Hard to Serve: A Hard Ink Novella (11 page)

And she’d reveled in the faint bruises on her throat that had required her to wear one of her many scarves the next few days.

Each time was hotter than the next.

There was the time he’d had her straddle a Sybian machine, a hump-shaped toy with a dildo and vibrating pad that ground into her clit, and fucked her face so hard and so deep that she was gagging and gasping for air and coming so many times he had to hold her upright to finish. They hadn’t had sex that night, either. But then there was the time they’d been watching Master Griffin doing another Shibari demonstration on the church’s altar, and she’d gotten turned on. So Master Kyler had taken her from behind right there, in the middle of the crowd, his hand alternating between grasping her throat and smothering her mouth and nose. And the breath play along with having so many people watching—from so close—had made her squirt so hard she’d pushed him out of her.

After they’d play, he’d hold her and soothe her, and each time he’d let her know when he was going to be there again. She couldn’t help but hold out a little hope that meant something, even though he’d been very clear on more than one occasion.

Now, on the last night of her temporary membership, Mia found herself once again in Master Kyler’s arms after an incredibly intense and hot scene, this one based entirely around orgasm denial.

He’d strapped her to a table in the medical-themed room, her legs bound in adjustable stirrups. And then he experimented on her body with different implements, tools, and forms of torment to see what got her the hottest the fastest—and then he denied her release at the last moment. Over and over again. If that hadn’t been sensual torture enough, the medical room had a big window with audience seating, and they’d drawn a crowd who watched as Master Kyler tormented her so exquisitely. She’d cursed his name through the first two-thirds of it, but when he finally allowed her to do so, she came so hard so many times that she forgot her own damn name.

The audience had cheered.

It had been their sixth scene together, and she was utterly addicted to this man. To everything about him.

Now, lying in Master Kyler’s lap in a little private lounge, she wasn’t sure if she still had any bones in her body.

Unfortunately, her mind wasn’t nearly as peaceful as her satisfied body should’ve allowed. Because tonight was her last night. From here, the club would evaluate her time so far and offer her a full membership, assuming a current member recommended her. And then she’d have to pay the regular rate.

She just didn’t see how she could afford it.

Which either meant that tonight was the last night she’d ever see Master Kyler…or that she had to be brave enough to ask to see him outside of the club. And
that
was a damn scary proposition since he’d explicitly told her he didn’t want a relationship.

Even though, for someone who didn’t want one, he was really freaking good at making her feel cared for. And that caring—from the way he read her needs in a scene to the way he’d asked about her gallery opening to the way he’d let her fall asleep on him on more than one occasion—it was all pulling her emotions into the equation. She didn’t just like Master Kyler. Or lust after him. She wanted him—wanted
more
with him. Maybe even wanted to be his.

 Kyler’s fingers stroked over her hair, the feeling luring her eyes to close. If only her brain would stop racing. “What are you thinking so hard about, little one?” Lazy, male satisfaction made his tone deep, graveled.

Maybe she should just lay part of this out there and see where he went with it. “Tonight’s my last night.”

Underneath her, his muscles tensed. “What do you mean?” He tilted her chin so that they looked at each other.

“My membership.” She gave a little shrug. “It was one of the temporary ones. It ends tonight.”

His gorgeous face was a careful neutral. Her belly waited…waited…and then started a slow sinking. “Your membership was…” He shook his head. “Will you go for the full membership?”

Did that mean he wanted her to? “I’m not sure. To be honest, it would be a stretch for me financially.”

“I see,” he said, his gaze searching hers and losing some of its warmth in the process. Or maybe that was her imagination? Or her heartache?

She hung on his words, hoping he’d say something more. Needing him to.

“Well, I…I hope it works out.” His brow furrowed for just a moment.

He hoped…it worked out? What the hell did
that
mean? Master Kyler was a Dom who knew exactly how to say what he wanted. Clearly and without any pretense. That vague mess of words right there? Well, it told her everything she didn’t want to know, didn’t it?

Suddenly, she needed off of his lap, out of his arms, away from him. How had she let herself want more when he’d told her he couldn’t give it? Or wouldn’t. So, so dumb. But she just nodded. “Thank you for everything, Master Kyler. I’m going to head out.” She shifted.

