9. BLAKE
Chapter nine
BLAKE
T he Haven was a welcome sight, but Blake wasn’t sure what Savannah would make of it.
Daddy Doms and Littles filled the dimly lit space, some cuddling on plush pink and gold couches, whispering secrets into each other's ears, while others kissed or even engaged in more intimate acts. In a darker corner, a BDSM area beckoned to the more adventurous patrons, its walls lined with floggers, cuffs, and leather straps. At the very back of the space, behind that, were three private rooms.
Blake's piercing blue eyes scanned the room as he tried to shake off his lingering embarrassment from earlier. He could still feel the heat of Savannah's body pressed against him, the way her breath had hitched when he'd adjusted her stance for a self-defense move, how his body had betrayed him with a hard-on he couldn't control.
Again.
"Oh my," Savannah whispered, her green eyes wide with excitement and curiosity. "I've never seen anything like this before."
"It’s not your average bar, that’s for sure,” said Blake.
“Is everyone here . . .”
“Into the DDlg community?” Blake finished for her. “Yup. Pretty much. My brothers and I set the place up when we started Paladin Security. We needed a place to hangout and chill that was safe for our clients. Since we always specialized in taking care of Littles, we thought a DDlg-themed bar would be fitting. Somewhere vulnerable Littles feel safe, and free to experiment with their identities. We have a strict no-drugs policy, and everything that happens here is safe, sane, and consensual.”
Savannah’s eyes ran over the Daddy Doms in dark suits, the Littles in brightly-colored outfits, some in full onesies, and others in more revealing but still cute attire. “So, wait, are you brothers Daddy Doms too?”
Blake nodded. “Yep, Jax and Nash both got into the lifestyle after I did. I took them to a club downtown and they got hooked, like me.”
“What’s in the back rooms?” she asked, staring at the black doors.
Blake smiled. “One of the rooms is for private BDSM scenes. One is a playroom for the Littles.”
“And the other . . .?” she asked.
He grinned. “That’s a secret, babygirl. You and me are sticking to the bar today, so I guess you’ll never find out.”
She pouted. “Huh! Not fair. Don’t forget I’m an investigative journalist, so secrets are rarely stay secret around me for long.”
He chuckled. “Guess I’m in trouble, then, huh?”
She was about to say something in return when Jax's voice cut through the haze, accompanied by a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "Blake! You’re early for once in your life!"
Blake and Savannah headed over to see him. “Thought we’d arrive early to give Savannah time to acclimate.”
Jax nodded. “The Haven takes a bit of getting used to.”
Savannah looked like she was blushing. “You forget I’ve been in the Lucifer Club,” she said. “I can take all kinds of weird.”
“Hmm, that place isn’t weird. It’s scary,” Jax replied. “The more I’ve been reading up on it today, the worse it gets. Drug deals, prostitution, three attempted murders, all kinds of cover-ups.”
Savannah shivered.
"Where's Nash?" Blake asked.
Jax nodded toward a dark booth in the corner, where Nash sat brooding, nursing a glass of amber liquid.
"Over there, being all grumpy," Jax quipped, rolling his eyes. "Come on, let's join him."
As they approached the booth, Nash glanced up, his sharp green eyes studying Savannah before looking back at Blake. "So, this is the famous investigative journalist," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What do you think, bro? Can you really trust her? Or do you just want to get in her pants?”
"Knock it off, Nash," Blake growled, irritation flaring in his chest. "Savannah's here because she has valuable information and connections. She's one of us now."
"Fine," Nash muttered, taking another long sip of his drink. "If you trust her, I trust her. As long as we remember what we're here for. We need to stay focused on the mission."
"Right," Blake agreed, his gaze flicking between Savannah and Nash, determined to keep both his desire and his brother's attitude in check. “Sorry about that,” he said in Savannah’s ear. “Nash has been having a hard time lately. He’s a pussycat deep down.”
Savannah nodded warily. "Blake," she whispered, leaning closer to him, "can we get some time to ourselves? The meeting’s not for another hour."
His jaw clenched, torn between maintaining professionalism and wanting to indulge her curiosity. "Savannah, our priority is preparing for this meeting. We need to stay focused."
"I know," she replied, her voice soft and imploring. "But we spent all afternoon getting ready. I know this stuff inside out. Please?"
"Fine," Blake sighed, his resolve crumbling under the weight of her pleading gaze. "But remember, we're here for a reason."
"Thank you!" Savannah beamed, her excitement contagious. As they walked toward the BDSM rooms, Blake looked back at his brothers.
"Blake, don’t lose sight of the bigger picture, bro," Nash warned, eyeing them both critically.
"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Blake snapped, irritability creeping into his tone. "I won’t."
"Good," Nash replied tersely, giving Savannah a pointed look before returning to his drink.
As they entered the first room, Savannah gazed around, her eyes wide with wonder at the sight of the various implements adorning the walls—whips, floggers, and restraints. She walked over to a St. Andrew's Cross, running her fingers over the smooth wood.
“Well, as you can see, this is the private BDSM room,” he said. The scent of leather and anticipation filled his nostrils. He felt a pang of desire deep within him.
"What's this used for?" she asked, still stroking the X-frame.
Blake swallowed hard. "It's a restraint device . . . for bondage play. The submissive is tied to it, giving the Dominant full control."
He watched as she studied the cross, and he couldn't help but imagine her bound to it, completely at his mercy.
"Tell me about that one," Savannah pointed to a red leather spanking chair, and Blake felt a surge of heat course through him.
