Exclusive

EXCLUSIVE

EDEN BRADLEY
JACI BURTON
LISA RENEE JONES SANCTUARY
EDEN BRADLEY

ONE

Lights pulsed, music pounded and Devin 's heart hammered faster than it ever had in her life. How had she let Kimmie talk her into coming here, to the Ring, on fetish night? She'd never seen anything like it. She'd never imagined she would love it. But she did. Hundreds of club-goers pressed against the sturdy metal railing that surrounded the Ring, the loft section of Club X, one of the hottest dance clubs in San Francisco, where unusual and wicked things went on. She had to get closer.
Devin followed Kimmie's sleek, dark head as she pushed her way through the crowd with her small, pointed elbows. All around them multicolored lights flashed against dark red walls, into the shadowed alcoves set here and there where club-goers rested on velvet-covered couches, where couples locked in erotic embraces, oblivious to the crowd and the noise.
They were almost up to the front. All around her people writhed and bounced to the beat that reverberated through the club, making the floors tremble so that Devin could feel it in the pit of her stomach. When they reached the railing, Kimmie pulled on Devin's arm and shoved Devin in front of her. The metal rail pressed into Devin's stomach as the crowd surged forward, but she didn't care. Her eyes were riveted to the scene before her, the strange, compelling scene within the Ring.
Chains dangled from somewhere high in the ceiling, ending in leather cuffs with big metal buckles. Against the back wall stood three enormous wooden crosses. And bound to these crosses were two women, one man. The man had his shirt off, and a woman dressed all in black with hair dyed an impossibly bright scarlet was hitting his back with a small leather whip, raising fine red welts on his skin. With every slow, even stroke of the whip, the crowd called out, urging her on, making goose bumps rise on Devin's arms, on the back of her neck. But what really interested Devin were the women. The two young blondes were stripped down to bras and underwear, arms raised high over their heads, their wrists cuffed to the crosses. A pair of men spanked them with paddles in perfect synchronicity, moving with the beat of the heavy techno music. Something in her stirred, awoke with a sharp cry of need as she watched. Amazing. Amazing that seeing this happen could make her body respond in this way. Amazing that she had never thought about this sort of thing before. Her pulse was racing, her legs trembling. The two men, dressed entirely in black, wore leather pants and snug T-shirts; their attention was focused on the pair of women, their backs to the crowd. And when they smacked the women's flesh a cry arose from the wild group of onlookers. The music shifted and the men worked faster, in time with the new rhythm. Devin saw the ripple of muscles beneath their tight T-shirts as they lifted their arms and swung. The sound of the crowd became one long, continuous arc of noise. She could feel the aura of excitement all around her as the crowd fed it, fed her, making her pulse hammer in her veins. She couldn't take her eyes away from the scene before her. Kimmie yelled into her ear, “What do you think?” All Devin could do was shake her head. What could she say? It was too loud in there to try to explain to Kimmie everything that was going through her mind.
“Do you want to go?”
“What? No!” She wasn't going anywhere.
The two men finished and released the girls from their restraints, rubbed their arms, their wrists, took them to a back corner and sat them down on a bench. A young girl dressed in a red leather corset wrapped the women in blankets, gave them something to drink. Devin watched, mesmerized by the entire process. One of the men disappeared through a side door. The other turned around and a shock of heat roared through her. He was beautiful.
Even in the flashing club lights, she could see the honeyed shade of his skin. His hair was a short, spiky shock of brown tipped with blond, as though he'd recently been in the sun. His close-shaven goatee, a few shades darker than his hair, made him look purely devilish. It was too dim and he was too far away for her to see his eyes. They seemed dark, glittering. He looked back at the desperate, wild crowd and gave a crooked grin and a saucy wink, as though he were very much aware that he was performing. And then he pulled his shirt off over his head.
She only had a moment to take in broad, muscled shoulders and tight six-pack abs before he turned around and started to pick up some items scattered around the floor: a crop, the two paddles he and the other man had used, a variety of multitailed whips; Devin wasn't sure what everything was called. All she knew was that this man made her entire body surge with need.
If only he would turn around again.
