Ever since he lost his money, he’s been living at my apartment: driving my car, using my credit cards. He loses his temper all the time now, ranting about his ‘bad luck’ and all the people who’ve conspired to bring him down. I miss the way he used to be, but I know he’s still a good man under all that frustration.
Sometimes, though, part of me wonders if he’ll ever be happy again. Or if his happiness was just about the money and the power.
“Follow me.” Paxton gives me a sleazy grin. I follow them past the bouncer and upstairs.
It’s a club of some kind, I realize with relief as we step out of the hallway. A long bar across one wall. Booths and tables. Classy and discreet, and obviously very exclusive. The people here are dressed up, too: suits for the men, plunging dresses and short skirts on the women.
“What do you think?” Brent murmurs to me. He slides one arm around my waist, finally looking relaxed.
“It looks great!” I say brightly, hoping the fight is over.
He smirks. “Kinky bitch.”
I don’t understand what he means. Then a man strolls past, leading a woman on a jewel-encrusted leash.
Suddenly, with a jolt, I realize.
He brought me to a sex club.
“Wait,” I panic, pulling back. My mind races. What is he planning? “Brent, I can’t—”
“Don’t be a prude.” Brent drops a possessive kiss on my lips. “C’mon, sis.”
I feel a familiar shudder of shame and self-loathing. “Don’t call me that,” I whisper.
He laughs. “But you are.”
“No,” I insist. “I’m not.”
Brent and I aren’t related. Ashcroft adopted him when he was a little kid, and then me, years later, when I was twelve. But I still feel the shame, knowing what people would think if they knew the truth about us.
In a way, they’re right. The Ashcroft’s are the only family I’ve ever known, and Brent is the one relationship that’s dominated my entire adult life.
“Just relax, baby,” he soothes me. Brent gives me another kiss, slow and tender. I feel myself start to relax again. “I planned this for you. You’ll like it, I promise.”
He strokes my cheek and I waver, torn. Leaving would mean another big fight, and I’m so tired of fighting with him.
“Just come check the place out,” Brent urges. “Trust me. I’ll take care of you.”
I take a shaky breath. I have to admit, part of me is curious about the place. Brent doesn’t wait for my reply, just leads me after Paxton, into the next room. This one is smaller than the main bar, with a raised platform set up like a stage. There’s some kind of bench in the middle, and people are clustering around to watch.
Brent sees my expression and laughs. “Don’t worry, that’s not for us. I’ve got something even better planned.”
My stomach ties in knots as he leads me down a long, dark hallway. Paxton is waiting by a door at the end. “See?” Brent encourages, guiding me inside. “Private. Just for us.”
The room is small and luxuriously furnished. There’s a four-poster bed in the middle of the room, covered with crisp linens, and a rack full of objects I can’t make out in the dark.
I let out a breath of relief. This, I can deal with. Maybe Brent just wants to fool around here a little, while Paxton goes and enjoys the rest of the club.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and turn to Brent with a smile. “You want to take a nap?” I joke, patting the bed beside me.
He watches me with a weird look on his face. Possessive, but thrilled too.
“You’re not going to sleep tonight. I’ve got plans for you.”
“Like what?” I smile, leaning back. I kick my shoes off, getting comfortable.
Brent goes to the rack, and lifts down something. It looks like a paddle, with a smooth wooden handle and a flat square body. “We’re going to play a game,” he says.
I pause, staring at the paddle. “What kind of game?”
“It’s called, ‘Would You Rather.’” Brent walks over to me. He reaches down and takes hold of my jaw. His thumb traces over my lips. I shiver, feeling a strange pulse of excitement. We’ve never done anything like this before. Brent usually isn’t this imaginative.
“How does it work?” I ask, teasing.
He grins. “Simple. I offer you two options. You have to pick one.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Brent eases his thumb into my mouth. I lick at it, and he shudders with excitement. “Damn, baby. I knew you’d be hot.”
Hot. That’s what he wants from me tonight. For me to be kinky and wild for him, not the innocent ice-princess he usually loves.
I can do that. I can play pretend.
I fake a moan, sucking his thumb deeper into my mouth. Brent’s breathing turns heavy. “Fuck,” he groans. “You better come get started before I take her myself.”
