Second Time Lucky (Club Decadence Book 5) (9 page)

He grunted. “You could quit and find something else. Better yet, don’t, and let me take care of you.”

“I can’t do that. We need the money. I’ve got student loans.”

“I appreciate you wanting to do your share, Mara, but it’s unnecessary. For over a decade, Uncle Sam has fed me, clothed me, gave me shelter, and all the while paying me a decent wage. I’ve been single all that time with no bills, no house to maintain or family to provide for. Those direct deposits have been piling up. Trust me; we can live quite well for a decade on my savings alone. Besides, it’d be a bonus for me if you quit and I didn’t have to worry about you being attacked in a dark parking garage.”

She flopped back on the pillows. This old argument hadn’t changed. “And what do I do while you’re working or when you have to go back overseas? I’d go nuts from boredom. Besides, I like my job. I enjoy helping people who really need me,” her hand came up to his jaw and she smiled, “heroes like you, Sean.”

As usual, he scoffed at the word, though it was true. He’d received notice only last week that he was being awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for extraordinary heroism in battle. He grumbled about simply doing his job, yet she’d seen the letter and heard the tale. She, like the Army, disagreed.

During his last mission, he’d gone back for a wounded man, stopped the bleeding long enough to carry him to safety all with a bullet lodged in his own leg. That the man was an influential American hadn’t come to light until long afterward. It wouldn’t have made a difference to Sean. He’d seen a man down and been unwilling to leave him behind.

Wounded during the rescue, his bravery had also earned him his third, yes third, Purple Heart. It was actually one Purple Heart with two oak leaf clusters added for the subsequent injuries. That he kept going back, each time with a new scar on his beautiful body, spoke volumes to his dedication. She was proud of him, but also scared as shit every time she thought about the danger he’d been in and how close to death he’d come. He down played it every time so she didn’t press.

“At least you’re off tonight,” Sean stated, planting his fists in the bed on either side of her head. He stared down at her, undoubtedly done with the subject. “Get some rest today and I’ll take you out for dinner tonight.”

“To the Pearl Dive?”

He grinned, dipping his head until he was close enough for her to feel the warm rush of his breath as he spoke and taste the mint of his toothpaste. “I could go for oysters, as long as you can handle the results. It’s not a myth about their sensual properties. On three hours of sleep, I’ll need the aphrodisiac boost to keep up with you.”

“Heaven forbid! Let’s go somewhere else. You sure don’t need any help in that department.” She giggled as she pressed her lips against his once more before he reluctantly pulled away.

“Too late. My mouth is watering for Cornmeal Crusted Chesapeake Oysters already.”

“I guess I’m off the hook then. I think you have to eat them raw to get the sex benefit. I read somewhere that Casanova ate fifty raw oysters for breakfast each morning to maintain his sexual prowess. Avocados are supposed to be able to give your love life a kick, too.”

“Are you telling me this for a reason? As a not so subtle hint that I need to step up my game, perhaps?”

“No! I didn’t mean—” She stopped short seeing the wide grin on his face. “You big tease. I doubt Casanova did it twice a day and had marathon sex every other weekend when his girlfriend was off work. As I said, you need no help in that department.”

After another quick kiss, he stood. “I’ll be home at the usual time.”

He slipped into his service jacket adorned with a ton of ribbons, badges and medals, picked up the hated wool beret and with a wink was out the door.

She snuggled under the covers, her arms curling around his pillow as she plumped it up beneath her head, burying her face in it and savoring his lingering scent. She smiled drowsily, letting out a sigh of pure contentment before drifting off in worry free sleep.

Chapter Six

Sean walked out of his surgeon’s office to find Mara impatiently thumbing through a magazine. At the rate she was flipping the pages—distinctly disinterested—he could see she was on edge. As the door clicked shut behind him, she shot to her feet, worry clearly broadcast on her expressive face as he approached.

“Well? What did he say?”

“Released to full duty.”

Her face fell. He knew she hadn’t wished for a bad report, but the clean bill of health meant he would be leaving her soon.

“What about the swelling? Surely you can’t go traipsing around the wilds of Afghanistan with a swollen foot.”