When he did, he looked right at her. Even among a crowd of hundreds, she knew it immediately. He looked at her and gave that small, cocky smile he'd given to the crowd of revelers before. But this time it was for her alone.
He moved forward, toward the front of the Ring, until he stood right in the middle of it. He stopped there and stared at her, locking his eyes on hers. Her stomach filled with butterflies. She couldn't believe he was looking at her, but the line of his hot gaze was perfidy clear. She licked her suddenly dry lips. Her nipples went hard beneath her tight, stretchy top. His eyes seemed to instantly travel there, to almost caress her skin before his gaze returned to her face. That self-assured smile again, quirking just one corner of his mouth. Unbelievably sexy. He had a pair of heavy, black tribal designs tattooed around each bicep, those armbands she loved so much on a man. Sexy enough that lust sang in her veins, thrummed through her limbs. The tattoos, the wicked goatee, him standing in the middle of this place, shirtless, he was the ultimate bad boy. She'd never been so attracted to a man in her life. The hot flood of music and the colored lights only seemed to add to the sensual aura as he stared her down, daring her somehow. He beckoned with his head, his grin quirking a little more. Yes, daring her to join him in the Ring.
She couldn't do it, of course, no matter that every cell in her body screamed at her to go to him, to have this man touch her.
Impossible.
And then he walked right up to her, right up to the railing and put his hand out to her. She noticed then another tattoo on the inside of his left wrist, some sort of Chinese symbol done in heavy black lines. She offered her hand to him before she had a chance to think about it. He took it in his, turned it, and laid a soft kiss in the center of her palm. A wave of lustful heat rushed through her body.
Wow.
He leaned in and yelled over the music, “I'm Shaye. Tell me your name.” God, he was talking to her. His deep voice boomed over the noise of the club.
“Devin.”
“Come play with me, Devin.”
She pulled back and saw that evil grin on his face. He had perfect white teeth. His eyes were a dark and smoky hazel up close, with long, thick lashes.
“No, I . . . I can't.”
“Of course you can. Just say yes.”
He still held onto her hand. His was large and warm, the contact like an electrical current running up her arm and straight to her sex. But she couldn't bring herself to do what these people did in the Ring.
Could she?
She felt dizzy suddenly with the possibility. This wasn't her. She was no innocent virgin, but this was too much, too intense, too wild. She'd come to watch, not to participate. And she wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Kimmie dragging her along tonight. She glanced around. Where was Kimmie?
But he was leaning in again, until his mouth was warm against her ear. “Come and play with me, little Devin. You know you want to. I can feel it from here.”
His voice was a low purr. Sexy as hell, like everything else about him. And he was close enough that she could smell him; a little bit of clean male sweat mixed with some earthy fragrance. Sandalwood? She allowed herself to take one long inhale, savoring the scent of him. It made her shivery and hot inside. It made her confused. “I can't. Really. I'm uh . . . I'm here with my friend. I have to go find her.”
“Come back. Later tonight. Any night.”
She started to shake her head. He tucked a card into her free hand.
“This is my cell. Call me if you'd ever like to play. Here. Or wherever.
I want to see you.”
She looked up at him and the grin was gone. His gaze was hot, burning right into her. He lifted her hand and kissed it again, sending that shiver of heat through her system once more. The woman with the bright red hair came and tapped him on the shoulder, said something into his ear. He waved her off. “I have to get back to work. Call me, Devin. Come and see me here. Promise me you will.”
“I don't know .. .”
“Promise, Devin.”
He hadn't let go of her hand. He gave it a small squeeze. Her pulse raced, hot and fast as lightning. He scared the hell out of her. She wanted him so much it hurt. “I'll . . . maybe . . .”
“You will.” His devastating grin spread across his face. He took a step back, dropped her hand, took another step before turning around and walking to the back of the Ring. She was left breathless, shaken. Who the hell was this guy? She looked down at the card he'd given her. Shaye Vincent. No title, just the name and a phone number in silver on a sleek black card. When she looked up again he was already binding another young woman to the big wooden cross. She wanted to watch, yet somehow she couldn't bear it at the same time.
Its because you want to be the one bound and helpless.
She shook her head. This place was really getting to her.
This man was really getting to her.
