Poker Posse 1: Looking at Rose (7 page)

Mabel’s cool tone broke into her thoughts, drawing Viola’s attention back to the desk where her friends hovered over several documents.

“Fairly straightforward, ladies,” Mabel announced. “No interfering between a dominant and his or her submissive. If you want to play, you have to ask permission first. Keep your hands off other people’s property unless you ask and are given permission to touch. No means no. The safe words are Red, Yellow, Green. No photographs or video. And stay behind the green line at each of the display areas.”

After Mabel signed one of the agreements, folded her copy, and tucked it into her purse, Viola, Betty Jo, and the others signed their copies as well.

The young man took their papers and set them in a folder before motioning toward the two men beside the entrance to the club. “The shows began half an hour ago and will end at midnight. There is a limit of three alcoholic beverages per person if you aren’t going to play, one if you are, and a required designated driver.”

Mabel held her hand up. “That would be me, son. Now, may we go in?”

The boy jumped to his feet and handed an orange rubber bracelet to Mabel. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll scan your right index finger and take your name, then you can enter. Enjoy your visit to the Omen.”

Viola understood the boy’s nervousness. In her cherry-red suit and with her hair pulled into a neat chignon, Mabel exuded power and command. Even the men at the door seemed intimidated despite towering several inches over Mabel’s slender frame. While she and Betty Jo had to give their name to the doorman after their fingerprints were scanned, Mabel hadn’t. Rae and Lucy were right behind them when a masculine yelp had Viola and Betty Jo turning to see the man at one of the doors rubbing his butt and sending a dismayed look at Rae.

Viola couldn’t help but grin while Betty Jo shook her head. “Rae, that boy is younger than Arabella. Behave yourself.”

Rae rolled her eyes and grinned unashamedly. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Betty Jo. You know it’s better to get ’em young and train ’em well instead of dealing with breakin’ bad habits.”

Her mind spinning at the amount of bare skin and leather on display around her, Viola tugged on the sleeve of Betty Jo’s dark green suit.

“Yes, Vi?”

To distract herself from memories she’d thought long buried and not because she didn’t know the information already, Viola asked, “Remind me again what a safe word is.”

Mabel answered instead. “A safe word is a specific word chosen to slow, suspend, or stop play altogether if a submissive is feeling nervous or has had enough.”

Rae piped up next. Her tight black dress, black stilettos, and chunky gold jewelry fit right in with many of the people present. “Green means everything is okay.”

Even as Viola watched Rae’s attention drift toward the second floor, Lucy provided the reminder for the next safe word. “Yellow means to slow down or ease off on the intensity.”

Lucy’s interest seemed focused on a bare-chested blond man who assisted a nude woman from a table before wrapping her in a blanket. Holding her close to his side, he carefully guided her down the steps and over to a small settee where he settled into the cushions and cuddled her on his lap.

Betty Jo finished the explanation. “Red means the submissive wants to stop altogether or renegotiate elements of the scene that may be too much.”

Viola watched Betty Jo’s gaze rise toward the second floor. She hadn’t really paid attention to her friends’ explanations, having learned about safe words and how they were used long ago, but her worries about memories intruding were unfounded as someone across the room drew her interest. Absently she muttered, “Okay,” as she watched a man situated atop a cage constructed of thick black bars.

Several feet separated the cage and the floor, but the man didn’t seem fazed by the distance. A closer look brought a grin to Viola’s lips.
Jackpot!
She’d bet Betty Jo’s winnings from last night’s poker game that the barefoot, shirtless yummykin on the cage was none other than Ibraham Rajonovich.

Mabel’s words broke into Viola’s thoughts. “The next show should be starting in five minutes. Take your time. Look around.”

When she stopped talking to glare at something behind Lucy, Viola looked in that direction and barely stifled the giggle that bubbled up. Raelene beamed at a young man kneeling at her feet. She stroked her hands through his golden hair while her eyes devoured his fit and tanned body revealed by the leather pants and harness he wore.

Mabel’s sharp rebuke made Viola jump. “Raelene, stop fondlin’ that boy.”

