ANightatTheCavern (3 page)

“Miranda.” He pulled her hands away from her face and held
them in his grasp. Leaning close he asked, “Of all the clubs, why did you
choose to come here?”

When she laughed, her breath ghosted across his lips. “I
don’t know.”

“You do know. Don’t be afraid to go after what you want.” He
closed the scant distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

He kept the pressure light, familiarizing her to his touch
and savoring the softness of her mouth. Only when he felt the warm exhale of
her breath on his cheek did he turn his head to deepen the kiss, fitting them
together like salt on a margarita glass.

The tip of her tongue flirted with the seam of his lips then
pressed inside his mouth, sharing the sweetness of her flavor.

“God, you can kiss,” he broke away long enough to murmur then
went in for another taste.

She stole his sanity and the air from his lungs with her
supple mouth and the scrape of her nails down his chest. His palms stroked her
from shoulders to waist then back up, over and over again, skimming her sides
but avoiding the heaving swells of her breasts to heighten the anticipation of
when he’d claim the mounds as his own.

When was the last time he had enjoyed a good, old-fashioned
make out session?

Ah, yes. Tenth grade. He and Michelle LaMarsh went at it hot
and heavy on her front porch the night before he left for soccer camp. The
thrill of young love fueled with the possibility of being caught by her parents
had blown his teenaged mind. He might have only gotten to second base, but that
moment had lived on in his dreams the two weeks he was away and after he
returned. The memory of her 38Cs filling his hands was worth the heartache he
felt when he found out she had hooked up with the running back from the high
school football team while he was away.

Amazing. Here in this house of debauchery, where he’d seen
and done a…well, he’d done, he found a spark of new. Miranda was an unknown and
he wanted to find out if she was as innocent as she appeared or if there was a
temptress inside begging to be set free. Either way, he wanted to be the man to
discover her secrets.

The flush across her cheeks was a beautiful sight to see as
he pulled away and looked into her eyes.

“Miranda, I was born and raised here in the city. My parents
are divorced, which was really best for all, and I have an older brother who
still treats me like I annoy him but doesn’t make a financial move without my
opinion.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to take you to where you’ve never been and I
want you to trust me.”

“And you think I’ll trust you if I know about your family?”

The swollen pout of her mouth beckoned him and he swiped his
tongue over her lips. “I want you to know I have a life outside of these walls
and people who depend on me.”

“Oh, Jorges.” She sighed and blinked up at him with
passion-filled eyes that made the golds and greens sparkle like gemstones. “Do
you have any pets?”

“Nope. I travel too much to care for one properly.”

“Kids?”

“No.” Well… “At least, none that I know of.”

“And if you did?”

“I’d take care of them, and with more than a check.”

She nodded. “When did you last speak to your mother?”

“Last Tuesday.”

“How is she?”

“Fine. She thinks she’s met husband number four. She and my
aunt are planning a trip to Boca next month.”

She laughed and smoothed her hands down his chest. “I trust
you, Jorges. I’m all yours.”

“No.” He kissed her again. “Tonight
I
am yours.”

What lottery had she entered to have won Bad-boy Ken as a
prize? Holy hell, this had to be a hallucination caused by overpriced drinks.
Hunky men offering hedonistic delights was not the norm in her world. So what
if he had a bit of a playboy vibe about him? She didn’t want to marry him, just
ride him like a mechanical bull for a while.

The night was about living the fantasy and Jorges, with his
muscles, tattoos and fuck-me eyes fit the bill to perfection. He was hard in
all of the right places, and his hands felt so good on her curves that for the
first time she didn’t mind the extra padding on her hips for it gave him something
to hold on to while he ravished her mouth.

As the blood boiled in her veins and her panties dampened
with need, self-doubt made her tremble in his hot embrace.

Come on, the man designed the most seductive nightclub in
the country. By comparison, her ideas of wild and crazy were probably very
vanilla. And not the good kind of vanilla either, but like the cheap, imitation
vanilla that tasted nothing like the bean.

God, she was going to embarrass herself.

She broke away from the hot kiss and buried her face against
the curve of his neck. Lordy, he even smelled exotic, like man and sexy and
fast sports cars. She wanted to throw caution to the wind, but wanting and
actually taking action were too different things.

“What’s the matter?” Jorges slipped his hand under the hair
at her nape and tugged, forcing her to face him. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m nervous,” she admitted in a small voice.

“Don’t be. Whatever you want to do, I’m game.”

“That’s just it. I don’t know what I want.”

Pure sin colored his smile. “Do you want to have sex with
me?”

“Yes.” Why bother lying?

He planted a string of soft kisses from the corner of her
mouth to her ear where he asked in a husky murmur, “Do you want to fuck me?”

Another tremor shook her. “Yes.”

“Good.” She felt his smile against her cheek. “Because I
want you too. I want to sink inside you, mind, body and soul and feel you come
undone.”

