What Happens After Dark (20 page)

They weren’t promises; they were fantasies. After the rage he’d experienced over her story about the two doms, he wasn’t so eager to turn fantasy into reality. “I rescued you from the
real
thing when I took you away from Derek.”

“Maybe I liked what Derek did to me.”

He wanted to yank the wheel, pull over to the side of the highway and go at it with her. She excited him even as she pissed him off. Where was all this coming from? Did she really want another man?

Then he got it like a smack to the head. She was doing exactly the same thing she’d done yesterday morning when she ran to him after her father died. She wanted to goad him into action.

Maybe she needed a taste of what she was asking for to remind her how bad it had really been with Derek. How much better it was with him. “Fine. You ask for it, you’ll get it.”

He’d give her a lesson she wouldn’t forget. And neither would he. He was already hard contemplating it.

SHE’D PISSED HIM OFF. LUKE DIDN’T GET PISSED; HE ONLY FAKED IT. Usually. But this time Bree had pushed. Just like her mother had pushed. And yeah, Bree was pissed, too.

Her mom was foisting her off on Luke to assuage her own guilt and to keep herself safe.
Yeah, go ahead and take care of Bree. So I don’t have to
.

She was pissed at them both.

Then she’d gotten Luke’s back up as well. They’d driven in stony silence to his house. He’d actually made her wait in the car as if he didn’t want her inside. Or maybe he’d been afraid of what he’d do to her. The thought had sent an electric shock through her. He wasn’t faking; his anger was real. It both excited and terrified her. These were the sensations she craved, fear as important as thrill.

He’d returned to the car wearing a tux. “I’m not one of your biker boy freaks,” he’d said when he caught her looking him up and down. “I have more class.”

He most certainly did. He was gorgeous in black and white against his dark hair and amber eyes. He hadn’t shaved, and a sexy shadow of beard darkened his face.

He drove them across the Dumbarton Bridge to the East Bay and her small condo. He watched with an eagle eye as she watered her plants, and in her bedroom, he pawed through her closet. Pulling out a hanger, he held it up. “This.”

He’d chosen a black lace bustier with an underlayer of burgundy satin. Tossing it at her, he continued his rummaging. She undressed without him even looking. Her chest was nothing to speak of, but when she’d done the fastenings all the way to the top, her breasts plumped above the lace edge, her nipples almost peeping over.

He stroked a skirt in the closet, turned to her, stopped. “You look like the slut you are,” he said. “Ripe for fucking. Are you ready to be given to any man who takes my fancy?”

Against the bustier, her nipples peaked. She shivered with need. “You’re my master. I have to do what you say.”

He stepped close, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “And you’ll like it as much as you liked it with Derek,” he whispered ominously.

She hadn’t liked Derek in the end. He abused with no desire or feeling, given her nothing in return except smelly men. She’d wanted the fantasy; Derek had given her brutal reality.

Luke was different. As her anger ebbed, she prayed he’d give her the fantasy she needed. Not that she really knew exactly what that was. He was her master, however, and he would read her mind, finding it for her, she was sure.

“I have to do whatever you say, Master,” she repeated.

His gaze captured her totally. “I might make you suck a big cock until you gag on it.”

She swallowed. Her heart hammered.

“I might tie you down and have a man force you.”

Her skin pebbled though the room wasn’t cold.

“Then I’ll have you myself in front of the crowd,” he whispered his final threat.

She thought of gorging on a beautiful cock that tasted like honey, of being tied down while Luke watched a handsome, gray-haired older man take her, force her. Then she could give herself over to her master for her ultimate punishment. It sounded like the things Derek had tried to force her to do, yet it was all made completely exhilarating with Luke. “Yes, Master.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

His face so close to hers she almost couldn’t make out his features, he said, “Put this on, whore.”

She quivered beneath his words, his caress, then found it was a skirt when she touched the material. Black, pleated, flared. She held it a moment.

“No panties. That way I can simply lift the pleats and show you off as I wish.”

