Текст книги "Dangerously Bound"

Автор книги: Eden Bradley

Соавторы: Eden Bradley
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The sex and seduction was easier. There she knew herself. There she was on solid ground. Right now she wasn’t sure what to expect.

Calm down. He invited you here—to his home, to his bed.

She watched as he shucked off his T-shirt, and even in her emotional state she couldn’t help but admire his broad shoulders, the bulging biceps, the taut lines of his abs. She couldn’t help notice once more the long scar running over his ribs that still looked raw and angry, even after all these years. It still hurt her to see it, to know the anguish the accident had caused him. But somehow it just made him sexier. Why were scars so hot on a man?

He climbed in next to her in the dark blue sweats he’d been wearing when she’d arrived. He slid an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close, sitting back against the pillows piled against the wall behind them. It felt good to be close to him, to feel the reassuring strength of his big body next to hers. But it still felt a little strange, more intimate than the things they’d done at the club together. More real.

“Travel TV, still?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you remember.”

“I remember a lot, Allie.”

She let herself relax a little into him. He flicked on the flat screen television with the remote and found her channel. They watched in silence a piece on California’s Mendocino Coast, and as the narrator’s voice spoke about the rugged beauty of the cliffs, the sea lions swimming off the shore, her shoulders loosened and she leaned into Mick’s arm around her.

After a while Mick muted the volume and said quietly, “Tell me about your dad, Allie.”

Her body instinctively stiffened for a moment. It made sense that he’d ask after what she’d said, but she still hesitated. “My dad?”

Mick tugged her closer. “I’ve known you all these years and that’s the one thing you never really talked to me about. I know he died when you were a kid, I know he was a musician. I know your mom adored him, and still does. But you’ve never told me much more than that. Since it came up tonight, I thought this might be a good time to tell me.”

“Maybe.” She had to digest the idea for a few moments. “My dad was . . . I sort of idolized him, I guess,” she said, the words trying to stick in her throat. “He spent a lot of time with me growing up, but I think you already knew that. And I guess what you want to know is how his . . . death affected me.”

“Only because it obviously still does. And this is not just me being the Dom getting to know the psychology of his partner. This is me, Allie. And if we’re going to get closer . . . well, it seems we are.” He paused, and she looked up to see him blink a few times. “Yeah. We are. So we have to build trust.”

“I know.” She paused, swallowed the ache in her chest that was partly from thinking about her dad and partly from Mick caring about her and being willing to show it. Being willing to admit that the two of them being together was possibly going somewhere. But that was too much to think about and have this discussion at the same time.

“I don’t talk about this,” she said, her fingers picking at the edge of the cotton sheet, her gaze focused there. “Not with anyone. But you’re right. I have to. And it’s you. Even though we’re in kind of a scary place right now, I still understand we’ve known each other forever.

“So . . . you know that it was mostly Dad who got me ready in the mornings while Mama was at the bakery. He would play the piano for me sometimes while I was eating breakfast, or brushing my teeth—sometimes it would be a classical piece, sometimes jazz. Sometimes just silly stuff, cartoon music. That last morning . . . he was playing Mozart’s Piano Concerto number twenty-one. I’m sure you’ve heard it. It’s a light piece. Supposed to be cheerful. Well.”

She stopped to draw in a long breath. She wasn’t sure how to say the words out loud. “That morning . . . the music stopped suddenly, and I came downstairs demanding that he play some ragtime for me, which I did a lot. I just skipped into the room and . . .” She stopped again, swallowed hard. “He was sort of slumped over the piano.” She had to close her eyes. She could see him there, his blue striped shirt, his dark hair shining in the morning sun streaming through her mother’s lace curtains, the pattern of light and shadow it made on the floor. She drew in another breath and went on. “Even in my ten-year-old brain I knew right away he was gone. That he wasn’t coming back. I started screaming. Apparently a neighbor heard me, because suddenly there were a lot of people in the house. I don’t remember much more after that.” She stopped and gulped past the hard lump in her throat, tightening her chest. “All I knew—all I believed—for a long time after was that he’d left me.”

Mick tightened his arms around her. “Jesus, baby. Poor girl.”

She shook her head—or tried to, which was difficult being held so hard against his muscled shoulder. “Don’t, Mick.”

