My Tye (2 page)

True to her first impression, people were doing just that. Men and women in various stages of undress milled around together, some chatting, some laughing, some engaged in other more in-your-face activities.

A couple stood in the corner—the couple from the parking lot, she thought—kissing and groping and grinding against each other. Backed up against the wall, the woman had her legs wrapped around the man’s waist and her fingers spiked through his hair. Even though they were both fully clothed, he moved his hips slowly, sensually against hers. Instantly entranced by their passion, not to mention their blatant sexuality, Laine’s heart rate quickened. She could hardly believe she was really here. She could hardly believe she was finally going to explore her dream.

To the left of the absorbed couple was another set of doors. One was labeled “Dom”, the other “sub”. A skinny man dressed only in leather short-shorts and a thick, studded collar tossed a wink her direction before disappearing through the sub door. Coyly she wriggled her fingers back, but she’d been too late. He didn’t see her. Nevertheless, a smile touched her lips as another flutter filled her belly. This was going to be one hell of a night, that was for damn sure.

Suddenly anxious to get started, she looked to her right and found the office. The door stood open, yet she knocked anyway.

“One sec.”

Laine couldn’t help but stare at the man sitting behind the desk. Wide shoulders met bronze skin, which lent its way to a whole lot of mouthwatering drooliness. He sat there shirtless, and something inside her couldn’t help but entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was completely naked behind all that cherry wood. When he stood and revealed a pair of skin-tight blue jeans instead, she tried not to analyze—at least for very long—the tinge of disappointment she felt that he wasn’t.

Naked or not, the man was a sight to behold. In a way, he reminded her of Tye. Or, more accurately, in
many
ways. He stood just as tall, maybe even a smidge taller than her mysterious sheriff. They both had the same dark hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples, along with similar penetrating, downright soulful eyes. By their builds, they could’ve been confused for twins. Their lips were comparable in color, and they both sported the tiniest of dimples. The only difference there being that Tye’s graced his chin instead of his cheek like the man in front of her.

They both exuded a bigger-than-life, powerful presence combined with the same down-to-earth sincerity. She loved that about Tye, and seeing this man in the same light only made her think about and, oddly enough, miss him even more.

“Evenin’… Sara, was it?”

She nodded. “Yes, um, Sara.”

He grinned at her as if he knew the name wasn’t her real one as he held a hand out to the chair in front of the desk. “Welcome. I’m Jack. Please, have a seat.”

She stepped to the chair he offered and sat on the edge, still staring at him as if he were a Hollywood movie star and she some sort of whacked-out groupie. “Thank you,” she said, trying, yet failing miserably, to snap herself out of her trance.

He reclaimed his position behind the desk, leaning forward slightly to rest his forearms on the surface before folding his hands together. “So tell me, Sara, what brings you to Club Euphoria?”

Okay, nothing like getting to heart of the matter. His bluntness, along with the question, caught her off guard, and she thought for a long moment on how to answer. To actually do so would mean she’d have to verbalize her innermost desires, those wants and needs she fantasized about almost nightly yet never had the courage to put into words. “Well…” she started. “You mean specifically?”

“If you’d like. Or generalizations work, too. Maybe it would be easier to start with your motivations?” He leaned back in his chair and relaxed his position somewhat, a move that only wound her up all that much more. “The drive one has to come to a place like this can run far and wide. I’m just looking for a little insight into how we can provide whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“My motivations…”

“Not an easy question to answer, is it?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that I’ve never had to say them out loud before.”

“Mind if I try?”

She stared at him harder. “Sure.”
This ought to be good…

“You have a need. One you don’t fully understand.” His voice, low and deep, flowed over her senses. “It keeps you up at night, and no matter how hard you’ve tried to fight it, it’s something you can’t shake.”

“Go on,” she said, drawing that last word out.

He chuckled at her prompt. “You fantasize, maybe even touch yourself while you’re doing it.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks and pooled between her thighs. God, she’d done that more times than she could count.

“You don’t know where your desire stems from, and let me put you at ease by telling you that most people don’t. This is a lifestyle not chosen, Sara. It’s a lifestyle born into you, born into us. We live it because we have to.”

Because we have to
. The way he said it made so much sense.

“Am I close?”

Was he close? He read her like a damn picture book. “Nail, meet head,” she said.

He laughed outright. “We’re all cut from the same cloth. Question is, who’s your tailor?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, which areas interest you more? The term BDSM encompasses many avenues, Sara. I can help you figure out which road might be best for you to travel on.”

She didn’t answer him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t just yet. Instead, she glanced around the office. The deep-tinted paint they’d chosen for the room reminded her of the extravagance of her favorite red wine, while the cherry desk and matching credenza only added to the opulence of the small area. But it was the decorations on the walls that made her heart skip more than a few beats.

Riding crops, manacles, leather gloves dotted with prickly spikes along the fingers, metal anal hooks, wooden paddles, collars, hoods—each item stood out on a background of red velvet, protected behind a piece of glass within a shadowbox frame. The esoteric grouping sent a buzz through her body once again, yet freaked her out as well.

He followed her gaze, then came back at her with an inquisitive look of his own.

“It’s a lot to take in all at once,” she said by way of explanation.

“It can be. But I want you to know two things. One, we’ve all been there. Every person inside this building has been the newbie.”

He had a point there. “And the second thing?”

“The second is that there’s no rush. We can take things as slow or as fast as you like.”

