Mastering Melody (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (2 page)

We stop in front of a raised dais. A naked woman is draped over a man’s knee. She’s just lying there, waiting, her eyes closed, her expression one of simple peace. I can’t hear the man over the music, but it’s obvious he’s talking to her as he caresses the naked cheeks of her ass. She nods once.

The Dom I am with—I think his name is Mitchell, but since he didn’t tell me that I dare not use it—pulls his sub to stand in front of him, his hands roaming over her nearly naked breasts as they wait for the scene to begin. He glances toward me and sees me inching away from him slightly. I’m not frightened he’ll try to do that to me as well. I just feel like I need to give them some privacy. Considering where we are, it’s a ludicrous instinct. The entire club is designed with voyeurism in mind. Watching and being watched is what this part of the club is about.

Mitchell leans over, snags my wrist, and drags me back to where I’d been moments ago. He places my hand on his belt, encouraging me to curl my fingers around the stiff leather. “Do not let go,” he says in a voice I have no intention of ignoring. “Understood?”

“Yes,” I say as he leans down to hear me. He seems to be waiting for something, and I’m already worried that I’ve done something wrong. “Yes, Sir,” I say a little bit louder, hoping that what I read on the Internet is correct. He nods, gives me a smile that suggests that I’ve pleased him, and then goes back to caressing the woman in front of him.

I flinch with the woman on stage when the first harsh slap hits her ass. I can almost feel the sting as her Dom rubs his hand over her abused flesh. When he smacks her again I imagine the warmth of it spreading over my ass, the pain and the pleasure morphing into one amazing feeling. My pussy pulses as I watch, entranced. My clit swells. My breathing quickens. My hands are shaking when I try to push my hair out of my eyes. Arousal swirls through me, gripping me with need.

Good god, what have I done?

* * * *

Ryan Griffin watched the Saturday-night crowd with a jaundiced eye. Maybe he’d been doing this too long, but he hadn’t come across a sub who truly appealed to him in a very long time. Maybe he should take over training the new subs like his friend Doug had asked him to do. Apparently Doug had fallen in love, and ever since he’d found his current sub, Alicia, he’d refused to take on any new contracts. The fact that he shared his sub with another Dom was actually quite surprising. Ryan knew both men well enough to know they were both a lot like him—demanding, bossy, possessive.

He tried to shake off the thought.

The only woman he’d ever loved was now engaged to his brother. Sharing was not an option, and he wasn’t going to waste another moment fantasizing over a woman he couldn’t have, especially when she didn’t have a submissive bone in her body. Hell, if Bradley even thought about ordering his beautiful fiancée to kneel at his feet she’d likely knee him in the balls instead.

The thought made Ryan smile. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that Melody would always make her own decisions. She wasn’t the type to sit back and let the people around her decide her future. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

Maybe that was why he was feeling jaded. Most of the subs he’d come across lately had been looking for a full-time master-slave relationship. Being in charge and making every decision or treating a woman almost like a child had never appealed to him. He’d always hungered for an equal partner, someone capable of making decisions on her own but at the same time willing to submit to him in certain circumstances.

It was a lot to ask, especially in the middle of a BDSM club, but a part of him still hoped to find his perfect match. Doug and Lachlan had found their perfect woman. Surely there was a chance that he would someday find the same type of part-time Dom-sub relationship.

“Are you ready for the whip demonstration?” Callum asked, stepping closer to be heard over the loud music.

“As long as you still are,” Ryan answered with a grin. Whipping another Dom’s sub wasn’t unusual for Ryan, but it was the first time he’d been asked to whip a new wife as a wedding present.

“Of course,” Callum said, touching his wife and full-time submissive, Sandra, lovingly. She smiled, and even with her gaze lowered Ryan could see how happy these two people made each other.

It gave him hope. Callum and Sandra were perfect for each other, their needs and attitudes meshing seamlessly.

Somewhere out there was the perfect submissive for Ryan, too. He just had to keep looking.