Rae sent a disgruntled look toward Mabel before she turned back to the twentysomething cutie. “Run along now, sugar. I’ll find you later, hmmm?”

The boy rubbed his cheek against her thigh, then rose to tower over her. The way he smiled down at her clearly revealed Rae was in charge. “Yes, Mistress.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and nudged Rae when she rejoined the group. “We are here to find men for our girls, not select your next ex-husband.”

“Exactly. The scenes should give you an idea of what the different types of kink are. Find one you think your girl will be interested in.” Mabel’s instructions were snapped out like military commands. “The men paying attention to the scenes as well as the male presenters themselves should be considered potentials. If you have any questions about demonstrations, the presenters will answer them after they finish.”

Betty Jo spoke up, “We’ll meet back here in two hours.”

Viola watched the others spread out and move off. She gazed around the room; it was all so different but very similar to the place she’d visited so long ago. There had been no fingerprint scanners twenty-seven years ago, only men who served the function of bouncer and monitor as they wandered through the customers, keeping an eye on the crowd.

It wasn’t hard to spot the monitors in the Omen. Each one wore a black or gold T-shirt with the club’s name emblazoned in bloodred on the front and the word
Monitor
in big white or black letters on the back. Looking at those men and spotting the ones who weren’t so blatantly identified, Viola recalled the amused but steady gaze of a certain black-haired, gray-eyed man who’d functioned in the same capacity and played hero to her damsel in distress.

A tingle spread through her at the memory of her single attempt at adventure and all the consequences that followed. Shaking away the thoughts, Viola glanced toward the area where the cage was descending. Before she approached Ibraham, she wanted to get a look around, see if anyone else exuded the same aura of carefully controlled danger that Ibraham did. If her Rose was going to have an adventure, she wanted the candidate to be one worth remembering long after he was gone.

After he mounted the cage and used the hydraulic winches to lift it from the floor, Ibraham paused to look out over the gathering customers. The energy building around him brushed his skin, seeping inside, stirring the performers’ blood he’d inherited from his mother and her mother. His gaze rose to the high steel rafters and the open expanse above the second floor away from the owner’s private quarters on the third floor. He should speak to Damian about setting up a high wire or perhaps even a trapeze. There was enough room to string a safety net. That way he could indulge the aerialist’s lessons learned from his mother’s side of the family as well as the dominant ones handed down by his father’s.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep, drawing in the scents of leather, sweat, and—peaches. He opened his eyes and scanned the sea of faces. There was no way Rose was here, he assured himself even as his gaze narrowed in on a tall woman making her way toward his stage.

While he double-checked the couplings on the chains securing the cage to the winches holding it above the stage, he watched the one woman he least expected to see in the Omen hover behind the people standing near the green line. She watched him. The dominant within stirred to life, wicked visions of stripping her naked and playing with her in his cage rolling through his mind before he pushed the button and lowered the barred cell back to the ground. Would she be willing to finish what they’d started last night? Would he want to take her, become her first lover in front of a crowd of strangers? Would she want that?

Once steel settled onto concrete, he walked to the edge and crooked his finger at her. Rose glanced around and saw the people staring at her. After a moment of hesitation, she slipped forward, toes touching the green line, her gaze focused only on him. He executed a forward somersault and landed in a crouch directly in front of Rose. He took his time rising, enjoying the view of her slender feet in the sexy black heels, the silky-looking skin on her legs and thighs, the way the leather skirt hugged her full hips, and how the hem of her shirt left several inches of bare belly exposed. He lifted his head and met her gaze.

“Good evening, Rose.”

Her cheeks were flushed, and something sparkled in her eyes. She stammered out a response, “Hello— Hi, Ibra—uh, Master V.”

He arched the brow over his right eye. “You know my name here?” He stepped closer, raising his hand to lift a strand of her glossy black hair. The temptation to put it to his nose was there, but he tamped it down.

The color increased along her throat. Rose nodded. “My friend told me I should address you as Master V.”

