Wicked Release (18 page)

29

H
e was numb. Sam was completely numb, from the tip of his head to the bottoms of his feet. No amount of abuse or punishment from Mary could top the pain he felt right then in that moment, watching Elliot spank Jess. Another man's hand on her. Hitting her. Humiliating her. That wasn't what Sam did. It wasn't what he was into . . . sure, he loved spanking in privacy, but not like this. But apparently, she
was
. For Sam, the lifestyle wasn't about asserting power in public. It was for them, alone, in the bedroom.

God, he was a fucking moron. Coming here, wanting to protect her. And from what? From the very life he had pushed her into? If this was what she wanted, maybe they weren't right for each other after all.

Only, he didn't believe that. And he didn't want it to be over. Flushed, Jess lifted her head as Warner finished and time stilled as their eyes met. Mary tugged Sam's tie, pulling him down the stairs like a dog on a chain. Sam gnashed his teeth together. He hated this. He hated being in a roomful of his fellow dominants and being forced into a submissive position. But above all else, he hated watching Jess be put in the same position. He would endure ten times the punishment if it meant she didn't have to.
But she wants to do this. She wants to be here,
a small voice somewhere in the recesses of his mind echoed. And that little voice was right. Jess was strong and opinionated. If she wanted to leave, she would . . . and she wouldn't look back. He knew that all too well.

Mary reached the bottom of the steps, pausing by Jess. Even though Mary was a couple of inches shorter, her presence towered over everyone. With a slow pivot, she looked back at Sam, green eyes sparkling with an understanding that wasn't there earlier. “Ahhh, Mademoiselle Pas Sûr,” she purred. “It's lovely to meet again. I believe you know my sub for the night—Private Dick.”

Jess pulled herself off the wall to a standing position, glancing quickly at Elliot, who gave a slight nod.
Permission. He was giving her fucking permission to speak.
A few strands of dark, curly hair fell from the base of Jess's updo and she nervously wrapped her finger around a stray strand. “Yes, we've . . . met.”

Sam huffed a laugh. He didn't get far in his chuckle because Mary pulled his necktie harder, making it so that he was bent at ninety degrees, his face near her hip. “On your knees, Dick,” she ordered, her deep-red lips curling back over her white teeth, revealing a wicked grin.

Sam cleared his throat, dropping to his knees at her side. From inside the room, he heard Phantom's chuckle and he darted a glare in the dom's direction. Instead, his gaze connected to a terrified-looking Lulu. Her eyes darted back and forth between Sam and Phantom and suddenly Phantom's chagrin at Sam's current position wasn't so humiliating. Sam knew that Phantom's submissive was fooling around with Dr. Adams behind the dom's back. The look on Lulu's face when she saw Sam confirmed that Adams told her he knew and that she and Phantom did not have an open relationship. Sam cringed at the thought of her in bed with either Phantom or Dr. Adams.

“Come, Dick,” Mary stated, walking as though she wasn't still gripping his necktie like a leash. “Let's find our seats.”

She dragged a long, leather riding crop along the floor. The rest of the party seemed to follow suit behind Mary, everyone taking their seats as well, with Elliot and Jess dropping across from Mary and Sam.

A server stepped to their end of the table and Elliot put in an order in for a gimlet and Chivas on the rocks with a splash of water. “She likes Woodford,” Sam said to himself. But before the words could reach Jess's ears, Mary had a fistful of his hair, pulling his attention back to her.

“My goodness, you are chatty tonight, aren't you?” A rumble of chuckles rolled like a wave across the table. Mary looked at the waiter. “I'll take a Tempranillo and Sam here will have . . . hmmm, let's see . . . he'll have a daiquiri. Strawberry. Please be sure to put one of those little umbrellas inside.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't have blended drinks—”

She clicked her tongue, looking back at the menu. “Pity. A cosmopolitan, then.”

Sam inwardly groaned and from across the table, Jess's eyes were wet and watery. Something electric passed between them. An apology, perhaps? One that Sam didn't care to hear from her. If she was seeking revenge for all he had done to her, she had won. She did it. He didn't know how much more his heart could take.

 

Dinner was about as smooth as a cobblestone street. Mary kicked Sam's chair out from beneath him and made him eat on the floor on his hands and knees. He tried to put his own humiliation aside, eyeing Jess carefully whenever he could. She didn't seem to be enjoying being dominated any more than he did. In fact, if anything, she looked trapped. Broken. She was looking more and more like Lulu as the night went on. The vision made his heart ache even more than when he had watched Elliot put his hands on her. It wasn't that Elliot was an unkind master—no, quite the contrary. He seemed attentive and forgiving. He took his time to teach her rather than beat her into submission like he'd seen some dominants do at these parties.

