Chaya woke to a tickle on her skin. She glanced down.
Brent had scooted down the bed and was nuzzling, pressing kisses to her hip. His eyes were aimed up at her, raw hunger in their depths shining back.
She threaded her fingers through his hair. “What are you doing down there?” she said, voice still husky from sleep.
“Waiting for you to wake up.” He pressed another kiss against her bare skin.
She knew exactly what he wanted, and she was more than happy to oblige. Keeping her fingers buried in his hair, she rolled to her back, spread her thighs, and guided him to her bare pussy.
He opened his mouth over her instantly, lips and tongue working her, and his groan of satisfaction vibrated against her still-sensitive flesh.
Curling her toes, she fisted the sheets with her other hand. “Ahh…so good.”
Brent’s warm breath drifted across her bare thigh, his dark chuckle sexy as hell.
“I wouldn’t get…too…cocky…if I were you. You’ll…ahhh…earn yourself another p-punishment.” God, he was good at this.
He sucked on her clit and she arched off the bed, already close.
“You’ll get no complaint from me,” he said, causing his whiskered jaw to scrape against her bare skin and send her even higher.
He pressed his tongue inside her pussy, swirling then sucking on her, making her buck against his mouth, giving her the hottest, dirtiest kind of kiss. In seconds she was panting, reaching for release. His big hands rested on her inner thighs, holding her open for him, and when the first tremors started, he lifted his gaze and watched her come, lips wrapped around her clit, tongue flicking over her relentlessly. The whole time, those intense eyes never left hers.
It was too much, too good. She cried out, writhed beneath him, rode out the pleasure he was giving her without holding anything back.
When she finally stilled, he bent down and kissed her hip. “Not sure I’ll ever get sick of watching you come.”
God, she hoped not.
She rolled to her side and held out her hand. “Come here. I want to taste you, too.”
His chest expanded sharply, and he bared his teeth in a way that made her body fire back to life. “I wish, but I have a meeting to get to and I’m already late.” When he stood, she noticed his hair was damp, and though his chest was bare, he had on pants. He’d showered while she’d slept.
The night was over, and he was donning his armor. She flicked back the covers and grabbed her underwear from the floor, pulling them on as she stood.
Brent came up behind her, his bare chest hot against her back, and he nuzzled the side of her neck. “You don’t need to rush off, Chay. Stay a little longer. Rest.” He ground his erection against her ass. “Will I see you tonight?”
Tonight was her night off, and she’d thought that it might be a night off for them as well. Was she finally getting through to him?
“I’d like that. I’m going to an exhibition tonight, but I’ll come over after that.”
He gently sucked her earlobe and she sighed. “Who’s the artist?”
“I’m not really sure. A friend invited me, and I thought I’d check it out.”
Both hands slid across her belly, so she was effectively cocooned in his arms. She never wanted him to let her go.
“When I get here after the exhibition, I want you in one of the playrooms, and I want to find you like I did last night. When I open the door, the first thing I want to see is you naked and hard and ready for me. Understand?”
His swallow was audible. “The playrooms, they’re a hard limit for me.”
She turned in his arms. That was where he took the subs he selected those nights he played Dom, something she still didn’t understand but wanted to more than anything. Why were they off limits to her? His arms flexed around her, then he released her and stepped back.
Her instant reaction was to push for a reason why, but people had limits for a lot of reasons, and just because they were fucking didn’t mean he owed her one.
“Okay, if that’s the way you feel.”
He dropped his gaze from hers. “Yeah, it is.” His voice had changed, now rough, deeper.
The look on his face said he was worried he’d disappointed her. Seeing him hurting hurt her. “Come here,” she said softly.
His nostrils flared and then his big body moved toward her, smooth and sexy. He stopped right in front of her.
“You were perfect last night, in every way,” she said and cupped his whiskered jaw. He leaned into her hand, seeking more of her touch. She gave it to him freely, smoothing her other hands over his shoulder, his chest. “I couldn’t have asked for a better first time.”
“But this wasn’t…” He frowned. “With a paddle?” he said, looking adorably confused.
“The first time I had sex.”
He stilled. “What?”
