Pleasure's Edge (17 page)

“I’m sure you can. So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is me.”

He paused, drank some more of the beer down. Dante stayed quiet, giving him time to work it out in his head. One of the reasons they were friends was that sort of easy respect for each other, that immediate understanding.

Alec set his glass down on the bar a little too hard. “Okay. Okay.

This is it. I like this woman. I like her a lot. And that is total y fucking with me.”

“You like every woman you play, Alec. You keep it friendly, just like I do. Why would that mess with you?”

“Good question.”

Dante was watching him, and Alec knew he was looking for more answers. Hel , so was he.

Dante leaned his elbows on the bar. “Come on, Alec. Let’s get down to the root of this. You like this woman, you’ve played her, like you have dozens of others. What’s different?”

“Everything.” He blew out a long breath, kept his gaze on his beer, his fingers tapping the damp glass. “Every single thing. It’s not just her body, which is fucking flawless. Or the sex, which is incredible. Or the way she submits to me, even. It’s the whole package. It goes beyond the physical. I can’t believe I’m saying that. But it’s true.

“I feel like I’m losing it with this woman. I think about her too damned much. I want her with me al the time. And when she is, it’s this ridiculous struggle to hang on to any sense of control, and then I need her to be gone so I can get myself back together. I don’t like it. I’m pretty disgusted with myself. I feel like a god-damned teenager, if you want to know the truth.”

When he looked up Dante was grinning at him.

“What?” He was annoyed now. He’d just poured his guts out, damn it.

“You real y like this woman.”

“I already said that.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Fuck,” Alec muttered. “I just want to keep things status quo. I want to play her, then send her home and do my usual thing. Work.

Whatever. I haven’t been able to write the last few days. And this morning I sent her home after a night of play and I have no idea if she was ready to be on her own yet. She was a little glazed stil , to be honest, and it was damn irresponsible of me to put her in a cab.”

“Do you think she’s okay?”

“Yes. She’s probably fine. I told her to cal me if she felt shaky.

She’s pretty self-reliant, though, and I don’t know if she’d cal even if she needed to. So that’s real y not good enough, is it?”

“Alec, you can stop kicking yourself. How often do you keep a woman with you al day, no matter how hard you play her? You always send them home eventual y. So do I. Have you talked to her today? Checked in?”

“No. I told her I would.”

Dante glanced at his watch, then back at Alec and shrugged.

“Yeah, I know. I’l cal her. I am not the jerk dom. We don’t operate like that, people like you and me, who play at this level.

I’ve given lectures on how to be a responsible top, for God’s sake.

How
not
to be a jerk.”

He was acting like a jerk with Dylan. He just had to figure out why. And meanwhile, he had to stop behaving this way. Being less than completely responsible for a woman he played.

“Are you going to keep seeing her?” Dante asked.

“Yes.”

“Al right. I know you’l do what you need to. What’s right.”

“I always do. I just need to . . . get this under control. Maybe I need to take a break from her.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you need to keep seeing her until you figure things out. I can’t decide that for you.”

“I know. Thanks for coming, Dante.”

“Anytime.” Dante threw back the rest of his beer, set the empty glass on the bar. “You al right?”

“I’m fine. I’l be fine.”

Dante clapped him on the back as he stood. “Give me a cal , let me know how it goes.”

“I wil .”

He finished his beer before heading outside, pul ing the col ar of his leather jacket up around his neck against the rain. He took in a deep lungful of the night air, the scents of damp pavement and exhaust from the traffic going by, and behind it, the salt scent of the ocean a few blocks away.

He meant to go to his car, to pul out his cel phone and cal her.

But he found himself walking. His hair was getting wet, the rain dripping into his col ar, but he didn’t care. Block after block, the buildings and the people going by in a blur. He didn’t know what he was doing, exactly. He just needed to shut down his brain, to walk off the tension and the uncertainty and the anger at himself.

When he made his way back to his car it was after ten and he was soaked through, the legs of his jeans sopping wet. It would play hel on his leather seats, but he slid into the car anyway, starting the engine and slipping his jacket off.

He drove north, then west, heading toward the Space Needle, tel ing himself he wasn’t going there because Dylan lived in Bel town, in the shadow of the Needle.

He passed by the old brick building where she had her loft and slowed to look up at the fourth floor. The lights were on, but he couldn’t see anything else through the tal windows. What the hel had he wanted to see, anyway?

Her.

Fuck.

He hit the gas and drove on, his pulse hammering in his veins.

Somehow he ended up in front of the Pleasure Dome.

He parked, went inside. It was warmer in the club, the lights and the music a dim pulse-beat. Womblike.

He didn’t bother to check his wet coat, just took it off and went immediately into the big main room, carrying it. There weren’t a lot of people there; the beginning of the week was always quiet. He didn’t mind. Al he needed was to be there. To . . . what?

He walked across the half-dark room, nodding a greeting to several familiar faces, and headed for an empty couch across the room where he could sit and watch the action.

A dom he was acquainted with was setting up one of the large bondage frames, looping white rope through the eyebolts set into the wood. Alec rarely used white rope himself. He preferred the aesthetics of black or red. And bondage wasn’t his biggest kink, anyway. He liked using sensation play. But he’d do whatever pul ed the most response from a bottom. It was al about their needs, anyway, wasn’t it?

Dylan’s face, that lovely, delicate bone structure, those enormous, clear gray eyes, popped into his head, but he quickly shut it down.

Don’t think about her.

He needed distraction. Wasn’t that why he’d come here tonight?

And he’d brought his toy bag in with him. If he didn’t intend to play, why would he have bothered?