He caught her around the waist, and she bit back a whimper. Because she really needed to get away from him—before she lost her temper or started to cry. Both reactions were bubbling up inside her. She pushed against his chest.

“Wait,” he said.

The word nearly made her gasp as hope rushed through her. “Why?” she asked, her voice strained. She forced herself to meet his gaze. But she didn’t find hope there.

“You’re…are you feeling okay again? After the scene, I mean?” He frowned.

Oh. She’d never achieved the depth of subspace with another Dom that she did with him, so she’d never experienced the fuzzy-headed euphoria and emotional roller coaster that it could take you on after a scene. They’d talked about that a bit after they’d fallen asleep together the first time, the night he’d first showed her his amazing cross tattoo. Just one more thing she liked about him, the sexy ink covering so much of his body. He’d said he was worried about her going into subspace with a less experienced Dominant and suggested she advise any future Doms before she played with them about how pain and intensity could impact her.

At the time, she’d just thought he was looking out for her.

But now… If his words tonight didn’t quash the stupid, stupid hope she’d momentarily felt, the memory of that exchange stomped on it with a pair of big, beefy shitkickers. “I’m fine, Sir. Thank you for your concern.” She pushed out of his lap and rose, the blanket still around her shoulders. She retrieved her clothes from the table. “May I take the blanket to the locker room with me?” Because she really didn’t want to bare herself in front of him. Not any more than she’d already done. Even if he didn’t see it—or was purposely ignoring it.

He stood, his slate gray button down still open over his sculpted chest and abs. “Of course.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. So Mia left the little lounge. And him.

Threatening tears stung the backs of her eyes. She was just vulnerable after that scene, damnit. That’s all this was. Because Mia totally hadn’t gone and fallen for the freaking gorgeous orgasm machine of a Dom who’d told her not to do that. Nope. She hadn’t been that dumb at all.

Except. Yes. Yep. She totally had.

Head down and rushing in the direction of the locker room, she somehow didn’t see the big wall of man she ran into until her nose was smashed against his chest.

“Whoa there, little subbie,” he said, amusement in his voice.

“Oh,” she said, grateful that he’d steadied her before she’d fallen. “I’m so sorry, Master Quinton.” Panic flared, because she really needed to be alone. But interacting with someone else did exactly what she feared and broke down the last of her defenses. Tears filled her eyes.

His expression dropped. “Hey, hey. Don’t worry about it, Mia. No harm done,” he said, brushing at the corners of her eyes with his hands.

Shaking her head, she clasped a hand over her mouth.

The big Dom folded her into his arms and shepherded her into a more private area. “Tell me what has you so upset.”

She shook her head again, embarrassed and still trying to hold herself together, even as she was falling apart. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t make someone cry, Mia,” he said. His fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. His gaze dropped to the blanket she clutched tight around her shoulders, the pile of clothes in her hands. “Did someone hurt you?” His expression darkened.

“No, I promise. It’s nothing like that. I appreciate your concern. Truly, I do. But, please, Master Quinton. Please just let me go.” She shuddered out a breath.

He looked at her a long minute, and then he kissed her forehead. “Okay, but only if you’ll promise to call me if you need anything.” He slipped a card into her hand.

She’d talked—and
only
talked—to Master Quinton every night she’d visited Blasphemy. Their conversations were playful and fun and always set her at ease. And he was giving her his contact information and extending his friendship. And yet, Master Kyler…

No. Don’t.

“Thank you,” she said, grasping the card tightly. And then he let her go. Mia made quick work of changing and getting a cab. The sooner she got away from Blasphemy, the better. No sense wanting something she couldn’t have. No sense crying about it, either. Which suddenly made her feel a lot better about not being able to afford the membership. Not being able to see Master Kyler would make it easier not to be able to have him.

At least, that’s what Mia hoped.

* * * *

Kyler wasn’t going to see Mia again.

She was gone. Not coming back. And he’d let her walk out the door.

