Longing: Club Inferno (14 page)

“I dare you to call your ex and tell him to meet you for a booty call at a place of your choosing. Then turn your phone off again.”

The room clapped, and Anya bit her lip. “He’s probably asleep.”

“Don’t care,” Clint said. “Which brings me to the consequence portion of our show. Club Inferno’s rule is if your partner lies or refuses to answer or complete the dare, they have to perform a sex act of your choosing on you.”

The clapping added wolf whistles this round.

Anya waited until the noise subsided. “Does it have to be a public performance? Or can it be a private one?”

“Ladies’ choice,” he said.

“I’m not calling Cesare,” she said.

Clint nodded, the blood rushing from his head in a direct path to his cock. “Come with me.” He held out his hand. Anya jumped down from the table and took it. “Carry on, with truth questions. I’ll have another Dom in here shortly to oversee the dares.”

Two o’clock in the morning; you’d think everyone would be asleep or busy. But he got Master Micah to cover in no time flat, though Micah made him promise to help out in an electrical-play scenario. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but frankly he would have agreed to anything. Clint wasn’t about to let Anya go. He took her up to his room.

“We’re leaving the dungeon?” she asked.

“We’re not coming back tonight.”

“Hot damn,” she said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

His hands were shaking with anticipation when he unlocked the door. Throwing his keys on the table, he stepped out of his shoes.

“Tell me about Rita,” she said, crossing her arms.

“She’s a pain in my ass.” Clint tossed off his shirt and started unbuttoning his pants.

“Hold on, buster.” Anya held a hand out. “Who was she fucking while you were filming?”

“Not who. What.”

“What?” Anya repeated.

“Before this devolves into an Abbott and Costello skit, she requested to try out the Sybian and the dick in the box.”

He could tell that threw her. He wanted her to ask. So he waited until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Anya’s face cleared while she tried to fake that she knew what either of those things was. He had to control his smile when her brow furrowed. She was obviously still thinking about it.

“What?”

Laughing, Clint explained. “The Sybian is a big vibrator, basically. You pick the type of friction you want against you and you straddle it. The dick in the box is basically a dildo on a motorized pole.”

She stood there, stunned.

“I can order them up here if you like, but I guarantee I can fuck you better.”

“I was counting on it, actually.” She was in his arms. He wasn’t sure if she moved to him or if he moved to her. But it didn’t matter. Her lips tasted like peppermint from the gloss she’d put on. The sweet mint invigorated his tired brain.

Peeling the see-through blouse off her, he smoothed his hands over her silky shoulders. “I see you’re wearing my present.” Easing the straps of the tank top down her arms, Clint pushed it down to her waist. Her full breasts were weighted down slightly by the clamps.

“I like how they feel,” she said. “They make me think you’re tugging on them all day.”

“Does that get you wet?” he asked, reaching his hand under her skirt.

She wasn’t wearing panties.

Smiling, Clint rubbed a finger across her slit.

She sighed, spreading her legs wider. “Yes.”

“I’m not sure what to do with you first,” he said, helping her out of her clothes. Anya was wearing the boots—because it would be a crime to take those off—and his clamps.

“I bet I know what sex act you want.” Sinking to her knees, Anya unbuttoned his jeans.

Clint could only stare as she pulled his pants down. He stepped out of them before he tripped. His hand went to the back of her head. He could easily guide her mouth over his cock and let her suck him into oblivion. In fact, she was leaning toward it herself.

“No.” He pulled on her hair so she looked up at him.

He would probably regret this, but as much as he wanted her lips around his cock, he wanted her more. “I want you to strip for me.”

“I’m already naked,” she told him.

“I want to sit on that chair and watch you dance. Just like you did for Switchblade. Only without clothes. It’s just you and me. I want to see the sway of your body. I want you to feel the pull of those clips when your breasts bounce.”

“That’s not a sex act,” she said shakily. Her arms crossed over her breasts defensively.

