Текст книги "Playing Hard to Master"

Автор книги: Sparrow Beckett

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Jackass. What the hell was he going to do?

It had only been a few hours, and he already ached to have her again.

*   *   *

It was cold out, but at least there was no wind. Floodlights cast a glare on the dark, mostly empty lot, but the Langly Shipping logo on the side of the new truck stood out even in the poor-quality light. He climbed up into the cab and looked around, pleased with how comfortable it was. The long-haul guys did better when their backs weren’t killing them.

Augustine strolled up to the open driver’s door, and gave him a sixty-watt smile. He always said he reserved the hundred-watt ones for business contacts who weren’t his irritating older brother.

“It’s midnight,” Ambrose pointed out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His brother went around to the passenger side and let himself in, closing the door and tucking his hands into his armpits. “The same thing as you, dickweed. Except I’ve actually been getting work done, rather than . . . what? Playing truck driver?”

Ambrose kind of missed driving, but there was usually too much paperwork for him to indulge himself.

“Trucks are cool.”

“So is sleep.”

They appraised each other. There had been a time when they were mortal enemies, but Ambrose hiring his little brother to work for him when he’d started his company had changed all that. Sure Augustine could be an annoying businessman-type sometimes, but now they hung out like they never had as kids. The five-year age gap had given them little in common back when they’d lived under their parents’ roof, but now the difference was no big deal.

“You looking for a signature?” Ambrose asked. The financial shit Augustine juggled often required his approval.

“Why? Are you famous?”

“Damn right.”

“Oh.” Augustine laughed. “That’s why you dress like a sack of shit? To be ironic?”

“It’s either irony or a lack of ironing. Either way, there’s no one here to impress at this time of night except you and the security guards.” Ambrose shrugged. “And you’ve seen me in Batman pajamas.”

“It feels like that was only last year,” he mused. “Oh wait, it was. Christmas, to be exact. You’re a better sport than I am. I’ve never worn the Robin ones. It’s bad enough I have to be your sidekick at work, I’m sure as hell not fighting crime with you too.”

Ambrose sighed. “Damn. I got you a grappling hook for your birthday. I guess I’ll have to return it.”

The younger man held up a staying hand. “Don’t be hasty, now. After all, what guy couldn’t use a grappling hook?” He narrowed his eyes. “Enough with the bullshit. Why the fuck are you here? You look like you’re hiding from the cops.”

Ambrose snorted. “I wish.”

“Either spill it, or be a man and hide your feelings. It’s bad enough I have to deal with Charlotte’s mood swings.” He winked and Ambrose yanked on his tie good-naturedly. Augustine made a show of straightening it. The guy liked looking professional at all times. He probably wore his tie to bed. “You can give up on trying to rumple me. I’m rumple resistant. Now, you have sixty seconds to start talking or I’m heading home to strike out with my girlfriend.”

“Figure out what her kinks are and you’ll never get turned down.”

“She reads guy-on-guy romance. I’m not interested in finding out what her kinks are.”

Ambrose grinned evilly. “I guess you just don’t want her bad enough.”

“We’re not talking about me, Deflection Man.”

After fishing around in his coat pocket, Ambrose pulled out a packet of beef jerky. He shoved a piece in his mouth and sucked on it. The salt was one of his guilty pleasures. Augustine grimaced. So uptight, his brother.

“It’s a woman, of course.” He chewed, feeling like he was trying to gnaw a hole in a leather jacket. Activity was good. It made his stress level go down.

Augustine shook his head in disgust. “If you tell me this is about Shae, I’m going to start sending you to therapy. Enough is enough.”

“No,” he grumbled. Hadn’t he shown people lately that he was over her? Mostly. “This is about someone I just met.”

“And the problem is . . . ?”

He sucked more salt out of the meat-like substance, and looked across the lot at an older truck that he needed to sell. With the level of responsibility he had, he couldn’t let things escape his notice because he was distracted by Everly.

“I slept with her.”

In the gloom, Augustine’s eyebrow almost touched his hairline. “I’m failing to see the issue.” He folded his arms. “Seriously though. Sometimes things aren’t the best the first time or two. Did you have performance issues? Did she use her teeth too much?”

Despite his agitation, Ambrose barked a laugh. “No. I just . . . like her too much.” He closed his door. The wind was picking up, and he could see his breath in the cab.

His brother sighed and rubbed a hand over his regal face. Augustine had somehow turned out looking like aristocracy. With his slim build and classic features, he made Ambrose look like even more of a brute by comparison.

He looked out the window for a moment, his gaze following the progress of a security guard who was checking the lot, then glanced back at Ambrose.