"Uh, well," he stammered, trying to focus on the task at hand. "The submissive bends over it, and the Dominant can administer spankings or other forms of impact play."
Savannah raised an eyebrow, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Interesting . . ." she mused, clearly intrigued by this new world she was discovering.
"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" Blake asked, struggling to keep his voice steady as he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms.
"Blake," she purred, sauntering over to the spanking chair. "What would you do if I were to bend over this right now?"
The image of her bent over the chair, vulnerable and waiting for his touch, sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin. "Savannah, we're here for the interview. This isn't the time or place."
She giggled. “This looks like exactly the place to me.”
Blake said nothing.
“You’re attracted to me. I can tell.” She licked her lips. “I like seeing you squirm, Blake. It makes me feel good about myself.”
“You deserve to feel good about yourself,” he said, barely able to keep himself from groaning with lust. “Right, let’s go back to the bar.”
She leaned forward, placing her hands on the chair and arching her back provocatively. "Don't you want to have a little fun? Show me what being a Daddy Dom is all about?"
"Stop it," he growled, his voice strained. "I'm serious. We're not doing this."
But Savannah didn't listen. Instead, she pushed her ass up higher, taunting him with her perfect curves.
Blake growled, his body demanding that he acted upon his instincts. Damn instincts.
"Fine," he snarled, giving in. "You want this? You got it." He stepped forward, towering over her. "Safeword is ‘red.’ Remember that."
Her breath hitched, but she nodded, eyes wide with anticipation. “‘Red’ makes it stop.”
“Correct.” With one swift motion, he pulled her skirt up, baring her ass to his hungry gaze. His hand hovered over her flesh, quivering with need. "You serious about this?" he asked, his voice thick with lust.
"Please, Blake," she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. “I need to know what it’s like.”
“Alright, babygirl. You asked for it.” He pulled down her panties with a hungry growl.
Damn.
Even her ass was beautiful. Pale and freckled, just like the rest of her. He fantasized about kissing every single freckle on her body. But right now, he had a spanking to administer.
And so, he struck.
The sound of his hand connecting with her flesh echoed through the room, followed by a sharp gasp from Savannah. "Again," she breathed, and he obliged, his hand coming down harder this time.
The sting of the slap reverberated through his palm. "Still think this is just a game?" he asked between strikes, each one leaving a red imprint on her pale skin. Her moans grew louder, and he could sense the building tension within her. The tension was building in him too. He was so fucking hard right now.
"No," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. "No, it's not a game."
"Damn right," he growled, spanking her once more before stepping back, his chest heaving as he fought to regain control. The air crackled with electricity, both of them shaken by the intensity of their encounter.
Blake's hand connected with Savannah's ass once more, the sound echoing in the dim room. He could see her body trembling as the tension built inside her, her knuckles white as she gripped the chair.
"Blake . . . I . . ." she panted, struggling to form words. Her hips bucked against his hand, a desperate plea for more.
"Tell me what you want, Savannah," he demanded, his voice rough with need. “You want to use your safeword? You want me to stop?”
"No. Don’t stop. More . . . please," she whispered, and he complied, his strikes growing harder and faster. The air filled with their heavy breathing and the sounds of flesh meeting flesh.
As Blake continued, something unexpected happened—Savannah let out a cry that was part pleasure, part surprise, and then she shuddered violently, a slick wetness dripping down her thighs.
She had just fucking orgasmed.
Oh my fucking god.
"Shit," he gasped, stepping back and staring at her quivering form. Her body still trembled as she rode the waves of pleasure. He hadn't expected that—hadn't intended for it to go that far. But there had been something so raw and primal about her reaction that it left him panting with desire.
"Blake," Savannah whispered, turning to face him. Her eyes were wide, searching his own for reassurance, validation. "What just . . . what does this mean?"
He hesitated, his gaze darting away from hers as he tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions inside him. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice strained. "I didn't plan for this to happen."
"Me neither," she murmured, biting her lip. "But it felt good. So good. Does that make me . . . strange?"
"No," he said firmly, looking back into her eyes. "You're not strange, Savannah. We're just exploring new territory here. Together."
"Together," she repeated, her voice soft and vulnerable. "So . . . this doesn't change anything between us? You’re still my bodyguard? We’re still on a mission?"
Blake nodded. "We still have a job to do, and we're going to see it through."
"Okay," she whispered, nodding slowly. "Thank you. For everything." She looked down at Blake’s groin. “Is there anything I can do for you now? In return?”
Blake clenched his jaw, the scent of their mingled arousal heavy in the air. It was a dangerous cocktail, clouding his judgment and thickening his cock so intensely it was almost painful.
"Leave," he growled, his voice barely controlled. "I need a moment."
"Blake, I—" Savannah's eyes widened at his sudden harshness, but he cut her off.
"Please, Savannah. Just . . . go."
She hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face before she nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Alone, Blake let out a ragged breath and ran a hand through his hair. His heart pounded in his chest, a part of him yearning to chase after her, to pull her back into his arms. To sink his erection deep between her reddened cheeks.
But another part—the part that had spent years honing discipline and focus—raged against the unexpected attraction. It was too messy. Too distracting. Too dangerous.
"Get it together, Marks," he muttered, pacing the room. But right now, he didn’t know whether to jerk off or smash his fist into a wall.
In fact, he did know. He only had one option.
He smashed his fist into the wall.
Pain shot through his knuckles as his hand made contact with the brickwork.
Shit. It had been a long time since he’d punched the goddamn wall. Not since Chloe died.
What was happening to him?