He knelt down next to her. “It is,” he said. “And it’s more intimate than the blow job you were about to rock my world with.”

She gave a half laugh. “You’re the only man I know who would turn down a blow job.”

Gripping the back of her head, he forced her to look at him. “I’m not turning it down. I’m taking a rain check. Tonight, I’m claiming my dungeon prize. You’re going to strip for me. And if you do a good job, I’m going to fuck you.”

“What if I do a bad job?” she asked, her white teeth biting her plump red lip.

He brought her in close so he could breathe into her ear. “I’m still going to fuck you.”

Anya should’ve felt ridiculous—this hot guy was telling her to put her clothes back on—but she didn’t. She felt naughty. He was still naked and his cock was erect, so maybe he was really into her. She shrugged on the tank top, feeling the clamps tug on her nipples. She shimmied into the skirt and buttoned up her shirt. Clint was sprawled in a chair with a pair of handcuffs dangling off his finger.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“Cuff my hands behind my back. Men aren’t allowed to touch the strippers.”

Anya liked the way this was playing out. She had spent the whole day going over Fierocity with Colleen and mainlining diet cola. Then Nefertiti had joined them and they pretty much bought out the baby section of Gucci. No one appreciated her going “Gucci, Gucci, goo.” But she had a great day. She hadn’t thought about food or dieting, that stupid play, or that bitch Rita. And now it was going to end in the arms of the hottest man she’d ever seen, and it seemed he wanted her all for himself. She kept waiting for the punch line. She had tried to keep her head and say that she only wanted casual sex. But Anya had been lying to herself. She wanted Clint with an intensity that scared her. It was only the thought that he didn’t want her back that was keeping the fence around her heart from being breached.

She moved behind him and cuffed his wrists together. “It’s not like that in male revues. You’re encouraged to touch the dancers.” She slid her hands up his arms and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m aware of that,” he said with a half laugh. “I try to keep out of hand’s reach of the grabbier ones.”

“Oh yeah.” Anya smacked her forehead. “I forgot you’re a stripper.”

Craning his head around, he stared at her. “How could you forget? That’s where I was tonight.”

“I don’t know,” Anya said. “You’re such a presence here at Couture. I see you more as Chuck Norris and Quentin Tarantino all rolled up into one.”

“You see me as a martial artist and a filmmaker?” He had turned around, but his voice was incredulous. Clint swallowed hard and shook his head. “As if I needed any more proof how perfect you are.”

“I said that, didn’t I?” She nibbled on his ear.

The handcuffs clanked as he pulled on them. “You’re taking advantage of me being tied up.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am.”

“Just remember, turnabout is fair play.” He sent a smoldering glance at her.

She leaned in to rub her hands down his chest. Turning his head, Clint nuzzled her breast and she let out a soft moan. “So are you going to help me through this?” she breathed. “Since you’re the expert?”

“Press play on my stereo. It should be set to Internet radio. Pick a channel—I’ve got a Switchblade one. And start to dance.”

Anya flicked through the songs. She had to admire his setup. Those speakers were top-of-the-line. She was stalling. When she peeked at Clint under her eyelashes, he was looking at her like she was an ice-cream cone on a hot day. She might not have felt ridiculous, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous. She could pretend she was on the runway. Or that she was dancing by herself. But she didn’t want to waste a minute on this pretending. She wanted reality. And the reality was that they were alone in his bedroom. And hey, he was tied up. If worse came to worse, she could just run away. The thought made her snicker.

“Naked men don’t like to be laughed at,” he teased.

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at me. You’re making me do this and I can’t believe I’m considering it.”

“Am I pushing too hard?”

Anya shook her head. “No, but we never came up with a safe word.”

Clint grinned. “We’re not getting deep enough right now that you need one. ‘No’ is enough. So is ‘stop.’ And you’re stalling. What are you afraid of?”

