To Sir (27 page)

She inhaled deeply and held her breath as the razor neared the apex of her thighs. Slow, meticulous strokes of the blade glided against her skin, and he removed the showerhead to wash her clean there. She spasmed under the hot spray. He added more shaving cream and continued his work, his whole face focused on his task. She kept her breathing shallow and held her body as still as she could. When he was finished, he took a moment to stare at his handiwork, grinning. He grabbed the showerhead again and turned it toward her.

When the hot water hit her bare flesh, she cried out, her hands flying out to grab his shoulders so she didn’t fall as her thighs clenched and her knees threatened to buckle. “Oh, wow. That’s… Whoa.”

“Intense?”

She nodded.

“Perfect.”

He shut off the water and stripped, leaving his sopping clothes in the tub and stepping out onto the mat. She was wet, inside and out.

She stood obediently still as he dried her off. Need slammed into her hard, but he denied her his touch where she ached for it most. He wrapped her hair in the towel and crouched before her. She lifted first one leg, then the other, and he slid the thong up to rest over her now bare mound. Even the soft lace felt foreign against her sensitive skin. And the fabric pressing between her cheeks, grazing the edges of her slick entrance, thrilled her.

He settled the corset over the front of her, and she held it in place as he tightened the bright red ribbon in the back. The color matched the bright red shoes he’d gotten perfectly. A breath hitched in her throat. “Did Dusty help you pick these out?” she accused in a totally not-submissive tone.

He swatted her bare cheek, and she squealed. “Yes,” he said. His tone begged her to have a problem with it so he could retaliate. She shut her mouth.

Her face heated. If Dusty helping to pick out her lingerie embarrassed her, what the hell was she going to do when she walked into the club and took off her coat? She’d been there wearing less the last time, technically. But that outfit seemed somehow tamer than this one. Now her ass was out on display, probably for easy access for those burning palms of his.

He pulled the corset snug against her. It hugged her body. Tight but not uncomfortable. Freaking thing must have cost a fortune. She would negotiate his continued present-buying nonsense tomorrow. For tonight, she wanted to let herself enjoy it. Him. Them.

A sub in public. She wasn’t sure she could do it, but she was damned well going to try.

CHASE GRABBED ONE red heel, and Liz put her delicate hands on his shoulders and slipped her foot into it. Size seven. Exactly as Dusty had said. Good thing D had never had any interest in women, or the fact that he knew Liz’s shoe size would really have irritated Chase. As it was, his detail-oriented friend’s wealth of fashion knowledge came in handy. Chase crisscrossed the ribbons from the back of the shoe, around the front, and then looped them up Liz’s slender leg, tying them into a bow at the back of her calf.

Mmm. Yeah. He definitely owed Dusty a drink.

He repeated the process with the other foot and stood. The sight of Liz with her hair piled daintily on top of her head the way he’d styled it, her breasts straining out the top of the corset, and her long legs leading down to the scarlet shoes took his breath away. He couldn’t help but gaze at the scrap of black fabric over her bare mound. He’d been crushed when she’d refused to shave. The disappointment turned instantly to amazement when she’d told him he could do it. She honored him with her trust. And he prayed every day that he would live up to her expectations and show her everything this kind of relationship could offer her.

He only had fourteen days left. Shaking that morose thought aside, he twirled his finger, and Liz turned slowly on the heels before him. “Perfection.”

She beamed under his praise and took his hand. He led her into the bedroom, and she sat primly on the edge of her bed as he dried and dressed. He grabbed his leather riding jacket and zipped it over his black T-shirt. Turning to Liz, he presented her his arm. “Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.” She slipped her arm through his, and he led her through the house. He couldn’t believe how satisfying it was to hear
Sir
from her lips, especially when they weren’t actively in a scene. She’d taken well to her role as a submissive, at least when they were playing. Outside of that, she was a little hellion, rebuking his commands or proposals of help at every turn. It irritated him, some days more than others, and he was still trying to find the right balance.