He paced the little lounge, the flood of conflicting emotions chaotic in his head. Relief. Guilt. Panic. Gut-deep disappointment. Relief again.

Maybe even a little fear.

Fear that he’d let go of the best chance he might ever have for something more than work and solitude and more work.

He should’ve stopped her. He should’ve been honest.

And then, what, genius? Build something good with her only to watch the job tear it all apart year by fucking painful year?

Kyler hated that he’d hurt her, but he’d hate it even worse if it happened after years spent together. It was better this way.

Coward. Yeah, probably. Fuck.

He heaved a deep breath and raked his hands through his hair. If it was better this way, why didn’t he feel any better about it?

He stalked out of the lounge, buttoning his shirt as he went. He was on the schedule for the second shift of manning the registration desk in thirty minutes, so at least he’d have something to distract his mind from the clusterfuck of his conversation with Mia.

Back out on the floor, the vibe was vibrant and a little frenetic, busier than usual for a Tuesday night. A seductive bass beat provided a backdrop against which cries of ecstasy and stern commands and free laughter rang out. Normally he loved it. Tonight, he just wanted to escape from it.

At the bar, he braced his arms on the marble top and waited for Griffin to see him. Damn, Kyler was tired. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

Griffin gave him a smile when he noticed Kyler at the far end of the circular space. Tall, with close-trimmed black hair and the scruff of an early beard, both sprinkled with a little gray, Griffin was a custom furniture builder who’d done a lot of their carpentry around Blasphemy, including making a few custom pieces of dungeon furniture for the club. “What can I get you?” he asked.

“Whiskey neat,” Kyler said.

“You got it,” Griffin said, smacking a napkin on the bar top. “How’s your night going?” He peered at Kyler as he reached for a glass and the bottle.

Shaking his head, Kyler sighed. “I don’t even know, my friend. I don’t even know.”

“Well I might have an idea,” came a deep voice. Quinton leaned into the bar right beside him, his big beefy arm braced against the marble.

“Meaning?” Kyler said, the other man’s tone raising his hackles.

Quinton tilted his head and gave him a hard look. “Saw Mia on her way out a few minutes ago.”

Griffin put the amber-filled tumbler down in front of Kyler. “Mia’s a sweetheart,” the bartender said. “Sure hope she joins full time.”

“You knew she was a temp?” Kyler asked. How had Griffin known that but he hadn’t? Kyler couldn’t decide if he was pissed to have let that catch him off guard, or if it was a blessing in disguise. Because now he wouldn’t have to keep fighting himself to stay away from her—and losing.

“You didn’t?” Griffin’s expression was skeptical, then incredulous. “I guess you two weren’t doing a whole lotta talking.”

Kyler tossed back a swig of the liquor, the heat tearing down his throat a needed distraction from the shit storm in his head.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about her joining,” Quinton said, his light brown gaze not letting up one bit. “She didn’t seem too happy when she left.”

What had Quinton seen or heard to make him come to that determination? Guilt slashed through Kyler, and worry, too. Goddamnit.

“Why? What the hell happened?” Griffin demanded, looking between the two men, anger rolling off of him. The guy had a raw spot when it came to a submissive being hurt or injured, one that he’d come by honestly.

“Dunno. Was hoping Master Kyler might shed some insight on that.” Quinton raised an eyebrow.

“Kyler?” Griffin asked, nailing him with a dark stare. “What am I missing here? Why was she unhappy?”

Barely restraining a groan, Kyler took another drink. “She can’t afford the membership.”

Griffin froze, a confused expression on his face. “Can’t afford…? But aren’t you…” Kyler didn’t need him to finish the thought. When a Dom claimed or collared a sub, he would pick up the membership costs for her. Clearly, the fact that Kyler had dominated Mia’s time here had been noticed. And conclusions about what that meant had been drawn.

“Yeah, I kinda thought so, too,” Quinton said, that damn eyebrow still arched.

“I don’t do relationships. You know this,” Kyler said, a big rock parked in his gut. The last thing he wanted to be doing was publicly hashing out the mess he’d made with Mia. He knew perfectly well what he’d done. And his chest felt fucking hollow for having done it. “So you thought wrong.”