Unexpected Angel (4 page)

Why
is she all of a sudden worried about whether or not my mind is capable of processing the scene she'd thrown me into now that I am interested in talking to someone when she thought it perfectly acceptable when it was a girls' night out?

“
Yes.
I'm sure I'll be fine. If it'll make you feel better, I'll text you every five minutes to let you know I'm still alive.” I can only imagine what Dylan has to be thinking at this point, knowing that I am so sheltered my own friends didn't trust me to have a drink with someone. “Besides, we've already talked about it and he assured me he's not a serial killer.”

Dylan laughs
at this statement and I shiver at the rich sound. “Look, I'm not trying to convince her to go play; I'm going to have a drink with a beautiful woman. I'll make sure she checks in with you and your friends. Who knows? After we talk for a few minutes, she might get sick of me and be right back. On the other hand, she might decide she likes the company and we'll both join you. Sound fair?”

It
isn’t often that someone can render Holly is speechless and yet she stands next to me trying to figure out how to respond. With the exception of my decision earlier in the night to act on impulse and get my first piercing, I am notorious for allowing people to walk all over me, and keeping my opinions to myself. I wish I were able to sound as confident and self-assured as Dylan had when he told Holly exactly how he saw the night going.

Holly
leans in to give me a quick hug. “Remember what I told you. Text me if you need me, be careful,” she whispers before glaring at Dylan. “Don't think I won't have eyes watching you,” she warns.

“I wouldn't e
xpect anything less,” he laughs. As Holly storms away, Dylan slides his hand to the small of my back, pulling me close to him. “Come on, Precious. I owe you a drink.”

(Dylan)

Not only
is she drop dead gorgeous with legs I can easily imagine wrapped around me while I bury myself inside her tight little body, she is feisty when she wants to be. Not bitchy, just sarcastic and playful. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that she works to repress this side of her, and I don’t like it. More than anything, I want to protect her. The stark contrast of the different sides to her personality does nothing to help me fight the hard on growing behind my zipper.

When she starts
walking across the dance floor, I grab her hand. “Come on, Precious. We’re going this way.” I pull her down the narrow hallway joining the front and back areas of the club. As much as I hate the playroom, she
is
here on Leather & Lace night. If I have to be here, might as well see how comfortable the girl is with some of the concepts. If she’s repulsed, well, I will buy her a drink, enjoy a few minutes in her company, and then say goodnight. If she’s intrigued, then it’s game-on.

It
doesn’t matter if she begs me, there is no way I will lead her up the three steps into the back room. There is a time and a place for play and I know she has already had too much to drink to consider it. Submission is something that the Dom needs to earn and given by the sub when she is fully lucid. As far as I’m concerned, that can’t happen if alcohol is involved.

“I thought we
were getting a drink?” She asks, trying to pull her hand out of mine. I tighten my grip, unwilling to let her slip away from me just yet.

“We are, P
recious. But we'll sit at the back bar. There are fewer people and the drinks are stronger. Come.”

No doubt stronger so
that people can drink enough to work up the courage to play. Fucking Vic…

She stops in place at my command.
She isn’t blindly following me. Another mark in her favor. One of my biggest turn-offs is a woman who thinks she knows what I want from the moment she meets me, to the point where I could tell her to go play in traffic on the highway and she would because I told her to. I’m not one of these assholes who like to dominate just for shits and giggles. I want to know that I’ve earned her respect and submission.

I smile
when I see her move closer to me, her fingers easing in my grip. Once she knows she is safe, this beauty will be mine.

(Tasha)

While not as busy as the main bar, there
are still plenty of people sitting at and standing around the back bar. It doesn’t take long for me to realize what draws people to this bar as opposed to the other. Where most bars have mirrors and displays with the higher quality alcohols behind the bar, this one has openings resembling windows without glass, affording voyeurs front row seats to the disturbing scenes taking place in the other room.

As Dylan
helps me onto a stool that, following a short conversation between him and another male, is now vacant, I tell myself I will avert my eyes. I have already seen more physical torture than I planned to see in my entire life, I don’t need to see more. And yet, as we wait for our drinks I can’t help but watch someone new, this time a young male, assuming the position to have his arms bound to the top of the cross.

“Have you ever seen that be
fore, Precious?” Dylan whispers into my ear, pointing to the man who is now moving into position in front of the wooden X. I am growing irritated by him calling me 'Precious' repeatedly but figure it is something he does when he can’t be bothered to remember a woman's name. This doesn’t seem like the type of place where names matter, and given his earlier warning, it is apparent he is a frequent visitor.

My eyes
widen as I see a man wearing only what looks to be a leather thong as he spreads his legs so someone can chain them to the bottom pieces of the cross. It’s fascinating to me that while leather cuffs tightly secure his arms to the wood, there is more room for movement with the chains near the floor. I shake my head, unable to turn to look at Dylan, who is now standing behind me with his broad hands resting on my shoulders.

“Do yo
u like what you see?” I shiver as his breath crosses my bare neck. His thumbs brush gently along the back of my neck making me feel things I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before. I want to take offense at everything about my evening and yet I am captivated.

