What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6) (6 page)

She shrugged it off, aiming for stoic. When her words came out in a broken whisper, she knew she’d fallen short of the mark. “The doctors and trauma counselors told me that not remembering can be a good thing, although they warned me it could all come back out of the blue.”

“You’re back to work so you must have been declared fit for duty. No lingering physical effects?”

Her hand went to her side. In the short top, the end of the pink scar where it curved over her ribs was visible. She laid her hand flat on top of it, covering it. Had he noticed?

“My doctors gave me a clean bill of health as did the psychologist I was required to see, something Cap also insisted on prior to hiring me. I was cleared by them all. Now I only have the memories to deal with. Catching Stapleton would go a long way with that.”

“Cap told me he’s like the wind.”

“The Feds are of the same opinion, like he vanished without a trace.”

“What about you? Are you safe, Angie?”

His disquiet ignited a little flicker of exhilaration that he would care, but it didn’t last long as the feeling was quashed quickly by bad memories. “I won’t lie,” she admitted softly, glancing up at him briefly. “I watch for him around corners. Jonas installed a security system at my place, which helps me sleep easier.” Two or three hours were better than not at all. After three months’ time, she wondered if the nightmares that haunted her sleep would ever go away.

“You need a man on you.”

“I have Dan.”

He grunted. With a sidelong glance, she saw his dark brows gather, his lips curving downward for a second before he wiped his expression clean. What was that about? Did he have something against Dan? She thought all the Rossi team members were pretty close. As she opened her mouth to ask, footsteps on the steps echoed down the hall to them, announcing his return.

He moved to Angie’s side as he rejoined them, his hand settling on her waist.

“All set.” With a nod to T, he guided her toward the door. As they exited the rear of the club, Angie’s emotions were in an uproar, but one thing was certain, she was glad to leave the awkwardness with T behind.

*****

He watched Dan’s hand glide across her back possessively, skin on skin due to the low-rise skirt and cropped top Angie wore. Jealousy burned like fire in his gut. He wanted to shove his hand aside and take over Dan’s role himself—co-worker, trainer, Dom, all of it—maybe he should talk to Cap about a change in assignments.

Hell! Was he nuts?

Being around her constantly, mentoring her at work, training her at the club, touching her, restraining her, laying a flogger across her fine ass.

Christ, no! It would be nothing less than torture.

As they left, he watched Angie look up at the big ex-Marine, talking more animatedly than she had with him and offering Dan a small smile. Envy, an emotion he rarely experienced, created an ache in his chest. He would have enjoyed seeing that smile flashing his way. With him, however, she’d been stiff, more stilted than she’d ever been in the past. When they’d talked about the day she’d been stabbed, she’d barely met his eyes, which was unusual for Angie. During the long drawn out months of the cartel investigation, he’d seen her go toe to toe with several of the Rossi men, even Cap, which took guts. He wondered if it was due to observing him in the scene or if it was something more. Had she remembered what she’d revealed as she lay bleeding beneath his hand, using her last bit of breath, struggling on a shallow gasp to put words together that would lay waste to his walled off heart.

If only…

“Damn fool,” he cursed aloud. “You can’t hold her close with one hand and push her away with the other.”

His own words echoed back to him as he walked down the empty corridor. Conflicted, he re-entered the club. That’s when it hit him. Despite standing in the midst of a crowd of at least seventy-five members, he still felt incredibly lonely.

Chapter Four

Tuesday ended up being one of the longest days he could remember. Haunted by the uncomfortable meeting with Angie the night before, he hadn’t slept well and woke in a foul mood, which meant he went to work in an equally foul mood. Ordinarily, he loved his job, even when he had to take his turn in the surveillance room, today was the exception. The office manager had all but tied him to his desk and forced him to complete his paperwork so they could bill for the last four bonds he’d brought in. Filling out tedious expense reports, billable time logs and sifting through three months of wadded up disorganized receipts was not his idea of a good day. He’d managed to break away for an hour to spar with Jonas, and though the smaller man wiped the floor with him—never underestimate size when it’s wrapped in an eighth degree black belt—the physical outlet had helped.

