Chapter 4 #2
Tyler’s expression showed his approval of the response. He proceeded to make sure DJ had reviewed the rules that had been sent to him. He had.
“I promise I’ll respect all of them, Mr. Winterman,” DJ said as they finished. “I’m here mainly to watch and learn.”
The way Tyler held his gaze made DJ feel he wore no mask at all. “My wife told me you would be a well-behaved guest.”
The wording suggested something that surprised DJ enough that he dared to ask. “Your wife is also a Dominant?”
“She is. She’s a switch only in our relationship, because that’s what she wants and needs. Want and need are never simple things, what drives them.”
“No, they’re not.”
G had been sent schematics of the club, and while she asked Tyler a few follow-up questions, the gears of DJ’s mind turned.
He wasn’t doing this to thumb his nose at Roy. He also wasn’t doing it just to write a song, though to salvage his pride, he’d lie his ass off and say it was totally that.
He wanted to understand more about what Roy might want in a sub, and what DJ himself wanted.
“If you need anything, you let us know.” Tyler’s attention moved back to DJ.
“What’s explored here is often volatile physical and mental terrain, which is why we work so hard to make it a safe environment.
” His lips eased into a smile. “But sometimes it’s just all about pleasure.
I hope you find the right balance for yourself, Mr. Smith. ”
Keeping his distance from DJ hadn’t helped Roy’s sexual frustration, or the spaghetti mess of emotions his pain-in-the-ass rockstar client had caused, but Roy only had himself to blame for the shit that had flown out of his mouth.
Despite the demands of the Miami show, Roy had inflicted brutal workouts on himself to stay clear and centered.
At least he’d get some relief tonight. Once he’d handed DJ off to G’s team at the end of the concert, he’d returned to the hotel to shower and then headed for the place that would help him deal with it.
The Zone in Miami was one of his favorite clubs. While he wasn’t in the area to enjoy it as often as he wished, because of its reputation, he paid the full membership, which gave him reciprocal privileges at other BDSM clubs.
He’d level out, then offer DJ an apology.
His delivery had been cruel, and while that might have been necessary to get DJ to back off, it was important to smooth things out between them.
DJ had to be able to trust him, and that meant assuring the kid that “no” to the Dom thing didn’t change a thing about Roy’s dedication to the job.
Just as he approached The Zone’s front doors, he received a text from G. Roy read it twice.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
The two-person security at the door, a man and a woman, gave him a startled look. Roy lifted a placating hand. “Sorry. God has decided it’s His night to fuck with me.”
The man, tall and dark in a copper-colored suit, grinned. “My mama says if God is screwing with you, it’s because you’re not going in the direction He wants you to go.”
Roy shot him a sour look and looked toward the woman. She was petite and blonde, but appeared capable of keeping people in line with nothing but her frosty blue eyes. “Have any better advice than that?”
“Nothing worth doing is easy.”
“Don’t quit your day jobs to become life coaches,” he said.
They exchanged amused glances as he moved inside the club. After he turned it over in his mind a few times, he sighed and texted G back. I’m here. Don’t tell him. I’ll decide if I want to approach him.
He got a thumbs up. And an LMAO emoji. Of course.
When DJ stepped into the club a half hour later, Roy had found a high top on the mezzanine and was nursing a soda, watching the ingress point G had said they’d be using. G gave DJ space, but stayed within range, doing her job.
Since DJ had broached the topic with him after that first concert, Roy couldn’t say the kid hadn’t given him a heads up. Just not the when and where, but he expected this was a spur-of-the-moment decision and a private one, reinforced by him not being accompanied by his bandmates.
Fortunately The Zone was one of the clubs that met Roy’s stringent security requirements.
Roy had grabbed a cheap eye mask from the gift store so he wouldn’t catch DJ’s attention too readily.
The expensive wooden fox mask made the most of DJ’s sensual mouth, but no one was going to recognize him.
Not unless they’d studied that lanky, strong body, the way he walked, the way he turned his head, as thoroughly as Roy had.
You’re so thorough, Mr. Bloodwell. Roy’s body tightened as his gaze went lower and stopped.
DJ was wearing one of Roy’s dress shirts.
Kid wore this one open, like he did most of them.
Apparently he didn’t know how to button a shirt.