“I... I'm not sure,” I admit
, turning and forcing myself to look at him. Part of me wants to tell him I am repulsed by what is taking place because that’s how I think I should be feeling. The other part of me doesn’t want to say a word because my body is reacting in a way that is far from being disgusted. The back bar area isn’t as dark as the rest of the building; I can see that his eyes are so dark they remind me of a cup of espresso served in a pristine white cup. “Why would anyone do something like that?” I ask, pointing to the back room.

Dylan chuckles
, wrapping one arm around the front of my neck so both hands are resting on the same shoulder. “There's not always one right answer. The only thing I can tell you is everything that goes on back there is consensual. No one is ever forced to do anything they aren't willing to do. At that point, does it really matter why they're doing it?”

“Well, no. I mean, they can do whatever they want, but why would they
want
to let someone do that to them? And in public, no less.” Insecurity starts filling my chest. Here I am with a devastatingly handsome man and I am coming across as a prude. I’ve read about things like this plenty of times since being introduced to steamier novels thanks to a certain series that took the world by storm, but that was fiction; something that didn't happen in real life. Now, with it taking place directly in front of me, I realize it’s not something that happens in twisted fairy tales where the domineering, beautiful gazillionaire saves the naïve young woman.

“Again, there's not really one answer that covers all the reasons other than the one I just gave you. Come with me. There's something I want to show you.” Looking around, I
am terrified of what he plans to show me.
No, he said no one is forced to do anything.
I finish my drink and slide off the high stool. He reaches for my hand, gently kissing my fingertips before leading me away from the bar. “We need to tell your friends we're leaving.”

I whip
my head in his direction, certain I misheard him. “Leaving? You have to be nuts if you think I'm going to leave with a complete stranger.”

“But I'm not a stranger. And I've already promised you I have no plans to kill you, so you
have nothing to worry about.” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear allowing his fingertips to graze lightly down the side of my neck. “Trust me. You're on overload here and there's somewhere I would like to take you. Come on, Precious, let's go tell your friends you're leaving with me.”

“Tasha,” I
snap.

“Excuse me?” He stops
in his tracks, turning to look at me.

“My name is Tasha.” How
can he expect me to go anywhere with him if he can’t be bothered to know my name? And what does it say about him that he seems confident I will leave with him at all? Is that the caliber of women he is used to dealing with on a nightly basis?

He responds
by pulling me in close to him and laughing. He presses his lips to the top of my head before tilting my face so our eyes met. “I know your name, Tasha. I also know that you're precious, something to be cherished. And if I have any say in it, that's exactly what you will be.”

“Does that
really work on women?” I roll my eyes, realizing that I managed to attract what is surely one of the biggest players in the club tonight.

“Don't know, but I'll tell you in the morning.” He
brings the palm of his hand up to his forehead. “Okay, now
that
came out sounding like a bad pick-up line. I'm sorry. If  I'm telling you whether or not that line worked in the morning, I promise you it will be because you've trusted me enough to give me your phone number, in which case I will be able to text you and let you know. Now, let's find your friends.”

I’ve
never met anyone so sure of himself. Normally, men like Dylan come across as so arrogant I run the other way. Nick was the complete opposite of Dylan: moody, quiet, and predictable. At least that’s how he was most of the time, when he wasn’t busy telling me that I was an immature fool for having dreams and wanting to pursue them.

No, you are not going to start comparing every man to
Nick. If he were so perfect, you wouldn't be here tonight “celebrating” your divorce.

“I really do need to get back to them. They all came out tonight to help me celebrate and now
I've run off with you.” I look behind me to see my friends staring at us, huddled together, and more than likely taking bets on whether I am going to bail on them with the pillar of walking sex next to me. Part of me really wants to. Not because he’s a gorgeous man offering to take me to some mystery location, but because I need to figure out how I feel about what I learned about my friends tonight. “Rain check?”

“What are you celebrating? I'm sorry if I pulled you away from
your own party.” He truly looks remorseful and I feel foolish for making a big deal about it. The fact that I now have to tell him only amplifies that feeling.

“Um, it's stupid, really.” I
don’t want to tell him that we are celebrating my freedom. Newly divorced women aren't normally something most men want to deal with. Most women who've just gone through that are bitter and damaged, at least for a while. For me, it was more like saying goodbye to the roommate from hell, the one I was stuck with until our lease came up for renewal. The only thing that changed with our signatures on the paperwork is my official relationship status and my last name.

My divorce didn’t break me;
the decade spent with a man who wanted to dictate every facet of my life is what shattered me. Sure, it has been an adjustment to be alone now, for the first time, but it will be for the best in the long run. I just need to keep my head on my shoulders and not fall prey to the first man to show an interest in me. Especially not when that man is as charismatic as Dylan is.

“Precious, if it's worth celebrating, it's not stupid. And obviously your friends don't think it's stupid since they're here with you.” His voice
is almost gentle now, barely audible over the techno beats filling the air.

“You have to promise you're not going to laugh or run
the other way if I tell you.” I’m not sure which reaction scares me more. Despite the fact that he is extremely forward, I want to get to know Dylan better. There is no harm in that, right?