“Don’t what? Feel bad that you had to go through that?”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t feel sorry for myself. Life happens, right? Everyone’s gone through something difficult.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But not that.” His voice was rough. “No one should have to go through that. I get that you’d probably carry those feelings with you through your life. And I guess I get how you might have felt the same way when I didn’t call you, that it would have been a trigger. If I’d known more . . . maybe . . .”

They both let the sentence fade and quiet descend as they held each other.

It had felt good to tell him, somehow. And bad, like opening an old wound that would now have to grow a new scab. But if things were going to continue between them, she was going to have to get used to being vulnerable with him. It was different with Mick than it was with the other Doms she’d played with, the men she’d had relationships with. Mick knew her in ways no one else did, and that made the rawness all the more wide open. She didn’t like that part.

She sniffed, rubbed at the makeup that had undoubtedly run under her eyes.

“Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me something now?” she asked.

“What?”

“I sort of feel like I’ve just laid my soul out to you on a platter, and I’d feel a lot better if you did a little of the same with me.”

He shifted her in his arms so he could see her face.

“Really? That’s the only thing that’ll make you feel better?” he lowered his voice an octave. “What about this?”

He leaned in and kissed her softly, his lips pressing to hers, then pressing again, gently, sweetly.

“That’s nice, too,” she admitted.

“Tell me if this is any better.”

He kissed her again, this time teasing her lips open with his tongue. He slid the tip of his tongue between her lips, giving her just a taste before pulling away. Cupping her face in his hands he did it once more, this time sliding in farther, pulling back, doing it again, a lovely tease that built desire in her body like a slowly heating flame. She couldn’t help but moan. Couldn’t help the way her body—her need—betrayed her.

There would be time to talk later. For now, there was Mick. She’d never been able to resist.

CHAPTER Nine

HIS HANDS SLID down to her shoulders, and he kissed her lips, her cheek, her neck, as he slipped her tank top over her head. One strong arm wrapped around her back and he unhooked her bra, and that came off, too. His mouth was on hers once more as he pulled her in close, sliding down into the sheets with her. He held her in his arms, their bodies pressed close, until she could feel his erection against her belly. The gears had shifted, her mind emptying out, her body filling with desire, her sex aching and wet.

“Here, baby girl,” he said, kicking his way out of his sweats, then helping her slide her underwear off before rolling her onto her back and climbing on top of her.

God, his body felt so damn good, the weight of him pressing her down. He folded her fingers into his, raised her arms over her head and held her there while he kissed her, teasing her with lips and tongue and teeth while his hard cock pressed into her abdomen, his hard thigh pressing against her swollen mound.

“Come on, Mick,” she begged.

“Shh, baby. Just lie here and take it for now.”

No, she’d never been able to resist him. Certainly not his command. Her body responded even before her brain did, her muscles going lax.

“Perfect,” he murmured before bending to kiss her neck, to bite there. Then lower until his teeth were grazing her nipple, making it go hard, making her muscles go limp with need.

His teeth grazed her skin as his mouth traveled all over her breasts—light nibbling at first that gradually built to harder nips. The bites were quick, leaving tiny shots of pain behind, creating a lancing pattern of sensation all over her breasts. Her nipples were so damn hard they hurt, aching to be touched. Begging for the pain.

He moved down her side, over her rib cage, down to the tender skin at her waist. He bit her there hard, his teeth sinking in, making her yelp.

“Oh!”

“Does this hurt you, baby?” he asked, his voice muted, his mouth a breath away from her body.

“Yes,” she moaned.

“But you like it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Do you want more? Tell me.”

“Yes, please, Mick.”

He kissed the sore spot where he’d last bitten her, making her sigh with pleasure. “Your skin tastes like fucking heaven, baby girl. I’m going to bite you hard now. I’m going to eat you up. And you must hold very still for me. Don’t make me tie you up. If you do, there will be consequences.”

Consequences.

Oh . . .

Her sex clenched, went soaking wet at the thought.

He bent and sank his teeth hard into her flesh, right at the curve of her waist, and she had to breathe through the pain. It was exquisite, searing, and followed quickly by a lovely rush of endorphins. He bit again, a little higher—the fragile skin over her ribs—and this time the pain was more severe. She gasped, tried to breathe through it.

“You can take it. Come on, baby. For me.”

