Club Shadowlands (2 page)

“Very good.” The water shut off. Blocking the door, he rolled up his sleeves, displaying corded, muscular arms. She had the unhappy feeling he was going to keep helping her, and any protest would be ignored. He’d taken charge as easily as if she’d been one of the puppies at the shelter where she volunteered.

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“Out with you now.” When her legs wobbled, he tucked a hand around her upper arm, holding her up with disconcerting ease. The cooler air hit her body, and her shivering started again.

After blotting her hair, he grasped her chin and tipped her face up to the light. She gazed up at his darkly tanned face, trying to summon up enough energy to pull her face away.

“No bruises. I think you were lucky.” Taking the towel, he dried off her arms and hands, rubbing briskly until he appeared satisfied with the pink color. Then he did her back and shoulders. When he reached her breasts, she pushed at his hand. “I can do that.”

He ignored her like she would a buzzing fly, his attentions gentle but thorough, even to lifting each breast and drying underneath.

When he toweled off her butt, she wanted to hide. If there was any part of her that should be covered, it was her hips. Overweight. Jiggly. He didn’t seem to notice.

Then he knelt and ordered, “Spread your legs.”

No way. She flushed, didn’t move.

He looked up, lifted an eyebrow. And waited. Her resolve faltered beneath the steady, authoritative regard.

She slid one leg over. His towel-covered hand stroked between her legs, sending a flush of embarrassment through her. The full enormity of her position swept through her: she was naked in front of a complete stranger, letting him touch her…there. Her breath stopped even as disconcerting pleasure moved through her.

He glanced up, his eyes crinkling, before moving his attention to her legs. He chafed the skin until she could feel the glow. “There, that should do it.”

Ignoring her attempt to take the clothing, he helped her step into a long, slinky skirt that reached midcalf -- at least it covered her hips -- then pulled a gold-colored, stretchy tank top over her head. His muscular fingers brushed her breasts as he adjusted the fit. He 8

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studied her for a moment before smiling slowly. “The clothes suit you, Jessica, far more than your own. A shame to hide such a lovely figure.”

Lovely? She knew better, but the words still gave her a glowy feeling inside. She glanced down to check for herself and frowned at the way the low-cut elastic top outlined her full breasts. She could see every little bump in her nipples. Good grief. She crossed her arms over her chest.

His chuckle was deep and rich. “Come, the main room is much warmer.”

Wrapping an arm around her, he led her out of the bathroom, through the entry, and into a huge room crowded with people. Her eyes widened as she looked around. The club must take up the entire first floor of the house. A circular bar of darkly polished wood ruled the center of the room. Wrought iron sconces cast flickering light over tables and chairs, couches and coffee tables. Plants created small secluded areas. The right corner of the room had a dance floor where music pulsed with a throbbing beat. Farther down, parts of the wall were more brightly lit, but she couldn’t see past the crowd to make out why.

Her steps slowed as she realized the club members were attired in extremely provocative clothing, from skintight leathers and latex to corsets to -- oh my -- one woman was bare from the waist up. A long chain dangled from…clamps on her nipples.

What in the world? Wincing, Jessica glanced up at her host. “Um, excuse me?” What was his name, anyway?

He stopped. “You may call me Sir.”

Like the Marines or something? “Uh, right. Exactly what kind of club is this?” Over the music and murmur of voices, a woman’s voice suddenly wailed in unmistakable orgasm. Heat flared in Jessica’s face.

Amusement glinted in the man’s dark eyes. “It’s a private club, and tonight is bondage night, pet; I thought you’d have realized that from reading the rules.”

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Just then, a man in black leathers walked by, followed by a barefoot woman with her head down and wrists cuffed. Jessica’s mouth opened, only no words emerged.

One eyebrow raised, the manager waited patiently. She could feel his hand pressed low against her back, like a brand.

What had she gotten into? “Bondage?” she managed to say. “Like men making slaves of women?”

“Not always. Sometimes a woman dominates the man.” He nodded to the left where a man dressed in only a loincloth knelt beside a woman. The woman wore a skintight latex vest and leggings with a coiled whip attached to her belt.

