Brent flashed the plain white card at The Dungeon’s door attendant. He’d been forced to call in more than one favor to get hold of one of the elusive visitors’ passes. They weren’t easy to come by, and unless you knew someone who frequented this place, you were shit out of luck.
Coming here hadn’t exactly been top of his bucket list, but after a frantic call from James, who was supposed to be here but his contact fell through and he had no way of getting in, Brent had no damn choice. The other male had been sparse on details—there hadn’t been time, since Brent had to chase down a pass of his own—but James was going to text once Brent was in and fill him in.
What he did know was one of Grace’s demi was here undercover and needed backup or at least help with a quick escape if necessary.
No, Brent hadn’t joined their numbers, not with his association to the knights, but he knew Grace, and James had asked for his help as a personal favor. He was a good male, a friend, and Brent would help any way he could. James’s call had come as a surprise, though. He’d had no idea the male was part of Grace’s band of vigilantes.
Stepping through the door, he was struck instantly by the intensity of emotion swirling around the room. The place smelled of sex and need. The taste was heady. The cries, screams, and moans of pleasure that filled the large space crashed over him. Drawing out the incubus, the predator. He wanted to feast on their lust, their pain. Get drunk on it. Brent couldn’t stop himself from sucking in a gasping breath as the heady mix kept coming, hitting him low in the gut. He was in incubus heaven.
But overindulging was dangerous. He knew that all too well. So he locked it down, blocked it out. He needed a clear head, and if he carried on gorging himself like he was, he wouldn’t be capable of helping anyone, and worse, would make himself vulnerable.
Something he would never allow himself to be again.
He moved through the room, observing, playing the voyeur, something he did not enjoy one damned bit, while he waited for James’s text with further instruction. The male had been extremely vague, apart from get the fuck there as soon as possible.
As he feigned interest in a particular scene, the lights dropped, the music increased in volume, and a strobe started flashing across the room.
Excitement rippled through the place, another delicious hit that sent tingles down his spine.
Rein it the hell in, Silva.
The music was deep, bassy, instrumental, and ebbed and flowed around them, its seductive notes no doubt selected to heighten the erotic atmosphere.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and quickly read it.
James: It’s Chaya.
Brent stared at it, trying to understand what he was reading. What was Chaya?
His phone buzzed again.
James: The demon she’s with is named Victor. Don’t get involved unless she’s in distress.
The fuck?
Chaya was working with them? She was here, with a motherfucking demon. He spun around, like he’d somehow see her through the darkened room and flashing lights. Panic gripped him behind the ribs, and he was on the verge of roaring her name to find her.
But then emotion hit him, so acute it smashed past his barriers and had him grabbing for the nearest wall as it battered him from all sides. The pain hammering into him was not edged with pleasure—no, it was bound by fear. Shit, it turned his stomach.
This pain he knew all too well. This was the kind of terror he had never wanted to taste again. But even stronger than that was anger, outrage.
Whoever it came from was afraid but also pissed the hell off. He knew who it was instantly.
He rushed forward, colliding with people in the darkness, shoving them out of the way. His feet carried him forward to the very back of the club. A female’s cries, sharp and desperate, broke over the loud music.
He rounded a partition.
Through the flashing lights, he saw a female facing away, bound to a St. Andrew’s cross.
Oh fuck.
The music changed and the incessant flashing stopped with it. The lights came up.
Chaya.
She was bare to the waist, and the smooth expanse of her golden skin was streaked with pink from just above the flare of her hips to her shoulder blades.
Her physical pain appeared to be minimal, but this sure as fuck wasn’t where she wanted to be. It was her emotional pain that had cut him to the quick, had reached out to him. Everything about this felt wrong to her.
“Stop, goddammit. Now,” she gasped.
Moving without thought, completely on instinct, he snatched the crop from the male wielding it and threw it aside. “Chaya? Jesus Christ.”
The male who had terrified her, hurt her, stepped forward. “I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my scene.” His face was a mask of outrage, but as Brent tried to push past his barriers, to learn more, he was locked out. The guy’s shields were rock solid, giving away nothing.
Brent didn’t try to hide what he was feeling, which was damn near homicidal, and let it wash over the other male. The guy wisely took a startled step back. “Chaya belongs to me. She is mine. Is that a good enough reason for you?” He heard Chaya’s sharp indrawn breath but was too far gone at that point to filter what came out of his mouth.
The guy stared at him for several seconds then bowed his head. “I apologize for stepping on anyone’s toes. I didn’t know.”
“You do now,” Brent growled.
The guy nodded, turned, and walked away.
