Dare To Love Series_A Stranger's Dare Page 10

  Then there were those men crawling around on all fours, wearing a collar and leash held by a stern-faced Dom or Dominatrix. One just crawled by in gold silks with the crotch cut open like hers. His balls and cock were crammed into some kind of tiny wire cage. A cord ran from the cage to the leash his Mistress held. Every so often a buzz of electricity hummed and gold-silk-man’s eyes bugged out when he screamed before thanking his owner.

  Simply freaking unreal.

  Bethany had gotten permission from the club’s manager, her prior Dom’s brother, to give Gracie a tour through the dungeon before they settled in the submissives’ lounge. Gracie wanted to take notes and pictures, but Master Zack adamantly refused, citing members’ privacy rights. Now she understood why.

  She’d known this would be a different world from her research, but holy crap this really was a divergent place. Yet, it wasn’t scary, just unconventional and exciting. Exotic. The thrill was in every vibe of the place, including the lighting. Purple, red and pink lights shone on patrons in various places of the club. On the raised platforms where scenes were acted out, golden illumination displayed the couple—whether the opposite or same sex—demonstrated bondage equipment or toys in a type of sexual play. Bethany called it scening.

  One Dom was tying a rope on to a sub, in a series of knots. “So, this is the rope play?” Gracie pointed. It looked like it might be fun. She was glad she’d signed up to give it a try.

  “It’s called Shibari. A type of edge play, darlin’.” A deep, dark Texan voice whispered in her ear. He sounded like Austin from Houston who played for her last year. Two warm palms grabbed her ass.

  She whirled to face the fool who had the audacity to place his hands on her and came face-to-face with a man in a hood. His stormy eyes made her uneasy. “You can’t just touch me like that.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “I see a pink band. Unattached submissive. That makes y’all fair play for any Dom in this club, pet. We can touch you any way we like until you use your safe word. Do you know what it is?” He tweaked her nipple and she shoved his chest. The self-assured asshole stepped back a step.

  She fought a grin. He wasn’t expecting her to be so strong. Poor schmuck had no clue she rough housed basketball players all the time. “My safe word is red. Touch my nipples again and I’ll shout it from the rafters.”

  The alpha fool leaned eyeball to eyeball with her, determination in his body language. “I’d be happy to explain rope bondage to you since you have on a band indicating y’alls a guest. May I do so, amazon sub?”

  Maybe she’d gotten through to him that she wouldn’t put up with touching, grabbing, or pinching. “Okay. Granted you behave.”

  He nodded and moved closer. “A good master, well-trained on tying and knotting, uses the rope to restrict movement, wrap, or suspend his or her submissive.”

  His hands were at her waist. He pulled her flush against his body and the rod of flesh beneath his leathers.

  Holy shit. He’s as heavy hung as Webb.

  “If done properly, Shibari can be considered an erotic art form, darlin’. Knots are tied at strategic places to deliver the most pain and eventually pleasure to the one who is bound.”

  “And I suppose you consider yourself an expert.” Her bare shoulders reared back and she tossed him a bit of bare-nippled attitude. After all, what else could she use them for other than pinching posts for every strange man in this club?

  “Sir, sub. Y’all will address me properly.” He landed a hard smack on her ass and she gasped. “The correct way to ask the question is in a less snarky voice. ‘I suppose you consider yourself an expert, Sir.’” He smacked her again. “Now, repeat it.”

  On her second gasp, she was close enough to get a whiff of his cologne. A smell that was very familiar. What were the chances two men wore the same fragrance?

  Another smack to her ass interrupted her train of thought. “I ordered you to repeat it, submissive.” His voice was stern, demanding.

  She did as he ordered through clenched jaws. Following a stranger’s orders was not her style. She didn’t get to be the coach of a male college basketball team by being a doormat.

  He forked his fingers through the length of her hair, lifting it. “You’re quite beautiful and spirited. I’m in the market for a new submissive. I think I’d enjoy you for a pet. I promise I’d be a good Master. Better than anyone you’ve had before.” His lips honed in on her sensitive spot with an all too accustomed bite, and Gracie knew.