It had to be the novelty factor. She'd never seen anything like this, any place like this. And he was unspeakably gorgeous. Her eyes went back to him, to the sight of his strong, still shirtless back as he bent to bind the woman's ankles in what appeared to be leather shackles chained to metal loops in the floor. She spent a brief moment imagining what it must be like to be bound in that way. To be rendered helpless. To give over control to someone. To Shaye.
She started to shake all over. She had to get out of there. The club had filled up since she'd arrived. It took some work and a few carefully placed jabs of her elbow to make it to the edge of the crowd where she could breathe again. She hadn't seen Kimmie. She made her way down from the loft that held the Ring to the main dance floor, which was enormous, but even here club-goers were practically on top of one another. People gyrated to the hard-hitting beat of the music. Go-go dancers on platforms, dressed in skimpy black leather and thigh-high boots for the evening's event, writhed and twined their bodies around poles.
She'd never find Kimmie here, and she really didn't want to wait.
She'd go outside, catch a cab and call her friend later. She made her way to the front door and shoved it open, letting herself out into the chilly San Francisco night. The damp air made her shiver as she stood beneath a street lamp while the club's bouncer flagged down a cab for her. She got in and slammed the door behind her, grateful for the heat of the car. She smoothed the hem of her short skirt down.
“Where to?”
“Eleven-fifty Capra Way.”
“Ah, the Marina. Nice down there, huh?”
Why did she have to get the one cab driver in San Francisco who spoke English tonight? She didn't want to talk. She had too much to think about. But she didn't want to be rude, either.
Always the good girl.
“Yes, it's nice.”
Luckily, he remained silent after that. She tried to organize in her mind all of the jarring images of the evening: the Ring itself, intimidating, fascinating. The people who went there to be abused by the Dominants who worked there. Yes, she knew what they were called. She couldn't even remember how or why.
Mostly she couldn't get the image of Shaye out of her head. Of him standing there with that swaggering, crooked grin on his beautiful face. She knew men didn't particularly like to be described that way, but she couldn't think of another word that fit him as well. He
was
beautiful. And wicked looking in die most luscious way. She'd never seen another man who was quite as beautiful as he was. The cab raced through the dark night, down Lombard Street now, with all its restaurants and bars, brightly lit neon signs whizzing past the windows in a blur of yellow, blue, pink. The streets were still lively at . . . she checked her watch. It was already almost one in the morning. How long had she stood at the edge of the Ring watching him?
No wonder Kimmie had taken off.
Crap. Kimmie. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed. Her friend's voice mail picked up.
“Hey, Kimmie, sorry I left, but I had to get out of there and I couldn't find you. Call me tomorrow, okay?”
She flipped her phone shut. She didn't want to talk about the club tonight, even to her best friend. She needed some time to absorb her feelings, her reaction to it. The cab pulled up in front of her building, a classic San Francisco style stucco, built in the twenties, as were so many others in this part of town. She paid the driver and went inside. Too edgy to wait for the elevator, she jogged up the four flights of carpeted stairs and let herself, breathless, into her apartment.
It was chilly inside and she flipped the heat on as she passed the
thermostat in the hall. In her room, she kicked off her black stiletto
heels, put them on her closet shelf where her shoes were all lined up
in perfectly ordered rows. She quickly changed into her burgundy
velvet robe, a vintage piece she'd found at one of the thrift stores on
Haight Street. Hanging up her skirt in the closet, she put her black
top into the laundry basket, then padded on slippered feet across the wood-floored hall to the bathroom. There she ran the water to wash her face, then decided she wanted the bar smells out of her hair and turned the shower on instead.
She carefully took her makeup off while the water heated, put her long, straight auburn hair up in a clip and stepped into the steaming blast of water.
This was one of the things she loved most about her apartment. Yes, the view of the Palace of Fine Arts only eight blocks away was gorgeous, and she loved the dark, gleaming hardwood floors, the bay window in the living room. She loved the ornate crown moldings in every room, the old black-and-white tile work in the kitchen, but she was absolutely in love with the bathroom. It was enormous and had the best water pressure and endless hot water, something one rarely found in these older buildings. She could stay in the shower forever. She loved the pure decadence of it. Loved the sensation of the water sluicing hot and silky over her skin.