“And domination can range all the way from an entire lifestyle, twenty-four/seven, to just a fun bout of sex. Many women fantasize about having a man take charge in the bedroom.” He stroked a finger down her flushed cheek. “Here the fantasy is real.”

Something inside her tightened at his words, a fascination mixed with shock. Take charge -- what exactly did that mean? Then the memory swept through her of how he’d touched her naked body, how he’d simply…taken charge, and she couldn’t keep from looking at him.

His dark eyes were intent on her face, as if he could read her reactions as easily as she would read a client’s books. She felt telltale redness rise in her cheeks.

“Come,” he said, smiling, his hand moving her forward. “Let’s get something warm inside you --”

Inside her? Like the thrust of a man’s -- She jerked her mind away. Good grief, she’d been here five minutes, and her thoughts were in the gutter. A smart person -- and she was that if nothing else -- would make a polite retreat right about now.

“And then you can decide if you want to hide in the entryway or stay here with the grown-ups.”

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Cherise Sinclair

Even as her spine stiffened, she realized how easily he’d played her, and she glared at him.

His lips quirked.

As they approached the circular bar, the bartender abandoned making a drink to come over. He looked like a Great Dane with shaggy hair, all bone and muscle, even taller than…Sir. She frowned over her shoulder at the manager. What the heck kind of name was Sir?

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“Something hot, Cullen, for Jessica. Irish coffee with lots of Irish.” As Zachary gazed down at the little intruder, he had to smile. She had a lovely body with lush hips wide enough to cradle a man in softness and full breasts begging to be savored. Her skin was fair, and her eyes the color of spring leaves.

And right now, those eyes were wide as his grandmother’s favorite supper plates. How she’d read the rules and not understood the nature of the club, he couldn’t comprehend. He really shouldn’t have let her in, signature or not, but her helplessness had brought out all his Dom instincts to protect and nurture.

“A hot drink would be wonderful,” she told the bartender.

Zachary’s eyes narrowed; she was still shivering a little but much improved.

The toweling off had helped, as had her dawning embarrassment when he’d handled her. Although in her mid- to late twenties, she was obviously not accustomed to being touched so intimately. Her blushes had left him with a growing desire to touch her even more thoroughly, to explore her body, and discover her responses.

But he hadn’t been able to ascertain if she would welcome his attentions or not. As for if she was a sub… The votes weren’t in on that yet either. However, once she moved past the 12

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initial shock of seeing the club, he’d be able to look into her mind and see if the sight of domination excited her.

The night was yet young. If he sensed desire in her thoughts, he would enjoy laying her soft, vanilla-scented body out across his bed, restraining and opening her for his pleasure.

“Master Z.” One of his newer dungeon monitors stopped beside him, his bony face worried. “Could you arbitrate for a minute?”

“Certainly.” Zachary glanced at Jessica. “Do you need an escort to the entry or will you be staying?”

Her mouth -- pretty pink lips that would look quite lovely around his cock -- pursed as she glanced around the room. He sensed her misgivings vying with her intense curiosity. The curiosity won. “I’ll stay.”

“Brave girl.”

The creamy Irish coffee burned all the way down, starting a little fire inside her.

Heavenly. When the bartender came back, Jessica had finished and was gazing sadly into the already empty cup.

“Ready for more?” he asked.

Heck, her purse was in the car trunk and would be there until a tow truck pulled her car out. “No, thank you. That’s all right.”

He leaned an enormous arm on the bar and frowned. “You obviously want another.

What’s the problem?”

What was it with these guys? “Are you and your boss mind readers or what?”

His laugh boomed, drowning out the music. “Master Z’s the mind reader; I’m just observant.”

His statement was a little too straightforward for comfort. Surely, the manager didn’t read -- nah. “I left my purse in the car, so no money.”

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“Not to worry. You’re the owner’s guest tonight.” After a minute, the bartender set a steaming mug in front of her. “There’s a two-drink limit, so I made this one plain coffee.”

“But I’ve only had one drink.”