I’m still shivering in reaction to the spanking scene when the Dom I’m with leads me and his sub to another scene. This time the woman is tied to a wooden cross, a corset of sorts covering the middle of her torso, the rest of her completely naked. I know the name for the cross, but I can’t for the life of me remember it. It seems unimportant, though, when a man steps closer and begins peppering her skin with what looks like a soft leather flogger. The strips leave pale pink lines on her skin, her Dom creating an almost hypnotic rhythm as he works her over. Back and forth, moving slowly up and down her thighs and bottom, the light touch seems to be soothing as I watch the woman relax into her Dom’s care.

I’m wondering at the love I sense between them, the genuine affection that seems to telegraph so loudly, but it’s the entrance of another man that has me quaking in my shoes. He’s wearing nothing but leather pants and a full-face mask. Only his eyes are visible through the black leather, but I begin to throb all over when he takes the stage. What the hell is wrong with me?

I close my eyes, trying to picture my fiancé, desperate to remind myself that I love the man dearly. Hell, we grew up together. He’s my best friend. All of my childhood memories revolve around him and his brother. I love my fiancé. I know I love him.

I want to leave. This is wrong. I shouldn’t have come here.

The loud crack of the whip startles me. My eyes fly open to watch the stage, my gaze glued to the small welt on the woman’s naked buttocks. The whip cracks again, the movement faster than my eyes can follow, another red welt appearing on the woman’s ass as she groans. Her skin is already crisscrossed with faint lines, her legs and arms, ass and thighs all red from her earlier flogging, but it’s the genuine pain I can hear in her groans that scares me. I can easily imagine myself in her place.

Shit.

I unhook my fingers from the Dom’s belt, hoping to slide away into the crowd. I need to leave. I need to think. God, I need something even I can’t understand now.

But he grabs my wrist, his movement so fast I can barely react. He turns to me, his eyes assessing me, watching me as he tightens his grip and pulls me closer. “Breathe,” he orders.

I gasp, unable to deny his command, barely understanding why I’m so out of breath. He leans forward and whispers something to the sub in front of him. She turns quickly, moving closer to me, gripping my other hand reassuringly.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “That’s my friend Sandra on the cross. She wants to be there. It’s her husband’s wedding gift to her.” The sub smiles and squeezes my hand. “Nothing is going to happen to you. Not until you’re ready, and definitely not while you’re wearing a yellow bracelet.”

I can already feel my panic subsiding a little, even as embarrassment washes over me. My reaction was out of fear. The Dom read that correctly, but thankfully neither he nor his sweet sub understood the reason why. I’m not frightened of the whip. No, I’m terrified by how easily I can imagine being strapped to the cross and being in the woman’s place.

I came here to convince myself I didn’t belong, yet I’ve learned the exact opposite.

How can I still love my fiancé but crave this lifestyle at the same time?

* * * *

Ryan saw the brief commotion from his position onstage but refused to let it break his concentration. Whipping a sub was dangerous. It required many hours of training and practice, and something as simple as a small distraction could cause considerable damage. It was why he always insisted that the subs wore a stiff corset as added protection for their kidneys. Permanent internal damage was unlikely, but he always preferred safety first.

He swung the whip again, this time letting it crack close to the sub’s feet but not actually touching her. Somebody had turned down the music as his demonstration had begun so he heard Sandra’s mewl of disappointment. He smiled behind the mask, glad to be able to hide his expression. The image of being a mysterious punisher was part of the scene. Smiling really wasn’t appropriate.

The next swing hit in the same spot, Sandra’s reaction proving that she’d realized what she’d done. Nobody but him dictated when or where the whip would fall. He delivered several more to the same place, this time managing to suppress the urge to smile as Sandra finally relaxed and waited for him to continue when he was ready.