  She grabbed the edges of his vest, unsnapped it, and shoved it back to reveal a tattoo with the word SEAL and a Trident just as she’d expected.

  “Webb, take off that ridiculous hood. I know it’s you. What I want is a good explanation why you’re hiding your identity.”

  He jerked off his hood. “Well, I’d like for you to tell me what my woman is doing in a BDSM club when she professes to be strictly vanilla?” His disgusted gaze slid over her. “Hell, the parts you’re showing off are mine. Hadn’t we decided to work on a relationship?”

  “You decided. I didn’t.” She really wanted to tell him where to go, but they’d drawn a bit of an audience. “So it’s wrong for me to be here doing research for a book, but it’s not wrong for you to be here dressed like a stud in leathers, ogling all the women in their skimpy outfits? Oh, you really are a hypocrite.” Her hands fisted on her hips. She didn’t know if she wanted to belt him or dissolve into a crying jag.

  A club monitor, wearing a neon yellow vest, approached. “Any problems you need help with? Perhaps we could walk to one of the quiet areas of the club and have a civilized talk.”

  “I’m up for that,” Webb replied.

  Gracie glanced in Bethany’s direction. A muscled man in another hood was laughing with her. He held her hand like a complete gentleman.

  “Let me go tell my ride where I’ll be and then join you. Although I’d sooner call a cab and go back to my hotel. I’ve been here long enough.” She aimed a death stare at Webb and stormed off to speak to Bethany.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When Gracie returned to Bethany, the man beside her removed his hood. She should have figured—Webb’s driver, Cooper Samuels. Her friend was all googly-eyed. “I think bald men are very sexy, sir.”

  Cooper’s cheeks colored. He turned his attention to Gracie. “You okay, Coach Lady? I get the feeling Webb’s never been jealous before. He doesn’t know how to reign in the emotion. He’s pretty wrapped up in you.”

  “One of the monitors is moving us to a quiet conversation area. You know, time out for adults.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “I just wanted you to know where I’m at.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I’ll be with Master Coop the rest of the evening. As tall as he is, he should be easy to find.”

  The typically austere man smiled indulgently at Bethany. Good Lord, was there something in the water in NYC that made men fall in lust so easily? And be dimwitted enough to think it might be more?

  Webb and the security guy waited between two black statues of couples in various positions of copulation. She joined them and followed into a private conversation area. A waitress in a gold lame mini-skirt and matching heels—nothing more—brought a tray bearing two bottles of Perrier water and glasses of ice.

  The monitor, whose name tag read “Kerry,” glared at both of them. “I’ll be back to check on you two in half an hour, unless I hear or witness a disturbance. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Gracie resisted the urge to curtsey.

  “Of course. I’m sure we’ll be no problem. Right?” Webb smoothed his hair that stood on end after yanking off the leather hood.

  “Whatever.” She busied herself, pouring a bottle of water and ice, hoping it would cool her temper. What made Webb think he could talk to her that way? Wheels made a slight screeching noise and she looked toward the seating area’s entrance.

  “This should keep others out so you’ll have your privacy.” Kerry had rolled a large potted plant on a movable platfor
m to the center of the opening to their secluded space.

  Because Gracie had zero desire to sit next to Webb, she gingerly sat in one of the club chairs. Her bottom still stung from his hand. If he was smart, he’d take a seat as far away from her as he could, especially with her anger still in attack mode. How dare he condemn her for what she wore—no matter how ridiculous it was? She was nearing thirty. Her clothing choices were her decision, not some man’s.

  Webb sat on the love seat next to the club chair she occupied and leaned toward her. “Why did you lie to me?” His dark eyebrows dipped into a “V” and his normally magnetic cobalt eyes were now a midnight blue. Fisted hands draped between his spread thighs.

  “I did not lie. I rarely do, leather legs.”

  “Well, fuck if you could convince me.”

