Club Helix: The Power Games (3 page)

“Can you believe this place?” she asks, plopping down on the seat next to me.

“It’s amazing,” I agree. “Whoever’s financing this hotel must be loaded!”

Tessa nods. “It’s a bit of a mystery exactly who
is
financing the hotel. I think it’s another layer of the publicity plan to create some intrigue and mystery to add to the buzz about the resort, but whoever it is clearly has a ton of money and some pretty astute business sense. And did you see the Helix Room? It’s gorgeous but crazy intimidating.”

“Right?” I say, glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.

She lowers her voice confidentially. “I’m not intimidated. More like scared shitless. At least you came with your Dom.”

“He’s not my—” I begin, and then I catch myself. I look at her with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. I truly can’t imagine being in her shoes. “I think you’re amazing. I don’t think I’d have the nerve to come alone.”

“So, why are you here?” she asks conversationally, throwing back the rest of her champagne and holding up her glass for a refill as a waiter comes by. “I figure everyone’s here for one of three reasons: money, fame, or sex. Or in the case of the guys, two reasons, because you know they all want sex!”

I laugh.

“Wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She looks at me consideringly. “Fame,” she finally decides. “You have that delicate, reserved look that makes guys think with their dicks. You could be a model.”

“Well, now we have to be friends,” I say with a smile. “You are without a doubt the first person who’s ever thought that about me. So why are you here?”

“Honestly? The sex.”

We both bust out laughing, and Emmett turns to smile at me.

“Oh, my God, he’s gorgeous!” she says breathlessly. “I can’t even imagine him being my Dom. All he’d have to do is look at me, and I’d do anything he wanted.”

I shrug. Although I can objectively see why women find Emmett ridiculously attractive, with his gorgeous skin the color of buttered caramel and expressive deep-brown eyes, to me he’s just Emmett. “So you don’t have a Dom?” I ask, eager to steer the conversation away from Emmett and me.

“No. I’ve actually never had a Dom before. I went to a BDSM club with a friend about six months ago in Chicago, and I don’t know, it just felt right, like I was home. Not to mention totally hot! I’d always thought something was wrong with me because sex just wasn’t all that exciting, but after five minutes in the club, I was more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve been back a few more times to play with some of the Doms there, but I don’t really have a lot of experience. I’m kind of surprised my application got accepted. But I’m dying to see what it’s really like to be in a twenty-four-seven-type relationship, and I figured this was a safe way to try it without a huge commitment. I doubt I’ll get very far, though. There are a lot of women here who are lifestyle submissive’s and know way more about it than I do. But at least I’m here for the right reasons,” she adds vehemently. “Some of the women here don’t have a submissive bone in their body!”

I look away uncomfortably. “So, who do you want to be paired up with?”

She looks around the rooftop where people are gathered in groups, talking and sipping drinks. “That exotic-looking guy with the dark hair and almond-shaped eyes is pretty hot,” she says, nodding toward an older man who’s probably in his late thirties at the end of the bar. “Ooh! And that guy with the sexy scruff! I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed.”

I follow her gaze. “They’re both pretty attractive,” I agree, taking in the rest of the crowd. “But I don’t see anyone who really sets my heart pounding or my lady bits tingling.”

“I’m sure your Dom will be glad to hear that,” she says drily, giving me an odd look.

Crap. I’d better get my shit together, or I’m going to totally blow this. We talk for a few more minutes, and then the guy with the scruff makes his way over to join us. I give Tessa a pointed look and excuse myself to join Emmett. When we leave to go back to our room thirty minutes later, his hand is resting possessively on her thigh, and she’s gazing up at him with a look in her eyes that makes me wonder what I’m missing.

We’re free until after dinner the following day with the exception of the psychological evaluation, which I’m pretty sure I pass with flying colors. God knows I’ve had enough experience dealing with shrinks. The psychologist is a kind, middle-aged woman, and I know exactly what to say to make myself sound like a well-adjusted recent college graduate who’s interested in exploring my sexuality, having some fun, and hoping to get my foot in the door for my career in design.

