Not Safe for Work (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

As ordered, Rick showed up at my house right on time. I had just finished getting dressed myself—leather trousers, of course, and a leather vest.

I let him in, and as he stepped into the foyer, he paused. He glanced down at my thick-soled boots. “Leveling the playing field, are we?”

I shrugged. “Eh, you’ve still got an inch or so on me, but…” I put my hands on his hips and kissed him lightly. “I’ll take whatever advantage I can get.”

“Doesn’t matter that much, does it?” He slid his hands up my chest. “You’ll always be taller once I’m down on my knees.”

Oh. Jesus. Yes.

“You make a very good point.” I ran the backs of my fingers down the front of his white dress shirt. “Also, you know this is getting fucked up before the end of the night, right?”

He met my gaze, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I’m counting on it.”

Are we there yet?

I schooled my expression, though. Calm. Cool.
Controlled
. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m…” He paused, the mischievousness faltering for a split second. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” I put a hand on his shoulder. “We can stay home. There’s a dungeon right here in the house.”

“No, I—” Rick blew out a breath. “Today was kind of rough. Just a lot of shit hitting a lot of fans.” He swept his tongue across his lips as he met my gaze. “To be honest, I
need
this tonight.” He smiled, and after a second, it seemed less forced. “I want to do this. And total immersion into that world sounds like the perfect way to forget about this one for a little while.”

I studied him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He gestured dismissively. “It’s just been a long week.”

“Longer than normal?”

“Much.” He rolled his shoulders, revealing the very tension he was probably trying to get rid of. “Butting heads with city planners, trying to avoid a media circus about some toxic shit that was found—and cleaned up—in one of the factories we bought.” He waved his hand. “It’s par for the course, but it’d be nice if it didn’t all hit the fan at once.”

I nodded. “I’m with you on that. One thing at a time would be nice.”

“Very.”

“Well, tonight”—I slid my hand across his stomach and around to his side, drawing him to me—“I fully intend to distract you from anything that isn’t in the same room.”

He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

“Just remember, safe words still apply. You can use it at any time.”

Rick nodded.

I grinned. “I’ll get my keys.”

* * * * *

The club was actually an enormous house outside of town. Ironically, it was a place that Mitchell & Forsythe had designed years ago. I still had to chuckle sometimes whenever I walked past our display cases in the lobby. There was a beautiful photo on the wall, and below that, the model I’d built ten or twelve years ago. If the partners only knew what the mansion’s east wing was used for.

Or, for that matter, who was beside me tonight as I walked in through the immense French doors, not to mention what was in the backpack I’d made him carry. What they didn’t know didn’t hurt us.

New arrivals were required to attend an orientation unless they were attending with a member who’d been with the club for at least three years. I’d been here for seven, so Rick was exempt. He signed the waiver, agreed to stay with me his entire first evening, and we went inside.

First stop, the ballroom. Rumor had it, the owner held parties in here where the state’s richest and most influential gathered to talk politics, but wouldn’t they be shocked if they knew this was the social area for a thriving BDSM club?

At the moment, a couple dozen leather-clad people were sipping drinks—nonalcoholic, of course—and socializing. Three Doms chatted on an antique sofa while their subs sat on the floor by their feet. On the other side of the room was a small group of guys who looked like bikers but were probably just everyday average joes in real life. Behind them, two women and two men gestured at collars and leashes. They were, it appeared, the submissives of the bikers, and were having an animated, in-depth conversation about their various accoutrements.

Next to me, Rick scanned his surroundings. Eyes wide, features taut… This wasn’t the man I was used to seeing at work. I’d never seen him nervous in a group of people. Usually, he was calm and cool, but now he was looking around warily.

I wrapped my arm around his waist. “You all right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s, uh, definitely new.”

“It’s not too late to turn around.”

“No.” Still watching everyone around us, he shook his head. “I don’t want to turn around. I want to do this.”

I searched his expression. He was edgy tonight, and the tension from his job was palpable. Yeah, he needed this. I definitely understood that. “Are you ready?”

