Goddamn, Rose.
Jackson
The second we're in the car, the partition glides up.
Gerald, a professional and a saint. And then I'm on her because fuck, she looks good.
Every fantasy I've had about this woman for the last year has been waiting for leather to make its grand return.
I run my hand over her hip, feeling the new muscle underneath, the changes I noticed the night she came home but haven't been allowed to properly investigate.
"Ah-ah." She catches my wrist, and her voice drops into that register that rearranges my spine. "You have to be a good boy and wait."
"I feel like humping your leg." The confession falls directly out of my mouth. "Shit, I don't know what's happening to me right now. I'm a grown man. Where are we even going? Let's just go home."
"Patience."
"I have no patience. I spent it. All gone. The account is empty."
She laughs, low and delighted, and that does absolutely nothing to improve my condition.
"Good boys who wait get rewarded, Jackson. You know that."
I do know that, which is probably why I abandon what little dignity I have left, lean down and drag my cheek across the leather stretched over her chest.
She goes completely still.
"...Are you nuzzling me?"
"I don't know," I mumble against her. "I've never been this unhinged before."
Her fingers slide into my hair, and I can hear the smug smile without looking up. "Leather does something for you, huh?"
"If this is a leather kink, I'm finding out at a deeply inconvenient point in my life."
"Well." She scratches lightly against my scalp. "Lucky for you, where we're going, the dress code runs heavily to leather."
I finally lift my head. "...Rose. Where are we going?"
She doesn't answer. She just keeps playing with my hair, so I put my cheek back where it was and accept that this is who I am now.
***
As we walk into RAGs, we're escorted straight past a line that stretches halfway down the block, and I immediately start looking around because what the fuck is this place?
The floor is packed. Dancers are working a stage in the center, the music is sexy as hell, and there is significantly more leather in this building than I've encountered outside of a furniture showroom.
Rose doesn't even slow down. People move for her.
Staff nod when she passes. A massive man who makes me want to tuck my tail and run far, far away escorts us to a table and then casually takes up position across the club with a perfect view of us.
Okay. That's security.
Why does Rose need sec... are those people fucking?
I look at Rose, then back at the couple who are clearly... clearly fucking in the corner.
Is this a sex club?
What in the actual good garden fuck is happening?
The second we sit, a server appears with two whiskeys and a pair of black key cards.
"Thank you, Glory," Rose says.
Glory. The hot server at the SEX CLUB would be named Glory. I'd have been disappointed if her name was Susan.
Is it hot in here?
Okay. Moment of truth.
"Rose, is this a sex club?" I lean toward her because I am thirty-one years old and suddenly feel like I need a trusted adult.
"In a sense, yes."
Okay. Okay. This is fine. Everything is fine.
"And you come here to have sex. With the, uh... with people."
"I have, yes."
Well, I don't like that. I don't like that one fucking bit.
Imaginary men immediately populate my head. Faceless bastards, every one of them. One has a mustache now. Fuck that guy in particular.
"Okay," I say.
One corner of her mouth lifts. "What?"
"Nothing."
"That's a loaded nothing."
"I'm processing the fictional men I've invented. One of them has a mustache."
She stares at me for a second before laughing. "You're jealous of an imaginary man with a mustache?"
"Deeply. He's a prick."
"Noted."
She slides one of the black cards across the table to me, and I pick it up. There's one line across the front. Red. Amber. Green.
Well, I know what that means.
"This is the last thing about me you don't know. The last secret." She takes a sip of her whiskey, and for the first time tonight, she looks a little nervous. "This is mine."
I look up from the card. "Mine as in..."
"Mine, Jackson. I own it."
I look around the room again.
No fucking way.
"You own this place."
"I do."
"Like... this whole place?"
Now she's smiling. "This whole place."
Holy shit.
My woman owns a sex club.
I don't know why I'm proud of this. I contributed absolutely nothing. I didn't invest. Didn't help design it. I learned it existed approximately four minutes ago.
Still proud as fuck.
"Rose, this is..." I look around again because I don't even have the word yet. "This is unreal."
"Are you ready for tonight?"
I don't know what tonight is, but at this point she could tell me we're robbing a bank and I'd ask whether I need gloves.
"Yes, ma'am. Anything."
"Take your shirt off."
I reach up and pull it over my head. Glory appears almost immediately, takes it from my hands, and walks away with it. My eyes follow her on instinct, but Rose catches my chin and brings my attention straight back.
"Don't you fucking look at her. Eyes on me. You understand?"
And there she is. Full Domme Rose. I may die here.
"Yes, ma'am." I'm smiling like an idiot and nodding way too fast.
"God, Jackson." Rose's head falls back with a laugh. "Stop looking so damn excited. It's hard to stay in a scene when you look like you're one second from pissing your pants."
"You have no fucking idea."
I'm practically vibrating.
She shakes her head, presses her lips together, and visibly tries to get herself back into Domme mode, which only makes me grin harder.
"Jackson."
I immediately straighten my face. Or try to.
"Sorry, ma'am."
"You're not sorry."
"Not even a little."
She gives me a look that sends a happy little shiver straight down my back, then raises one hand. A moment later another server approaches with a brown leather collar and a leash already clipped to the ring. Rose takes it from her and runs her thumb once over the leather before looking at me.
