This time she wore red silk lingerie and a black knit tank dress that skimmed the tops of her thighs, and high black sandals with straps that crossed delicately over her instep. By seven forty-five she was ready, heart racing once more, checking her reflection in the mirror, wanting to be perfect for him.
When the doorbell rang at exactly eight o’clock, it startled her, even though she’d been waiting for it.
Calm down.
She shook her head at her own ridiculousness as she went to open the door.
Just like last night, he seemed to dwarf the doorway. And he was so damn sexy, with his devilish goatee. He wore a bit of a smirk.
“Very nice, Allie girl. You ready to go?”
She nodded.
He opened the screen and took her arm, pulling her out. Silently, she handed him the house keys and he locked the front door, handed the keys back to her and kept a hand at the small of her back as he led her to his truck and helped her in.
She was sinking already, her mind emptying of everything but the sense of déjà vu and the overwhelming sense of Mick’s presence as he drove them to the club.
“You doing all right?” he asked her.
“Yes. Just getting my head in the right place.”
They stopped at a light and he turned to her. “I think you’re there already.”
She smiled. “Yes. I can’t help it.”
“I don’t want you to. You’re exactly where I want you, in fact. Going to The Bastille with me, starting to float your way into subspace. About to be in my hands. Oh, yeah. That’s about perfect.”
She didn’t know what to say as a sense of satisfaction at his pleasure flooded her.
For you, Mick.
They reached the club and he parked, came around and helped her from the truck. Inside, the same woman—Pixie—sat behind the desk.
“Welcome back.”
Allie nodded. “Thank you.”
She was glad there was no more conversation aimed her way. She didn’t want to lose her head space.
And Mick didn’t let her. He grabbed her arm hard, his fingers biting a little into her flesh, the command coming through in the small shock of pain, but she welcomed it. Her head sank deeper as she followed him into the club.
He took her to the back of the main room and through a doorway that opened into a long hall.
“We’re going to keep things private tonight,” he said, his mouth close to her temple as he steered her down the hallway. “I don’t want our focus to be interrupted even by the thrill of exhibitionism, the sounds of other people. It’s just you and me tonight, Allie.”
She shivered at the thought.
He guided her through a door and shut it behind them.
They were in a small room that had several pieces of equipment in it: a padded spanking bench with knee and armrests in one corner, a large bondage frame in another, and in the middle of the room was a hanging “bed” suspended from chains at all four corners and covered in red vinyl. Against one wall was a love seat upholstered in red velvet.
“What do you think, Allie?” he asked her, moving in close and wrapping his fist in her hair. “I’m going to lay you out on that table. I’m going to tie you down and do some wonderful and terrible things to you.”
All she could say was, “Yes, please.”
CHAPTER Six
SHE DIDN’T DARE to look at him. Not because he was the Dom, but because she was afraid if she did her legs would shake too hard to hold her up.
He leaned into her and whispered in her ear, “I can sense you, you know. Feel what you’re feeling right now. That trembling under your skin. Your pulse racing. I can see it at the base of your throat. I can feel it.”
He pressed two gentle fingers to her neck, and she sighed.
“Ah, there it is. That honesty. You can’t hide it, can you? But I don’t mean that as any sort of judgment. I want to hear it. Your sighs, your moans. I want to know your pleasure. Don’t hide it from me. Don’t try to hide anything from me. You’re familiar with this process—you know what we have to do in order for this to work. So tell me now, what are the nerves all about? This hard set to your jaw, your shoulders? Because I feel like if I put my arm around you right now you might break in some way.”
“I might,” she murmured, having to bite back tears for some reason she didn’t understand.
“Allie, I don’t want to hurt you. Not in that way.”
She swallowed. “I know. But you might, Mick.”
She heard him exhale on a long breath. “I’ll do my damnedest not to.”
She nodded, glanced away, letting her eyes lose focus in the dim, colored light.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She swallowed again, the lump in her throat thickening. She couldn’t seem to force herself to do as he said.
“Allie,” he said more gently. When she didn’t answer he said, “Okay, if this is how you want it.”
The next thing she knew, he’d picked her up and placed her sitting on the edge of the hanging bed, parted her thighs and stood between them. A tear plopped onto her cheek.
When he took her chin in his hand, she tried to shake him off, but he held on firmly, forcing her to face him.
“Mick, please.”
His brows were drawn over his beautiful gray eyes. Eyes like granite and quartz.
“I don’t mind if you cry,” he said. “But you will talk to me.”
She started to shake her head, but he wouldn’t let her do it.
“Talk, Allie.”
“This just . . . isn’t what I expected. I don’t know what I did expect. Except I suppose I figured that with all my years of experience to draw on, this would be familiar ground—just you and me getting to know each other again through kink, once we got past you being mad about me dragging you here.”
“I’m past that—I don’t hold a grudge. Well, I do, which I guess we both know. But I’m not mad at you. And this is us getting to know each other through kink. Tell me why it’s hard for you.”
“Isn’t it hard for you, Mick? Jesus, don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s having a rough time with this.”
“Yes, it’s hard for me. Remembering what we used to be. Figuring out where the hell we are now. Because this part—the kink—has changed . . . maybe everything. But my job right now is to hold it together. To hold you together.”
The look in his eyes told her he meant it. That he would hold her together.
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. Just take a breath and find that place in your head again.” He dropped her chin and stroked a hand over her shoulder. “I’ll help you find it. Come on, now, stand for me.”
He helped her from the table and pulled her dress over her head, paused to smooth her hair from her face.
“The red’s a nice touch. Too nice to cut off you.”
She watched him as his gaze roved over her body, followed by his hands. He stroked her arms, her stomach, making her draw in a sharp breath. She shivered when he stroked the sides of her thighs, the curve of her hips, the small of her back. He pulled her into his body, and she felt the heat of his skin, the hard muscle beneath her cheek pressed against his chest.
His hands moved over her back in featherlight strokes.
“Breathe with me, Allie.”
She knew what he meant to do—take her through the slow yogalike breathing methods meant to relax her. Following his lead, she inhaled deeply, blew it out slowly.
“Again,” he ordered.
She closed her eyes and drew in another breath, careful to keep time with him, exhaled. Inhaled once more, and exhaled, let her body fall into the slow cadence, let her weight lean into his strong frame.