But that was the difference between Elliot and Sam. For Elliot, this was life. He was cool and calm in his dominance, but it extended throughout his everyday life as well. Whereas in Sam's industry, even when he wanted to, he wasn't allowed to assert that sort of dominance. Even though there were times he wanted to. Still, he'd never had the urge to bring a woman into a restaurant and force her to eat what she didn't want to.

But if that was really the life Jess wanted . . . if Elliot was really the man she wanted, he would respect that. As much as Sam wanted to rip the necktie off his throat and throw her over his shoulder. It wasn't his place. Was never his place, really. He loved her, but at some point he had to let go. Not that he would ever stop protecting her, but he could do that from afar.

He'd finished his meal. While everyone else dined on the best steaks in Portland, Mary had ordered him steamed spinach. He sat up on his haunches, watching the table. A bit of movement caught his eye and he saw Jess say something to Elliot, her mouth brushing his ear.

Elliot nodded, standing up in a moment of old-fashioned manners as Jess rose from the table. He gestured up the stairs and to the left. What were the chances Mary would allow Sam to go to the restroom alone? With her bitchy attitude tonight and her propensity for embarrassing him, she'd probably force him to pee on a fire hydrant outside.

He waited another moment before speaking. “Epoly,” he said, using her main alias, “I need to use the restroom.”

Her gaze settled on the empty chair across from him before she turned to look down at Sam. “Of course you do,” she said, her smile a little too polite for his tastes.

Sam gave her a nod, rising to his feet. “Thank you.”

“Master X,” she said louder. “Would you be a dear and escort my submissive to the restroom for me?”

Elliot's eyes flared like a wild animal as he glanced at Sam, then back to Mary. “Is that really necessary?”

“Whether or not it's necessary isn't really your choice to make.” Her smile turned even more saccharine. “Now, if you're not comfortable, I can ask another man here at the table to escort him.”

“It's fine,” he answered quickly, dropping his napkin beside his plate. “I needed to go, anyway.”

Fuck.
Sam followed Elliot and he swore he could feel his balls shriveling with each step. Once they got to the top of the stairs, Elliot grabbed his elbow and led him to the bar. Sam looked around the restaurant. It wasn't packed, but for a weeknight at one of the most expensive restaurants in Portland, there were a handful of patrons enjoying their meal with no idea about the kinky party going on just below them in the wine cellar.

“Two Lagavulins,” Elliot said to the bartender.

With a glance at Sam, he offered a smile. “You're no sub, Detective.” It wasn't a question and yet, Sam felt the need to answer him.

“Well aren't you fucking brilliant? Planning to take that skill on the road? Get yourself on
Jeopardy!
?”

Elliot ignored his sarcasm as the bartender slid the two tumblers their way. Elliot nudged one toward Sam. “Nothing is as difficult as watching someone be beaten into submission who doesn't want to be there. Here. Have a drink.”

“Is that so? Have you watched who you're sitting next to at all?”

Elliot's smirk flickered from behind his glass. “She's here with me voluntarily. She knows that she can leave at any moment. She's a quick study. Something tells me you knew that already, though.” He paused, eyeing Sam's untouched drink. “Come on, Detective. Don't make me drink alone.”

“You are not my master.”

“And yet, I'm fairly certain that if I were to go tell Epoly you ignored an order . . . even from me, she would make your night hell.”

“She'll make my night hell if I drink it or not.”

“Suit yourself.” He tipped his head back. “Now, I actually do need to use the restroom. Would you mind going into the ladies' room to check on Jess for me?” He moved for the door, pausing. “She's been in there a while and I'm getting worried for her,” he said pointedly, loud enough for any passersby to hear. With that, he slipped into the bathroom.

Son of a bitch.
He was giving them a moment. Sam kind of hated himself for it, but he was starting to sort of like the guy.

30

J
ess stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection. She still looked like herself. Everything was in place, her makeup exactly as she had applied it earlier. And yet, she couldn't help but feel that she should look different somehow.

Grabbing some of the bobby pins at the base of her French twist, she pinned some stray hairs back in place. What the hell was Sam doing there? Getting publicly emasculated and for what? So he could keep tabs on her?

The bathroom door creaked open, but Jess didn't bother looking over. She kept her eyes down at the sink, rinsing her hands. The door lock clicked, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end.