Bree’s heart thumped hard with her need, her thoughts, her fantasies.

In her lingerie drawer, he unearthed her fishnet thigh-highs as she pulled on the skirt and tossed aside her panties. Moments later, she stood barefoot in the stockings, skirt, and bustier as he circled her.

“Slut-wear. Perfect. Now we need shoes.”

He snagged a pair of high heels from the bottom of her closet, which, when she donned them, put her at more than an inch taller than him.

He stood back to survey her, stroking his chin, then suddenly found her wanting. “Makeup. Lots of it. Whore makeup.”

He observed from the bathroom doorway as she used dark colors, thick mascara, heavy rouge, and a deep plum-colored lipstick.

When she turned, he didn’t compliment her. “You’ll do. But it needs one more touch.” He held out a black leather collar studded with brightly colored fake jewels. “Ownership,” he said.

Derek had bought her the collar. A silver ring dangled from the center of it.

She fastened it around her neck. “Do you need the leash, Master?”

She hadn’t minded the collar or the leash when Derek used them on her. She’d only hated his attitude when he yanked on it, pulling her off her feet, or forcing her to her knees to suck something disgusting. He’d only started giving her away when he’d tired of her.

Had Luke tired? She felt the first frisson of real fear. No. Not yet. He was simply toying with her, because she’d pissed him off.

“I don’t need a leash,” he said, his voice harsh. “Some dogs are so well trained, all their master has to do is snap his fingers for obedience.”

The cruel words slammed her.
Be careful what you wish for.
But she’d asked for this, pushed him to it, and she would see it through.

That was the problem with Derek. She’d lost control of him. He took her places she didn’t want to go. Until Luke rescued her. Did the rescuer eventually become the abuser?

In the car, he punished her with silence. A million times in the hour-long drive, she wanted to say,
“I changed my mind. This isn’t what I wanted.”

But she didn’t speak.

In the six months she’d been with him, Luke had only made their sessions better. He had always surpassed himself. Until finally, in her condo and again on Sunday morning, he’d given her exactly, perfectly, magnificently what she needed. She would trust him to give it to her now. He had a plan. He would make it good. He would wipe out the hours she’d crouched in her mother’s bedroom, touching her father’s things, smelling his cloying scent, filling bag after endless bag with the used-up remains of his life.

Luke found a spot in a parking garage a few blocks from the seedy club in which he’d first discovered her with Derek. Her hand tucked securely in his, they walked the darkened streets relatively slowly because of her high heels. Still, he didn’t speak beyond the necessities. In the lobby, after he’d paid their couple’s entry fee, he yanked down on the bustier, her nipples popping above the lace edge.

“They should see something of what they’re going to get.” Surveying her critically, he pinched both buds at once, hard. Electricity buzzed straight to her clitoris. What would make most women cry set her blood singing.

“There, now they’re tasty and red.” He cocked his head. “Perhaps I should sell you.” He raised his eyes to hers. “How much do you think you’re worth?”

Her mouth went dry. Derek had tried to sell her. “I don’t know.”

He merely shrugged, captured her hand in his, opened the lobby’s interior door and climbed the stairs to a place where the only rule was no rules.

 

 

SHE WAS MAGNIFICENT, HER BREASTS SMALL YET PERT, HER NIPPLES red, succulent, inviting. She was worth her weight in gold, more than any man could pay. And she was his.

Luke had chosen the sleazy club in which he’d first seen her. He had witnessed her debauchery, seen the tear trickling from the corner of her eye. Then Derek the bruiser had slapped it away, and Luke had seen red. When he won the fight, he’d tossed away her collar and leash. Only to find she still wanted to wear both.

The dog comment had been beneath him, going too far. Yet the depth of his emotion overcame him. He didn’t want normal. He just didn’t want to share. Tonight, she would learn
his
limits, how far she could push him before he pushed back.

