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Monday, August 25th
“Mase,” Trace said.
Mase looked up from his phone, scowling. He’d been texting Natalie all fucking day, trying to get her to answer him, to call him back so he could talk to her.
He’d screwed up, badly. As in, the worst he’d ever screwed up with a woman.
He knew exactly why—when she’d stood there in the warm summer night outside her now wildly successful bar and good as told him that he could go anytime, that it was fun but she didn’t need him, and she did this at the end of a day when he’d also lost something else huge, something that had been his life for years ... he’d been slashed open as if she’d gone after him with a knife.
And so he’d let her have it right back, in spades. He’d said things that felt good at the time, but later, oh, fuck, later ... he’d lain in bed, awake most of the rest of the night, staring blindly at the big-screen TV as the Ms went down to the Angels. As the last batter flung his bat to the ground in anger and turned away to jog stiffly away to the dugout, Mase knew exactly how the poor jackass felt.
Pissed off his team had lost, and angry at himself for not being able, despite giving it his all, to make it work. And at the other players for not caring enough to make it work.
He woke Sunday, late, to a dark and looming sky, summer thunderstorms. His head ached, his eyes were full of grit, and he knew at once that something was wrong. Remembering all that was wrong, he stumbled from bed with a curse, slamming into the shower and hitting the hot spray, then stood under it with his head bowed, tumult of anger, hurt and regret in his chest.
By the time he’d drunk several cups of coffee, eaten a bowl of granola and fruit without tasting a bite, and dressed in shorts and tee to go outside and do something, anything, around the place, he’d realized, finally what he’d done.
He’d hit Natalie where she was weakest, battered at her with words like fists. Done what he’d fucking die to prevent from anyone else, and what life had done to him ... he’d hurt his lady.
Yeah, his. Oh, she might be fighting it, might be doing her best to sidle skittishly away, but he knew it. They belonged together. She wouldn’t respond to him the way she did, wouldn’t come so close to blurting out the words when he had her coming around him, not if she didn’t mean them.
Natalie’s feelings ran deep. She wasn’t the kind of woman to cry at every little thing, or pout or make a fuss. She hid inside herself.
He hadn’t been able to see a reaction in the slanting glare of the parking lot lights, but now he could picture the look that would’ve been in her big eyes, because he’d seen it that first Saturday night after Cassidy and Buzz finished their dirty work, and the other bar patrons left in droves.
Hurt. Behind her stiff posture and guarded gaze, a hurt so deep it went back years.
So deep that now she held herself back. She’d thrown herself out there time and again, and she’d been dropped, first by her dead-beat dad, then by her husband. She still had the courage to leap when it came to Rambles, because she thought she could do that all by herself.
But when it came to love, she was used up. Done believing.
And what had he himself done? Instead of letting her know gently but firmly that that was bull, and he was not through proving himself to her, he’d snapped and unloaded his own shit on her. Instead of holding out his arms and saying ‘Jump, baby, I’ll catch you,’ he’d turned away.
Now he was at the club, it was Monday night and he did not want to be here, he wanted to be with Natalie. Making it all all right. She was free, he knew this, because the bar was closed. So where the fuck was she? Had she run home to Seattle to her mom and sister?
“Mase!” Trace’s voice was adamant this time.
“What?” Mase looked up, not bothering to hide his scowl.
The tall, blonde man stood at the end of the bar, arms crossed over his chest, regarding Mase with his brows up. “You with me now?”
Mase spread his arms, showing silently and sarcastically that he was indeed here, with Trace, and with the other club members beginning to arrive, none of whom Mase was that excited to see. “Trying to get hold of Nat,” he grumbled.
Trace nodded. “Yeah, about that ...”
“What?” Mase’s antennae went up, honing in on an odd note in his friend’s voice.
“Well,” Trace said, “If she were to show up here, you gonna give her room? Or does one of us need to step in?”