She nodded, forced her body to calm, waited for the next bite.

This time it was the underside of her breast, and he bit down hard.

“Ah, God!”

Her fingers dug into the bedclothes until her knuckles ached, but somehow she managed not to move as she struggled between her body’s natural instinct for flight and the desire to please, between the pain and the shimmering, tenuous pleasure of the chemicals beginning to seep into her brain.

He held on, her flesh gripped between his sharp teeth, and the pain threatened to overwhelm her.

“Mick . . .”

He bit harder, and a tear slid down her cheek. She was panting, trying to convert the pain to pleasure. After a few difficult moments it worked, and she was rewarded by a flood of endorphins. She went limp with it, let her body process the intense pain and the even more powerful pleasure. The powerful sensation of Mick doing these things to her. The lovely, sweet sensation as he lapped at the bite with his soft tongue.

He finally pulled away and knelt over her, looking down at her. He didn’t say anything, but she knew from his expression he was pleased with her. He urged her thighs wide apart with his. She was weak with her need for him. Aching with wanting.

He reached between her thighs, and she arched her hips as his fingers slid into her.

“Love this, baby girl,” he murmured. “Love how damn wet you get. I want to be inside you. To fuck you. And I will.”

He pressed down on one of her thighs with his hand, hard and hurting, and spread her even more, left his hand there, the pressure letting her know he was completely in control. With his other hand he began working her clit, rubbing, tugging, pinching, then moving to push his fingers inside her and pumping a few times before going back to her swollen clitoris.

“Hold still, baby,” he demanded.

She did her best. But pleasure was building inside her, making her dizzy. Finally, she couldn’t take it and she arched her hips hard against his hand. He immediately pulled back.

“Ah, now you know that won’t do, princess.”

He pushed himself off her and leaned over her, reached under the center of the mattress at the top of the bed and pulled up a length of black rope. He pulled her arms up over her head and tied her wrists together so fast she didn’t have time to consider what he was doing. But she instantly sank into the sensation of safety in the arms of his ropes. Her head really began to empty out, and she was vaguely aware of how much easier it would be to take the pain and the orgasm control if she were bound.

He moved around the bed—she couldn’t really see what he was doing, but figured he had ropes attached to the bed frame—and soon he had her ankles tied, legs spread to the corners of the mattress, as well as a doubled length of rope pulled tight across her stomach and over the middle of the bed.

“Better,” he said as he moved back to kneel between her thighs. “I love the way you look like this. Stilled by my ropes. The contrast of the dark rope against your skin, the surrender in your eyes. That just about kills me—I don’t mind telling you that.” He paused, ran a hand down her body—in between her breasts, over her stomach, until his fingers were surging into her once more.

“Oh . . .”

“You know I like to hear that—your sounds of pleasure. Come on, baby, give it to me. Let me take you right to the edge.”

He pumped his fingers—two, maybe three—curving them to hit her G-spot, and she groaned.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

With his other hand he pinched her pussy lips, the pain sending pleasure rocketing through her system.

“Ah, Mick . . . yes . . .”

He thrust hard into her, and her pussy clenched hard around his fingers. He withdrew them.

“Not yet. Breathe for me.”

She did as she was told, pleasure so keen in her body she could barely hold it back, even though he was no longer touching her.

“That’s it. Get it under control. You can do it.”

He pressed into her once more, adding more fingers and spreading them so that it hurt her a little. But pain was pleasure to her, and she had to work to hold back her climax. He held his hand still inside her, his fingers still spread wide. With the other he started to caress her body: her stomach, her breasts, her hips, her thighs, tracing over the bite marks and the tender welts from their previous play. His touch was lovely, his gentle fingertips a sensual contrast to the way he filled her sex with his hand. Desire was sharp, surging hard through her system, and only Mick’s command and his ropes held her orgasm at bay.

He held her there, suspended for endless moments while she took in a breath, let it out, rode that exquisite edge.

“You need to come,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Please.”

“Beg me for it, Allie. Beg for your release. Make me know how much you need it.”

“Oh, God. Please Mick. Let me . . . please make me come. Make me, Goddamn it.”

He laughed as his fingers surged into her, as he bent to suck her hard clit into his mouth.

“Ah!”

She screamed as she came. Screamed his name over and over as pleasure made her shatter, made her shiver. Then made her mutter senselessly as her mind clouded, her body lost in sensation.