She drew in a deep breath and leaned back a little more into her chair. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good,” he said. “In the meantime, let me go over a few other things, like the rules and regs and such. We’re fairly strict here at Euphoria, more for safety reasons than anything else.”

“Understandable,” she said, thankful they moved on to an easier-to-broach subject, and even more thankful said subject was one that spoke to her inner legal eagle. “I wouldn’t want to visit a place where that wasn’t top priority.”

“Which it is here, but I also don’t want you to confuse our safety rules with limitations. Once you get inside, pretty much anything goes.”

And that, right there, was the kicker for Laine. Deep down, it was the
anything goes
idea that brought all of her doubts to life and made answering Jack’s questions rather difficult.

It wasn’t as if she was uninformed. She’d performed countless online searches, using simple, inane criteria such as “bondage” or “BDSM” or “Domination”. But holy hell… Some of the images that popped up? More than a few of them disturbed her. Especially the pictures depicting the more sadomasochistic fetishes. Needle and blood play? Whoa, baby.

Although she understood the psychological aspects—the endorphin spike, the anticipation of the trance-like euphoria called subspace that many experienced during those types of sessions—she knew the more intense aspects such as those were not for her. Quite frankly, the more extreme the fetishes got, in particular those based more on physical pain than mental sensations, the more skittish she became.

For her, it was the sexier, almost romantic photos that intrigued her most. The caring yet strict Dom binding his partner with black silk ties. The woman secured to a dais with her head tossed back in ecstasy, the man handcuffed to a four-poster bed…

Call her naïve or sheltered or even a hopeless romantic, but those images were the ones that always got her going, the ones that revved her engine so much she could no longer sit idly by and not seek out the same form of pleasure for herself.

It was those images that brought her to Club Euphoria.

Jack spread his palms on the top of his desk as he continued. “That being said, we insist on a few things. First, respect of others is an absolute must, whether they’re in a scene or not. If they are, remember, no talking to them, no disrupting or getting in their way. They have first right to the set space. Then, if and when it’s your turn, you’ll be shown the same courtesy.

“Here’s a list of our rules and etiquette,” he went on, sliding a piece of paper across the desk. “Read them over. Most are self-explanatory, like the no alcohol or drug rule. We want you clean and sober while you’re here. It makes for less trouble and a lot more enjoyment. Besides,” he smiled, “sensations are always more intense when you have your wits about you.”

The sexy way the words rolled off his tongue made Laine shiver all over again. She didn’t miss his insinuation, or the quick once-over he gave her as he delivered it. The rush that gave her… God, was it normal to be so turned-on but so hesitant at the same time? Yes, she was anxious to get started, impatient to explore this lifestyle and all it had to offer, yet cursed the leeriness that was never very far away.

Regardless, she listened to the rest of his spiel before reading the form and the attached waiver. Agreeing to the terms, she signed her required real name on the dotted line and pushed the paper back in his direction.

Taking the consent form, Jack glanced at her signature before his gaze bounced up to hers. He didn’t say a word, but he really didn’t have to. He obviously knew her name, knew the position she held outside these walls. But thank God, he never alluded to it. Instead, he leaned sideways in his chair, dug a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the file drawer next to the desk.

“Anonymity around here is a given too, and something the owners of Club Euphoria take a lot of steps to preserve,” he said, filing the paper away. “In the ten years we’ve been open, there’s never been a single leak to the public. And believe me, we’ve had our share of notoriety.” He slammed the drawer closed and twisted the key in the lock. “Your secrets, as well as every fantasy you entrust us with, will never be revealed outside those front doors.”

She smiled through a dry-mouthed swallow. “That’s good to know. Thank you. Really.”

He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “It’s our job. No thanks needed.” And with those words, that part of the conversation was over. “That’s it for the legal mumbo-jumbo,” he said, clearly teasing her now. “I’d be more than happy to take you on a tour. You know, to introduce you around and show you what we’re all about.” The devilish smile he gave her then riled her for a different reason. “Maybe by watching a few of the scenes, you’ll be better able to express your desires and put into words exactly what it is you want, what it is you need.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Maybe,” she admitted.

“Good. Ready, then?”

Her heart skipped a beat at his question. Was she? On top of everything else swimming through her thoughts, his mention of the club having its share of notoriety pricked at her mind. Had she missed something in her searches?

“I think so,” she eventually answered.

He cocked his head at her. “You think so?”

She studied his expression. His eyes… To say they sparkled with a rare genuineness might sound trite, but there was no other way to describe the sincerity within his stare. The look he gave her said she could trust him, and for the first time in forever she tossed away her uncertainty and listened, long and hard, to her intuition. Finally she decided to take him at his unspoken promise.

“I am. Let’s do this.”

“Perfect.”

She stood when he did, and waited as he donned a black leather vest decorated with a cheesy Marshall’s badge. He followed her gaze and peered down at his chest. “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s kind of a joke around here. The two or three nights a week I’m in charge, everyone’s on their best behavior. I don’t take any shit, and everyone around here knows that. A group of the regulars surprised me on my birthday a few years ago with this,” he said, polishing the badge with the heel of his hand. “That started everyone off on calling me Marshall Mac. Feel free to call me that as well.”

She smiled again and nodded, suddenly realizing she’d been holding her breath the entire time she watched him get ready. She blew out the lungful with a nervous laugh. “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

When he hooked a leather whip onto his belt, his answering grin to her repeated stare took on a whole new light. “Don’t worry about this,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “It’s only for the troublemakers. And you, sweet thing, look like anything
but
a troublemaker.”