Slowly she shifted her gaze back to the mirror and gasped to find Sam standing behind her. “Jesus, Sam,” she said. “What the hell?”

“Your master asked me to come check on you,” he said, his voice deadpan. “Is anyone else in here?”

She shook her head.

“I don't know why I'm here, Jess. Why am I here when you so clearly want to be with him?”

She wanted so badly to correct him. Tell him that wasn't the case, but then, the whole thing would be blown and she and Elliot would be back at square one. “I don't know what I want right now, Sam.”

“Is this to punish me? Are you trying to get back at me—”

“No!”

“So, then . . . you like that? You like being berated in public? Spanked for all to see? Do you know what goes on in the more hardcore groups?”

“I'm not totally naïve, Sam. Yes, I know.”

“Why would Warner send me in here to be with you? He must know about us. He must see the way I look at you.”

Jess gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe he's testing me?”

“No,” Sam said, pacing the bathroom. “No, that's not his style.”

“And you know him so well?”

Sam froze midstep and spun, pulling Jess toward him. “I know him better than you do.”

Her nipples pushed against the thin bodice of her dress. Pressed flush against his chest, her hand fell naturally just below his shoulder, her thumb circling beneath his lapel. A flash of heat spread through her body and before she knew what she was doing, her legs were spread, flanking his massive thigh against her pulsing sex.

She parted her lips, looking up at him, and he moved his leg, stroking the very ache that throbbed for him. He studied her face as he picked up the pace, shifting his hand beneath her dress and pushing her panties to the side, stroking her wet seam, soaking the tip of his finger before circling her clit.

“Oh, God,” she panted.

“You're fucking wet.” He pushed an index finger inside her and she gasped, as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. “But for who?” he growled, cupping the back of her neck. “For him?” He swirled his finger inside of her, teasing the hard knot at her G-spot.

She shook her head. “No. Never for him. It's always been you, Sam.”

He crashed his lips against hers, his teeth scraping her bottom lip. She dove her tongue into his mouth, wanting more of him. Every bit of him that he would offer. He pulled back, the look on his face delicate despite his masculine features. “Then why are you here? Why are you with him and not with me?”

It was a fair question. And one she still couldn't answer. With one finger still inside of her, he positioned his thumb at her clit, with a steady pressure that sped up in rapid flicks. “Make a choice Jess,” he said, licking her ear, sucking it into his mouth. “Come home with me tonight. I'll do this to you all night long. I'll worship you.”

Her body clenched around his finger, spasming, erupting like a Fourth of July fireworks display. She clutched his arms, his biceps flexing beneath her fingers. She pushed onto her toes, kissing him again. “I can't,” she said. “But believe me when I say it's for us that I can't.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“Think about it, Sam. Go home tonight and mull it over. Why would my ‘master' send another man—a man whom I've clearly had a past with—into the bathroom with his submissive? Why would he allow me to be alone with you right now?”

Sam's face softened. “Because it's not a real relation—”

Jess kissed him, stopping his thought midsentence. “Don't say it aloud. Just know it. Know that what we have is real. And what he gets of me is not.”

With that, Jess pushed off Sam's body, unlocking the bathroom door and peeking to make sure no one was watching before slipping back out to where Elliot was waiting.

 

Sam waited about thirty seconds before he opened the ladies' room door and walked out—directly into one of the other diners. The older woman yelped as he ran into her. Her eyes flitted between his face and the
LADIES' ROOM
sign on the door behind him. Sam stumbled against the wall. “Sorry,” he said, making sure to slur the word for effect. “Walked into the wrong one.”

He purposefully tripped over his own feet, landing hard against the wall beside him. The woman quickly fled into the sanctuary of the ladies' room. He straightened his jacket, and the ache in the pit of Sam's stomach grew as he moved closer to the entrance of the wine cellar.
What the fuck am I doing here?
Jess didn't seem to be in any danger at the moment. Elliot was the sort of dominant that every sub begged to have. Other than that initial spanking, he seemed like an attentive and very controlled dominant.

It wasn't a real relationship.
But why?
Why would Jess and Warner be pretending? For the same motivation Jess had had since she arrived. It had to do with Cass's death. Was it a front to convince the killers that Jess was no longer interested in him? Then why not just let him in on it? Let him know so that he wasn't going fucking nuts every time he saw them together.

His body went cold with that thought. But he had to put on a show. No one would believe that Sam just allowed Jess to walk away and be with this new dominant without putting up a fight.