"Give me a color."
"Green. So fucking green."
She tries to hide the smirk.
"Come kneel in front of me. You'll wear this while we're here tonight."
I get out of my chair and kneel between her legs. The excitement is still there, but the second she brings the collar around my throat, some of the silliness burns off. Her fingers brush my neck as she buckles it, checking the fit before sliding two fingers underneath.
"Comfortable?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good."
She takes the leash in one hand and looks down at me.
Fuck.
Okay.
I understand the leather thing now.
"Raise my skirt over my ass. Keep your eyes on me. Don't look down."
I slide my hands beneath the leather and start pushing it slowly up her thighs. My nails graze her skin on the way because I can't help myself.
Her palm cracks across my cheek. "Don't tease. Do as you're told and nothing more."
Precum drips from me as I push the dress over her hips without taking my eyes off hers, which becomes increasingly difficult when I realize there's nothing underneath it.
I mean, at this point, why would there be? Why would Rosalie Bennett, owner of a fucking sex club, wear underwear on the night she brings me to said fucking sex club?
I should've anticipated this.
"Spread my legs."
I spread them wide. Her scent hits my nose and pulls a grunt of pleasure out of me. Fuck, I'm getting impatient. I've never experienced anything like this in my life.
"You may look. Am I wet?"
My eyes drop and she’s glistening. It’s taking every ounce of my self control to behave and not caveman her right fucking here.
"Yes, ma'am." My voice actually shakes.
Her smile goes smug as she runs her long middle finger between her slick folds and slides it into my mouth. I close my lips around her finger and I have to clench my fists to keep from coming.
"And how do I taste?"
"Fucking heavenly, ma'am."
"Hmm. Such a good boy." She strokes my cheek with the same finger before giving the leash a short tug. "On your feet."
I stand, pitching the biggest tent of my life. Then she rises, pulls her dress over her head, and stands naked in front of the entire club.
“Shit, Rose.” Not only is her body ripped, she’s gotten tattoos. Black ink lines her abs. There is a phoenix bird under her breast bone. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” I run my fingers along the lines of her stomach.
For some reason, I feel emotional seeing this version of her. This strength she found both physically and emotionally.
She must sense the change in my head because she gives the leash a sharp tug. “We’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted with each other’s bodies. Let's take a tour." She takes up the leash and walks, me attached right behind her.
I follow her through the club while she gives me the tour, and I don't know which part is fucking with my head more: the fact that I'm walking behind a naked Rose on a leash, or the fact that every few feet somebody greets her like she's royalty.
"Good evening, Madame."
"Madame."
"Beautiful night, Madame."
By the second floor, I'm amused. By the third, I'm horny enough to chew through drywall. By the fourth, I've also become ridiculously proud again because every room we walk through gives me another piece of what she built.
"How long have you owned this place?"
"Years."
"Years?"
She looks over her shoulder. "You keep repeating things I've already answered."
"Because you keep saying insane shit very casually."
That gets a smile.
"Nobody else uses this room. It’s mine," she says as the door closes behind us. "I'm really glad it's you standing in it with me, Jackson."
She turns to face me and reaches for the collar around my throat. The buckle releases and I watch her remove the collar, but instead of setting it aside, she keeps it in her hands.
And now she's nervous again. I see it in the way she's rubbing her thumb over the leather, the way she takes a breath and doesn't immediately start talking. My excitement settles enough for me to pay attention.
"I've never been a switch," she says. "I've always needed complete and utter control. You know why."
She looks down at the collar, still rubbing her thumb across the leather.
"The ultimate show of trust for a Domme is handing control to her submissive. For me, after everything I've survived, it's..." She exhales and tries again. "It's a lot."
Yeah. I can see that.
"Rose."
"Let me finish."
I shut my mouth.
She brings the collar to her own neck and fastens it. My heart starts pounding as I watch her buckle the same piece of leather around her throat that I was wearing thirty seconds ago.
Then she takes the leash and puts it into my hand.
Her fingers are trembling.
"I'm yours to command, sir."
It takes a hell of a lot longer than I'd like to admit for my brain to catch up to what's happening. But the beast in me catches on a hell of a lot faster, rattling the cage the second that leash lands in my palm.
Rose is standing in front of me wearing a collar. Her collar. Her fingers are trembling as she hands me control of a part of herself she's never handed to anyone, and every dominant instinct she's spent years pulling out of me wants to take what she's offering.
But she taught me better than that.
I cup her jaw and lift her face until she's looking directly at me.
"Give me a color, Rosalie."
Her eyes immediately fill with tears, and mine start burning right along with them. Neither of us needs to explain why. This is a huge fucking moment. For both of us.
"Green," she whispers.
I wait. Not because I don't believe her, but because I'm going to give her every fucking second she needs to change her mind. But then, her mouth curves.
"So fucking green."
There she is.
I wrap the leash once around my fist and give it a firm tug. Her breath catches, and the nerves in her face disappear so fast I almost smile.
"Then tell the first floor there's about to be a show."
For half a second, Rose just stares at me. Then her whole face changes.
Oh, she likes that. A lot.
"Yes, sir."
She reaches for the intercom.