first.”

Of course. A full bladder and scening didn’t go together. “Stay with Jane.” He didn’t have to assume V.’s girlfriend would go with Sage; it was a given.
“You won’t be alone for a second,”
he’d told her, and meant it.

Sage stared up at him from beneath her bangs. “Yes, Sir.”

Hank signed the paperwork, and then he and V. waited outside the locker rooms for the women. She’d told him once that Kevin didn’t wait for her. Fuck that. She was his only focus, and only when she returned to him did the tightness in his chest relax.

V. led the way, Jane just behind, tugged along by her hand clasped in his. Hank looked to Sage, and she bowed her head slightly, asking for his hand on the back of her neck. Asking for security. He obliged, urging her forward behind their friends.

The inner sanctum of Heathers would intimidate someone who’d never been there before, someone new to the BDSM scene, but the rock scene Hank had lived in for so long had jaded him, he guessed, because this didn’t intimidate him at all. Not even close. The flashing lights, the smoke, the snapping of whips and faint screams, cries of pleasure and even orgasm. He’d heard it all before, both from the stage and behind the scenes. He walked Sage through the crowd, staring down those around them who glanced over curiously or, sometimes, stopped to watch.

People who probably knew who Sage or possibly Hank was. He didn’t worry about the risk to his reputation; if anything, this appearance getting out would enhance his bad-boy persona. The cynical smile that brought to his lips had the added benefit of intimidating the looky-loos. More than one gaze swept over his face before turning swiftly away.

Sage’s gasp yanked his attention to her the second it passed her lips. Her gaze had locked on a seating area close to the far wall. Hank’s followed, catching sight of Kevin in passing.
Damn it.
They’d acknowledged the possibility, but that didn’t mean Hank wanted the bastard here.

A tightening of his grip stopped Sage immediately. He circled around her, knowing his size would block out anything she might see. She didn’t wait for him to tilt her chin up—her gaze sought his and clamped on, an anchor in the chaos.

“Sub.” Just that, nothing else.

Sage swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “For what?”

“I—” She hesitated. A crease appeared between her eyes. Thinking.
Good girl.
“No, I’m not sorry.”

This time he said it out loud. “Good girl.”

The sweetness of her smile rivaled that of her bear claws. He’d decided a while ago that he’d rather have this than any pastry she could possibly come up with.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“May I… Would you kiss me?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “All you ever have to do is ask, sub.”

His fingers in her hair forced her head back. His kiss was hard, demanding, and the ease with which she submitted jacked his cock up behind the unforgiving leather of his pants. The tight hold of the fabric mimicked the hold Sage took of his tongue, sucking him into her, holding him inside just like she held him every time he pushed his cock or his fingers or his tongue into her pussy.

A groan escaped his throat, resonant with hunger, with need.

V.’s semipolite cough finally got his attention. Hank raised his head reluctantly, assessed the arousal evident in Sage’s expression, then turned to his friend.

“Sorry.” Amusement filled V.’s green eyes. “I have the platform already reserved, and they won’t hold it for more than ten minutes unless you show up.”

“Thanks.” Without removing his hand from her hair, Hank guided Sage forward. He noticed with satisfaction that she no longer looked anywhere but at V.’s broad shoulders.

The reserved platform was really a small stage. The wide space spanned a good fifteen-by-fifteen feet, big enough for small implements like a flogger, not big enough for a whip. What he had planned tonight wouldn’t require that much space, but he appreciated the breathing room.