Brent went straight to her. She jumped when he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Shh, it’s me.” He reached up and quickly undid the knots at her wrists. She slumped back, trembling in his arms. “I’ve got you.”
He turned her around and she went to him without resistance, pressing in close, seeking comfort. He took slow, measured breaths, trying to calm down, to stop himself from going after that irresponsible asshole. The damage he could have done. He pulled back and looked down at her. Her eyes were wide, wild.
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, needing to touch her. He felt desperate, scared out of his mind. “What the hell were you thinking?” he said, voice low, harsh.
“I was fine. I didn’t need you to step in. I had everything under control,” she said even as her body trembled in his arms.
“Bullshit.” He searched her dark eyes. “What the hell are you playing at?”
Her chin lifted. “You wouldn’t give me what I wanted, so I found someone else who would.”
He tried to control his breathing. She was lying. This wasn’t what she wanted, not one bit. He’d felt it, like a living, breathing thing. She was here for Grace, for the cause.
Chaya was one of the strongest females he knew. She had self-confidence in spades and knew her worth. She met him head on, refused to bow down to him, to anyone.
How had he missed it?
Jesus, she’d been as confused and conflicted as he had been. He’d continually pushed her away, then the next minute demanded she stay close. Because of his own issues, he’d messed with her head and her heart repeatedly.
And. He’d. Missed. It.
There was no mistaking it now. It radiated from her.
He stared down at her. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes steadily held his. “I told you, I’m fine.”
Fuck. So beautiful.
Her body was bared to him. Her soft, large breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples firm and dark, begging to be sucked and licked. To be worshipped. He wanted to smooth his hands over her gently rounded belly, the curve of her hips, up to her waist then follow the path with his mouth, tasting every inch of her golden skin.
That bastard had seen her like this, had put his fucking hands on her. Touched her.
“I know Grace,” he said, breaking the silence. “I got a call to provide backup for one of her demi.”
Chaya’s mouth opened then closed. Her back straightened. “Yes, and now you’ve messed everything up. You shouldn’t have interfered.”
“You’re a bad liar,” he said. It was hard, but he kept the Dom veneer in place. It was essential with so many eyes on them. “You get this little crease right here”—he rubbed his thumb between her brows—“when you lie.” He stayed close, silently begging her to touch him, to put him out of his misery. “You weren’t just here for Grace, were you? You were seeking something else here, something you didn’t think you could get from me.”
Her eyes didn’t leave his, but she kept her mouth clamped shut.
Fuck.
“Maybe you should get dressed.” He said it calmly, but there was no missing the quaver in his voice from the need thrumming through him.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Please, Chaya.” Mistress.
Her nostrils flared, but she moved, went to where her clothes sat stacked on a chair, and with assertive hands, quickly dressed. When she moved back to him, he took her hand without a word, and led her from the club. Seeing her like that with another male had torn something inside him, shattered his resolve.
A dominant forced to submit was as damaging as a sub like him being forced to do the same without trust or affection.
Because of it, he hadn’t recovered from his time with Garrett, but he wouldn’t let what happened here tonight with Chaya fester and grow inside her, let that damage become a permanent scar.
If he wasn’t the one to sate her desires for dominance, someone else would, someone who didn’t know her like he did. Someone who might not take care of her the way she deserved.
They took the elevator down to the parking garage. He opened the passenger side door when they reached his car and she climbed in without comment. Good thing, too, because words were an impossibility just then.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned to her. “You took a serious risk tonight.”
Her eyes flashed. “I knew what I was doing. Demi need people like me in this war and I want to help.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Handing your body over to a demon, a powerful one, a male who doesn’t know you, who could have hurt you…” He ground his teeth before more of his control slipped. “How do you know that male? Did Grace point you in his direction?”
“No. As a matter of fact, he comes into Toxic.” Chaya explained how she’d gone to Grace, and how Victor being a target was a “happy” coincidence.
“Tell me this is the first time you’ve seen him.”
Chaya didn’t look pleased by his question, but she answered anyway. “Three times.”
He struggled to control the fear burning him up inside. “You’ve done this before?” He couldn’t stop his next words even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. “Did you…have you let him fuck you?”
She stared at him, lips thinned, then finally shook her head. “No, we never had sex.”
He had to fight not to fold, to rest his head in her lap and beg her to stroke his hair, to help him control the rage and fear, the relief.
“This was the first time we did a scene,” she said. “The other times I just watched. I was safe, Brent. He didn’t suspect me. There were people everywhere, and I gave him a list of my limits.”
Thank fuck for that. He started the car and headed out. The drive back to the club only took fifteen minutes, but by the time they got there he was jumping out of his skin. Chaya had stayed quiet at his side, and he wished he could climb inside her head and know what she was thinking. What the hell was going through that beautiful head of hers?