  “Look, I told you I was going out with a friend and that’s exactly what I’ve done. Although, to be honest, I don’t see where my actions are any concern of yours. Just because we’ve had sex a few times and spent time together, does not mean I owe you a play by play rundown of my days and nights. You need to get a grip.”

  He stood and grabbed her biceps, pulling her from the chair. “Is that what you do? Lead men on? Tell them you like the way they screw you. Once you get under their skin and worm your way into their hearts, then you dump them?” He shook her.

  “You get your rocks off doing that, angel? No, forget angel. Let’s go for devilkin. That’s what the fuck you are. You seduce men with your fake innocence. Chip said you were a class act.” Webb released a harsh bark of laughter before placing her feet on the floor and looking away.“I’m not so sure I see anything classy in how you’re dressed tonight. Not without my permission.”

  “Oh, listen to you, Master Running Back.” She began to pace. “Let me make a few things clear. You will never call me names again. If you ever raise your voice to me in the future, I will knock your ass to the floor. If you ever want to condemn what I’m wearing, bite your demon tongue and keep your thoughts to yourself.” She pointed a finger at him. “And, so help me God, if you strike me one more time, I will blacken both of your eyes.”

  Webb pulled her to him. “Wait just a damn minute! I smacked you, I did not hit you. I’d never strike you, baby. Never. I lost my temper when I saw what you were wearing, showing yourself off to other Doms when we’d already decided you belong to me.”

  This man was a total whack job. He had a head as hard as the basketball court back at Mount Vista College.

  Gracie’s hands rose and then dropped to slap her sides. “You don’t spend a few days with someone and decide that person is the one for you. It takes time to build companionship and trust. You and I have no trust. Otherwise you wouldn’t have jumped off the deep end with all these crazy accusations when all I was doing was research for a series of books.”

  He placed his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose before turning his back to her. “What the fuck do you want from me? To just let you walk out of my life without fighting to keep you?”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Webb, we’ve had some wonderful conversations. Our sexual attraction is off the charts. I love being in your arms, but that’s not enough to build a relationship on. It’s not. Keep our time together as a special memory. Maybe we’ll see each other again. Maybe not. I want to remember you with fondness.

  Tears blurred her vision and she cupped his cheek with her hand. “Goodbye, Webb.”

  “Don’t say it.” His voice was raw.

  “You’re a good man in so many ways. We just met at the wrong time, that’s all.” She kissed him on a sob and he was like a stone. Unyielding, cold, and rigid.

  She walked toward the entry, moving the potted plant aside so she could exit. Tears tracked her face as she headed for the fancy locker room. She wanted out of this outfit and wearing her comfortable clothes. What her heart ached for was to be back in Webb’s strong arms, but a wish like that was so foolish when it held no future.

  He wanted to claim ownership before they’d really gotten to know each other. Wasn’t that how she’d gotten into so many bad relationships? By moving too fast before she really knew what the guy was like beneath the façade?

  So what if her heart was breaking? It had always been a dimwitted beast. She texted Bethany, knowing she wouldn’t see it until she came back to change clothes. Cellphones weren’t allowed in the dungeon. Wearing her street clothes again, Gracie waited at the corner for a taxi she’d called. She was an empty, exhausted, emotional wreck. And, damn her, she was going to miss Webb Mohanty with every breath she took.

  ****

  Webb sat shell-shocked when the monitor returned to check on them. “Everything okay in here?” Kerry pushed the plant to the other side of the statue. “You alone, man?” He flopped in one of the club chairs. “Looks like you could use a drink. Club limit is one. I can check if you’ve had yours. What do you prefer, sir, if you haven’t?”

  “Jim Beam Black on ice. A double if you can finagle it. My sub just broke things off. I need some numbing.”

  Kerry motioned for a waitress and ordered a drink for Webb and iced water for himself.

  Meanwhile Webb leaned his head on the top of the loveseat and stared at the dark ceiling. Gracie had told him what she thought and walked out. She’d been saying all along they were moving too fast. The thing was when he held her, her body spoke differently. She hummed and moaned under his touch. There’d never be another woman like his Gracie.

  Damn.

  Double Damn.

  Triple Damn. Fuck.