“Yes . . . oh, Mick, please . . . yes, that’s it, so good . . . Mmm . . .”

Finally her body calmed, and she was left with tiny sparks of pleasure shimmering through her. Mick pulled away.

“And now, my girl, you are ready for me to fuck you.”

She could only sigh.

Yes . . .

She watched through climax-clouded eyes as he sheathed his thick cock, licking her lips in anticipation. He lowered his body over hers, one arm holding him up as he gripped his cock and guided it to her entrance.

“Do you want it, Allie? Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I need you, Mick. Need you to fuck me. Ah . . . yes . . .”

He angled his hips and plunged into her, all at once and hard, filling her with his flesh.

He immediately started with a fast, punishing pace, his hips ramming against hers, his pubic bone slamming into her mound over and over. Above her his face was a concentration of lust, his eyes gleaming, his wicked mouth loose with pleasure. And pleasure filled her every bit as much as his lovely, big cock while she lay helplessly, unable to do anything but accept the pleasure he gave her. Safe in the ropes.

At this moment what happened between them was his responsibility. Under his control. She reveled in that thought. In his hard fucking. In his utter and absolute command over her body.

His hips arched hard, faster and faster, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Pain and pleasure blended, surged together, and once more her body rose toward climax. Pleasure and pleasure, pain and . . . she came in hard, shuddering spasms, stars exploding behind her eyes.

“Mick! God . . .”

“Ah, baby . . . coming, my baby girl . . .”

She felt him shiver, then his hips jerked hard, and he bent to latch on to her neck, his teeth sinking in.

They were both out of control, beings of pure sensation, needing nothing but this moment.

He fell onto her, his weight pressing her down until she could barely breathe. But she wanted it. Needed it.

Needed him.

*   *   *

MICK GASPED FOR air—the power of his orgasm had stolen every bit of breath from his body. He knew he was crushing Allie beneath him, but it was several minutes before he was able to move. Finally he rolled off her, propped himself up on one elbow beside her. She was watching him, her eyes glazed, a sheen of pure gold over the deep brown. Beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed, her full lips that gorgeous dark pink. He leaned down and kissed her mouth, just brushed her lips with his. She was so damn sweet he had to do it again, and then again.

Something in his chest tightened and he pulled back. She blinked, but remained quiet, only the hitching rhythm of her breathing telling him that she felt something, too. Something that went beyond the sex.

No.

But it was the truth, and right now it was too damn hard to hide from, naked as they were, both of them raw and open.

He’d always managed to keep certain parts of himself locked away from the women he played with, slept with. But this was Allie.

“Mick?”

“It’s okay, baby. Let me get you out now.”

He knelt up and untied the doubled rope that held her body down on the bed, swept his palm across her stomach, heard her breath catch as he brushed over the already-bruising bite marks at the curve of her waist. The ropes had left a pattern of shallow indents in her skin, and he smoothed his fingertips over the grooves for a moment before turning to untie her ankles. He did the same there, stroking the rope marks, massaging her feet for a minute or two to ensure the circulation returned, then he massaged her slender ankles, loving the delicacy of the bones there. Finally he moved up, kneeling over her to untie her wrists.

Her arms immediately reached for him, wrapping around his neck as she whispered, “Mick, I need you to hold me. Please.”

He pulled her into his lap and she curled against him, her head on his shoulder. She was all soft, fragrant skin, lean curves and pure yielding girl. He’d never felt any woman’s submission in the way he did with her—giving herself over was so acute because it was something she struggled with. And there was something about her submitting to him. He didn’t think he could fight against it.

He didn’t even know what that meant.

Christ.

His stomach knotted. He wanted to get away. He wanted to never let her go.

He couldn’t let her go yet. He owed her aftercare.

Fuck. He was being an asshole.

What else is new?

Fuck.

She leaned her head back to look up at him. Her eyes had cleared a bit. He shifted her, settling her against the pillows, and sat next to her.

Do what you’re supposed to, damn it.

He reached out and tucked a silky strand of her hair behind her ear. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine. That was . . . amazing.”

“Yeah, it was,” he said truthfully.

Too amazing. Too good.

Panic was a hard flutter in his veins. He tried to swallow it down.