He gave her another moment and then swung the whip, the tip flicking just under her butt cheek where her thigh met her ass. She moaned softly as he sent another hit to the same spot, her rapid slide into subspace music to his ears. She shook with her arousal, the lips of her exposed pussy shiny with her juices. He almost envied her husband. The woman was beautiful, passionate, and honest in her reactions. Ryan flicked the whip over and over, his own leathers growing uncomfortably tight as his cock reacted to her arousal. She screamed as the last crack hit, the welt covering both cheeks as she shook with her orgasm.

Callum stepped up behind her, dragged open his leathers, thrust his cock into her hard and deep, and fucked his sub in front of the whole club.

Ryan couldn’t help but smile at them both as Sandra moaned in delight. As wedding presents went, it was rather appropriate for a couple who’d met in this very club just over a year ago.

He was still packing up his equipment when he remembered the earlier commotion and glanced over at Mitchell. The Dom was speaking to a woman wearing a yellow bracelet, his sub obviously working to reassure the new woman as well.

But Ryan’s heart stopped beating, his breath jammed in his lungs, and his world tilted on its goddamn axis when the newbie turned her face back to the stage.

“What are you doing here?”

The words are angry, ground out through clenched teeth, and so familiar I don’t want to look at the man who uttered them.

“Problem, Master Ryan?”

“M–Master?” I ask the sub beside me as my whole world comes crashing down onto my head.

“Correct,” Ryan says, placing a hand on my jaw and forcing me to look into his eyes. “Answer the question, Mel. What are you doing here?”

“I–I–I…” Fuck, this is no time to develop a speech impediment. I almost faint with relief when the Dom I’m with steps between us, breaking Ryan’s firm hold on my chin.

“Back off, Ryan,” Mitchell says with maybe a hint of amusement. “You of all people should know not to address one of my subs without my permission.”

“That woman is not your sub,” Ryan says in a voice that I’ve never heard from him before. “She’s my brother’s fiancée.”

Mitchell shakes his head, not even looking to me for confirmation of who I really am.

“She put herself in my care when she came into the club, or have you forgotten that part of the club’s charter? No unaccompanied subs?”

Ryan looks angry enough to chew rocks. Holy hell, I am so fucked. There’s no way I’ll be able to convince him not to tell Bradley about me coming here. A very tiny, cowardly part of me is relieved in a way, but it’s a conversation I should have with my fiancé. I can’t let Ryan handle something that I really have to handle myself. I wouldn’t be the woman I think I am if I hide behind Ryan like a coward.

Mitchell and Ryan take a step away, quietly exchange a few words, and then turn their attention back to me. Ryan doesn’t look happy, but he lets Mitchell do the talking.

“Little sub, is what Ryan says true? Are you engaged to marry his brother?”

I drop my gaze to the floor and nod miserably. I need to know why I feel this way, why I seem to need more than what my fiancé is giving me, but I never had any intention of betraying him. I wouldn’t do that to Bradley.

Mitchell lifts my face again, holding my jaw the same way Ryan had done only moments ago. “Things aren’t as bad as they seem, little sub,” he says with a soft smile. “Ryan wants to talk to you. Do you want to speak to him?”

I nod, fighting back tears as I wonder how to explain my presence here at a BDSM club. If I’d known Ryan was a member here, I would never have dreamed of stepping foot in the place. But that raises another question. Why the hell didn’t I know? How can I have known Ryan all my life and not have known he was a Dom? God, I’ve always said Ryan was one of my best friends. How could I have not known who he truly was?

Mitchell smiles as he leans over and breaks the yellow bracelet off my wrist.

“Relax, little sub, Ryan won’t hurt you…much.”

Almost before I can blink Ryan grabs my wrists and wraps leather cuffs around them. They’re clipped behind my back before I can voice my protest. But the words barely form on my tongue before he whispers a warning in my ear.

“Not a word, little sub. Attract any attention and I will drag your jeans and panties to your ankles and make you walk through the entire club twice.” I can’t suppress the shiver that gives me. I don’t want to be humiliated, but, oh god, just the thought of being put on display like that has my pussy creaming and my clit tingling with need. “Not one word,” Ryan reiterates in a strangled-sounding voice as he grabs my upper arm and guides me through the crowded room.