  The waitress returned with their drinks, and Webb sipped his.

  “If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener. You’re a guest of Gabe’s which means you get extra attention if you want it.”

  Webb took another drink. “I met a fantastic woman a few days ago. We’ve been spending a lot of time together. I wanted her for a sub, she wanted to focus on a relationship first. A neat trick with me living along the Gulf Coast and her in northwestern Idaho. But we’d talked about getting together whenever our schedules permitted. I play football and she coaches college basketball.”

  He sipped more whiskey. “I didn’t see the distance as any big deal. Planes fly every day.”

  “True that.”

  “Thing was, I wasn’t expecting to see her at the club tonight and totally lost my shit. Accused her of hunting for another Dom. Showed her I had no trust in her.” He rattled the ice cubes in his glass. “Seeing her in this place tonight was the last thing I expected.”

  “Yet, you’re here, dressed in your leathers,” Kerry pointed out.

  “Yes, I am. But I’m not looking for a sub for the evening. This was just a visit to relax with other Doms.”

  “So how did you notice her if you weren’t checking out the subs?”

  Webb took another sip and crossed an ankle over his other knee. “Because she’s got this firm, world class ass. I don’t think any other woman’s measures up to hers.”

  Kerry grinned. “So you weren’t checking out tits and ass? Your woman walked by and a neon sign flashed with your name on it and caught your attention? Man, you are so full of bullshit.”

  Why bother to tell him the whole story? That Cooper had pointed out the sub who’d attracted him and Gracie just happened to be with her. It all sounded convoluted, anyway. Sharing how it went down wouldn’t change things. His raven-haired beauty had walked out on him.

  Maybe he had overreacted to seeing her here, wearing sexy-as-hell fet wear. His gut tucked and rolled. No, by damn, he hadn’t. She kept telling him she was vanilla, and argued with him whenever he mentioned her submissive tendencies.

  He’d come here because Gabe was kind enough to give him one last night of sexual freedom. Hell, he hadn’t planned on touching anyone. Looking, sure. But doing a scene or taking a sub to a private room? No. He wouldn’t have. Not with Gracie embedded in his heart. And how the hell that had happened so fast, he hadn’t a clue.

 
Was it just sexual attraction like she kept claiming?

  If it was, why did he feel so damn bad?

  “Well, Webb, looks like you’ve got some soul searching to do.” Kerry stood. “Take as long as you need. I have rounds to make.” He strolled out.

  Webb stood and paced the area, trying to work off some nervous energy. Now he knew why he tended to go with the one-night stands. Lots of raw sex, but no personal involvement. That way was better, much better.

  At least he didn’t end up empty inside. Hurting like a motherfucker. His soul crying out a name over and over. “Gracie.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The airplane’s wheels bumped and screeched on the runway of Spokane International Airport, jarring Gracie awake. The tension of meeting potential players, enjoyment of writing workshops and late night drinks with other authors, and the emotional pain of ignoring Webb’s calls and texts had taken its toll.

  She hadn’t ignored all his texts though.

  Sitting at the gate in LaGuardia airport waiting for her flight to Baltimore, a chime dinged on her phone and she glanced at the text. The pain in his words reached out to her.

  “Tell me one thing and be honest. Did I mean anything to you? Was it all a fucking game? Some kind of ego trip?”

  She had to smile at the role reversal. Usually it was the woman who asked those kinds of questions. Her first instinct was to tease him, but then she remembered how his face looked the last time she saw him. How her heart crumbled, as those final words tumbled from her lips.

  So without using a filter, she allowed her heart to respond.

  “It was freaking scary how much you came to mean to me in such a short time. Why do you think I ran? This is real life, not a fairytale romance.”

  “Where are you? I’ll skip my next counseling session and come to you.”

  “At the boarding gate for my flight to Baltimore.”

  “Text me when you get there. I need to know you’re safe.”

  Even within the words of a text, his intensity gripped her. When she’d checked Webb out online after meeting him, most reports described him as a man out for a good time. Did he always go so bonkers over every woman he met?