She smiled.
“I was…your first?” he said, voice pure gravel.
“Yep.” He seemed at a loss for words. “Are you okay?”
“But why…”
“Why you?” she finished for him. “You trusted me with your body, Brent. And I trust you with mine. Now kiss me.”
He growled in that delicious way of his and leaned in, their lips meeting in a hot kiss that had her toes curling all over again.
When she finally ended it, she said, “We don’t need the playroom. I’m a creative girl. I want to find you in this room when I get back tonight, ready and waiting for me. I have all day to plan our evening.” A shiver moved through his big frame.
“I look forward to it,” he said.
“Oh, you definitely should.”
She stared after him when he left. Why wouldn’t he let her take him to the playroom? What was he hiding?
Dare she hope it was because she meant something to him? That she meant more to him than the casual hookups he took to those rooms? Her stomach flipped at the thought.
After dressing quickly, she headed down to the bar. The place was empty. It wouldn’t open for hours yet.
He wanted her, what she could give him, what they could give each other—that much was undeniable. Now, if only he’d drop his barriers.
If only he’d let her in.
Hours later, Chaya climbed out of a cab. She rarely came to this side of the city, tending to stay close to home. To the club.
To Brent.
The gallery was lit up behind massive double glass doors, with people—and more than likely a lot of other creatures as well—moving about inside.
This wasn’t her usual scene. She’d never been to an exhibition in her life and had struggled with what to wear. In the end she’d selected the black knee-length pencil skirt her sister had bought her last Christmas, and paired it with her dark green satin corset and a few chunky bracelets.
She needed to look the part.
Grace trusted her to get the job done and wanted details on who was there, who Victor spoke to, and anything else she might be able to find out. Chaya didn’t want to let her down.
She plastered a smile on her face, and the woman at the door did the same as Chaya approached. As promised, Victor had left her name there and she was shown straight in. The room was huge, open, all white with cathedral ceilings. People moved around, champagne flutes in hand, admiring the images suspended from thin wire. They’d been placed strategically to make the place feel less cavernous. Well, she guessed that was the artist’s aim. Besides Victor, she didn’t know who the other artists were. She’d only flipped through the brochure Victor had given her, then lost it somewhere.
She looked around the room and wondered how many people attending were part of the lifestyle. How many were here out of curiosity?
Grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waitress, she started moving around the room. Victor had to be there somewhere.
Some of the pictures were beautiful, arousing. Some shocking. All were of males and females tied or restrained in some way. She stopped in front of one where a woman was tied with a length of rope. It came around her back, circling each bent leg, forcing her thighs up and open. She was blindfolded, mouth open in a silent scream, but even without seeing her eyes Chaya felt her fear.
She shivered. Something was off about it, something that made her skin crawl. The two times she’d restrained Brent he’d made it clear that he loved every minute of it, but this…
“Chaya, I’m so glad you could come.” She turned to find Victor standing there. He’d moved up beside her and was watching her look at the disturbing piece in front of her. “What do you think?”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to piss him off, since he clearly knew the artist, or, God, it was one of his. Telling him what she really thought wouldn’t help her gather information or get closer to his inner circle. “I’m not…I’m not really sure it’s my thing.” She tried to give her opinion as diplomatically as possible. Since she couldn’t lie for shit, she might as well go for a half truth.
His grinned. “No?”
She took a sip of her champagne, needing a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. I guess they’re just so…so confronting.”
He chuckled. “Yes. Yes, they are that.” He rested his hand on the small of her back. “Come, I have another I’d like you to see.”
She let him lead her across the gallery. Now she just had to get him talking like she had in the coffee shop. Let him think they were besties and get him to reveal more of his deepest and darkest secrets.
Easy, right?
Brent walked into his room and stared down at his rumpled sheets. She’d only been there with him one night, but he could still smell her, remember the way she’d looked in his bed. Sitting down, he tagged the pillow and pressed it to his face, groaning when he breathed in her vanilla scent.
Shit.
When she’d sunk her nails and teeth into his skin, when she’d marked him and made him come, without even realizing it, she’d claimed him. He was hers. He was helpless against the hold she had over him.