He did put up a fight. And now he had to admit defeat—do his part for the audiences. He fought for her and lost—even subjected himself to Mary's humiliation in battle. He couldn't go back down there. And yet, he couldn't just leave. Not without Mary. So, instead, he took a seat at the bar and waited. He wouldn't order. That was against the rules. She would come for him.

And within a minute, he was right. Mary barged through the door into the restaurant, her eyes sparking with challenge when she saw him sitting there. But the fire in them quickly receded to a low flame as she moved to sit beside him.

“May I please have a scotch, Epoly?” Sam asked, careful not to look at her.

There was a rustle of leather as she sat next to him. “Two Glenfiddiches, neat,” she said to the bartender. Then she spoke to Sam. “Private Dick, look at me.”

He did as he was told, watching the slight nuances within Mary's expression shift as she attempted to read him. Even after the bartender put the two glasses of scotch in front of them, neither of them reached for it, continuing their stare down. Mary took hers, lifting it, her eyes flicking to his glass as well. Sam lifted his own glass. “You know, I've had a lot of subs in my reign as Epoly,” said Mary. “Even though the things I make them do are on the grittier side, I can tell they enjoy it. Some love to be my pony for the night. Others get off on the power trip of serving my every whim. And there are a few that just love being tortured. Being emotionally shred into a pile, just so that it feels so fucking good when I finally satisfy them sexually. It makes their release that much sweeter.” She took a long sip and Sam matched hers, the alcohol stinging the back of his throat. “But the common denominator is that they love it. And they always come back for more. You are the first to never come back.”

“But I didn't leave,” he said. They both knew he could have. And that in the grand scheme of things, it wouldn't have mattered two fucks if he had. It wouldn't ruin his standing in the community. He wasn't a sub and had no plans of ever being one again after this night.

“That's right,” she said. “You didn't. That's honorable, considering I did the unthinkable to you.”

Sam tried to think of what she was referencing exactly. She had put him through a lot so far.

“Making you drink a cosmopolitan,” she clarified with a grin.

“That was pretty fucking evil,” he agreed, swirling his tumbler.

“In any case, you're the first to not enjoy my tactics. And when my sub is not enjoying himself, then I am not enjoying myself. Okay, well, I enjoyed it at first. But nonetheless, you're relieved of your duties for the night,” she said.

Sam released a heavy breath and took a long, burning swig of the scotch. “Thank you.”

With that, his tumbler was almost empty and Mary gestured to the bartender for two more.

“I shouldn't. I have to drive home and you have to get back to the party,” said Sam.

She waved a hand dismissively at the door and rolled her eyes. “In a minute. I'm in no rush to rejoin those boring men.”

“No?”

“Stuffy men with dainty dinners? Not my scene either, Detective.”

“Then why'd you come?”

“Oh, I was curious who Master X was planning to parade around this time. He always throws one of these for a new sub. We haven't had one of these dinners since he debuted Cece over a year ago.”

The bartender dropped two more tumblers in front of them. “And? What'd you think of our newcomer?” asked Sam.

Amusement lit Mary's face and her eyes shimmered a glistening green. “I think her heart belongs to someone else.”

“What makes you say that?”

Mary dipped her finger into the scotch, sucking the amber droplets from the tip. “They hardly touched each other all night. There was no passion, no tension between them. Nothing. However, when she looked at
you
. . .”

“We just have history. But trust me, she's moved on.”

“Or so she wants you to believe.”

“Me? I wasn't even supposed to be here tonight.”

Mary pulled a tube of lipstick and a small mirror from her purse, touching up her lips. “True. Which only makes me wonder. . . who else are they trying to convince? And why?” With that, Mary motioned to the bartender. “Be sure to put these on my tab downstairs.” With a tilt of her glass, she slipped back downstairs.

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek. Whatever Elliot and Jess were up to, he knew there was a good reason behind it. But if they weren't fooling Mary, chances were that others could see through them, too. “Excuse me,” he said to the bartender. “I need a piece of paper and an envelope.”

The bartender hesitated, then disappeared into the back with a nod. Moments later, he returned with a spare sheet of stationery, an envelope, and a pen. Sam grabbed them with a quick thank-you and scribbled a note.

Stuffing the note into the envelope, Sam scribbled
For Master X
across the seal and handed it to the server. “Could you please take this note to the man who organized the private dinner downstairs? He's dining with the woman in the purple dress.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said.

“And deliver it along with a gimlet?” Sam tossed a twenty onto the bar and finished his drink. He waited until he saw the server go downstairs with the drink and note in hand.

If Jess and Elliot were going to do this—whatever “this” was—they might as well do it right.