Forever (3 page)

“Asking for it.” Enrico missed nothing, although the come
-on had been blatant.

Dean shrugged. “Not interested.”

“But you
are
interested in the tall rubia who just came in. From the other club.”

Give the man a cigar. And maybe a cigar was just a cigar. Shades of fucking Freud. He needed to get this new conquest done. The five heads he scrutinized across the way bobbed in concert, two dark, one red, and two blond
. An interesting combination, although Amy’s multicolored strands captured his sole attention. What would one call that color? Cream and gold? Whatever—she had masses of it. It framed those purple blue eyes that had so carefully inspected him. Any sounds they made, even Lorraine’s, were masked by the music and the crowd response to the scene on stage. He flicked his glance back in that direction.

The female star was totally swaddled in the red rope now with the exception of her breasts, wrapped and cradled, presented for view as they swelled with the constriction. One strand passed between her widespread legs, a knot strategically tied at the apex of her pussy, and as Dean watched the Dom tugged that strand, making the woman shudder and pulsate. He leaned in and kissed her before reaching up to release the binds at the hook. The sub, if that’s what she was, or maybe a volunteer from the audience, sagged into his arms and he shifted her weight, carrying her away, stage left. The audience erupted in applause and a few raucous calls and suggestions. Dean’s cock protested its lack, suggesting Blondie might welcome some of what was doubtlessly going to take place backstage.

Observing the waitress making her way towards the little table, balancing those jugs of margaritas, he waited for the reaction. Five faces turned in his direction at the server’s gesture and he sketched a negligent wave. Lorraine waved back, enthusiastically, followed by the red head and the other blonde. Amy and the brunette looked at each another before nodding his way in tandem. So the brunette was her best friend and the one who’d give her the advice Amy would listen to. Good to know. Enrico was watching them, too.

“The brunette? Beside my blonde? Might need you to run interference, ’Rico.”

“She is average, boss. I would wish for the red head. But for you…”

“Not asking you to marry her. Just distract her if need be.”

“Okay.”

Their beer was set on their table with maybe a little more firmness than necessary, each bottle making a little snapping sound as it hit the polished surface. “They weren’t going to accept them, sir. At least not the big girl. But her friends convinced her.”

God, women were such bitches. Wasn’t enough they sucked men dry with their demands, guilted them out, and fucked them over. They had to take a crack at one another, too. Giving the waitress a disparaging look, Dean nodded and scratched his signature on the check. Little waitress-bitch had presumably found out who he was, probably from the bartender. She smiled her thanks, a brittle, false smile, nothing like the seductive one she’d bestowed on him earlier. His reputation had preceded him. Good.

****

“He came here because he knew you were coming.”

Lorraine
’s complacent comment made Amy want to smack her. Seeing Dean Chambray’s handsome visage across the room after the margaritas were delivered had blown her away. Last chance, eh?
I don’t play games.
Well, no second chances for him. She accepted and acknowledged the booze when her friends put up a fuss, but didn’t have to like it. Sandra got the implication, if they hadn’t. But then Sandra knew where Amy was coming from. Recklessly pouring another full glass, she sucked half of it back, hoping the next scene on stage would distract Lorraine. She managed to keep her face inscrutable as the flavor burst over her taste buds—these drinks were far superior to the ones at the previous place. She surreptitiously filled her glass again.

“If you don’t want him, I’ll be happy to stand in
.” Lorraine just wouldn’t leave it alone.

“He wants a quick fuck,
Lorraine, a wham bam, thank you ma’am,” she shouted back, past caring if anyone else listened in. “You want that, you go right ahead.”

“No, you don’t.” Red
-headed Julie vigorously shook her head and Noreen added her disapproval. “You get drunk and fall into some hot guy’s bed ’n never see him again. Then beat yourself up for doing it for weeks. You go home and call Malik if that’s what you want. At least he loves you.”

Lorraine
slumped in her chair and scowled. “Yah, sure. He loves me. That’s why he won’t introduce me to his family. Because he loves me so much.”