Fighting his nature to take care of her on a daily basis wasn’t easy. But if he had any hope of her wanting to extend their deadline, he had to be on his best behavior. Those three days of radio silence had been horrible and given him a good taste of what he was going to feel like after the end of the month. He pulled out a light coat from her front closet and settled it over her body, buttoning it closed in the front.

She was quiet as he drove to the club, sitting demurely in the seat beside him. She was slipping deeper into her role the closer they got. He couldn’t wait to lead her into the club on his arm. The future of his business was still rocky, and he was scrambling to come up with enough money to stop the bank from shutting them down.

He hadn’t shared his troubles with Liz, not wanting to tarnish their time together with something as harsh and realistic as losing his business, his house, and pretty much everything he owned that he’d put up as collateral when he’d taken out the loan for the warehouse.

He pulled up in front of the club and jammed on the brakes. Where the hell were his staff?

“What’s wrong?” Liz asked immediately, picking up on his rising anger. She snapped right out of whatever reverie she’d been in and glanced from the entrance to his face.

“Stay here,” he ordered, opening the car door and getting out. He slammed it closed a second later, not waiting for a response. He strode to the doors. A chain was locked around the handles, a bright white eviction notice plastered to the door. He grabbed the doors and yanked hard, rattling the chain. He banged the doors repeatedly until his shoulders burned.

A soft hand pressed into his back, and he whirled on Liz. “I told you to stay in the car,” he bellowed.

“And I don’t give a flying fuck,” she said, cocking her hip out and crossing her arms over her chest.

Anger sparked in her eyes, and she stood her ground, steady even on four-inch heels. He turned and punched the metal doors. Pain lanced up his arm from his knuckles.

“Hey,” she screamed, jumping forward and pulling his arm back. She placed herself squarely between his rage and the metal door. Not exactly a safe place for her right now.

He was so enraged he didn’t quite trust himself. Her face crumbled into worry. Not fear. Not anger. Not pity. Whatever he was feeling, she seemed to trust that she could handle it, or that he would control it. He wasn’t sure of either.

She held his head in her hands and wrenched him closer, staring him straight in the eye. “Knock off the bullshit. Right now. And fucking talk to me.”

Her voice was so commanding he sagged against her, all the rage draining from him. She’d pulled herself up to her full height, including the added inches from the shoes, and before him stood an independent, strong, capable female who had just put him in his place with a few words.

“You know, people are liable to start thinking I’m a bad influence on you. You’re swearing like a sailor.” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

She didn’t take the bait, her face staying stoic, her eyes demanding obedience like any experienced Mistress. She didn’t say a word, letting her body and her eyes do all the talking for her. He sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. Her grip on his face loosened, more like she was softly cupping his face instead of the near bruising grip she’d had a moment ago. He sank into her touch, losing himself in her gaze.

Yup. It was official. When she was like this, he could totally switch, kneel before her, and do anything she told him to. A flicker of awareness lit her eyes, but she quickly blinked and it was gone.

“You saw the protesters when you first came to visit. That wasn’t the half of it. The club’s been in financial trouble for months. We’re behind on rent, we owe some back taxes, and now the bank’s issued a notice to shut us down. We’re really not that far behind in terms of a business loan, but Senator Johnson no doubt pushed the bank to foreclose on us earlier than they would have normally. We should have had at least a few weeks, maybe two months to try to get together enough money to pay them off.”

She froze, and for a second, she seemed really worried. But her face smoothed back into confidence almost instantly, and he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the near panic he’d seen in her eyes.

“Okay.”

“Okay. What do you mean, okay? Nothing about this is
okay
.”

She glared at him. “Get in the car,” she said. She released his face and brushed past him, somehow knowing he would follow her. Shit. This whole role reversal was messing with his head. She walked around the car and got behind the wheel. He stood on the sidewalk, gobsmacked. She unrolled the window. “I don’t believe I stuttered.”