He abhorred violence against women, even if it was consensual, so he passed the rooms where the walls hung with floggers, paddles, and even hairbrushes. He enjoyed a good hand spanking, but those instruments caused real damage to the skin. Though the fare down here was mild compared to the fourth floor of the club, which catered to hardcore BDSM, with cages and rooms that looked like dungeons where submissives were chained to the walls or medieval-style torture contraptions. The third level provided primarily same-sex activity, so he’d chosen the second floor for tonight, mostly hetero sex, but even this level was known for getting wild.

Relatively early on a Monday night, the hallways were by no means packed. The floor was hardwood, crown molding around the ceilings, the doorjambs ornately carved. Once upon a time, the Victorian had seen a better class of people. Despite his tuxedo, he included himself in that current lesser category, which consisted of men in jeans or leather, ripped T-shirts or bare-chested, and women with collars, leashes, and very little in the way of clothing. Bree was actually more fully dressed than most.

A young man with spiked pink hair and a nose ring brushed past them. Bree stared wide-eyed at the spectacle as if she hadn’t been here many times before.

There were, of course, higher quality clientele littered about, men in suits or even elaborate costumes that reminded him of something from the sixties or
Austin Powers
, and women in formal wear, but those couplings were few. Monday night was not for the regulars who were part of the BDSM lifestyle, and in fact, this club didn’t attract that crowd. It was too low on the ladder for most serious lifestylers. Upscale had not been his intent. He wanted to give Bree another shot of the seedy side, a lesson in what her life
could
have been but for him.

He pulled her to a doorway. Inside, several couples engaged in oral sex, the women servicing, the men receiving, sometimes switching partners. He knew, of course, that many men preferred the submissive position, but you couldn’t judge that by tonight’s activities.

He watched Bree. Her throat worked as she swallowed.

“Do you want me to drag you in there and force you to your knees for him?” He pointed to a pimply faced kid barely over the age limit for entry, his eyes glassy as a large woman worked her mouth around him.

Most clubs didn’t allow single men. You either had to have a date or an invitation. It kept out trollers and reduced the potential for trouble. But here, if you had enough cash, they looked the other way. He’d never brought his lady friend here. Part of the allure for him originally had been the raunchiness of it all. Sometimes, that’s what a man wanted. He’d wanted it that night. Instead he’d found Bree. He’d rescued her and changed his life, changed hers.

For the first time tonight, he felt the jolt of bringing her here. Jesus, what had he been thinking? She was better than this, object lesson or not. Her father had just died, her emotions were all over the map, and he’d lost his fucking mind for even contemplating this place. Especially with his dawning suspicions about her past. There were classier clubs where they could watch and be watched.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand then, pushed back into the hallway, almost knocking over a man in his fifties, a heavily painted older woman clinging to his arm. Voyeurs. Perhaps their first time, if the woman’s flushed face meant anything.

But even as he marched on, retracing their steps down the long hall, Bree hung back at a doorway.

“What are you doing?” But he succumbed, stopping behind her in the entrance.

Inside, the walls were painted a deep red with a hint of orange for a rich tone that played as a backdrop to a small crowd. The centerpiece of the room was a large bed draped with a thick coverlet that matched the wall color. A naked and blindfolded woman was restrained to the bedposts with fur-lined cuffs. Flat on her back, her long hair had been artfully spread across the pillows, and beneath the eye mask, her features appeared flawless. In the low lighting of the room, he guessed her to be in her early thirties, her body slim, toned, her breasts large and upright, suggesting enhancements.

“Come on in, join the party, pretty lady.” A man of the woman’s age signaled to Bree. Tall, outfitted completely in black, his longish hair the same shade as his clothes, he slapped a riding crop against his palm. “My disobedient slave here needs to be publicly punished,” he said to Bree and to the audience of men and women lining the walls.

“What has she done?” an older man called as if on cue.

“I asked her to give pleasure to a very close friend of mine and she refused.”

A low hum of horror exuded from the assembly.

Pointing a remote, the dom hit a switch and the lights fell, then another button brought to life a spotlight over the woman, the luminescence highlighting the curves and valleys of her body. Her legs were spread, though not restrained, and her pussy glistened in the bright light.