Chapter 6 #4
I tip my chin to Harry, a gray-bearded, bear of a Dom in full leathers.
Logan introduced me to Harry as a fellow motorcycle enthusiast years ago when I visited New York on leave.
We’ve done a couple of rides together and he’s taken me to meet his brothers in the Rolling Blue Motorcycle Club chapter he belongs to in New Jersey.
I liked the bikers, all of who are ex-military or law enforcement, and have spent several days with them, most recently on a charity ride in September.
Some of them gave me tips for transitioning back into civvy life that have come in handy.
I’ve also had a very quiet, very off-the-record conversation with Harry about his trips with one of the club submissives upstate, to a retreat with bikers who are not ex-military or law enforcement.
They’re very much at the opposite end of the spectrum.
I’ve declined Harry’s invitations to join their get togethers because I wasn’t comfortable with a gangbang being the first scene I did with one of Logan’s club brothers.
And because some of the bikers are one percenters and, having had run-ins with one percenters when I lived in Florida, they make me a little nervous.
But if I had my own submissive to bring to the retreat, that would be a different thing.
I might even be able to work Brenna’s abduction fantasy into it.
The thought makes me smile into my bourbon.
I haven’t met the other Dom, Rob, although I recognize his name from the barbed wire tattoo around Brenna’s thigh, which makes my smile fade.
He’s around Logan’s age, has Logan’s rangy build, and tops it all off with the kind of open, trustworthy face I’d have been happy to have in my platoon.
But the idea that this guy topped the girl I want for my own with that annoyingly-handsome face makes me hate him on general principal.
I have to drag my smile back onto my face when he holds out his hand.
“Harry’s mentioned you have a Chieftain Dark Horse,” Rob says after we shake.
“I do. Do you ride?”
“Yeah.” Rob grins. “A Ducati.”
Okay, that makes him marginally more likeable.
Harry snorts. “Crotch rocket.”
“I’m not a Harley purist,” I tell Rob. “How does it ride?”
“Urban lion,” Rob says. “Nothing like the tank the old man here wheels around.” He elbows Harry. Harry lifts his lip in a playful snarl while he holds a finger up for the bartender.
Tee ambles down the bar, pops the tops on two bottled beers, puts them on the bar in front of Rob and Harry, turns his back, and returns to the crowd. Either he knows their drinks, or they don’t warrant anything off the top shelf.
Harry chortles. “You’re still in the shit, buddy. I need to remember not to come in here with you.”
Rob picks up his beer and takes a long draw. “I’m lucky he didn’t spit in it this time.”
Logan gives a low whistle and I chuckle at Rob’s misery. “What did you do to piss him off?”
Rob cuts his eyes at Harry and Logan.
I hold up my hand, realizing I’ve overstepped. “Sorry, club business.”
“Let’s just say Tee’s very protective of the nightclub submissives and I fucked up with one of them. Tee’s taking it much worse than she did.”
Remembering his name on Brenna’s thigh, I frown at him. “Not—?”
Logan’s hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes. “We were hoping to catch DirtyGurl dancing. I don’t suppose either of you have seen her tonight?”
Harry nods. “Not sure if she’s still there, but she took Cappa’s shift on the upstairs door tonight. She said he’s sick?”
I hear Logan grind his teeth even over the nightclub’s pounding electronica. “Something like that.”
Harry pushes back from the bar and gives Logan a hard stare. “Something we need to talk about?”
“Probably,” Logan agrees. “But not today.”
“Give me a call. Tomorrow, eh?”
Logan nods. “Mac, if you’re done, let’s go find DirtyGurl. See if she can give you a dance.”
I toss back the last sip of bourbon, not wanting to waste it, but also not giving it the attention it deserves, before saying my goodbyes to Harry and Rob and following Logan out.
The hallway up into the main club is blessedly cool and quiet. Logan leads me through a series of security doors and into an elevator. As it speeds upwards, I ask, “Is Rob one of the fuckers who let Bren down?”
“I don’t pay much attention to club gossip,” Logan responds, leaning against the elevator’s mirrored wall. “I’d have thought if anyone made her question her submission it was Ten, but I know Brenna used to scene with Rob regularly.”
“Have you seen the tattoo on Brenna’s thigh? It’s all names. Rob’s is two along from Theo’s.”
“I haven’t looked closely at it,” Logan says. “But I know about it. She got permission from the management committee before she had it done.”