I wonder who he’s talking to. Then Paxton steps out from the shadows.
I pull back. “What’s he doing here?” I demand in panic. I expect Brent to throw him out, but he just grins.
“Relax,” he urges me again. “This is all part of the game.”
I look at Paxton. He’s watching me with a lewd expression on his face. This isn’t right, but Brent is still waiting, still stroking my cheek.
“It’s time for you first decision.” Brent tells me. “Don’t let me down,” he adds, and the note of warning in his voice is clear. He needs to impress this guy, and I’m part of the show.
“Would you rather have me paddle you?” he asks, his eyes dark with power. “Or suck my friend’s cock?”
TWO: CAM
“You need a girlfriend.”
I look over at my friend Dax and raise an eyebrow. “Anyone in mind?”
I nod at the two-way mirror that lines the wall of his office, looking out on the main floor of the Underground club. Outside, at least a dozen women are drinking in the bar. Young, hot, and looking for a partner to fulfill their wildest, kinkiest fantasies tonight.
Dax shakes his head. “Not a girl to scene with. Someone to date, too. You know, dinners, wine, romance.” He gives me a look. “Or has it been so long that you’ve forgotten what a real relationship looks like?”
I take a sip of whiskey. The good stuff—Dax keeps a case of Macallan in the back at all times for me. I shake my head. “I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”
“You come here every Friday night.”
“That’s different.”
Dax chuckles. “It doesn’t have to be. Pick someone, then take her out for dinner before you tie her up. Aren’t you always complaining about going to those business functions alone?”
I tense. “Out of the question.” I say sharply. “What happens here, stays here. That’s your number one rule,” I remind him.
He sighs, world-weary. “I’m just saying, Cam, this doesn’t have to be a dirty little secret. Plenty of guys form relationships with their subs. Some even say it’s better that way. A deeper connection.”
I clench my jaw. Dax knows, I keep my life at the club strictly private, totally separated from my normal world. By day, I’m a high-powered executive, second-in-command at a global corporation, Ashcroft Industries. Since my boss and mentor, Charles Ashcroft, died last year, it’s been down to me to oversee the everyday operations of the company—and guide his daughter, Keely, as she takes his place.
Here, they know me only as ‘Master,’ one of the most feared and desired doms on the scene. No name. No identity. No messy loose ends following me when I walk out the door.
It’s not a choice, it’s a necessity. The only way to maintain control.
And control, to me, is everything.
“My life is fine the way it is,” I tell him, a warning note in my voice.
Dax knows me well enough to drop it. He changes the subject. “What have you got planned tonight? I saw you already gave that blonde a workout.”
I relax, remembering her cries of pleasure, and how her beautiful skin m
ottled with the precise strokes of my crop. “I’m not sure yet. I might try the Sapphire room.”
Dax looks surprised. “I didn’t think that was your thing.”
The Underground consists of a main bar and a room for public displays, as well as a series of private suites named after precious jewels—catering to more individual tastes. The Sapphire room is for exhibitionists, set up to allow other, anonymous people to watch from the other rooms.
I shrug, swirling my whiskey in the glass. “I can try new things.”
He gives me a look, like he’s not buying it. The truth is, he’s right. My desires are simple in their nature.
Domination. Surrender. Control.
But lately, the pleasures of the club haven’t satisfied my cravings the way they used to. Even the most practiced, artful subs here don’t quench my desires. The blonde earlier this evening once would have thrilled me beyond measure. Now, I’m already looking for my next conquest, the next woman to soar under my words and part her thighs, free and hungry for my cock.
“Well, take your pick.” Dax turns back to the two-way mirror. “You know there’s not a single woman here tonight who wouldn’t love to scene with you. It’s that damn Scottish accent,” he adds, smirking. “They all want their Outlander fantasies brought to life.”
I laugh. It’s true; since moving to the States five years ago, I haven’t been short on female attention—in the club, or out of it.
Then I see her, and choke on my drink.
“Whoa, you OK, buddy?” Dax asks.
I shake my head, watching her walk across the room. Long blonde hair swishing around her shoulders. A lithe, elegant body poured into a skin-tight mini-dress and sexy stiletto heels. She looks like a