Throwing the pillow back down, he blew out a frustrated breath and stood. What was the next step? Where did they go from here?
Something caught his eye on the floor. He picked it up. A brochure. The exhibition Chaya was going to. She must have dropped it when she was getting dressed. He flipped it over.
And frowned.
The image on the front told him exactly the subject matter the artist had chosen to photograph. Then he spotted one of the photographers’ names. Victor.
He shot to his feet.
She’d promised not to see that bastard again. She’d lied. Fuck. He didn’t trust that male, not with Chaya. He understood her desire to help Grace and the other demi in this city, but to keep this from him, to put herself at risk like this?
Something ugly curled low in his belly.
Shoving on his jacket, he strode from his apartment, and every step he took, his rage increased along with his fear. His mood hadn’t improved by the time he climbed into his car, and it only got worse as he drove from the lot, and ignoring the speed limit, covered the distance in record time.
The gallery came into view, and he parked out front. The valet intercepted him as he climbed out. “I’ll be five minutes.” He handed over the keys and strode toward the glass-fronted building.
The woman stationed there tried to stop him, but he ignored her and strode through the doors. The place was packed, people getting in his way as he frantically searched the room for Chaya. Pushing through the crowd, he moved toward the back of the room. That’s when he saw her staring up at a photograph. It was huge, covering most of the wall.
The male in the picture stood facing out, hands stretched above his head, forced up on his toes. He wore a mask covering his entire head. His skin was flushed, cock hard, jutting from between his thighs. A female stood behind him, riding crop in her hand, frozen high in the air after striking his flesh. His back was arched, and every muscle and tendon in his body stood out, straining beneath his skin.
With the mask on you couldn’t see the tears sliding down the male’s face, couldn’t hear his begging and pleading for her to stop, to make all of it stop. You couldn’t hear the shame in his voice when, despite it all, he was begging her to finally let him come.
He knew this because the male was him.
His legs went weak, momentarily threatening to come out from under him. He clenched his fists and fought down the humiliation, the rage pumping through his body. The all-out terror.
Garrett.
The room seemed to close in as he moved forward. Chaya was focused on his image and jumped when he grabbed her arm.
She spun around, eyes landing on him, wide…guilty for a second then they narrowed. “Brent, what are you doing here?”
“Don’t,” he growled.
Somehow Garrett had arranged this and was somehow connected to Victor. He’d brought her here to look at this picture. Was more than likely still here, in this room somewhere, watching him right at that moment. The sadistic bastard had him by the balls.
Garrett knew his weakness and he’d successfully used it against him. Now Brent had no choice but to tell Chaya about his past, all of it, or leave her exposed and vulnerable.
He wanted to storm this room, raze it, and kill Garrett with his bare hands, but he needed to get Chaya to safety and as far from that monster as he could.
The fucker had won again.
Rage burned through his veins as he scanned the room.
Anything could have happened to her, and she stood there staring him down, like he was the one who was in the wrong, like he was the one who’d lied.
“I need you to walk out of here with me now,” he said through gritted teeth.
Chaya’s gaze moved over his face, and yeah, she saw it. She didn’t know what he was freaking out about, but whatever it was had pushed him past breaking point.
She sensed it. He knew this because she didn’t voice the protest he knew was on the tip of her tongue and started toward the exit of the gallery and out onto the street. That beautiful mouth of hers stayed firmly closed as she watched him in a way that made him feel exposed. He snatched the keys from the valet and opened the passenger door for her to get in.
As they drove away, putting distance between Chaya and the monster who had kept him and used him for months, the fucker who had ruined his life, he struggled and failed to gain control. Instead, one horrific scenario after the other flashed through his mind.
The urge to go back was riding him hard. But the demon wasn’t stupid. Brent could tear down that building brick by brick with his bare hands and find no trace of him. Garrett would be found when he chose to be and not before, and that just sent Brent even closer to the edge.
How many times had Chaya been near him? How many times had that fucker had the opportunity to hurt her?
The leather creaked as she turned to face him. “Brent, I…”
“You lied to me.” The emotions coming off her were so strong he had to grit his teeth against them. “You said you wouldn’t see him. You…Christ, you fucked up tonight, Chaya.”