Emmett and I spend the rest of the day by the pool along with the majority of the other contestants. With the sparkling turquoise water, the palm trees, and the scent of coconut oil permeating the air, all that’s missing for this to feel like a Caribbean vacation is the sand. Tessa and scruff guy, whose name is Luke, join us, and before long they feel like old friends. I wonder briefly if this will be like the summer camp I attended when I was a kid. You end up making close friendships quickly because you’re thrown together in such close proximity day in and day out, sharing a tiny world of your own making that no one else is privy to.

“Anyone want a drink?” Emmett says.

“I’ll take another one of those yummy frozen things,” I say lazily, squinting up at him from where I’m sunbathing on a chaise lounge.

“Me too, please,” Tessa chimes in.

“I’ll go with you.” Luke gets to his feet, and I close my eyes against the bright Nevada sun.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The sound of the stern masculine voice with the slightly gravelly rasp to it has me opening my eyes in confusion. I look up into the hard and unsmiling face of possibly the most magnificently gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. He definitely falls into the tall, dark, and dangerous category; he’s well over six feet tall with short, slightly tousled black hair, piercing blue eyes under thick brows that are knit together in a frown, and a strong, unyielding jaw. He’s wearing more clothes than anyone else at the pool, but I can see the hard lines of his broad shoulders and lean, muscular body beneath the expensively cut suit as clearly as if he were wearing a swimsuit. There’s an undeniable air of authority about him that has me squirming in my lounge chair.

“Excuse me?” I say.

His gaze travels insolently over the length of my body, and despite the fact that I’m wearing a two-piece swimsuit, I have to fight the urge to cover myself. I feel like I’m completely naked under his intense scrutiny.

“What are you doing?” he snaps. “This is Nevada. With your fair skin, you shouldn’t be lying in the sun like this. Your skin is already turning pink. You’re going to be burned to a crisp in another five minutes.”

I blink at him in surprise. Who the hell does he think he is? Temper wars with some strange but instinctive urge to please him. There’s something about him that is both commanding and intimidating, and I find myself stammering to explain myself.

“I put sunscreen on.”

“When?”

“Um…what time is it?”

“Time to put more on,” he says gruffly. “Give it to me.”

He holds his hand out, and somehow I’m reaching into my bag and pulling out the bottle of sunscreen and handing it to him. Our fingers brush, and I feel a jolt of electricity.

“Roll over,” he orders.

Without saying a word, I roll onto my stomach and close my eyes as strong, capable fingers rub the lotion into my sun-warmed skin. Although there’s nothing sexual about it—in fact, the way he’s efficiently rubbing the lotion onto my back feels almost businesslike—I feel a quiver of something unfamiliar deep in my belly.

“On your back now,” he orders brusquely, and I comply.

“I can get it,” I protest, but he ignores me as he firmly rubs more sunscreen over every inch of my exposed skin. This time it doesn’t feel so businesslike. He massages the lotion over my shoulders and across my upper chest, moving seamlessly to the exposed skin between my breasts and down over the flat expanse of my stomach. I close my eyes against the disconcertingly intimate way he’s touching me. It’s wrong; I shouldn’t let a stranger touch me like this, but for the life of me I can’t find my tongue to stop him. His warm hand slips just under the band of my bikini bottom, and my stomach tightens at the stab of heat that goes straight through my core.

“What are you doing?” Emmett’s voice is even but firm above me.

I open my eyes to see the two men sizing each other up.

“Thanks for the drink, Em.” I feign nonchalance, trying to let him know I’m okay before he punches the guy. I hold my hand out, and he hands me the plastic cup, but his gaze doesn’t leave the other man’s face.

“Is this your sub?” the man asks, his face like granite.

“Yes.” Emmett’s answer is curt.

The man gets to his feet and tosses the tube of sunscreen to Emmett. “Then take care of her,” he says coldly.

“Who was that?” Tessa asks breathlessly as we watch the hot mystery man stalk back into the hotel.

“I have no idea,” I answer. “But I don’t think he’s one of the contestants. He wasn’t there last night.” I would have remembered those intense blue eyes and that imposing demeanor that makes every other man in the vicinity fade away.

“Good,” she says with relief. “He scares the crap out of me.”

“Me too,” I say honestly. But there’s something about him that’s oddly fascinating.

Chapter Two

Roman

“What do you think?”