“You know I love you, man, but you have to stop sabotaging yourself. Shae blindsided you, but you’ve let it ruin your life for too long. And Kate? I’m not even going to go there.” He sighed, sounding exasperated.

“I’m not sabotaging myself. I just don’t want to rush into anything. The only problem is, she makes me want to rush every time I’m around her.” He grabbed another piece of jerky and shredded it between his fingers. It was probably better for him than eating it.

“If you like her and she likes you, you just need to pull your head out of your ass.” Augustine opened his door and slid to the ground. “Go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow, quit being an idiot.”

He closed the door behind him, and Ambrose stared after him long after he’d gone.

Chapter Five

Everly walked into the sandwich shop and spotted her mom in the back corner straightaway. Her hair—a bleached-out curly mess—made her stand out, especially at her age. Lysette was a stubborn woman with her own sense of style and wouldn’t let Everly touch her hair even when she begged. The woman had no class. Then again, Everly should probably have outgrown her purple streaks, or hot pink panels, or whatever current ’do she felt like giving herself too. Like mother, like daughter.

She approached the table then put her hands up in the air. “Victory!”

Her mom’s face lit up. “You won?”

“Yup.” After pulling out the chair from across her mother, she placed her purse on the floor and sat down. “We had close to a hundred protesters. I was shocked.”

“Wow.” Lysette smiled. “Good for you.”

Sighing happily, she shrugged off her coat. “The no-freeze shelter will stay open another season.”

“You have a year until your next fight.”

“Ugh.” She picked up the menu. “Don’t remind me. Did you order?”

“No. I was waiting for you. I’ll pay today. To celebrate.”

She didn’t usually let her mom pay when they went out, but today she would. She knew it made her feel good—like she was making up for a lacking childhood or something. Everly didn’t see it that way, but there was no swaying her mom. That stubborn streak had gone directly to Everly, but it was also the reason she was alive. Pregnant at a young age, pressured by her family and boyfriend to have an abortion, Lysette had lost all financial footing when she’d refused.

It was hard to imagine the strength it took to make that kind of decision, knowing you’d be alone forever. Lysette’s parents had been born privileged and were given every opportunity out there for wealthy white kids, but because her mother had made one mistake, they’d turned her into the black sheep of the family. Because she’d chosen to keep Everly, as was her right as a mom and human being, they’d made their own daughter’s life a living hell.

Lysette may have forgiven them, but that didn’t mean Everly had. When she’d been a child, she’d wanted tangible things like kids at school had—the newest My Little Ponies, fancy light-up sneakers, a bike with tassels. But now that she was an adult, she was grateful things had turned out the way they had. Living in and out of shelters and relying on welfare had been tough, but it’d made her tough—and grateful and appreciative. If she’d grown up with her grandparents, where would she be right now? Wall Street? Walking by homeless people with her nose turned up? It disgusted her to think she could have turned out that way.

“I think I’m going to get a salad,” Lysette said, eyes on the menu. “I’m on a diet.”

“Again?” Everly chuckled. Her mom was perpetually on a diet, which she broke on and off as it suited her. “You need to embrace your curves.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can be as confident as you are. I take no credit for that one.”

She shrugged. “I hate diets. I love food. I really didn’t have much of a choice. Learn to like my body or be unhappy.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” She chuckled. “I remember in high school, all the girls were crash-dieting trying to get dates for the prom, and you kept eating cupcakes in front of them and laughing.”

“Meanwhile, I was asked out by three different guys.”

“Because you have a great personality.”

“No. It’s because I was confident and didn’t give a shit. And anyway, most guys like a little junk in the trunk. They just don’t say it out loud.”

She sighed loudly. “Well, anyway, I have a date next week. I can take the water weight off before then.”

Everly looked at her in surprise. It’d been a long time since her mother even considered dating after Jack had broken her heart. “A date? I didn’t know you were back on the market.”

“I’ve been on Mate.com.” She placed the menu on the table. “Hey, you should join. I’ve met a couple of great men there.”

Letting out a long laugh, Everly shook her head. “Uh, no thanks. I doubt many of them would be . . .” Kinky enough. “. . . my type.”

She clucked her tongue. “You’re too picky.”

“They’re called standards, Mom. You should be happy I have them.”

“I can’t imagine how you’ve been celibate so long.” She didn’t even bother to whisper. “Unless you’re having casual sex. If so, good for you, but make sure you use protection.”

“Oh my God, Mom. Shut up.” Her cheeks heated, and she glanced at the table next to them, but the restaurant was too loud for anyone to hear.

Lysette shrugged. “I’m just saying . . .”