Amy shut out
Lorraine’s continuing complaints, and now, maudlin protests. Julie and Noreen had pulled the bandage off, and they could deal with the outcome. She couldn’t let herself think about love and sex and everything in between. It hadn’t been, and never would be, for her. Witness what she’d attracted tonight.

“He speak to you at the other club?” Sandra spoke quietly, close to her ear, the alcohol buzz probably burned off some by concern. Shit.

“Speak to me? As in “my name is, and I want to do you, once.” That kind of speak?” Her bitter tone nearly masked the sadness.

“Oh
, Amy. I’m sorry. What is it with men? Don’t any of them want a relationship?”

“Depends on what kind
, I guess. You know it’s me. I just attract the wrong kind. No surprise.” She shrugged and poured another glass, no longer tracking well. Viva the mind numbing agent of alcohol. “Let’s just suck these back and enjoy the show. There’s always B.O.B. for those one-nighters.”

“It’s
not
you,” Sandra whispered fiercely. “You have to stop thinking that way.”

Amy shook her head and Sandra shut up, knowing better than to fight a losing battle at that moment. Not that her friend wouldn’t take up the cudgels tomorrow, and the next day…
They turned their attention to the stage, ignoring Lorraine’s tears and recriminations until Noreen touched Sandra’s arm. “Lor’s had enough for the night and we have to work tomorrow. We’ll take her home. Sorry to put a damper on your birthday, Amy.”

“Not to worry. It was nice of you to come.” She wondered if she’d see
Lorraine again. Tonight had ended in a spate of pain for the other woman, and Amy felt like she’d goaded her. Seeing as Julie and Noreen were tight with her, they might not like Amy, either. But they all smiled sweetly at one another and each took one of Lorraine’s elbows to help her up. Weaving a path to the door, they vanished from sight. It occurred to Amy that it might look as if the other women had left to pare down the field—two men, two women. Shit.

Sandra must have thought the same thing. “Wanna go?”

Hell, no. It was her birthday. Besides she was a little afraid to stand, would probably fall on her ass. “In a bit.”

The lights flickered and an enormously broad man strode onto the stage. It was constructed in a half circle to allow for the placement of the different apparatus and stage sets.
Blood-red draperies, hanging in swathes, created a sensuous backdrop, optimally displaying naked flesh. Two huge television screens flanked either side, allowing patrons in the back a good view of the entertainment, and there were a variety of different lighting systems to be utilized. It reminded Amy of the stages in Vegas, and she fought the nostalgia, because other memories inevitably followed. While able to manage them now, there was no sense in being triggered and totally ruin her evening.

The MC wasn’t that tall, maybe up to her shoulder, but obviously fit,
with muscles on muscles. His leather pants strained to contain tree trunk legs, and his bare chest shone beneath the spot light. “If all of you are sufficiently loosened up for the evening, it’s the volunteer section of the entertainment. Looking for a woman, one who’s never been on the stage before. Can’t be falling down drunk. Lowered inhibitions is okay because we won’t be pushing boundaries—at least not too much.”

Laughter coursed through the room, full of anticipation and arousal. Amy shivered. It
was
her birthday and there’d been no cake and no
present.
Fuck Dean Chambray.

“Clothing’s optional, but okay for this demonstration. Master Eric is going to restrain the volunteer—” Another man stalked forward to join the MC, also clad in leathers, blond hair caught back in a ponytail, Nordic features reminding Amy of that guy from the Thor movie. He didn’t cut as imposing a figure as say, Dean Chambray, but he wasn’t bad, oiled and sculpted chest gleaming under the lights. Not bad at all. She swallowed another gulp of her drink.

“—restrain the volunteer on this bed,” the MC continued, “and use this interesting implement to sensitize her skin.” He held up what appeared to be a pizza cutter, only smaller. Everyone seemed to strain forward to get a good look. Amy missed what he labelled it, but she knew she’d read about it. “Whoever takes her home will be glad she volunteered.”