Now, as he entered the club, he was looking for another type of physical outlet. It was early, the crowd thin and the band was still setting up in the lounge. Hoping a shot of liquor would ease the tension in his neck brought on by pushing a pencil all day, he slid onto a barstool and signaled Ben. Without having to ask, he set him up with his favorite twenty-year-old bourbon—Elijah Craig—neat. While he sipped, tasting the spiciness and savoring the pleasant burn as it first hit his tongue, then slid down his throat with a slow heat that curled in his belly, he relaxed and surveyed the members present in the floor to ceiling mirrored wall behind the bar.

As he scanned the plush couches in the seating area, the couples merged into an unremarkable sea of black leather and lace, except one. They were seated in a shadowed corner and he might have missed them if not for the splash of color in the sub’s fetish wear. He homed in on the bright purple corset, noting the small cinched in waist before following it upward over full breasts, which were overflowing the top edge just enough to spur a reaction in his body. Moving onward, he traced up a delicate throat, over a gracefully curved chin to full, pink lips he’d recognize anywhere.

Having dreamed about that mouth often enough, either kissing it or watching as it opened to receive his hard cock, he knew instantly this wasn’t fantasy. Angie was all too real and she was currently perched atop Dan Ogilvie’s lap. His jaw clenched as he began a slow perusal of the pair. He didn’t get far, stalling on her wrists which were cuffed behind her, causing a slight bowing in her back, and giving the hand that was slowly stroking her complete access.

T watched as her Dom’s hand skated deliberately over her lovely assets, starting at her face, gliding over her cheeks and slowly brushing her mouth. Moving downward, broad fingers skimmed along the centerline between her breasts and on to her belly, moving passed her hips until they came to rest on her thigh. It wasn’t lost on T that through it all he’d avoided intimate areas as he spoke near constantly in her ear. He could guess at those hushed words, because he’d done what Dan was doing often—early submissive training—he was getting her used to his voice, his commands, and his touch.

With a wave of his hand, he signaled Ben over, nodding to the corner when he approached. “How long has that been going on?”

Ben’s head twisted in their direction briefly. “They’re all the buzz. Dano hasn’t taken a newbie to train one-on-one in years, and that it’s Angie, is a huge surprise. She’s been coming to hear Elena perform for months, but not once has she ever stayed to play. We all thought she was pure vanilla. I guess she decided she wanted more of what she’s been seeing.”

“She’s a bit young for the old man, isn’t she?”

The bartender’s gaze snapped to T, a brow quirked in surprise.

“Forget it.” He tossed back the remains of his bourbon and stalked away. Rather than heading for the dungeon as planned, he climbed the two flights of stairs to the control room, instead. No longer in the mood.

He shot the shit with Kyle, the Rossi man on duty that evening, hoping he’d regain interest in finding himself a sub to play with later on. After twenty minutes or so, T spelled him for his supper break, his scheduled relief being delayed for a personal emergency. Left alone, he watched the screens, completing a routine top of the hour sweep by cycling through all of the surveilled areas one at a time on the main screen. As he checked the problem areas, he noticed the line at the main doors as members waited to check in. All seemed in order there so he switched back to the bar, tensing at the sight of a rather heated argument between two Doms. As soon as Sean stepped in to mediate, he moved on, scanning the lounge, the locker rooms, the outside corridors and the dungeon alcove where an attendant checked out equipment and stored subs shoes. Next up, the dungeon itself. Starting at the back stairs, which led to the second floor, he worked his way through the theme rooms, which were all occupied, and on to the crowded observation deck where members had a bird’s eye view of everything happening on the main floor below them. That left only the main floor, which he switched to next.

The club had filled up in the last hour and almost all the stations were in use. Members made the rounds on the circuit taking in the various scenes at a discreet distance behind the ropes or from the viewing areas beyond. Couples and singles looked for someone special to help fulfill their needs. While he scanned the large room for anything unusual or the slightest hint of trouble, he was conscious of searching for something else, something purple.