“Okay, well, don’t. I’m so not talking to you about this.” Thank the Lord the waiter appeared.

They ordered their lunch—Everly went with a salad, too—then the waiter left. Thankfully, Lysette didn’t bring up her sex life again. She needed to learn the meaning of boundaries. They were close, but talking about dating and sex was a little too close. This was her mother, even if they were also friends. Though Everly felt a little like giving her a safe-internet-dating lecture, but she held back. Hopefully, her mother had enough common sense to be careful.

Lysette had been with her boyfriend Jack since before the internet, but when he’d picked up and left for a ranch job in Montana, it’d sent Everly and her mother reeling with shock. Lysette had offered to go with him, but he’d seemed so indifferent about her going, and she’d still felt obligated to stick nearby for Everly, so they’d split up. After ten years together, it’d been a hell of a heartbreak.

Everly felt it too. Jack hadn’t been so much of a father, but more like a sweet uncle that doted on her. For the last few months, Lysette had been especially lonely. Everly could feel it whenever she was around her. That was why she’d made it a priority to meet her for lunch twice a week. Her mom was prone to depression and her job at the hospital was only getting more and more stressful. They demanded more hours from their nursing staff with less benefits, and she kept getting passed up for advancement by younger employees, which had to hurt.

Maybe internet dating would be good for her.

Now if only she could find someone that easily. KinkWorld was sorta the same idea but was sometimes creepier. And when you dealt with S&M in a relationship it brought a whole other level of risk into the mix.

There’d been potential with Ambrose if he hadn’t spooked the other night. It was clear he had issues. The jury was still out on whether they were surmountable or not. Still angry about the brush-off, she’d decided to head to the club tonight. It felt good to be back in the scene, and after playing with Ambrose, she realized how much she missed it. Maybe she’d find another Dom to play with, even if it was temporary.

“Maybe you’re destined to be chronically single, like me,” her mom said around a bite of salad. “You didn’t have a great role model for family life.”

“You know I don’t blame you for that. You did the best you could with what you had.”

“I just wonder what it means for your future.” She sipped her iced tea. “Do you even want a husband and kids?”

Everly stared down at her salad, turning the question over in her mind. She didn’t go gaga over babies or pregnant bellies, but when she thought about herself ten years from now, she pictured marriage, kids, maybe a house. Nothing fancy. Not a million kids. Just . . . simple. She’d still work, of course. There wasn’t an ounce of stay-at-home-mom instinct in her.

“I do want kids.” She gazed out the window, watching the families walk by. “I do.”

*   *   *

The heavy beat of the music vibrated the soles of her feet. Why did they play it so loudly anyway? Maybe to drown out the screaming. But wasn’t that part of the whole dungeon experience?

Everly sighed and shifted her weight to her other foot. The fuck-me boots were already uncomfortable. About as uncomfortable as hugging the wall, avoiding eye contact.

What the fuck was wrong with her? She was no wallflower. She’d come here to play, so why was she shying away from every prospective Dom like some kink virgin? Frustrated, she extracted herself from the dark corner she’d been hiding in and walked up to the bar.

“Hello, miss,” the man behind the counter said, smiling but not making eye contact. A sub.

Did she look like a Domme or was he just being polite? Sometimes her fetish wear came off a little intimidating, but it was just her style. Tonight, the short black skirt, hot pink tank top, and stockings shouldn’t read one way or the other. Maybe if she’d worn pigtails she’d have been approached by now.

“How can I service you today?” he asked, eyes still lowered, his lashes so long they seemed to brush his cheekbones.

Maybe he was a service sub and got off on treating everyone like they were above him. Some people were into that. “Just a Diet Coke, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A moment later, he handed her a plastic cup. She put a few bills on the counter and sipped her drink. A man walked in the door, catching her eye. Long, dark hair, sinfully handsome, he was trailed by two women who looked like they were fighting over who stood closest to him.

She recognized him. Ambrose’s friend Konstantin. Eyes narrowed, she fought the urge to approach him and demand answers. Why had his friend acted like such a chickenshit the other night? But she resisted. It wasn’t any of her business. If Ambrose didn’t want her, she wasn’t about to get all desperate and clingy about it.

Konstantin stopped just inside the door and surveyed the room, like he owned the place, then his eyes landed on her. He walked toward her, his girls following behind him. His stride was cocky, like most Doms’, but it didn’t do much for her. He was too pretty. She liked Ambrose’s rough edge better.

“Hi,” he said when he reached her. “Nice to see you, Everly.”

“You too.”

He ran his gaze over her, but not in a lustful way. More like he was taking notes about her. “Are you here with Ambrose?”