Amy shifted in her chair and Sandra gave her a warning glance. “Don’t. Why would you set yourself up?”

“Maybe because it’ll be a lesson, Sandra. Teach me not to want what I can’t have. I’ll be going home tonight alone, and won’t forget how I let my hormones get away from me with that man.”

“You don’t know that you won’t have something special someday, Amy! You don’t. Give it some time.”

“Nope. It’s my birthday.” She raised her hand when the MC asked again for a volunteer, having rejected all the previous applicants.

“Ah, the blonde in the corner. If you can navigate your way up on stage…”

Amy was up and moving, ignoring Sandra’s final plea. Calling on her strong center, the one that saw her through over the years, she made her way to the dais, threading through the tables. She was past tipsy, probably having imbibed close to a pitcher of her favorite tipple in a short period of time, carried forward on a wave of misplaced rebellion. Dumbing her intelligence down. And fuck Dean Chambray again, too. She was still lucid enough to want this.

The MC offered his hand once she mounted the stairs, and she took it, trying hard not to use it for balance and give her altered state away. His hand cupped her chin and he stared up into her eyes searchingly, speaking in a low voice. “I’ve seen you here before, girl. So you figured to try it this time? But you’ve had a lot to drink.”

“It’s my birthday.” She pulled her hand from his and waited for him to decide.

“What’s your name and who are you here with?”

“My friend, Sandra.”

“
Your
name!” She responded to the authority in his voice and her addled wits cleared more than a trifle. God, there was nothing like a self-assured, confident man.

“Amy.”

“I’ll take her as my volunteer.” The other Dom moved in, his blue eyes assessing, cold. Amy shivered and tried to regroup. “It’s only sensitizing and I’ll avoid the real erogenous zones.”

Still, the MC hesitated as the audience murmured and grew restive. “Okay. But I’ll be watching, Eric. And you, Amy, if you want it to stop you say red and it’s over. Got it?”

“I do.” Like, do you take this man to be—Amy swallowed a giggle, now stupidly nervous.

“Will you remove your clothes?”

Clothes. Hadn’t thought that through. She hesitated.

“Leave your underwear on.” Eric didn’t seem to be the type who negotiated
, so she figured she would accommodate him. Her bathing suits revealed more than her boy shorts and bra. Wait. Was she wearing pretty underwear? This time a giggle did escape and Eric unexpectedly smiled. “It’ll be fine, Amy.”

The MC smiled
, too, and left them to it. The lights dimmed and Eric had her sit on the bed, tugging off her shoes, then helping her with the tight jeans as she hitched up her hips to pull them down. Her shirt floated away and over her head and the coolness of the fans above the stage made her skin rash out in goosebumps and her nipples bead.

“If you’ll just shift up to lie on the bed, Amy. Do you want a blindfold? The live feed will be shown on the screens.”

For an instant she panicked. A video. Shit. While she’d been historically able to dissociate from her body—from anything unpalatable happening to her—pictures would make it all too real if they got out there.

Immediately soothing her with his voice and a gentle stroke on her arm, Eric whispered, “We don’t make copies for any reason and the lighting makes it pretty hard for anybody to tape it, and there’s no cell service in this room. The blindfold will heighten the sensation, though, and provide anonymity.”

“Why me?” She whispered back, having puzzled out that the MC would have likely turned her down because he’d recognized how much she had imbibed.

“If you enjoy this
, maybe you and I can see where it leads.”

Amy liked the sound of it. Eric looked cold and dominant, but he’d already accommodated her boundaries and was suggesting things to her. Not
telling
her. Not suggesting a one off. Not like—she shut it down and nodded. A soft piece of fabric slipped over her face and settled across her eyes as the lights came up again, the elastic resting above and behind her ears to snug it into place. She took a deep breath and began to sink into that space she’d constructed for herself at an early age. Safe, separate and far away.