It didn’t take long for him to find her, kneeling at Dan’s feet while they watched a scene from a viewing couch. She tilted her head back and said something to him. An offhand remark or a bit of sass, he guessed by the quirking of her lips. He tried to pinpoint the audio, but was too late as he watched her Dom react. His hand wound in her hair as he pulled her head farther back, exposing her vulnerable throat, her spine arching and making her delectable breasts swell over the top of her corset, threatening to burst free. With a stern expression, Dan spoke into her ear, likely scolding her and reminding her of the rules. Had he told her not to speak without his permission? Would he pull her across his lap next, lift her skirt, and spank her ass until it was rosy red? Until tears sparkled on her lashes, or better yet, until she rocked back to meet each descent of his large hand as he swatted her luscious ass over and over again because she loved it as much as he did.

His head snapped around as Kyle reentered the room. Shit! He was supposed to be monitoring the club, not acting the voyeur as his cock hardened and his blood boiled. The latter not out of desire, but out of an overwhelming urge to storm the dungeon and rip her away from fucking Dan Ogilvie. Any tears should be incited by him, so he could kiss them away. Scolding or instruction for whatever perceived wrong should come from his lips, with his hand in her hair, her scent wrapped around him, and her soft skin plastered against his own. If there was going to be any spanking, he wanted it done by his hand, heating her round cheeks to a fiery crimson.

“Fuck!” He swore again, this time aloud, drawing a startled look from Kyle.

Grumbling a weak excuse about being tired, he slammed out of the room. In the hall, he paused, trying to find some semblance of control. It was a futile attempt as he flashed on an image of Angie, restrained over a bench, her skirt lifted and her panties lowered, framing her beautiful pale cheeks. Her pink pussy lips glistening with the proof of her desire.

Taking the stairs at a jog, he burst out the rear door and stalked across the lot. He couldn’t return to the club, not with her there under the control of another Dom. It would surely drive him mad, or worse, turn him to violence.

*****

Kneeling on the hard stone floor with her hands cuffed at her lower back, Angie shifted uncomfortably. Her shoulders, unused to the position, had begun to stiffen although the restraints weren’t all that tight. Her knees were the problem, achy from being bent for so long. Unable to decide how to position her feet, she shifted again. At first, she had curled her toes forward. That had become unpleasant real quick. Pointing them hadn’t helped with the weight of her butt pressing the bone on the top of her foot into the hard surfaced floor. They needed thicker pillows. Sitting on one cheek would be much easier. She shifted to the side a bit. Maybe no one would notice.

“Quit fidgeting, sub,” Dan’s deep voice ordered.

“Yes, Sir.” She’d gotten the requisite response down pat, although she didn’t know if she’d ever get the hang of the rest of this kink and bondage stuff, or if she even wanted to. Watching the scenes had been exhilarating. Okay, maybe not all of them—like the one with the needles, hell, no!—but for the most part, they were sensual, the subs seeming to enjoy whatever their Doms dished out: restraints, extreme positions, and pain. The latter coming in the form of floggers, paddles, open hands and horse crops. Despite having a beet red ass, some subs screamed for more, others cried out unintelligibly with passion-filled moans, and a few had tears rolling down their cheeks, but she noticed later they were snuggled up on their Doms laps after smiling contentedly.

Dan had explained the physiology and psychology of the whole pleasure-pain phenomenon. It was fascinating, though for Angie, still hard to comprehend. She didn’t like pain in the least. Case in point, her awkward position at her trainer’s feet. She wasn’t getting a thing out of it, except joint stiffness and muscle aches, and she was afraid any moment her feet would fall asleep.

Full of impatience, she exhaled heavily. In an attempt to restore blood flow to her toes, she leaned forward. As she did, fingers tightened in her hair, tugging her head back. That was something else, these Doms seemed to get off on hair pulling because there was a heck of a lot of it going on. Dan wasn’t rough when he did it, his grip firm, not painful, so she didn’t protest quite yet.

“Are we boring you, Angela?”

“No, Sir.”

“That’s funny, from all that sighing and squirming, I thought we might be.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but my knees hurt and I can’t feel my feet.”

His hands found her waist immediately. “It’s up to you to tell me when something is bothering you, sub,” her Dom growled as he lifted her onto his lap. “That was rule number one.”