“No. He made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested,” she said bitterly. The sudden anger surprised her. But there it was. And now Konstantin knew.

He nodded slowly. “You should know, he was . . . hurt in the past.”

“Yeah, I don’t have time for guys who have shit to deal with. By my age, you gotta work that stuff out.”

“I see.” He frowned, and for some reason, guilt speared her.

She scoffed at herself. Why should she care what this guy thought of her? She wasn’t about to let him get into her head and make her doubt herself. She’d given Ambrose a chance.

“So you are here looking for another Dom?”

“Just someone to play with tonight.” She tilted her chin up to hide that he’d made her question herself.

After another long, assessing stare, he said, “Well, good luck and be safe. And if you run into any trouble, let me know.”

“I will.” She smiled slightly. Okay, that was kind of sweet. Maybe Ambrose had good taste in friends. Didn’t mean he had good taste in subs.

Konstantin and his girls retreated to a booth in the corner, and Everly returned to her pity party. She must’ve been giving off some major pouty vibes, because a man appeared at the seat next to her and gave her a sinister look. Pouting always attracted the predatory types.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing over here all by yourself?” he purred.

Unashamedly, she ran her gaze over him. Brown eyes, warm and trustworthy. Plain hair cut short and styled in spikes. Fitted black T-shirt that showed off a decent body. Leather pants. Ugh. That was almost a hard limit. Still, she didn’t get dolled up and drag herself here to give up already.

She batted her lashes. “Waiting for someone to call me pretty.”

He chuckled. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.”

After perching on the bar stool next to her, he grinned, revealing a gorgeous smile. “I’m Troy.”

“Everly.”

“Cool name.”

“Thanks.”

He rested his elbow on the counter and leaned in. “So what are you into, Everly?”

“Jeez. Not even going to buy me a drink first?”

He looked at her cup and arched a brow. “Yours is full, but I’d be happy to when you finish.”

She took a sip as she assessed him. “Are you a Dom?” He looked like one—had that confident presence.

“I’m a sadist top with a thing for sensation play.”

“Are you a baby sadist?” Newbies weren’t her thing. She didn’t have the patience to babysit. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“No. I’ve been playing for years. I moved to town a year ago and only found out about this club recently.”

She peered around them, checking to see what equipment was available. She’d been coming here long enough to know the club was safe. Plus, Kon had been watching her on and off, even while his subs made out next to him. Somehow, she knew he was looking out for her, and though she didn’t need a babysitter, it did make her feel safer. Maybe not all rich guys were assholes.

“I’m a brat masochist,” she said, letting the warning hang in the air.

He nodded. “I’m more a sadist than a Dom, but I can give you pain if that’s what you want.”

She thought for a moment. Ambrose had left her wanting more. If not with him, why not with this guy? Her body ached for release. The built-up stress of covering for Morgan, the upcoming protest, and coming off the high after the best sex ever needed to be released somehow. And here was a sadist, ready to hurt her.

“Do you like canes?” she asked.

He grinned wickedly, and she shuddered.

She finished the last gulp of her soda then declined when Troy offered her another. Instead, she pointed to an empty Saint Andrew’s Cross.

“Jeez. Not even going to buy me a drink first?” he teased.

Laughing, she rose and started toward the equipment. “Come on. It won’t stay open for long. I’ll buy you a drink after.”

He followed her, heading right to the rack of canes hanging on the wall. His eyes darkened as he looked them over. She had to admit the expression was sexy, even if he wasn’t Ambrose.

She remembered Ambrose saying he wouldn’t use a cane on her until he knew her tolerance.

Well, fuck him.

Troy led her to the cross and she took position, her back to the room, front up against the hard wood. He began the process of strapping her wrists into the cuffs, then her ankles. Usually she got pleasure from the process, when it involved the power dynamic. This felt hollow. Like they were just doing a job, fulfilling meaningless roles, and that was it.

This wasn’t satisfying her the way it did when a Dom handled her. But all she needed was the pain. She could do without the mastery.

The lie was hard to swallow, but she forced herself to push thoughts of Ambrose and permanence and how badly she yearned for something real away.

A moment later, she heard the telltale swishing sound of a cane slicing through the air. But it didn’t land on her. Troy tested it out a few more times, making her flinch.

“I’ll start slow,” he said. “Over your skirt at first. Okay?”

She nodded. The club safeword was “red.” If she yelled it and Troy didn’t stop, people would come running.

Her muscles tightened in anticipation, and she tried to relax with a deep inhale.

A voice caught her attention. Every hair on her body rose. It was far away at first, but then it became clearer, and closer. She turned her head, searching for the owner.