I look over at Logan, who’s been my best friend for twenty years, and shake my head ruefully. “I think I’m an idiot for letting you talk me into this,” I say drily, gesturing at the flat screen where couples vying for a spot on Logan’s reality show,
The Power Games
, are presenting their first audition scenes, hoping to secure a spot as one of the twenty-eight contestants.

Logan laughs. “Come on, you’re the Domliest of Doms. Who better to help me choose the finalists?”

I arch a brow at him quizzically. “Domliest?”

“That’s Rachel’s word, not mine.”

“Marrying that girl has changed you. I’m not sure who’s the actual Dominant in that relationship anymore.”

Logan just smiles. “Love will do that to you, man. You should try it.” He glances over at me, and his smile fades. “Shit. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean it like that.”

I hold up my hand, stopping him. “I know. Forget it.”

“It’s just…maybe it’s time for you to look for something more than an endless string of impersonal scenes with a rotating stable of nameless submissives at the club.”

I grimace at his words. The truth is I’m getting tired of the club scene and the girls who inevitably think that me topping them or fucking them once or twice means I want a relationship.

“You’re right. Not about falling in love,” I quickly amend. “I’m not cut out for love. Not after what happened. But I’ve been thinking I should find a sub, someone permanent I can fuck on a regular basis who won’t expect anything more than what our contract stipulates.”

Logan studies me intently for a long moment, and then he gets that look in his eye that I know all too well. It’s the same look he got before we took on an entire bar of angry bikers our senior year at Stanford, and the same look that preceded a particularly interesting and unforgettable weekend in Tijuana.

“You should go on the show,” he suggests.

“Fuck. You’re insane,” I say dismissively, turning back to the monitor.

The man who just flogged his sub to orgasm has finished and moved off the stage, and a new couple has come on. I lean forward in the chair in Logan’s suite, my eye caught by the flash of pale skin and a familiar riotous tumble of long dark hair. It’s the girl from the pool. Unlike the other subs so far who’ve donned an assortment of fetish wear for their auditions, from corsets to black leather miniskirts, she’s dressed casually in a pair of white crochet shorts and a sleeveless light-blue T-shirt, although the arms are cut just low enough to show a tantalizing side glimpse of the swell of her small breasts. My lips twitch. She looks like she’s going for a sail instead of auditioning for a kinky pay-per-view show.

“Who is she?” I ask, nodding toward the screen.

Logan consults his spreadsheet. “Avalon Summers. Twenty-two years old, recently graduated from NYU with a degree in marketing and design, lives in New York City. She’s here auditioning with her Dom, Emmett Stone. That’s him.” He gestures to the copper-skinned, tattooed, muscular guy with close-cropped hair standing on the stage next to her.

“If that guy’s her Dom, I’m a fucking submissive,” I say skeptically.

The Dom leads her through the traditional slave poses, and I watch mesmerized as she kneels with her legs slightly parted, revealing a creamy expanse of slim, feminine thighs, and then stands, her arms clasped behind her back, causing her pert breasts to jut out. When she bends over at the waist, grasping her ankles, I can feel my cock strain against the fly of my pants.

She clearly knows the positions, but her movements are stilted and awkward and completely lacking any fluidity or grace. I’ve never personally been into utilizing the slave positions, but if I were, I’d sure as hell make certain my sub could execute them seamlessly, and if she didn’t, I’d find some creative ways to…encourage her. Her Dom, on the other hand, seems inordinately pleased with her, even patting her arm comfortingly when she hesitates before lowering herself onto her back and grasping her ankles.

“Hmmm, you’re right,” Logan says thoughtfully. He turns to me. “How did you know he wasn’t her Dom?”

“I saw them at the pool yesterday. He’s very protective of her, but he’s definitely not her Dom. There’s no sense of authority. In fact, if anything, he lets her take the lead.” I look back at the screen. “I may have pissed him off a bit at the pool,” I add casually.

Logan turns to me, his eyes dancing with laughter. “What did you do?”

“She was burning. I helped her with her sunscreen.”

“Knowing you, I’m assuming that means you gave her a lecture about being irresponsible, intimidated her into giving you the sunscreen, and then took it upon yourself to make sure it went on evenly over that beautiful, fair skin.”