Holy fuck. That was hot. He blinked.
Not the time, Chase.
But his blood heated anyway. No wonder people craved to be dominated. His life was spiraling out of control. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t function, but as long as she kept delivering orders, he didn’t feel so lost. He got in the car and settled back into the leather seat. She smiled at him and squeezed his hand, then let go and pulled the car seamlessly into traffic.

After a few minutes of driving silently, she glanced at him. “It
will
be okay,” she said, her voice so confident he didn’t have any choice but to believe her. He didn’t know how, but he would find a way. He always did. “We can fix this,” she continued.

We?
She was going to help him. Pride, gratitude, and something deeper swelled in his chest. He’d never had anyone but family go to bat for him. Neither of his other subs would’ve dreamed of fighting for him. Fighting
with
him. Let alone ordering him about.

Why hadn’t anyone called him? Several members had his personal number. As did all of his staff. Couldn’t anybody be trusted to do anything without him? He grabbed his cell from his pocket and pushed the Home button. Nothing happened. “Shit,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Phone’s dead. That’s why nobody’s called about this.”

She reached into the top of her coat and handed him her phone. It was warm from her body heat. “Little minx,” he said, grinning despite the grave situation.

She shrugged. “What can I say? It fit perfectly between my breasts. Though I’m not sure how there was room enough in here for those, let alone the phone. But whatever. Call Dusty. Find out what the hell is going on.”

As he dialed his friend, he stared in awe at her profile. Her slender neck was bare, on display in a long pale line from her hairline to the edge of the coat. All for him. And now he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy it.

“Dusty?” he said as soon as his pal answered.

“Chase, thank God. What the hell, man? You couldn’t be bothered to answer your phone?”

“Sorry. It died. I had no idea. We just left the club.”

“I’m so sorry, man. I tried everything I could think of. Even called the lawyer. He said there wasn’t anything we could do. Not tonight, at least. I’ve put notices up on the site and all the loops. People are pissed on our behalf. There might be blood after this one. They know it was that damned senator leading the charge.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, Chase, don’t sound so damned defeated. We’ll figure this out.”

He smiled. “You sound like Liz.” But his spirit was crushed. They were taking his club. His lifeblood. It wouldn’t be long before his house and car got seized as well. Where would he go? What would he do? Move back home? The thought made his gut clench. He loved his family and missed them terribly. But he would
not
go crawling back to them a failed man.

“Good. At least somebody’s keeping her head in this mess. She got any brilliant ideas?”

“I don’t know.”

“You stupid son of a bitch. You didn’t tell her anything about this, did you?”

“Nope,” he said, but he wouldn’t elaborate. Clearly he should have turned to her sooner. But he’d been so focused on trying to seduce her into being his that he hadn’t wanted to scare her off. He should have known her strength of will would help when he felt the walls closing in. He’d been hiding in their relationship. Using it as an outlet for his frustrations, needing her calm acceptance of him, even her bratty retorts, to keep himself grounded.

“Moron. Look, go. Try to salvage your evening. Call tomorrow with a clearer head, and maybe the three of us can come up with a plan.”

“Yeah, okay.” Salvage the evening. Like that was going to happen.

“Bye,” Dusty said.

Chase didn’t reply before he ended the call. He glanced up as Liz pulled to a stop. In his driveway. He hadn’t realized where she’d been going.

“Home, sweet home. For the moment, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, killing the engine.

“The house was collateral on the loan for the warehouse. With the foreclosure, it’s only a matter of time until they take this from me too.” Christ, was that his voice? He sounded so broken. Forlorn. He cleared his burning throat.

“Oh, Chase,” she whispered. She turned to him and clutched his hand between hers. “We won’t let that happen. Period. Do you hear me?”

He blinked back tears.

“Hey. I’m talking to you, damn it!”

“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Say it.”

“We aren’t going to let that happen,” he said, but he didn’t believe it. He knew there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. The powerlessness that washed through him crushed his chest in a vise. He was going to lose everything he cared about. First the club. Then his house. And then Liz.

What sub would want to stay with a Dom who was left poor, broken, and homeless?

Chapter Sixteen