There, in the corner near Konstantin, was Ambrose.

And he was staring at her.

“Stop,” she blurted. Fuck. Why had she done that?

Troy stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Ambrose. “Are you safewording or is this how you like to play?”

Leaving him hanging for a minute, she tried to focus, to pull her attention away from Ambrose, to forget he was there. He wasn’t hers, she wasn’t his, and he wasn’t there for her.

Focus on Troy.

She had a chance for a good bottoming experience. What did it matter that Ambrose was there? God, she could practically feel his gaze on her body, hot and weighted.

Ugh! It was too hard to concentrate. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead against the cross.

“Red,” she finally said with a sigh.

Troy gave her a mildly annoyed look then started untying her. She wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t form. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ambrose stalk toward them, seeming to get bigger and more menacing with each step.

Damn. Maybe she could stay here and he’d play with her.

She gave her head a shake. No. She shouldn’t let him play with her until he answered some questions. She so wasn’t up for a repeat of what’d happened with Scott.

Once untied, she turned around, just as Ambrose reached them.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

Troy looked back and forth between them. “You didn’t tell me you had a Dom.”

“I don’t.”

He looked again then snorted and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said to Ambrose, who merely nodded.

Silent guy code? With an angry grunt, she turned to Troy, who was already walking away, “I said—”

“Can we talk?” Ambrose asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “You totally just . . . cane-blocked me.”

“I didn’t make you safeword.”

“I couldn’t concentrate with you watching me.”

“Well, I can’t take my eyes off of you. It’s not my fault.”

Flattery will get you nowhere. Sighing, she uncrossed her arms and let them hang at her sides. “What do you want?”

“To talk. In private.”

The hot/cold routine wasn’t going to work for her. It had been a week since he’d bolted, and now here he was, acting like it was the next day. She was a bossy, demanding sub with high expectations. He’d already broken communication when he’d shut her out and left with a cold good-bye. “I’m the kind of girl who knows what I want, Ambrose. I won’t let you hurt me.”

He flinched. “Hurt you?” His gaze held hers, steady and a little shocked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, surprising her. She hadn’t realized how much it’d messed her up until she’d said it out loud. Memories surfaced, and with them ugly emotions. When she’d fallen for Scott and he’d started to play with others, the humiliation had hurt worse than the betrayal. If she was going to get into another real relationship, she wasn’t going to be the first one to fall head over heels. Everything needed to be spelled out so she wouldn’t embarrass herself again.

“Jesus. I’m sorry, Everly.” He glanced around them then gestured to a quieter area in the back. “Can we please sit? Just for a minute?”

Her resolve faded with the apology. She hadn’t expected that. A lot of Doms were too cocky to say sorry when they fucked up. It meant a lot that he had. Nodding, she followed him to a booth and slid in across from him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The honesty in his eyes softened her anger. “I have issues. You rattled me, and I got . . .”

“Scared?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess so. Look. I don’t usually do relationships. I stick to superficial stuff. But you got in my head. I tried to shut you out, but then Kon texted me that you were here—”

“What?” Tattletale. She almost laughed.

“And I couldn’t bear the thought of you playing with anyone else.”

“I’m not yours.”

He leaned in and smiled. “You were the other night.”

Hell yeah, she was. Memories surfaced, making her stomach flutter. He was one of the only Doms who could handle her, that could make her eat her bratty words, give her the pain she needed, fuck her until she screamed. God, if he could get over his stupid man issues, she’d like to keep him. “Maybe so, but that arrangement expired the minute you put walls up between us.”

He nodded. “Okay. I hear you. Can we try again? It’s been a while for me. Can we start over?”

She considered it. Normally, she didn’t go for fixer-uppers. The whole girl-saving-the-tortured-soul thing made her want to puke. But she did believe in second chances. And Ambrose seemed sincere. That he’d humbled himself for her, let himself be vulnerable, spoke volumes about his character. Maybe he could get over this issue—lots of people did.

“Maybe. If you promise to keep the lines of communication open.” She gave him a mischievous look. “And if you take me out on a date.”

“A date?” He arched a brow. “What are we, twelve?”

“I demand a date. I’ll pay if you can’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can pay.”

“Okay. But no playing until then.”

He chuckled. “Such a brat. Do you know how badly I want to put you over my knee right now?”

She smirked and loved the way his eyes darkened at the challenge. She almost wanted to dare him. “Date first. Then maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you.”

“Fuck.” He exhaled loudly and shifted in his seat. “You’re killing me, little brat.”

Grinning, she replied, “Not sorry.”