She put on the music. Honesty was easier with her favorite song playing in the background. “I’m afraid you’re going to see that I’m fat. My clothes do a good deal of camouflaging the truth, but I jiggle in places I shouldn’t and I’m puffy in others. I’m afraid you’re going to stop looking at me like you want to devour me when you see me as I really am.”

Clint swallowed. “Start dancing and I’ll tell you what I see. Move your hips to the bass line.”

Anya found it easier to look him dead in the eye, because he was so damn perfect. Shaking with nerves, desire, and a little bit of fear, she let the music guide her hips. She lifted her thick hair up off her neck and let it slowly drop between her fingers.

“I see your eyes, so dark and deep. I see your hair splayed out like that and it makes me think what it’s going to look like on my pillow. I notice your lips, so red and full. I want to taste them again.” Clint moved and the handcuffs rattled.

Unbuttoning her shirt, one slow button at a time, Anya walked closer to him. Swaying her hips, she shrugged a shoulder out of the blouse.

“I see your shoulder and I want to bite it.”

She laughed.

“That’s it, move those hips. I’m admiring your boots. I want them wrapped around my waist.”

Anya danced a bit, losing her self-consciousness in the beat of one of her favorite songs.

“Shake that ass,” Clint said. “I’m remembering you’re not wearing panties under that tight skirt and I want you to sit on my cock and shake like that.”

Anya swallowed and looked at his member, thick and large. She wanted it too. Taking the end of the tank top in her hands, she tore it up and over her head.

“Yes,” Clint hissed. “I’ve been waiting to enjoy those all night. Dance, baby, let me see how they move.”

Anya danced closer until her boots brushed his shins.

His eyes half closed. “When you’re on my cock,” he said, “I’m going to take off the clamps and suck on your nipples.”

The desire that had been threading through her since the song began spiked into a need. Unzipping her skirt, she let it fall and kicked it away.

Clint groaned. “Come here,” he begged.

She straddled his knees and swayed close so her breasts brushed his face. He kissed them softly. Tingles swirled through her. Rational thought was fleeing beneath the sensual haze.

“Uncuff me,” he growled.

Anya shook her head. She sat on his lap, his cock between their naked flesh. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she rubbed her chest up his.

“Put me inside you then,” he said, trapping her mouth with his.

As soon as his lips touched her, she lost control. It was too much. She needed him. Needed the hard drive of his body. Fumbling, she tried to get the right angle.

Tearing her lips away, she cried out. All she was managing to do was rub the tip of him against her wetness. He’d thrust and throw off her aim. Stumbling back, she said, “I’ll get the key.”

Clint stood up, his hands still cuffed behind him. “I got this. Come here.”

He lay back on the bed and with impressive flexibility moved his cuffed hands under his ass. Tucking his knees up, he slid his cuffed hands down his legs. Now his hands were cuffed in front of him. Anya had made it to the bed, crawling toward him.

“Get on me,” he ordered, lying flat on his back.

Anya didn’t have to be told twice. She sheathed him on the first try and sank down to get him as deep as she could get. She didn’t care about her weight or that she might be crushing him. Just the final press of his cock in her had the orgasm cresting around her.

He tugged off the clamps and she cried out. His hands were rough on her breasts. She was sensitive, but it felt so good. Bouncing on him made them shake harder. He filled her, stretched her until her breath escaped on a sob.

“Give it to me,” Clint ordered. “Come on my cock. Use it to get off.”

“I did,” she panted.

“Do it again,” he demanded, raising his hips to hers.

“Oh.” She sighed and held on to his shoulders. She guided herself up and down, so he hit all the right spots on her.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, putting his cuffed hands over her head and sliding them down her back. Leaning up, he took her nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue over it.

“Yes,” she gritted out, squeezing him. “Just like that.”

He went to the other breast, grazing his teeth and sucking hard.

Anya’s body was quaking. She was moaning his name over and over again. The intense rush of pleasure nearly drowned her as she gave him what he wanted and drenched him as she came a second time.