Mase stiffened. “What the hell? Give her room to do what?” he echoed, anger rising in an uncomfortable mix with embarrassment. Fuck, Trace couldn’t know about their fight, could he? Sometimes Mase wouldn’t put telepathy past the tall, controlled Dom.
Trace cocked his head. “You’re a good man, Mase. No one I’d rather have in my corner. But you don’t have a real track record with women—long term, I mean. And I don’t mean that as a criticism, just saying this is a big change for you. Just wonder if Natalie’s had time to breathe, time to come to terms with all that being your woman means.”
Mase stared at him. “We ... I mean, it’s all been good. Everything I’ve done, it’s all been for her.”
Trace simply raised his brows.
“Fuck,” Mase groaned, dropping his head. “You’re right. We’ve been on a fast track. Really fast ... and Saturday night, it kinda got a little ... furious. Just words, but ... fuck me. I screwed up.”
“I figured,” Trace said. “Seeing as how she’s in the office right now, looking half-scared out of her mind. Like maybe some asshole Dom went off on her, lost his shit.”
Mase erupted from his stool, only to find his forearm held in a strong grip that said Trace was not through with him.
“Whoa,” Trace said, his eyes boring into Mase’s. “Slow down. Just listen for a minute. Natalie’s here, Mase. She came here on her own. She didn’t call you to come and get her, she didn’t ask for your help. Now, you go racing in there to save her, is that really what she needs right now?”
He let go of Mase’s arm, and his voice softened. “Or does she need to have room to do what she came to do, on her own?”
Mase’s heart was pounding so hard he felt sick. Adrenaline, hope and fear raced through his veins. She was here ... but for whom?
And to do what? To let him know she was with him, or that she couldn’t handle his shit. That this, the club was all they’d ever share and he’d have to share her with others?
Didn’t matter. Either way, any way at all, she deserved to make her own decisions. And he had to give her that room.
He glanced around the club, at the raucous, openly sensual, scantily clad crowd, and his gut iced. If she wanted to move on, walk away with another man, he had to let her. Even if doing so brought him to his knees before everyone here. Even if it gutted him.
He took a deep breath, and nodded. “She can have all the room she needs. I’ll wait.”
Trace smiled slowly. “Good man.”
Mase reached back blindly for his whiskey and downed the rest of it, feeling the burn as it flowed down his throat, and settled in his gut. He wanted to walk around the bar and pour himself another, and another, and maybe take the bottle with him. But now was not the time.
Anyway, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman slowly venturing through the door of the club office.
* * *
HE WAS WAITING FOR her by the bar. He walked forward, to the edge of the empty dance floor and stopped. Standing there, feet apart and hands down at his side. An indecipherable look on his face.
He was everything she wanted, the most masculine, compelling and sexy man in the big, crowded room. Around her, the other people, the music, the scents and sounds faded, muffled by the pounding of her heart as she threaded through the crowd, toward him.
Nat walked to him. She stopped a few paces away, and dropped her gaze to his chest, where supple brown leather and a snug black tee covered his heart.
“Mase,” she said.
He said nothing, and she lifted her gaze to his, fear jabbing at her so hard she nearly buckled under its weight. What if he didn’t want her any more at all? Was he still angry with her? Had he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble?
But then, gazing into his beautiful eyes, she felt that connection, that jolt from him to her and back again. All that was Mase seeped into her, and gave her some of his courage.
“I’m here to be ... with you,” she told him. “If you want me.”
Something powerful moved through his eyes, and his jaw clenched. His hands closed into fists at his side. “Why, Natalie?” he asked.
She lifted one hand to her heart as it leapt in her chest. He followed the motion with his gaze then pinioned her again in molten hazel. She saw pain, she saw regret, she saw what she hoped was her future in his eyes.
“Because ... I love you, Mase,” she said, her voice shaking. “I do. And I—I want to ... no matter what else happens, I want you to know that. I want to give that to you.”
