Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Killian
Beckett was no longer having his go at poor Ruby. Judging by the shift of sounds, it was Cordelia taking the stage now, and he wondered vaguely if she was letting Ivy help her top their boy or if she was having her fun with both of them.
A toss-up really, where those three were concerned, and Killian smiled into his drink at the thought of Cordelia teasing her sweet Ivy with the possibilities.
“Well, well. What do we have here?”
Pausing with his glass hovering near his mouth, Killian turned toward the voice.
And nearly fumbled his whiskey.
Dark hair spilled down in soft curls around a face more suited for the silver screen than a dimly lit bar in South Carolina. High, slashing cheekbones, full lips, and a nose that would have been any plastic surgeon’s crowning glory if it hadn’t been slightly crooked.
The flaw only made her more appealing. Everything about her screamed quiet wealth, but she hadn’t bothered to fix her nose. Why?
He wanted to know, and the wanting surprised him more than her presence, which was a shock in and of itself.
“Hello.”
Her lips, painted a brilliant red he imagined would look rather lovely wrapped around his cock, curved upward. “Hello. Who might you be?”
I could ask you the same. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her.
One of Lottie’s many bridesmaids, maybe, if the emerald silk clinging to her slender curves was anything to judge by.
Unfortunately for him, he had no clue who else Lottie had included in her bridal party outside of the women from the club, so that didn’t really give him any more clues to her identity.
Whoever she was, she didn’t know him. Didn’t know who he was, the things he’d done. And that was enough for now.
“Here at the club, they know me as Master O.”
Amusement sparkled in the pale blue of her eyes—he could see the color clearly now as she slid onto a stool on the other side of the bar, and he had the uncharacteristically whimsical thought that he could drown in that ocean of blue—and her smile deepened.
“And how did you earn such a laudatory nickname?”
He returned her smile, keeping it light. Playful, in a way he was rarely ever able to be outside the club. “Ah, I could tell you, but a hands-on demonstration is so much more fun.”
Her brows rose, and for a second, he was hit with the unsettling feeling he did in fact know her. But he prided himself on never forgetting a face, and he knew damn well hers was a face no man would ever forget.
“I’m only here for the wine.”
Amused to be playing bartender, he stepped back, scanning the glasses set up neatly beneath the bar and selecting the appropriate one. “White or red?”
“Red. Dry.”
Turning, he looked over the wine selections, and felt her appraising him with the same critical eye he was giving the bottles in front of him. Her gaze was heavy, heated with curiosity.
Hopefully she liked what she saw.
When he turned back with a bottle of the petite sirah he favored, she did that little eyebrow raise again, and again he had that flash of recognition, though he still couldn’t quite pin it down.
Perhaps she’d come to the club with Lottie before. It was possible that he’d seen her in passing and simply not given her much attention. Which he highly doubted, but at the moment it was the only explanation that made any sense.
“I don’t think I’ve had this variety before,” she said as he poured the ruby liquid into her glass.
“It’s not as dry as a Cabernet, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“In my experience, men always think they know what a woman will enjoy. They’re very often wrong.”
He set the bottle off to the side, corking it with one of the reusable stoppers Tara kept behind the bar. And when he met his mystery woman’s gaze again, he let the corner of his mouth lift in a knowing smirk. “I think you’ll find I’m not other men. But go ahead, tell me if I’m wrong.”
Eyes locked on him, she lifted the glass to her lips, while he sipped at his whiskey and pretended not to watch the way the slender column of her throat worked as she swallowed.
The need to feel her beneath him, her pulse against his palm, fear and excitement in her eyes as he slid into her wet heat was like a living thing inside him.
Down, boy.
In silence they both drank, their gazes locked, heat pulsing through his veins as he waited for her verdict.
“Not bad,” she said at last, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“High praise, indeed.”
“It is, from me.” She took another drink, but this time she sighed a bit. “Okay, it’s lovely. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Only if it’s the truth.”
Her head cocked to the side, just a fraction, those pale eyes raking over him in a way that would have had a lesser man squirming. “Is that important to you? The truth?”
“It is. Especially here.”
“Why?”
“Because here is where I’m the most me. And I expect the same from my partners.”
He hadn’t actually meant to say that. Unease settled in his stomach, but he kept his expression neutral.
Never let them know what you’re really thinking, son.
His father’s words, that he’d taken to heart both in business and in bed. And yet, here he was, ready to bare his soul to a complete stranger for reasons even he couldn’t fathom.
Across the bar, his companion watched him, the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Can I give you the truth without giving you my name?”
It was a standard practice in their circles. One he often employed himself, though by now the majority of the patrons here at Club BDE knew who he was anyway. So if she wanted anonymity, he wouldn’t be the one to deny her. “Yes. What would you like me to call you?”
“Your Highness,” she shot back with a grin. The force of that smile was a physical blow to his chest, one that nearly knocked the air from his lungs as he smiled back.
And he knew without a doubt he wasn’t leaving this club without getting a taste of her.
“In that case, follow me.”
Aria
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
Keeping her outer calm was growing more difficult by the minute, especially when her mystery man stepped out from behind the bar, offering his hand for her to take. Inside, she was a mess of emotion and scrambling thoughts.
Most prominent of all: Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to let this man she’d only just met, a man who practically oozed sex appeal and confidence, take her somewhere to have his way with her?
Her mother would be horrified by the prospect. Especially here of all places, with a man who called himself ‘Master’.
But her mother had also taught her to never cede control of her life to anyone else. That if she wanted something, she should grab it with both hands and never let go.
So that was damn well what she was going to do.
Placing her fingers in his palm, she let him help her down from the stool, let him lead her away from the bar, toward the other side of the upstairs area.