“He said the activity would be good for the circulation, believing all the sitting behind the desk was actually making it worse.”

She nodded, unmistakably disappointed. “When do you have to go back?”

“The paperwork could take a few days. My guess is within the week.”

She fought a pout, failing miserably. They walked hand in hand out of the clinic, both quietly reflective until they arrived at Sean’s Jeep. He opened the door for her. As she settled in the passenger’s seat, he leaned in, his hands propped on the roof as he looked down at her.

As Mara met his gaze, her hand came to his chest. “I’m scared, Sean. You’ve been wounded three times. I worry if there’s a fourth you won’t be…”

As her voice trailed off, he supplied, “So lucky? Don’t fret, baby. You picked a perfect nickname for me.” He cupped her cheek when she couldn’t muster a little smile at his lighthearted quip. “Mara, I’m a soldier; we go off to fight, often in the thick of things. As a soldier’s woman, your job of waiting and worrying is much tougher. I’ll be as careful as can be. With less than a year on my enlistment and you to come home to, I have every reason to be.”

She nodded, a small smile at last curving her lips. “I’m sorry for acting like Debbie Downer, you don’t need that.”

“Let’s make the most of our time together and do something fun tonight. It will cheer you up.”

“Like what?”

He kissed her nose, smiling secretly. “I know just the place.”

* * * * *

“I’m not sure about this, Sean. It looks kind of sketchy.”

He couldn’t argue with her. The dilapidated building had boarded up windows and appeared abandoned. Except for the pounding bass beat of the loud music rumbling from within, anyone would have thought it was deserted. Amazingly, The Gilded Cage one of D.C.’s most exclusive and private BDSM clubs was housed in an old, ramshackle building on the outskirts of town. One of his commanders, a trusted officer who likewise was into kink, had recommended it, so it couldn’t be as bad on the inside, he hoped.

Sean had brought Mara tonight with three goals in mind. The first had come about after talking to Dex that afternoon. He’d been given the assignment of scoping out the local BDSM clubs to get ideas for the one they planned to open in San Antonio. He’d readily accepted the mission putting The Gilded Cage at the top of the list. With its stellar reputation, he’d had no reservations about bringing his very new and extremely nervous submissive along. He’d promised her fun, after all, and checking out a sex club with his pretty sub on his arm was exactly his idea of a good time. Mara, who had never been to one, wasn’t so sure and required a bit of coaxing. She warmed up to the idea when he said Dex also wanted a submissive’s opinion.

His second goal was to take her mind off him leaving soon. If her first visit to a club didn’t do that, then it wasn’t possible. While there, he could gauge her reaction to the public scenes, nudity and explicit sex that went on in a sex club on a nightly basis. After all, her Dom and future husband—at least if he had anything to say about it—would soon be a co-owner of a similar club and he needed to know how she would fit in to the scene.

The third goal was purely hedonistic on his part and involved having his little sub in as many wicked ways as he could manage in the four hours before closing.

As they approached the entrance, both of Mara’s hands clung to his with a death grip, her nails curling painfully into his skin. He lifted them to his lips. “Relax, baby, or we’ll be in the emergency room getting my hand stitched up before we make it in the door.”

Her eyes, which had dipped to where his mouth lightly brushed her hand, widened. Immediately, her grip lessened, as did his pain.

“Sorry, I’m nervous.”

He uncurled her fingers, placing a gentle kiss in each palm. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’ll be at your side the entire time. We’re going to take it all in first, assess the mood, get the feel for things and meet a few people before we even consider playing. If it isn’t right for both of us, we’ll leave. Okay?”

She nodded hesitantly, but agreed. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl.” His hands slid to her hips as he nestled her close. Her head tipped back. He could see she was wary, but there was a spark of interest in the forest green which spoke of excitement.

“Remember this is supposed to be fun.” His lips brushed hers. “Before we go in, let’s review the rules one more time.”

She scrunched up her nose. “In what reality does fun have so many rules?”

“Easy… football, poker, Monopoly, beer pong…”

Her brows quirked up. “Beer pong?”

His shrug accompanied a broad grin. “What games have you played that didn’t have rules?”