“But now you need to talk to me,” she said, softly but insistently.

“We can talk any time, baby. Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink? I’m getting some Gatorade.”

He got up before she could answer him, and went to the kitchen, where he paced the length of the dark slate floors, his heart slamming into his ribs.

He couldn’t fucking talk to her—not the way she wanted him to.

It was Allie, for God’s sake. He owed her.

No.

Not that. Not anything he wasn’t able to give. And to really be himself? To let go of the reins he’d used for years to hold himself in check, to contain the beast? He just wasn’t capable. He’d always known it. That was why they hadn’t been together all these years. She deserved more.

He needed to calm the fuck down.

He yanked open the brushed-steel refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade, cracked it open and took a few swigs.

He couldn’t leave her alone in there for too long—she was going to wonder.

He pulled in a breath, closed his eyes as he blew it out. What he really needed right now was to go for a long run, to lose himself in the New Orleans heat, in the pumping of his legs and his lungs. Even in the pain from his damn leg—the pain that was always there when he went running. But she was waiting for him, and he had to handle this somehow.

“Okay,” he muttered, scrubbing at his goatee. “Okay.”

He grabbed another Gatorade and went back to the bedroom. Allie was right where he’d left her, her hair a tumble of dark silk around her shoulders, her breasts bare above the sheet she’d pulled up around her waist.

He handed her the Gatorade, pulled his sweatpants back on and sat next to her on the bed.

“Drink some,” he told her. “I want to be sure you’re not dehydrated.”

She opened the bottle and took a few sips.

“Is everything okay, Mick?” she asked.

“What? Sure. Everything’s great. You were perfect.”

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it before letting it go.

“You seem kind of . . . disconnected.”

“I’m right here, baby.”

“Are you?”

He smiled. “Yeah, of course. Hey, I’m going to have to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to catch my plane. I don’t know if you want to stay. You’ll have to be up early with me.”

She looked at him warily. “I’m . . . not sure if you’re asking me to stay or to go.”

“You’re welcome to stay if you want.”

“That wasn’t exactly an answer.”

“Sure it was.”

He was such a liar. And a bad one, at that.

Asshole.

“Jesus, Mick. What’s going on here?” she demanded.

“What do you mean? I’m just saying I still have to finish packing, and I have to be up early. And I thought you were coming over to talk for a while. But now that you’re here and naked in my bed, you can stay if you want to.”

He had to be up early? Fuck, he was a Grade A piece of shit. But the panic inside him had to be quelled.

“Do you want me to?”

“Sure.”

“Wow, that is really not an answer.” She pulled the sheet up to cover her chest. “Tell me what’s going on with you, Mick. Tell me why you’re shutting down on me.”

He shrugged. “Everything’s fine, babe. But I have to get ready for this trip. It’s business. And as much fun as I have with you, I still have stuff to take care of.”

Fun? He felt like such a bastard as the words came out of his mouth. Part of him couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. But the other part—the part that felt the urgent need to escape—couldn’t help it. He didn’t even want to think about the control he’d schooled himself in for years, or the fact that he’d obviously lost it completely.

She threw back the sheet and stood up, rummaging on the floor for her clothes. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“Doing what?” he defended himself, knowing full well it was bullshit.

“I opened my pain up to you, and now you refuse to give me anything back. Is that what we’re doing here, Mick? Is it all about ‘fun’? Because I thought it was something more than that. I thought it was us getting to know each other again.” She paused while she slipped back into her underwear. “How the hell am I supposed to do that when all you do is hide your real self from me? Your truth?”

“I didn’t ask you to open to me like that.”

She straightened up and pulled her tank top over her head. “Didn’t you?”

She was glaring at him. He didn’t blame her.

“Maybe this is my truth, Allie. Maybe this is all I can do. Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years.”

She shook her head. “That is such a cop-out. Poor Mick, so fucked up he hasn’t learned a damn thing about himself in eleven years.”

“I’ve learned to accept who I am,” he said, hating that he sounded so churlish.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? Then why don’t you share it with the class? Who do you think you are?”

“I think I’m fine.”

“Fine?” she challenged. “It must have taken a lot of soul searching to come up with ‘fine.’”

“Christ, Allie. Why does this have to be some psychological examination of me? Why do you have to fucking force it?”