“No. Don’t say things like that.” She tried to pull away.
“I’m not that limber and I can’t hang from chandeliers. By comparison, I’ll
bore you to death.”

He took her hand and pressed her palm to the impressive
erection. “Believe me, the last thing I find you is boring.”

Apparently so. Wow. Her fingers curled around the thick
shaft and her thumbnail scraped along his hot length. She wanted to rip away his
jeans as if he were wrapped in Tiffany blue to get to the treasure inside.

“Whoa, baby girl.” He drew her to her feet, pausing to
adjust his erection, which delighted her to no end. “I think you need a lesson
in confidence first. Follow me.”

He led her to the catwalk that overlooked the dance floor.
From this height she spotted a small stage no more than five feet across. Ropes
of gold beads created a sparkly backdrop that twinkled with titillating
promises.

The lights dimmed and the crowd whooped and clapped in time
to the primal drum beat of swing music.

Jorges placed his hands on her hips and pressed his front to
her back. He swept aside the hair clinging to her neck to whisper in her ear,
“Showtime.”

A woman burst through the curtain of beads and struck a
sultry pose in the spotlight. Hot-pink taffeta sluiced down her curves like
Kahlúa over ice and matched the satin elbow-length gloves gracing her arms. Her
dark hair was styled à la Marilyn Monroe and the look was completed with giant
diamond earrings and a pink feather boa.

A saxophone-heavy version of Irving Berlin’s
Heat Wave
began and the dancer rolled her hips, proving she certainly can can-can.
Feathers flew as she shimmed and swayed across the stage, dropping bits of her
dress with each downbeat.

Miranda tried to find the provocative dance offensive, but
the old-school burlesque number was a sophisticated celebration of the female
form. Sexy without being sleazy. Oh how she wished she knew how to sashay
across the room like that and have every eye follow her movement. If that were
to happen, more likely it was because she had something stuck to her backside.

Chills erupted over her skin as Jorges ran his fingers up
the inside of her arm. His warm body pressed harder behind her and his lips
hovered near her pulse. “What do you see?”

“A gorgeous woman who has these men hypnotized.”

“Really? You think she’s gorgeous?”

“Don’t be cute. I’m not blind.”

He laughed. “Yes, Helene is stunning. Just like you.”

“Okay, then you’re the blind one.”

“Come on, Miranda. Look at her closely. You’re a woman. Be
catty.”

“I will not,” she gasped. At least, not out loud.

So, yes. Helene did have a little jiggle around her tummy,
and her pasties pointed more toward the ground than the sky. But who cared? The
woman was mesmerizing.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Fine. I admire your refusal to be petty.” His arms
tightened around her waist. “But I guarantee, Helene has had every single one
of those thoughts herself. The only difference between her and you is she
doesn’t waste her time obsessing about her flaws, rather she embraces them as
being a small part of who she is as a whole.”

“It’s not that simple. I don’t think I have the guts to say
screw it and just be.”

“Then don’t think. Do it.”

Right. Easy-peasy. Ignore thirty years of low self-esteem
enforced by those who claimed to love you. No problem.

Helene gripped several strands of the beaded backdrop and
pulled her legs back into a wide V as the crowd roared their approval.

“Oh look.” Miranda shook her head. “Acrobatics. I can’t do
that.”

Jorges pinched her hip then took her hand, leading her away
from the railing. “You’re going to be a tough nut to crack. Lucky for you, I’m
a patient man.”

The farther down the dark corridor they traveled, the harder
Miranda’s heart pounded. Shadows of all shapes and sizes danced along the
walls, hinting at the activities of those inside the darkened rooms. The mere
possibilities dampened her palms, and she prayed Jorges wasn’t turned off by
her sweaty hands.

The butterflies in her stomach threatened to fly out of her
mouth when Jorges walked up to the only doorway guarded by a bouncer and was
allowed passage with a respectful nod of the head.

While Jorges paused to survey the room, she felt her eyes
boggle as she tried to decided where, or where not, to look. Sex pulsed from
every corner, ranging from heavy petting to full-out orgies.

Out on the dance floor, the music beat with the intent to
lift your feet and move, while in here the deep, jazzy notes intertwined with
the throaty moans and sharply sucked-in breaths to steal inside the bones and
throb down to the belly.

How was Jorges able to remain standing? Her knees were ready
to buckle and drop her to the floor in a needy, orgasmic-hungry heap.

“Are you scared?” he asked with a kiss on the cheek.

“A little.” Her voice shook and she pressed closer to this
heat. “But the kind of scared you’d feel when you’re about to bungee jump.”

He tipped her chin up with his finger. In the dim light the
silver flecks in his eyes appeared to glow, adding to the surrealism of the
night. “If at any time you want to stop, just say the word and I’ll stop. No
questions asked.”

“Oh, you mean like a safe word?”