She inclined her head. “None, I concede your point.”

“There aren’t too many here. Pete mentioned they’re fairly relaxed on protocols, although they have a few firm rules. Do you remember them?”

“Yes. Subs are respectful of Doms, always. Safewords are the usual traffic light: red, yellow and green. Talking is at a minimum in the play areas and conversations should be taken to the lounge.”

“Good, there are a few more you left out. No interference with anyone else’s scene, dungeon monitors are available if someone needs to intervene. These are all standard for most clubs. One unique thing about The Cage I didn’t mention is that committed subs and slaves wear collars with their Dom’s name, or names in some cases, so there are no misunderstandings. And—”

“Why would there be a misunderstanding?”

“Interrupting goes hand in hand with rule number one.”

“But we’re not inside yet,” she protested.

“Mara.”

“Sorry.” Not sounding the least bit contrite.

Sean knew without her saying, that she was nervous. Her feisty, rule-breaking alter ego had reared its naughty head more than once since they’d left home. Meaning tonight could turn out more interesting than he planned.

“Better remember the rules, minx, because as I was about to say, the final rule is that violators get spanked. To answer your question, unattached subs are fair game for any Dom to mete out punishment. Otherwise, the sub’s Master or Dom carries out the spanking. If not properly tagged, an unwitting Dom could unknowingly overstep boundaries, which could lead to the misunderstanding I mentioned. Got it?”

“Yes, though I have another question. What happens to misbehaving Doms?”

“The DM’s usually throw them out and their membership is often suspended for a time or cancelled altogether.”

“Do subs get thrown out?”

“I imagine they could if their Dom didn’t take them in hand. In your case, sweet Mara, your naughty behind would be spanked long before you were at risk of being ejected.”

“How about we go see a movie? I hear the new Sylvester Stallone movie, ‘Grandson of Rambo’ is pretty good.”

Although he thought it funny, he didn’t laugh, not even a lip twitch, soothing her instead.

“Baby, it’s going to be okay.”

“Putt-putt golf is fun and the only rule is to get the ball in the cup.”

“This is a chance to explore, meet new people, and if you like, we can do a scene of our own. If not, we’ll call it an early night, leave with our research for Dex, and go home to play—and I don’t mean mini-golf.” His arm drew her in close. “Loosen up. This is like a playground for adults, nothing more and everything is consensual.”

“Yeah, red means stop, green means go, yes assuredly means yes, but no doesn’t necessarily mean no. That’s clear as mud.”

“Take a deep breath, put on your mask and let’s get you inside. Once you see people are having fun, you’ll realize there’s nothing to worry about.”

She slipped on her pink-feathered mask, smoothed a hand over her hair, which she’d left long and loose at his request, and with slightly shaky fingers touched the pink rhinestone studded collar he’d buckled around her throat before leaving home. When she gazed back at him through the half mask, he read excitement and apprehension in the luminous green depths, as well as trust in him.

For that reason alone, he didn’t plan to let her out of his sight. The other was concealed for the moment beneath her lightweight coat. Her first time ever in club wear, he’d done her up right. In her pink leather corset with white piping that he’d thoroughly enjoyed lacing her into only an hour before, it topped a matching short skirt under which he’d generously allowed a pair of pink panties. Her long legs were encased in sheer white stockings with a wide band of lace at mid-thigh. On her feet, she wore silver and pink lace pumps with five-inch heels. Peep toed she’d called them. They were aptly named as her hot pink toenails peeped through the small opening. Fuck me shoes they definitely were and why they’d caught his eye at the boutique where he’d shopped for it all.

The image of his girl in pink leather was forever imprinted on his brain. He couldn’t decide if she came across as sweet like cotton candy that melted the instant it hit the tongue, or more like a sexy kitten ready to purr and arch into her Master’s stroking hand. She looked innocent and at the same time sinfully wicked. Every red-blooded straight man in the club would think so too, but he had a surprise in his pocket, one that would stake his claim and keep any overeager Dom at bay.

“Ready?” he asked after she stopped fiddling with her mask.

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“You sound like you’re going to a dental appointment. Lighten up and have some fun.”