He pulled up to the lot behind the club, climbed out, and jogged around to open Chaya’s door before she could. Taking her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers and led her inside. He noted she didn’t resist.
The place was still fairly busy, but he ignored everyone, barely acknowledging the staff that greeted them, and motioned her toward his office.
She walked in and he closed the door behind them.
Chaya turned to him then, looking exquisite in her tight skirt and corset, those spiked heels. “Now what?” she said. “Are you going to call Chaos? Zenon?”
He shook his head. “May I see it?”
She frowned at him. “See what?”
“Your list.” He’d seen her jam it down the front of her corset when she was getting dressed, trying to hide it from him.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Please, Chaya.” There was no demand in his voice. He’d dropped the Dom act completely, and yeah, right there, she’d seen it, felt it.
Her eyes widened, nostrils flaring, lips parting slightly.
She yanked a piece of paper from the front of her corset, not letting up on the attitude—not yet—still too afraid to believe what he was telling her without words. He didn’t expect anything less.
She placed it in his hand, and he read it carefully, noting the changes. She was going to allow that male to put his hands, his mouth on her. She was going to allow another male those privileges.
He focused on the piece of paper in his hands when he spoke. “No fucking?” he rasped, then looked up.
She held his stare, back rigid.
“That’s a hard limit?”
“Yes,” she said. “I told you I was there for the cause, for Grace. I wasn’t going to let him fuck me.”
He stared down at the list again for several more painfully long seconds, trying to find the words. Trying to push past the fear that he’d been wrong, that he’d somehow read her wrong. That if he said the next words, she’d reject him, maybe even be disgusted in him.
He cleared his throat, then lifted his eyes to hers. “My limits, they’re pretty much the same,” he said, voice husky with need. “Only I don’t like to be watched, and you…you could fuck me any way you wanted.”
Heat flashed in her eyes. “What?”
He didn’t know how to convey what he was feeling, what he wanted, so he showed her. He closed the distance between them until he was only a few feet away, and dropped to his knees, bowing his head. Offering the Domme in front of him his submission.
And held his breath.
She remained utterly still in front of him.
It felt like forever before she moved, one step then two, until she was right in front of him. “You really want this?” she whispered.
He tilted his head back and let her see it—the need, the hunger for what only she could give him. “Yes.”
“How long?” she asked.
He searched her face, her eyes, for disgust, for the rejection about to come, and saw none. “For as long as I can remember.” He shook his head. “What happened tonight, I know you were scared, Chaya. Confused. You were forced to do something against your nature. That can cause damage, could hurt you. I want to make that right,” he said. “It’s the job of your sub, his fucking privilege, to take care of you, to serve you. I don’t want that negative experience to taint what we could share. I don’t want you going to bed tonight with the shadow of what happened hanging over you, making you doubt what you want, what you need. I want to wash it away.” He clenched his fists at his sides, staring up at her, and hoped like hell she would give them this. “Will you let me do that?”
Her chest expanded with her sharply indrawn breath. “Yes,” she said, eyes bright with emotion, with excitement, with a need as wild as his.
God only knew why or what she saw in him, but he refused to fight it anymore. Refused to turn away from her again. And maybe, yeah, he hoped that Chaya could wash it all away, wash away what Garrett had done, what he’d made him feel.
She bent at the knees, lowering herself so they were eye level. “Do you trust me?” she said.
Oh fuck, this was really going to happen. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Trust? He wasn’t sure he knew how to trust anymore, but he knew he’d never wanted anything more. So he said, “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” she said, no hesitation.
His cock filled, hardened, and he had to clear his throat to speak. “Yes, Mistress.”
Fuck yes, that pleased her, and seeing that pleasure in her eyes almost had him undone.
He hadn’t done this, not since before Lazarus came for him. He’d suppressed, hidden, denied this part of himself. Not that what was about to happen resembled in any way what he went thought with Garrett.
But it had been a long time for him and would be a first for Chaya.
This would be a learning curve for them both. But, fuck, he wanted it, whatever she gave him.
She stood smoothly and moved to the front of his desk. She’d slipped into the role of Domme like she was born to it. Her shoulders were back, chin high, stare unwavering. “Stand here,” she said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the room.
He growled under his breath as he got to his feet. He wanted this, but his instincts told him to resist, listening to the voice in the back of his mind telling him not to lose control completely, to be careful.
He moved to the spot she’d directed him.
“Clothes off,” she said, voice firm.
He reached for the buttons of his jacket and slid one free under the weight of her stare.
Please don’t let this be a dream.