He cast one more sweeping glance around and then whispered, “Yes.”

“Look at me.”

He faced me, and we locked eyes.

“I’m in charge tonight,” I said, hardening my voice. “Anything I say, goes. Understood?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and good God, he really did need this, didn’t he? The tightness visibly melted out of his neck and shoulders. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, and rolled his shoulders. Exhaling, he nodded. “Yes. Anything you say goes.”

“Good. And your safe word?”

“Red.”

“Use it any time. No questions asked.”

“Understood.”

I kissed his cheek and slipped my hand into his. “For now, let’s look around and see what everyone else is doing. Maybe get some…ideas.”

A grin curled his lips. “I’ll follow you.”

I led him out of the ballroom and into the maze of hallways extending deeper into the house. Here, there were three large play areas out in the open where people could watch others play. This was exhibitionist and voyeur paradise—people were not only allowed to gather and watch, but were encouraged to do so. The other rooms were semi-open—they could be closed off for privacy or left open for the occasional voyeur or for the comfort of a submissive who wanted to be reassured that there were others nearby.

In the first room, two Doms were caning a bound, gagged women. Red welts crisscrossed her ass, and tears streamed down her face, and her eyes… Lord, that woman was
flying
. The cane hit her flesh with a
snap
, and she whimpered around the ball gag, her eyes sliding closed for a second. When they reopened, they were even more distant than before.

“Someone enjoys pain,” I whispered to Rick.

Mesmerized, he nodded. “Yeah, she does.”

I was about to make another comment, but a small group on the other side of the room caught my eye. “Oh, look at that.” I gestured toward them. “You ever watched someone doing hot wax?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “No.”

“You want to?”

He nodded, but quickly added, “If you do.”

I kissed his cheek. “I do.”

We joined the thin crowd that had gathered to watch. In front of us, another female sub was on her knees and stretched across what looked like an ottoman, though it had been covered in towels.

On a small table next to her was a pile of white candles and a steaming Crock-Pot, in which the Dom was stirring the melted wax with a ladle. They’d shrouded the Crock-Pot in some sort of drape—presumably something fire-retardant—so it looked a bit less like something from Grandma’s kitchen, but I doubted anyone was looking at it anyway. Not with a beautiful woman with pristine skin that was just waiting for the molten wax.

When he was apparently satisfied that the liquid was the right consistency, the Dom lifted the ladle from the pot. He held it over the sub’s back, turned it, and let a single string of wax fall.

It dropped straight down. It hit the sub’s shoulder.

And she screamed.

Every sadist in the room squirmed. The subs did too, and the ones who’d had wax before were obvious—they either winced like they knew exactly what it felt like, or they damn near started drooling as they watched the Dom drizzle the molten liquid across the whimpering woman’s back.

Against the wall, a good-looking guy around my age was watching intently, arms folded across his mostly bare chest, leather pants barely containing one hell of an erection. One boot was pressed flat against the wall, and the woman on her knees had his full attention.

She glanced up at one point, making eye contact with him. He smiled, dipping his chin in the slightest of nods, and she smiled too before another drizzle of hot wax forced another cry out of her. He’d probably have to carry her out of here when this was over, and soothe and cuddle her for hours to keep her from crashing when she came out of subspace, but I couldn’t imagine a Dom who would protest that. And when she was back on terra firma, he’d likely reward her handsomely for pleasing the other Dom as well as she obviously was right then.

I shifted my weight.

“You all right?” Rick asked.

“Oh yes.” I licked my lips. Whispering so softly, only he would be able to hear me, I asked, “Is that what you want?”

He fixed his gaze on the woman and the wax. “Yes. Please.”

“Didn’t realize you were that into pain.”

“It’s not… It’s not the pain.”

“Then…?”

Before he could speak, the woman cried out again, pulling against her bindings, and we both exhaled. I wasn’t even sure if Rick had the slightest inkling of attraction to women, but the scene clearly held his attention as much as it held mine.