He got up and wandered upstairs, to the part of the club that held a dance floor. It was a raised platform with flashing lights and three stripper poles. And just as he’d expected, there were two women dancing on the poles, a tal blonde he’d seen at the club before, and a petite woman with golden skin and a long cascade of black hair. They were both dressed in the skintight outfits and soaring stiletto-heeled shoes that were common dress for the women at the club.

He glanced around to see if they were dancing for the entertainment of a particular dom, but he was the only man in the room paying attention; they were free.

He took a chair at the edge of the dance floor and settled in, keeping his gaze on the two girls. It didn’t take them long to notice.

He smiled, nodded his chin at them, giving them permission to approach him.

The blonde went down on her knees immediately; it took the brunette a moment longer. And a few minutes later he’d negotiated with them for an evening of play in one of the private rooms on the third floor.

He led them up the stairs, their heels clattering on the polished wood stairs, then muted by the carpeted hal way. He found an open curtain and led them through. Inside was a padded table with leather wrist and ankle restraints attached, a pair of chains suspended from the ceiling, a spanking bench.

“Down on your knees,” he told them, and they both went down.

He took his time unpacking his toy bag, laying out the floggers on the table; the smal , spiked neuro wheel; the vampire glove; the paddle; the cane. And al the time his heart was a dul thud in his chest.

Why did he feel like he could barely breathe?

He turned to look at them. Good submissives, both of them.

They knelt on the floor, keeping their heads down, their palms turned upward on their parted thighs. Someone had done some training with them. They’d probably play wel . They were gorgeous, especial y together, the contrast of their coloring . . .

But he could not do it.

His hands tightened into fists.

What the hel was wrong with him?

He sighed, ran a hand through his damp hair.

This was fucking ridiculous.

He stood over the two of them, watching them breathe, felt the tension in the air, their anticipation, waited for the old thril to kick in. But it never came. And the longer he stood there, the more anxious he felt. He had to stop this. Had to leave.

Go home.

No, go find her.

Dylan.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry.” It came out in a gruff rumble.

“Sir?” It was the blonde, whispering as though she didn’t dare disturb him.

“I’m sorry,” he said more gently. “I find myself unable to . . . I’m not going to play tonight after al .”

“Did we displease you, sir?”

“No, not at al . Go back downstairs. Some other lucky man wil be happy to find you tonight.”

They both rose to their feet, and the brunette flashed him a look of disappointment over her shoulder as they filed out through the curtained doorway. But he couldn’t think about them now.

He packed up his equipment as quickly as he could, not as mindful as he should be of laying out the flogger tails evenly in the bottom of his black leather bag, avoiding damage. He simply needed to
go
.

He avoided al eye contact as he moved through the club and onto the streets once more. The rain had stopped, final y, but the sky was stil dense with clouds, hiding the moon.

He wished he could hide away. But he had to face this. Had to face Dylan. Had to do something to get her out of his system, maybe.

He got in his car and wove his way through the dark streets, back to the old brick warehouse in Bel town. He cursed when he couldn’t find parking right away, but final y someone pul ed out half a block from her place and he took the spot. He turned the engine off. And sat there.

He didn’t even know how late it was. Maybe he should cal her first.

When was the last time he’d questioned his actions like this?

He swore under his breath as he got out, slamming the car door behind him, and stalked back down the street to her building.

There was a locked gate, of course. He scanned the names on the cal box next to it, found her number and hit the buzzer. Silence. He buzzed again. Ran a hand over his beard as he waited. He stepped back from the gate, into the street, looked up, and saw a light go on in her loft.

“Yes?” he heard from the intercom.

He bolted back to the gate.

“Dylan.”

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Alec.”

There was a long pause. Then, “It’s almost midnight.”

“I know. I’d like to come up.”

He sounded a hel of a lot calmer than he felt. Actual y, he felt like a damn stalker.

“I’m buzzing you in.”

He grabbed the gate and let it clang shut behind him, got in the elevator and took it to the fourth floor. It seemed to take forever before the door swung open and he stepped into the wide hal way outside her apartment.

Her door opened and there she was, her red curls mussed, her face a little pale. But her ful mouth was as lush and red as ever.

She was dressed in a short, white nightgown made of old-fashioned white eyelet. Almost absurd how innocent it was on her, the shadows of her dark nipples showing through the thin fabric.

Pornographic. The nightgown and her bare feet, which looked oddly naked to him, the toenails painted a sweet baby pink.

“You were asleep,” he said, only partial y contrite. He’d
needed
to see her.

“I . . . yes. It’s okay. Do you want to come in?” She took a step back, and he moved forward. He had a vague impression of her apartment, lit by a single lamp somewhere, casting shadows on the smooth expanse of wood floors. The light shone through her nightgown, il uminating her slender body. He could just make out the shadow at the juncture of her thighs.

He hadn’t meant to do it, exactly, but he was on her in a moment, his arms crushing her to him, his mouth coming down on hers. Her lips were so sweet, plush. And her breasts crushed up against him; the perfume of her hair was nearly unbearable.

She opened her lips to his, and his tongue slipped into her mouth. His hands moved down to her ass, cupping it, and she sighed when he pinched the flesh there through the fabric.

He was rock hard, but it was more than that. He felt a sense of desperation that he didn’t want to question. He was al driving need. And she was responding, sighing into his mouth, her hips arcing into his thigh. And he swore he could feel the heat of her little mound through the denim of his jeans.

He pushed her back, into the apartment, until he found the sofa.

He pushed her down on it, turning her around so that she was on her hands and knees on the cushions, pushed her pretty white nightgown up around her waist.