His preferred brand of jeans clung to his thighs and crotch in the right ways and rode low, showing hip bones when he stretched his provocative body.
Roy knew they wouldn’t be baggy in the back.
They’d have a loving hold on his ass, but right now the shirt tail covered it.
How the hell had DJ gotten one of his shirts? Did he bribe a maid to steal it from Roy’s hotel room? He wouldn’t put it past him.
But why would DJ choose to wear his shirt for this, if he didn’t know Roy would be here? Roy’s mind moved to what DJ had told him, about his one-time experience with an alpha hole who thought topping DJ, a rising rockstar, was a powerplay, and got carried away with it.
DJ had been light on the details. But Roy had sensed there was more to it.
If it had been a bad scene, and one of DJ’s first as a submissive, it could make him nervous about entering that environment again.
Had DJ taken the shirt so he could wear a subtle form of Roy’s ownership, to help his nerves?
Roy told himself that was sentimental nonsense. But even if he was marinated in flowers and chocolate candy while Hallmark movies were mainlined into his veins, sentiment wasn’t part of his makeup. He knew he was right, simply because it was the truth.
Roy left the table and wound his way through the busy club.
The music had that pumping-blood-through-the-veins sound, colors and scents and lights creating an environment as inhibition-removing as any drug.
He blocked his reaction to them. Instead, he slowed his roll and chose to shadow DJ, watching what drew him.
Watching over him. G saw him, and their eyes met.
She offered a slight nod of acknowledgement.
A suspension scene caught DJ’s attention first. The naked woman’s limbs were wrapped in black and pink braided rope, her pussy split by thinner strands of the same. The curtain of her crimson dyed hair shimmered, her head dropped back, her wet lips parted.
Roy expected the orchestra in DJ’s head was going strong, because he'd pulled that ratty notebook from his pocket and was jotting away in his scrawled, uneven script. His interviews said a recorder wasn’t organic enough for his creative process.
When he moved onward, he displayed a similar curiosity for wax and fireplay, but Roy thought his interest so far was more artistic than personal.
That changed at the impact play scenes. DJ was mesmerized by whips, paddles or bare-handed contact on flesh, and his fascination pulled Roy in.
If there was such a thing as astral projection, Roy felt like his chest was against DJ’s back, his erection to his ass, getting a jolt as DJ quivered at each hit, fingers tightening on the notebook he held against his thigh.
Fortunately, that bad episode with a Dom hadn’t been bad enough for DJ to turn away from his desires. He was a quick learner and he wasn’t reckless, unless he felt safe enough to be reckless.
Roy tensed when a Dom approached DJ. The kid responded politely but with a headshake. The Dom moved on after a friendly comment that made DJ smile. Then he stepped toward another scene, eagerly enough Roy shifted position to get a better look.
The man bound on a cross was being flogged. From a mechanics standpoint, it was pretty typical stuff in a BDSM club. Even the men themselves were average, the silver-bearded top a little overweight, the bottom with thinning red hair.
But to those wanting evidence of a deeper connection, the draw of this scene was obvious. While they might be playing publicly for the extra titillation, they were wrapped up in one another.
The redhead’s lips were parted, anticipating the kiss as his Master leaned in, but he grasped his bound sub’s hair, bypassing the mouth and going for the throat with teeth.
He arched the sub’s head back to a straining angle, and the stress tightened the male’s naked body, every muscle group bunching, ass and thighs quivering.
Roy thought the Dom hadn’t needed the physical restraints.
His sub was all his. The Master could bring his male to climax with only a word.
As well as hold him back from it endlessly with the same.
Those who had or wanted that connection recognized it when they saw it. It was rare to get a public view of it.
It was a waltz between mated partners, two souls hyperaware of one another, straining to convey everything through the bridge between dominance and surrender.
DJ’s obvious absorbed attention confirmed what Roy had flagged between them. DJ wasn’t looking for a one-night topping scenario. Could they pursue an ongoing thing, building on it, getting to those deeper levels, without it interfering with Roy’s job?
G thought they could. Roy was more disciplined than most, especially when the safety of his client was involved. He could handle it, as long as DJ could. DJ said he could, and if he was wrong, Roy would end it to preserve the most important priority. DJ’s safety.
And DJ, damn him, was right about one thing. It would be nice to have a right-at-his-fingertips source for Roy’s topping desires.