He swallowed and kept his focus on the Dom pouring wax on the whimpering sub. “Pain’s fun, but something like that requires so much trust. It’s the same reason I’d be into breath play if it wasn’t so dangerous.” He turned his head toward me. “It’s not the pain. It’s the trust it takes to let someone cause that kind of pain.”

I rested my hand on the small of his back. “So, giving someone permission to do something that could cause an injury, but trusting that they won’t.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

I glanced at the Dom against the wall. The one with the ladle. The sub. The one against the wall again. “Would you trust me enough to—”

“Yes.” He licked his lips. “Completely.”

I held his gaze. My pulse was going crazy now, my body temperature skyrocketing, and not just because of my leather pants. I had a beautiful, willing submissive with me—what the hell were we doing watching someone else?

“Let’s go.” I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “We’re going to find a private area so I can put you on your knees.”

His Adam’s apple jumped. “L-lead the way…”

As we went looking for a room, I said, “You really do want to try the wax, don’t you?”

He blinked a few times like he was struggling to focus. “Y-yes.”

“You have any idea how much it turns me on to imagine you all covered in wax while I’m fucking you?”

A heavy breath rushed out of his parted lips, and he whispered, “Oh God.”

I barely kept myself from shivering. Melted wax all over that beautiful back? The sounds he’d make? The way he’d be trembling and struggling to hold himself up?

Oh yes. We had to do this.
Soon
.

But for tonight…

All the rooms with locks on the doors turned out to be occupied, but we found a semiprivate one that a group had just finished using. It was open, so people could come and go, but not quite as exposed as the one where the wax and caning scenes had been going on.

“This will work.” I shoved the backpack off Rick’s shoulders. Before it had even hit the floor, I kissed him. Hands on his neck, body against his, I forced his lips apart, and all thoughts of tying, topping, tormenting him left my brain. I didn’t care what we did right then—I just needed to
have him
. My hands on him, my mouth on him, my erection rubbing against him or moving inside him. I hadn’t been this horny in ages.

Panting, I broke the kiss. I took a breath to speak, ready to tell him to find the lube and condoms in the backpack, but he gazed back at me with blown pupils, brow knitted and nothing short of “anything you want, please” written all over his face.

In a heartbeat, all those thoughts of tying, topping, tormenting came flooding back.

Oh yes. Oh. Yes. I hadn’t brought him here just to fuck him. There’d be time for that later.

I licked my lips. “Put the backpack over there.” I nodded toward a table at the edge of the room. Beside it was a wooden St. Andrew’s Cross, and Rick’s gaze immediately went to that.

Yes, Rick. Take a good look. You’re going to get to know that thing very well this evening.

“Ever been on one of those?” I asked.

He nodded. “It’s been a while, but…yeah. Not one that was made out of wood, though.”

“The metal ones are cool, but I think the wooden ones have more character.”

He arched his eyebrow. “A torture device with character?”

“Well yeah. Sets the mood.” I winked. “And don’t worry. The wood’s been sanded and treated so many times over, I don’t think it’s even possible to get a splinter.”

“That’s a plus, I guess.”

“It is. But splinters or not, it will be cold, which means I want you naked against it.”

Rick shuddered hard.

“Clothes off.” I jerked my chin toward the table. “You can leave them there.”

Immediately, he started unbuttoning that nice dress shirt.

“Wear something that looks good, but you don’t mind getting ripped.”

“Ripped?”

“Yes. Ripped.”

I put up a hand. “Wait.”

He froze, fingers still on a button that was halfway through the buttonhole.

I gently nudged his hands out of the way. “On second thought…” I grabbed the front of his partially unbuttoned shirt and dragged him to me.

“In case I haven’t mentioned it lately,” I murmured against his lips, “you are a walking, talking turn-on.”

He may have tried to say something, but his mouth was now occupied, so all that came out was a muffled moan.

Still kissing him, still demanding his attention and his breath, I snapped the first button off his shirt.