“Is your name on there somewhere?” I ask warily.
“No. She makes her own determination about whose name to add to the tattoo, but I’m pretty sure it’s Doms who have topped her a number of times. Other than a few training scenes, I’ve only done group scenes with her.”
“And had sex with her?”
Logan rubs his hand over his face. “Mac, are you sure about this? She’s been a house sub for years. She’s done scenes with at least a hundred Doms. She’s had sex with most of them—”
“You’re right,” I interrupt because I really don’t want to hear any more. “Sorry. It just catches me by surprise sometimes.”
“Look, sir, I don’t know how I’d feel if I came face-to-face with Emily’s ex.
I’d probably punch him. But I’ve come to terms with her previous Doms. I even feel grateful to some of them for training her so well.
The Blunts Doms aren’t Brenna’s exes, but you’re going to have to come to terms with them somehow. ”
I nod. I will. Somehow. Maybe when Brenna’s come on my cock a few hundred times, I won’t feel this burning, sour jealousy towards everyone she’s slept with when she hasn’t yet slept with me.
And, yes, I know that’s my own damn fault.
She was perfectly willing to hop on my cock the other night, but I’m serious about protecting her health.
I haven’t been tested in over a year. I’ve only had penetrative sex with two women since then.
One was a pro and the other was Amy, who has been with every single man in the state of Florida and quite a few that weren’t.
I used condoms with Sirena, but Amy did her usual number on me.
I didn’t use protection any more than I used my damn brain.
We step out of the elevator into a vestibule with another security door that Logan opens.
He leads me around the corner to a massive, wooden reception desk with a huge digital display hanging on the wall behind it.
The computers on the desk and the digital board are the only modern things in the long hallway.
Everything else is straight out of a British country house: a rich, red-patterned, Turkish carpet that cushions our feet, wood paneling on the walls broken up by doors, classical statuary, and huge oil paintings of hunting scenes.
Wall sconces soak everything in soft, golden light, and there’s the scent of leather and tobacco in the air, even though I’m sure no one has smoked inside this building in a decade.
Oh, except in the smoking lounge, because Logan’s told me they have one of those.
“Good evening, Master Logan.” A woman’s soft contralto greets us. She steps out from behind the reception desk to curtsey to Logan and then to me. With a black bob, bright blue eyes, and delicate features, she could be Cappa’s sister. “Is there anything I can do for you and your guest, sir?”
“Is DirtyGur—”
Logan breaks off when a door down the hall opens and Brenna walks out.
My heart nearly leaps through my ribcage.
She definitely gets more beautiful every time I see her.
Her dreadlocks are down, swinging against her shoulders, providing a jewel-toned backdrop for her colorful skin.
If I thought black rope looked great framing that skin, I had no idea what black leather and lace would do.
Fuck, she is stunning. She’s wearing the same basque set as every other house submissive: corset, G-string, and fishnet stockings.
On Brenna, they give her cleavage I want to bury my face in and never breathe again, a nipped-in waist worthy of a pin-up, and legs that go on not just for days but for centuries.
I have to swallow to keep from drooling.
I take a step towards her that turns bow-legged when I nearly stumble over my own damn cock, I’ve shot so hard.
Her warm brown eyes land on me and she smiles, genuinely happy to see me. She tosses her hair back and begins walking toward me. My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my temples and my throat and my cock.
Then Theo steps out of the room behind her and my heart freezes. He’s bare-chested, barefoot, wearing just a pair of low-slung jeans. He’s flushed, his hair standing up in spikes.
I can’t help my eyes going from him to her. Bren stops walking and the smile slides off her face. I feel the frown forming on my own.
Theo shuts the door behind him and catches up with her in two long strides, slinging his arm around her shoulders. He walks her over to the reception desk and gives us each a nod. “Logan, Mac. Char, we’re finished with the Medical Suite.”
“Yes, Master Theo,” Cappa’s twin says, heading back around the desk.
From the circle of another man’s arms, Brenna says, “Master Mac, I hope your daughter’s okay?”
I nod, unable to say a word around the constriction in my throat.
Her eyes narrow. “Everything okay?”
A growl breaks free of my throat. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Giving Master Theo his rain check. Remember?”
I don’t. Didn’t. Now that she says it, I vaguely remember that both Theo and I asked to scene with her that morning at Logan’s and she offered us both a rain check, but I didn’t remember until now.
I shake my head slowly, feeling like I’ve caught a gut wound.