“I’m not a damned child to be scolded. I told you I had no intention to stop what I was doing, that I wasn’t going to stop helping Grace.”
“You put yourself in danger.”
“You know Grace. Do you think she’d let me go in there without safeguards in place?”
“That isn’t the damned point,” he gritted out.
That unwavering stare of hers hardened and, fuck, his cock did as well.
“No? How about you fill me in?”
If looks could kill, he’d be a corpse. Yeah, that just made his dick strain harder against the zipper of his pants. She thought he was being heavy handed but had no idea he was half out of his mind. And there was no way he was having the conversation he needed to have with her right then, especially not in the car while he was still struggling to keep his emotions in check.
He felt her eyes burning into the side of his head when he focused back on the road.
“I think we’ve had a serious communication breakdown here. I do not answer to you. I do not answer to anyone, understand?”
“Is that right?” he forced out through clenched teeth.
“If I were you, I’d check my tone.” Fire burned in her dark gaze, but her lips had parted and her cheeks were flushed, and then he caught her scent. She was aroused, hot as fuck.
Her voice was hard, unwavering, and his cock throbbed in reply.
Everything in the enclosed space had shifted. Right at that moment he was sitting in the car with his Domme, and he couldn’t help but respond to her dominance.
Silence filled the car and Brent thought he’d lose his damn mind waiting for her to speak again. All the while his mind continued to race, coming up with scenarios where he hadn’t seen that brochure, where Chaya never made it back to him.
“Communication is key in any kind of relationship,” she finally said in a soft but firm voice that lifted the hair on the back of his neck in a fucking good way. Fear still pumped through him, and still his body responded. He craved her constantly. “And so far, we’ve done our best communicating with our clothes off.”
He glanced over at her.
She smirked. “Oh, the plans I have for you and that disrespectful mouth.”
In that moment, after what had just happened—the gallery, Garrett, Victor—he was feeling so much, too much. What he and Chaya had done the day before. The way she’d mastered him so effortlessly, the freedom, the joy…the peace she’d given him. It would be so easy—So. Damn. Easy—for him to let go completely. But then what? He’d be back to that male, the one he’d been when Garrett had come for him, all over again. Lost in emotion, addicted to what Chaya gave him. Addicted to her.
Vulnerable.
He didn’t think she’d hurt him, but he would end up hurting her and himself when he became that…creature. When he lost sight of who he was and fed, gorged, until he didn’t know which way was up. Until he gave himself to anyone who wanted him to get more of that high.
Nausea twisted in his gut.
Chaya didn’t speak again until they pulled up outside the club. She turned to him. “Walk inside. Do not speak to anyone. Go straight to your bedroom.”
“The playroom,” he choked out. “I want to go to the playroom.”
Silence filled the space again for several long seconds. “That was a hard limit.”
He shook his head. “I want it.” He swallowed. “I need it.” The place he went when he needed release, where he fed his incubus. Where he could shut down his emotions. And fuck, he needed to shut them down. Now. Before it was too late.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. It was all he was capable of.
“Go to the end playroom, take off every piece of clothing, and wait for me on your knees,” she said without missing a beat.
He didn’t wait to be told twice. He shoved the door open and strode inside the club, all the while trying to rein in the fear of seeing Chaya in that room. Seeing her looking up at that picture of him tonight and knowing who was behind it.
Chaya had been in danger this whole time and he’d had no idea.
So, yeah, reining it in wasn’t an option.
Loosening his tie and ignoring everything and everyone around him, he made his way to the end room as instructed. He’d used it many times. One of the rooms where he unleashed the dark desires that resided inside him. A side of him he’d never wanted Chaya to see.
He’d always played the Dom here—not tonight. God, not tonight. But it was all the same. He needed pain—dishing it out and feeding off it or being on the receiving end of it.
Yeah, in here it was all the same.
He just wanted to get lost in it. He was past the point of rational thought. He was fear and desperate hunger.
He was sex.
What he could get in that room, who he was in that room called to him, consumed him, drove him forward. And only Chaya could sate his need.