“You won’t need a safe word. No is enough for me. I don’t
play games of pretend force. Be truthful with me and I’ll be truthful with you.
Understand?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes. I do.”

“That’s my girl.” With another too-brief kiss, he led her to
a loveseat, setting her at his side and arranging her legs across his lap.

She loved the weight of his arm around her shoulder and how
she fit against his side. The simple embrace made her feel feminine and
protected, but in a good way. Cherished, not possessed.

“Look in front of you, sweetheart.”

She’d rather stare at his beautiful face, but she turned her
head where he indicated and swallowed a shout of surprise. How had she not
noticed
that
when he first brought her over?

Not more than three feet from them sat a gorgeous,
dark-haired woman. Her eyes were lined with kohl and her lipstick smeared as if
she’d been kissed good and hard. Her white button-down shirt was opened to
reveal cleavage that spilled out over the top of a lacy black bra. She wore a
full skirt that probably would have gone to her knees, but Miranda couldn’t
tell because her legs were spread and a man was between her thick thighs, his
head and shoulders covered by the black fabric.

The only clothing he wore was a pair of leather chaps,
exposing what the Good Lord had given him to all who dared to look. From
between his parted thighs Miranda could see his erection bob like a palm frond
in a gentle breeze and his tightly drawn balls were like tiny coconuts, easily
one of the most erotic sights she had ever witnessed. Along his spine were
scratches and streaks of red that matched the color of lipstick worn by the
woman. Obviously he was eating her out, and by the way she moaned and her head
lolled against the back of the chair, Miranda guessed he was damn good at it
too.

A sympathetic ache throbbed in her core as she watched the
flex of muscles ripple across the man’s back as his arms moved, to do what,
only the woman in ecstasy knew. Miranda fought the compulsion to wriggle on
Jorges’ thigh. Her clit was begging for attention, just a little touch to
relive the tension, or at least make it bearable enough that she didn’t scream
for him to fuck her right there in the chair. She was trying to be cool despite
the battle waging inside her.

“Stop,” the woman said with a tone so commanding even
Miranda’s spine straightened to attention. “Good. Now let me see your hands and
place them on the arms of the chair.”

His fingers shimmered with pussy cream as he gripped the
leather upholstery, but he kept his head buried in her groin.

“Make me come with only your mouth, Army,” she ordered.

Miranda squeezed her thighs together and bit back a whimper.
Cripes, even she was ready to crawl across the floor to do as this woman
commanded.

“This is Jasmina and her newest trainee, Army. Aren’t they
beautiful together?” Jorges asked in hushed tones, as if they were in the
middle of a wildlife preserve and he didn’t want to spook the animals they were
there to observe in their natural state.

She nodded, then her eyes widened. “What do you mean,
trainee?”

“Army wishes to be subservient, it’s his natural
inclination. His job allows him the freedom to follow orders, but outside he’s
expected to be the leader. Jasmina is teaching him how to embrace his
submissive side while outside of uniform.”

“Uniform? Is that why he’s called Army?”

“Yep. He’ll earn his name back when he’s completed his
training.”

“That sounds so…emotionally wretched.”

“It can be. You’re torn down to the marrow then rebuilt into
someone stronger.”

She turned to face him. “Are you a Dominant? Have you gone
through something like this?”

“Me?” He smiled. “Nah. I don’t swing one way or the other.
It only works for those who truly identify with either side, or are struggling
to find that missing part of them that can make them secure. I can’t say happy,
because even if you discover your true self, happiness is not a guarantee.”

“True. Unfortunate, but true.”

He nuzzled her cheek. “But I want you to watch them for
another reason. See, Army doesn’t follow her orders because he was told he’s
supposed to but because he wants to. She commands him, and he in turn wants to please
her. Understand?”

She wanted to say yes, really, but she couldn’t. “No.
Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I want you to see that you don’t have to be
a size four, or strip naked to command attention. It’s in the tone of her
voice, her demeanor. Jasmina believes she’s the bomb.”

“But she is.”

“And you can be too.”

Was it possible? Could she reign over her own dominion?

In her imagination she pictured herself in the chair with
Jorges’ bare back glistening under the lights as he licked at her pouty pussy
lips. In her head she heard herself voicing her desires in a low, steady tone
filled with confidence and spoken by a woman who knew what she wanted and was
not going to stop until it was in her possession.

“Do you want to stay and keep watching?”

She turned her head and found Jorges watching her with
sex-drowsy eyes. The firm line of his upper lip beckoned her to trace the edge
with the tip of her finger. The soft puff of his breath as he sighed tickled
her hand. Despite all the distractions competing for her attention, the world
faded away until there was only Jorges and his smoldering sensuality waiting
for her to respond.

“I want you,” she answered, proud of the conviction ringing
in her words.

“You want me…to do what?”

“Whatever I want.”

Any doubt she may have harbored was snuffed out as he
smothered her lips with a hot kiss. “That’s my girl.”