He moved closer, so that she swayed into him, his heat and strength reaching to surround her. His eyes glowed brighter. “And what does that mean, Nat?”
“It means ... I want to be a couple,” she told him. “Whatever that means for us. That—that I trust you.”
And she did, she realized with sudden and overwhelming joy. She could trust Mase. He wasn’t Tony ... or her father, a man who had abandoned her so long ago she scarcely remembered him, but still his neglect had eaten away at the foundations of her self-esteem, her belief that she was enough. Tony had dug further. And then came Mase, solid and trustworthy as the earth under her feet, only by then she was too afraid to recognize all that he was.
His hand engulfed hers and he pulled her to him. “You want to know what it means to me, baby?”
She nodded, unable to speak. His gaze softened.
“Everything.” He pulled her to him, and tipped his forehead down to hers. “Everything, just like you do, Natalie. Love you, baby.”
Blinking tears from her eyes, Natalie caught sight of a phalanx of rapt faces over his left shoulder. The same over his right. Fascinated clubbers were watching them.
One of them tipped his head to one side and widened his black eyes meaningfully at her. Xander gave her the look again, nodding toward Mase.
Right. She was here to do something ... something more than confess her love. She was here to show him she wanted to be the right woman for him in every way. And what Mase did here at the club, the ways he expressed his sexuality, was a big part of him. She needed to match this side of him too.
Moving back a few steps, Natalie smiled tremulously at Mase. Then she dropped to her knees before him, and placed her hands, palm down on her thighs.
“Mase,” she asked, “would you please ... well, whatever you want. Right here, right now.”
His eyes blazed with fierce, tender triumph. He raised his brows. “Topping from the bottom, Nat?”
She bit her lip and shrugged, a smile peeping through. “Well, you know I’m new at this. You can punish me ... if you think I need it.”
He cupped her face in the way she loved, and tipped her head back, arching her neck as he stepped close, his legs straddled to either side of her. All his strength and heat there for her to lean on.
“Oh, I will. But I’ll decide when, how and how much. You get that, Natalie?”
She smiled up at him, leaning into his strong hand and rubbing her cheek on his palm. “Yes, Mase.”
“And you on board with whatever else I want tonight? With what I think you need?”
Was she ready for the dark promise in his eyes? She had a feeling that whatever he had planned was going to blow her other Club 3 experience right out of the water. But if she refused, if she chickened out, then she’d prove to him and herself she wasn’t the woman for him. And more than anything, she wanted to be a match for this man. In every way.
She nodded. “Yes, Mase.”
“Good.” His face hard with satisfaction and lust, he held out one hand to her, palm up. “Then come on up here and dance with me.”
Trace glided to Mase’s side. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said quietly. “But Mase, you sure you want to do this here? With everything that’s happened?”
Mase gave him a long, dark look. Then Mase nodded, his face calm. “I’m sure. She needs this and I wanna give it to her.”
Trace nodded respectfully. “All right, buddy. The floor is yours.”
A slow, bluesy song began to play, one of love and loss and acceptance. The other clubbers melted off the dance floor, leaving Mase and Nat in the center, alone together.
If anyone had told Natalie, just days ago, that she would be displayed before her Dom, her back to his front, while he moved her in a slow, sensual dance and very slowly, tenderly undressed her, and that it would be a beautiful, even a transcendent sexual experience ... Nat would have laughed in their face. And then run and hid somewhere dark, where no one could find her.
But it was all of that and more. The other club members ringed the dance floor, and to the strains of guitar, bass and drums with a blues man singing in a raspy, tender voice of his love and passion, Mase held her to him, and bared her to the club.
First her halter top, the bow sliding free behind her neck, the wide straps falling free down the slope of her breasts, then the back loosening, and his hands tugging the top from her breasts, so that she leaned back against him, nude from the waist up.
“You’re beautiful, Nat,” he told her, his voice rough in her ear. “Look at them, how you’re turning them on. Every man here wants your breasts, and some of the women too.”