Kissing up her chest, Clint moved his cuffed wrists up and rolled, and she was on her back. Still inside her, he lifted her legs so her boots rested on his chest. Then he leaned in, bending her, so his cuffed hands were at the top of her head.

Still recovering, Anya quivered as he plunged deeper. “This is what I wanted since I first saw you,” he grunted out. “Dazed from coming on my cock. Me fucking you until I come, looking into your beautiful eyes. Anya,” he cried out as his thrusts grew more and more frantic.

Anya was moaning with him. The slap of his body against hers, his thickness stretching her, tapping all the right places. They rocked toward oblivion and Anya reached the pinnacle for the third time and screamed in shock, pleasure, and need. He filled her and roared her name as his climax drove into her.

They lay panting against each other. Clint’s weight pinned her to the bed, but she didn’t think she could move a muscle. He kissed her slowly, his cock still inside her. Anya’s hands kneaded his backside. She would never get enough of him, of this.

“Hey,” she whispered when his lips left hers to plunder her throat. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he muttered against her neck, his beard and teeth sending shock waves of pleasure through her.

“Truth?” She laughed. “I would have pegged you for a dare.”

He leaned up on his elbows. “I told you. Truth is more dangerous than a dare.”

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” she asked. She wondered if they had a future together, wondered if she would be a part of his.

“Are you interviewing me for a job?” he countered. Distracted for a moment by her breasts, he nuzzled them while she played with his hair. “I’m going to own my own bar. I’m not going to strip anymore. I’ll still work at Club Inferno for fun, and…” He picked his head up and stared at her dead in the eyes. “I’ll be married to you.”

Anya’s body froze. Her eyes went wide. Her breath left her in a whoosh. What happens when a wish comes true? Do you believe in it? “Clint, I don’t even know where I’m going to be in five years.”

He shrugged. “That’s okay.”

She had been expecting him to say he’d own the bar. She had hoped he’d say that they would still be in each other’s lives. But married? Anya needed a minute. He hadn’t even said he loved her. Did that mean he loved her? Did she love him? Was this another dungeon game? If she called him a liar, would he laugh and then she’d get to have him perform a sex act on her? It shouldn’t have been this complicated. A panic attack was starting low in her gut.

“Truth or dare?” Clint said, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

“Dare,” she practically screeched out.

He gave an evil laugh that made her squint down at him.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to wear another surprise of mine.”

“What is it?” she asked.

Clint just pulled the covers around them both and snuggled her close.

“Clint?”

Would it kill him to say “I love you”?

“What kind of surprise?”

But his breathing had deepened and she didn’t want to disturb him. Soon, he was snoring lightly into her shoulder. There were worse ways to spend the night. But she couldn’t sleep. She cuddled against him and enjoyed his warmth, but her mind was going too fast.

Creeping into his bathroom, she looked around but he didn’t have a scale. She padded over to where she’d tossed her purse and retrieved her phone. Turning it on, she winced at all the missed messages and texts. She smiled at Clint’s but then frowned at the other messages.

Call me.

It is imperative that I speak to you.

Please call me, cara mia, it’s important.

Three texts from Cesare. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. She didn’t dare call him now. Would his wife answer? She unzipped her boots and massaged her feet. Would Rita? Rolling her ankles, Anya thought about what he could possibly want.

Fuck it.

She dialed the phone. It went to voice mail. She hung up. Then she texted Trey:
Lost another five lbs!

A text message came through almost immediately afterward. Expecting Trey, she almost dropped the phone when she saw it was Cesare.

My mother is very sick. I’m leaving my wife. I want you back.

Anya stared at the words. She had wanted to hear them for so long. At one low point in her life, she had even considered being his mistress. There were so many responses she could make. The quickest one was probably the best.

No.

Then she went back to bed with her handsome lover and fell asleep in his arms.