“Hmm.” He wondered which of her friends had brought her here. In the year that he’d been frequenting the Omen, he’d spotted three of the women at separate times within the club, but, to the best of his knowledge, they’d never brought Rose before. Had her friends discussed him with her before yesterday? Was he mistaken in thinking she’d known nothing about his being a dominant last night in her shop? “And did your friend tell you anything else about me?”

Rose shook her head. “Nothing really. Only that you like display.”

A grin lifted his lips. Something in her voice and the way she said display assured him she had no idea what his preferred fetish entailed. But he asked to be sure. “Do you know what display is, Rose?”

As if mesmerized, she shook her head. She seemed oblivious of the crowd milling around them. The curious looks of the novice players and keener attention of the more experienced doms didn’t register. Her whole focus was on him. As it should be.

And he wasn’t going to let this second opportunity slip away. “It means I like people to watch,” he told her, leaning close to ease the soft strands of inky hair off her shoulders and down her back.

A crease marred her brow, and she tilted her head to the side. “Watch?”

Despite the inclination to loosen the strings holding her top up at the back of her neck, Ibraham chose to explore the creamy skin of her shoulders before slipping his fingertips beneath the black, sequined fabric to stroke her breasts. “Mmm hmmm. I like knowing that others’ eyes are on me when I touch my woman. Caress her breasts. Tease her nipples.”

A breathy gasp slipped from her lips as his actions suited his words, but she didn’t protest his touch. A flush mounted her cheeks as the soft tips of her breasts hardened into peaks under his attentions.

He rolled the firm crests between his thumbs and forefingers, giving the slightest tugs to gauge her response. “I enjoy knowing that when I strip away her clothes, she finds pleasure in the attentions of those around us. That the idea of being on exhibit arouses her as much as the act of sex itself.”

The dazed and sultry look in her eyes assured him her body was responding beautifully not only to his caress but to his words. Her breath gusted in hot, uneven puffs against his chin and throat, arousing him and encouraging his hands to cup and knead her full breasts more firmly. When Rose lifted her hands to touch his arms, he knew she wasn’t trying to push him away, but to find balance as her body swayed closer to him. He lowered his voice so no one else could hear but her.

“This is my secret, Rose. I like to fuck in public. To spread my woman open and bury my face between her thighs, sucking and tonguing her pretty little pussy until she’s wet and aching, begging for me to fill her up. Like you did last night. But I like to do it while an audience can hear every sigh, every whimper, every cry. They know she belongs to me. Is mine to command, to arouse, to drive over the edge of climax and beyond.”

A soft moan whispered from her lips, but her gaze remained trapped by his. Her body arched closer. The pale pink tip of her tongue slipped out and licked her lips, leaving the pouty curves glistening and red, creating a target for him to capture. “Wh-why?” she stammered.

He smiled and held his lips over hers, barely touching the warm flesh. “Because I can.”

He didn’t restrict himself to a soft peck or a slow seduction this time. Oh, no. Rose had presented herself to him on his territory, and there was no turning back. Instead he took her mouth in the same determined manner he intended to claim her body. He didn’t coax or cajole her into opening her mouth to him. No, he swept in, taking what he wanted and demanding more. She gave it—willingly, enthusiastically.

The soft curves of her body sank against him. The rub of her hips against the thick ridge of his arousal spurred him on to bite and nip, to leave his mark on her. He took her weight easily, wedging one leg between her thighs so leather rubbed against flesh, spiraling her need higher with each gentle rock forward and back. Ibraham enjoyed the fact that her height didn’t require he bend in half to kiss her, to line up their bodies for maximum effect. She fit him perfectly. Her breasts a soft, warm cushion against his chest. Her hips almost even with his. And her mouth—the sweet, succulent lips, steamy interior, and curious tongue—mere inches from his. Requiring only the tilt of their heads in order to meet. Like now.

He abandoned her right breast to sink his fingers into the thick, silky weight of her hair, holding her head still so he could feed from her, drawing in the spun sugar and peach flavor of her mouth. The same sweet scent clung to her flesh. He ground his body against hers, and her fingers flexed, her short fingernails digging into his biceps. She responded, moving her lush, ripe body against him. This was where she was meant to be. Where he wanted her. Where he would have her.