Oh, God. They did look as if they wanted to touch her breasts.
“Now you’re gonna show them more.” The zipper on her skirt loosened, and with slow movements, Nat shimmied to the music, letting him tug it ever lower, until it slid free of her hips and left her in his arms, clad only in a black thong and her black high-heeled sandals.
“Show them your gorgeous ass, Natalie.” He turned her into him, and danced her slowly around in a circle, one hand on her bare ass, the other tangled in her hair as he bent his head and kissed her, a deep, wet kiss that devoured her mouth as he tugged at the thong. It slid down, down over her hips and then slid free, down her legs to tangle around her ankles.
Mase let her step free, then spun her back around and wrapped one arm around her waist, delving his other hand down to cup her mons.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he ordered. “Look at them. Look at them while I show them how beautiful you are.”
Natalie opened her eyes, and her legs nearly buckled with the heat and power of what she saw. A room full of people, all their gazes riveted on her naked body, held in the arms of her Dom.
“You have any idea how proud I am right now?” Mase asked her, his voice rough velvet in her ear, penetrating deep inside her, to her heart, her pussy and everywhere else. “To be the man you trust enough to submit like this?”
She couldn’t answer, could only cling to him, her hands on his thighs, her head on his shoulder as he curled his calloused fingers into her wet, swollen labia and petted her.
“You like this?” he asked, stroking her clit. “Are you turned on, baby?”
Natalie struggled for words. She felt as if all the gazes on her were the sun, its heat and power burning into her skin, and then bursting back out, blossoming an arousal more powerful than any she’d ever known. They were all watching her ... and she loved it.
“I ... love it,” she told him. “Mase. I ... love this. I do. And I love you.”
He shuddered behind her, a deep wordless growl emerging from his throat. “Then come for me, Natalie. Come now.”
And with his fingers working her clit, his voice in her ear and a hundred gazes on her, she did. She came hard and long, her body racked with shudders as she let go of everything and let ecstasy and freedom take her.
The crowd applauded, a thunderous wave of sound that wrapped Natalie and Mase in sensual heat. The floor hit her knees and Nat opened drugged eyes to realize that Mase had lowered her to the floor, and knelt behind her, his cock springing free to slap against her bare ass.
Around them, their friends were dancing, moving, engaging in their own acts of sensual freedom.
Nat leaned back in Mase’s arms, her legs parted for him. He thrust home, deep up inside her, and took her, hard and fast to the rollicking strains of a fast, triumphant salsa. Beside them, another sub sank to her knees and took her Dom’s cock in her mouth. Others danced with a primal abandon.
Nat came again, with Mase this time. Then, spent and slack with repletion, she let him lift her and carry her, wrapped in a blanket, to a quiet, darkened corner of the big room.
She opened heavy eyes at last to find herself cradled in his lap, her head on his shoulder, his hand moving soothingly through her hair.
“You back now?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Hmm.” She turned into him, fighting a hand free of the soft blanket to touch him. “You shouldn’t have carried me—your shoulder.”
“I’m fine. Ten feet tall and bulletproof tonight.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t know about that, but you are amazing.”
“You made me a happy man tonight, baby,” he said. “You okay ... with everything?”
“I’m okay,” she said and kissed him. “I’m more than okay.” She was. She felt as if she’d scaled a mountain and found a place of complete freedom, with him at her side.
“Gotta ask you something,” he said, lifting his head far enough to speak.
“What?”
“Natalie, I want to be your man. Exclusive. You and me. You wanna get married, we’ll do that. Love to put a ring on your finger. You’re not comfortable with that, I’ll wait for you.”
“Oh, Mase,” she murmured. She kissed him, her arms sliding around his neck. “I love you so much.”
“Love you too, baby. You’re it for me.”
Then he stiffened and looked up, his voice changing. “There a reason you’re interrupting us right now?”
“Sorry, man,” Dack said, his face somber. “But you two need to get dressed and meet me in the office.”