He grinned at her. “You haven’t been here before. You may well need more alcohol after a bit.”

Now why did that sound so ominous? She sipped the drink instead of inhaling it, and this time the warmth filling her was from hot coffee and not potent alcohol. She set an elbow on the bar, sighing as the cold released its last grip. When she saw Sir again, she’d have to thank him for the drinks.

So, he was the owner of this place, not the manager. No wonder everyone jumped at his requests. Then again, she hadn’t known he was the owner, and she’d let him strip her naked and that wasn’t like her at all. Somehow he’d been in control from the moment he walked into the dressing room. Master Z, the bartender had called him; that fit all too well.

She stiffened. Bondage club… Did that mean he was into tying people up?

The thought made her squirm. How could she ever face him again without turning red? She sighed, realizing she probably wouldn’t see him again anyway. After all, he was way out of her class. Too good-looking. Too self-assured. With that touch of silver in his hair and laugh lines around those smoky gray eyes, he was definitely a man, nothing like the boyish types that seemed to be everywhere. And he had those lean, rippling muscles…um-hmmm.

But what really attracted her was his air of sheer competence, like whatever he did, he’d do better than anyone else. She sighed, shook her head. Duh, Jessica. A guy’s nice to you, and there you go, getting all enthused.

But to her slender mother’s disgust, she’d never had the trim, perky body that men liked, and Master Z would know that since he’d seen her in all her naked glory. Considering his appearance, he could have any woman in this place. Hell, any place. Yeah, she would just avoid him and not make an even bigger fool of herself.

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Cherise Sinclair

Turning on the bar stool, she checked out the room. A bondage club. Now this presented her with an adventure she’d never imagined. Nothing like this existed in the tiny town where she’d grown up. And in Tampa, she’d never ventured to try anything so exotic.

Shoot, her idea of adventurous was volunteering at the animal shelter.

She grinned. While here, she might as well widen her knowledge base. Aunt Eunice would be delighted, and her mother would be horrified.

But nothing thrilled her more than learning something new. Where to start?

The people dancing appeared to be having fun, although she’d never been at ease on a dance floor, at least not sober. Give her a business or social occasion, and she felt right at home. Make it a man-woman interaction, and she tensed up like a businessman being audited.

As she watched, her eyes widened. Some of the gyrating out there would have the participants arrested anywhere else. One young man with a serious hard-on whirled the woman into his arms and then pressed so close that only the fabric between them prevented insertion.

She took another sip of her drink and realized the dancers were just too provocative for comfort. Like that one couple. The man moved his woman where he wanted her. He touched her when he wanted, even put her hands on him…there.

With an effort, Jessica dragged her gaze away, tried to watch the other couples on the floor. And focused on a big man in skintight rubber jeans that bulged with a thick erection.

He pulled his bikini-clad woman to him, tangled his hands in her hair and tipped her head back to take her lips. He kissed her slowly. Thoroughly.

Jessica blinked, realized she was pressing her thighs together. Whoa, time to stop watching the live action. Here she’d thought she could call herself fairly experienced. Sure, she was small-town raised, but she’d lived in Tampa long enough to have had several lovers.

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Not that she was all that good at the sex stuff. Really, making love was rather overrated, at least for her.

She grimaced, remembering the last time and how she just couldn’t stop thinking about everything and anything. Did he think she was fat? Would he see how her stomach pouched out? Should she move her hips faster? Would he like his balls touched or not? Sex was just too stressful.

After finishing her coffee, she glanced back at the dance floor. Heck, that woman out there looked like she was getting more from one kiss than Jessica had ever gotten from the whole insert-dick-move-around shebang. And now, the man had his hand on the woman’s bared breast, was actually toying with her nipple. When his fingers tightened in what looked like a painful pinch, the woman’s knees sagged.

Damn, but just watching was getting Jessica overheated. Her own nipples burned.

Furtively, she glanced down. No bra. Her nipples poked out like someone had glued pencil erasers to her chest. Turning back to the bar, she crossed her arms over the traitorous flesh and willed them to go down.