And for just a moment, she hesitated. According to the tour Cordelia had given her, the opposite half of the second floor housed private rooms. Rooms where this complete stranger could lock her inside with him and do whatever he wanted to her, and nobody would know.
Would they even be able to hear her scream?
But then he paused, turning back to her with that perfectly sculpted face and those bright-green eyes and the salt sprinkled through his dark hair and her heart stuttered to a stop. Jesus, he was beautiful.
More, he was safe. He had to be safe, right?
If he was here tonight, then he was someone her father knew.
A member of the club, as he’d already told her, but also someone in Braden and Lottie’s inner circle, or he wouldn’t have been invited to the after party.
And her father would never allow someone he didn’t trust down to his very bones anywhere near the people he loved.
Safe. Vetted, as Cordelia would have said—at least, she was pretty sure that’s what the fearsome Domme had meant when she’d used the term earlier.
All in all, the perfect man to lose her virginity to.
So she let herself step forward, let herself be led through the darkened hall. Master O—and god she hoped he lived up to that title—stopped in front of a plain wooden door, twisting the handle with his free hand and pushing it open.
A moment later, the lights flickered on, and she wasn’t quite quick enough to stop her audible gasp as she stepped into the room.
It was… Stunning was the first word that came to mind. Followed quickly by intimidating.
Two thrones—the only word she could think of to describe the ornate, high-backed chairs—sat in the middle of the room. The golden one on the left had a hole in the middle of the seat, and her mind skidded to a stop as she tried to imagine what that meant.
She couldn’t, so she focused on the smaller throne.
No hole, and now that she was really looking at it, she realized it wasn’t really a chair at all.
Instead, there were two leather pads where the seat should have been, and the tall white posts on the back of the chair each had two strips of leather dangling from the tops.
It didn’t take an expert in kink to imagine what those were used for.
“Tell me your limits.”
It wasn’t until he spoke that she realized he’d dropped her hand and was staring at her, rather intently, as he shrugged out of his bespoke jacket and reached for the tie around his neck.
Licking her suddenly too-dry lips, she forced herself to speak past the tightness in her throat. “Limits?”
The hand on his tie stilled, his mouth dipping down into a frown. “Yes. As in, what is off limits tonight, your highness?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Limits. Right. She knew what limits were, in theory.
But what the hell were her limits? How was she supposed to know if she’d never actually done any of this before?
Honesty, as she’d always been taught, really was the best policy more often than not. What if he wanted to do something truly awful and she agreed to it because she was too inexperienced to know better?
“I’m still rather new to… all of this. I haven’t tried enough things to know what I don’t like.”
“Fair enough.”
The easy response was both a surprise and a relief.
“Let’s try this a different way, then.” With his jacket and tie disposed of, Master O popped the button of his right shirtsleeve, and Aria watched, mesmerized, as he rolled the fabric up to his elbow, revealing a toned, sinewy forearm.
Why the hell was that so hot?
“I’m going to tell you what I’d like to do to you. If you object, tell me, and we can discuss.”
He glanced up at her, clearly expecting an answer. “Yeah. Okay, that sounds good.”
Ugh. So much for sounding mature and sophisticated. She’d pulled it off at the bar, but that persona was slipping with every passing second.
If Master O noticed, however, he didn’t comment. He simply slid the button of his other sleeve free and repeated the process of rolling it up as he spoke.
“For starters, I am going to strip you naked. Once you are completely nude, I am going to tie you to that bed and I am going to eat your pussy until you come on my face. Sound good so far?”
It sounded fucking fantastic. “Yes.”
“I enjoy forced orgasms, so after you’ve come that first time and you’re all nice and sensitive for me, I’m going to start using toys on you. There are unopened ones in the armoires for sale, and I’ll be sure to reimburse the owners later.”
Oh, god. He was talking about her dad. He was going to buy sex toys from her father to use on her.
So wrong. But she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to tell him no.
Praying her face wasn’t as bright red as it felt, she nodded. “All right.”
“How do you feel about nipple clamps?”
“I’ve never tried them.”
What could only be described as delight lit his features. “I’d like to try tonight, if you’re amenable. That will hurt though, so if you’re not into pain, tell me now.”
Honesty, she reminded herself. “I’m into the idea of pain.”
Tilting his head to the side, he studied her. “Exactly how new to ‘all of this’ are you?”
“I guess you could say I’m a bit of a kink virgin.” Technically she was an everything virgin, but he didn't need to know that.
He stood still, watching her for so long she had to fight the urge to squirm under his gaze.
And then, finally, “All right. The clamps, a little bondage, and some forced orgasms. After which I’m going to fuck you until I get to feel you come on my cock.
Is there any part of the scene I’ve just laid out that you find objectionable? ”
“Ah… no. No, I’m good.”
“Do you have any questions for me?”
When are you going to get started? “Do I have to call you Master?”
Lips twitching, he shook his head. “Sir will do. Or Daddy, if that’s what you prefer.”
Daddy. The word sat heavy in her chest, and she rolled it around in her mind for a moment. She hadn’t called anyone ‘Daddy’ since she’d hit puberty and decided she was far too grown-up to refer to her own father that way.
It wasn’t as repulsive as she’d expected it to be, and she found herself tilting her head, trying to get a read on his feelings. But his face was as impassive as ever, giving her no hint as to what was going on inside his head.
“Do you want me to call you Daddy?”
“I want you to use whichever term you’re the most comfortable with.”
“That isn’t what I asked.” Why she was so determined to get the truth from him, she wasn’t sure. But dammit, she wanted to know. “Do you like being called Daddy?”
A hesitation, then a small furrow between his brows, the first hint of real emotion he’d shown her so far. “Yes.”
Victory.
“Then that’s what I’ll call you.”