She stood looking at him, a flush coming over her face, her eyes glittering. It was several moments before he realized it wasn’t anger but tears that gleamed there. “That was a horrible thing to say, Mick. Take it back.”

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I know it’s not true.” He got up off the bed, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes, knowing he was the cause. He reached for her hand and leaned in to brush a kiss across her cheek. “Come on. Let’s not argue anymore. Not tonight. Stay with me. Please.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Only if you want me here. If you want me to stay. I can’t do this half-assed thing where I’m the only one who wants me here with you.”

“I do want you here. I really am going to have to pack. But I want you here where I can see you. Talk to you. Touch you.”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t mind the packing.”

He pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers. He wanted to ignore how soft she was, how sweet, but he had to kiss her once more before pulling back.

“I’m going to be gone for a few days. Can we not get into anything heavy right now? We’ll talk more when I get back from my trip. I still . . . obviously have some stuff to wrap my head around.”

“Okay. It can wait,” she agreed.

He wrapped her in his arms and she leaned into him. He didn’t want to think about how good she felt. He didn’t want to think about anything.

“Why don’t you curl up in bed while I pack? You can help me figure out what to take.”

She climbed back into bed in her tank and her panties. She was fucking adorable.

“How have you managed on your own all these years, Mick?”

“Probably by running out of socks on every trip.”

“Men.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re quoting Marie Dawn?”

“Because from her comes the wisdom of the universe,” she said soberly.

“That’s what she keeps telling Neal, anyway.”

Allie laughed, and he felt the knot in his gut loosen a little as he went into his office to grab his suitcase from the closet. It seemed he’d gotten around the tension. For now. But he’d think about that later, after his trip. Right now things were okay with Allie—or at least in a holding pattern—and a little less intense. He had a few days just to chill, which was what he needed.

You need her.

Yeah, that too. Which was why the timing of this trip couldn’t have been better. He couldn’t think straight with Allie this close, this accessible. A few days away would give him perspective.

*   *   *

MAY IN ATLANTA was almost as hot and muggy as New Orleans, but Mick had always liked this town. He was booked into his usual hotel, the Omni—it had a killer view of the Atlanta skyline and was central to his business contacts. And to the local dungeon, 2112, where he was meeting his friend Finn tonight.

He and Finn had met each other on the kink circuit five years earlier, and they hung out together whenever they were in each other’s cities, or at the fetish conventions, where Finn often lectured on BDSM safety and his favorite topic, mind-fuck. He was a true sadist, one of the best Doms Mick had ever seen, and a good friend.

Mick stared out at the incredible view, the city lights a sea of color against the dark sky. The sky was clearer here than in New Orleans. His head was clearer here than in New Orleans.

He’d spoken with Allie several times in the last few days, checking in on her. They’d kept the conversation light. He hadn’t mentioned to her that he was extending his trip by a day or two so he could play at 2112. No, he’d texted a short message to her a few hours earlier saying business was keeping him longer than expected.

He hated that he’d lied to her. But he’d excused it by telling himself that letting her know he was going to play with someone else would only hurt her.

It wasn’t as if he’d promised to play exclusively with her.

He turned from the window and grabbed the keys to his rental car. There was no point in beating himself up about it. He was doing what he needed to in order to get his head on straight. It was that simple. He fucking needed simple.

The drive to 2112 in Atlanta’s historic Adair Park area only took fifteen minutes. He found parking across the street from the club—although from the outside no one would have known what went on behind closed doors.

The place was a beautifully restored Craftsman bungalow set on a large hill lot at the end of the street, three stories of gorgeous old architecture, outfitted from top to bottom for kink. He’d been a number of times before and knew many of the regulars. Still, he’d called Finn and asked him to set up a play partner or two for the night.

He grabbed the small play bag he often took when he traveled from the trunk of the rental car and walked up the long driveway to the house. It was only when he stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door that he could hear the music playing inside.

The ornately carved door was opened by a hulking man in a black leather vest.

“Evening, Mick,” the man greeted him.

“Evening, Richard,” Mick said as he moved past him into the club.

He nodded at the pair of collared subbie girls corseted in white leather at the desk, a matching pair of blondes. 2112 always did it up right.

“Good evening, Mick, Sir,” they chorused.

“We have your online check-in, Sir,” one of them said. “You’re welcome to go on through.”