BigBadDare Page 8

  “I knew your answer before I spilled my guts, Jessie. I just had to hear it anyway. I'll never get tired of hearing how much you worship me. Not as a submissive, but as a woman.”

  This time, I silenced him with a kiss. He was right. And it went both ways too.

  I'd never get tired of telling him. And I wouldn't ever get sick of feeling his hard body all over me, gentle or stormy, but always intense. Always showering me the way only a real man can with his lady.

  His.

  That simple possessive word never had so much feeling before.

  Red Night at the Red Widow. I was seeing it, feeling it, and showing it.

  I'd never been so flushed as Garrett walked me through the lower floor bar. Nothing but a skimpy jacket covered up the thin crimson lingerie set he'd gotten me to wear.

  When he fished it out of the bag earlier that evening, who was I to say no? My Dom, my Sir, was testing limits again.

  In less than a couple months, he'd turned me into a proper lady, obedient and willing. And bit by bit, he chipped away at the restrained, scared little girl, a persona that seemed as much like a ghost to me now as my lost virginity.

  “There's a coat check near the bartender,” he said, a gentle and knowing smile on his face. “Think you're brave enough to bare everything for me, Princess?”

  I tensed, gripping his hand a little tighter. We stopped, letting some drunken couple shove their way past us. The woman had her blindfold on, stumbling around in his grip. Garrett frowned disapprovingly.

  “That's a major safety concern,” he said.

  “I'll do it.”

  “What?” Garrett looked at me strangely for a second, then remembered what he'd asked me to do.

  “Perfect. Let me take your coat, my lady. The bodice ripping fun starts later.”

  Fuck. I had a feeling the bright redness in my face circulated all the way to my pale shoulders, turning them sunburn red as he helped remove my coat.

  I stayed close behind him as we walked over to the coat check. Men in the corners were staring at my ass, and then glancing jealously at my owner, a man none of them dared challenge.

  If it weren't for his size, his power, his protection, I couldn't have done this. Certainly not with anyone else.

  Of course, before him, going to bondage clubs in skimpy outfits was totally unthinkable.

  “This way, lovely. Sit down by the fire with me over here. Let's enjoy each other and our drinks before we go upstairs.” He knew I loved the seats by the flames rocking gently on the little pool in the corner.

  The Red Widow certainly had an irresistible style. And tonight, I matched it, joining in the reverie by dressing to please at his command.

  Sitting on the cool leather felt strange with half my ass hanging out. But Garrett threw his arm around me, ordering beverages for us, cuddling me close in front of the fire.

  Lust and sleepiness stirred in me simultaneously. Being with him here was so relaxing, so nice. But a deeper part of me wanted to get a lot closer, and way more active.

  A waitress in an outfit that nearly put mine to shame passed him our drinks. Garrett pushed the tall glass into my waiting hands. I marveled at the ruby color, running my tongue across the lips. They must've put extra pomegranate juice in tonight.

  “Whoa, even your scotch is red!” I laughed, watching as he slowly brought his liquor up for a sip.

  “Some kind of cinnamon stuff. Not bad. If it's spicy and red, I'll drink it. Red Night was actually my idea – something we started here last year. Red is a very active color – surreal, beautiful, energetic. I think you know how much I like all those things.”

  His eyes twinkled. I blushed and smiled, matching his slow spreading grin. Oh, I knew.

  How could I forget the way he adored the sparkling flush that sprang out on my chest? Or the way he admired his handiwork after spanking my little ass red, guiding strokes that always brought us closer together?

  He pulled me in for a kiss. I tasted the cinnamon scotch on his lips, and I think he enjoyed the sweetness on mine too.

  “Good girl,” he whispered, sliding his hand lower, down and round my curves.

  I moaned when he settled his calloused hand on my naked thigh. He held it there, tensing his fingers, making me wonder if he'd head higher and really make me blush by fondling me out in the open.

  Lately, he'd mentioned something about an exhibitionist streak he saw in me. Much as I hated to admit it, I noticed it too.

  Every visit to the club made me admire the crazy outfits and unashamed antics in the small chambers a little more. Last week, we'd stared at a sub receiving a public spanking from a big man in a hood, a man whose eyes glowed violently as he brought a short, stubby flogger to her cheeks.

  “What is it, Jessie? You seem a little anxious. Are you looking forward to another tour before the real fun begins?”

  “I am, Sir.” Mind reader! I didn't even try to deny it.

  “Or maybe you want to stay here,” he said, swooping his fingers up to my lace panties, toying with the cloth.

  My breath hitched hard. Slowly, he worked two stiff fingers underneath, running them up and down my swollen labia.

  “Maybe you want me to play with you back here? Out of sight, but not out of earshot. Maybe you want to come for me like a good little sub...let everybody in range hear what a firecracker you are when I make you go off?”

  Oh, oh, oh...you can't!

  But he could. That was the amazing thing about Sir. Every time I thought I knew what to expect, he just brought me deeper, into a denser, darker submission.

  Pleasure that possessed. Pleasure that burned, a steaming intensity that always closed in around my smoldering flesh like a volcanic fog.

  “Excuse me, sir? Mister Foster?”

  I opened my eyes as Garrett's hand slipped away. My Dom spun toward the long, gangly shadow next to him, just as surprised and irritated as I was.

  “What?” He demanded.

  “Um, I don't mean to interrupt...it's just that there's a situation around the bend. Bar fight between a couple guys over a new sub. The bouncers shuffled them off to the back room, but I think we're gonna have to get the police involved.”

  “Shit!” Garrett caught himself and stiffened. “Okay. I'll be there in a minute.”

  “Do these things happen often?” I asked, folding my arms and legs. It hadn't occurred to me that the Red Widow's BDSM scene could invite some real danger from time to time. It made sense.

  “Every once in awhile some fucking bonehead comes in looking to pick a fight. Or else thinking he can grab any girl he wants and start whipping her like she's his personal property.”

  Garrett shook his head. He was almost shaking with rage.

  “It'll be okay, Sir,” I purred. “I'll wait here until you deal with whatever it is.”

  “You're right,” he said, smoothing the angry creases in his face. “I'm not gonna let this BS ruin our night. Stay warm and keep drinking, Princess. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

  He was off. I stretched out on the leather sofa and tucked myself into a neat ball, watching the three torches floating on the aqua blue water.

  I drained the rest of my pomegranate whiskey, and then went for the last of his scotch. The sharp cinnamon taste reminded me of those kisses – the lips and tongue I missed.

  The night ticked on. My brain was tired and giddy with drunken warmth. Another waitress came by, decked in red, and I ordered a small margarita.

  It came, red and strong, just like everything else tonight. Behind me, there was some commotion, and I leaned on the edge of the divider behind the sofa to see what was going on.

  A small crowd was trying to see around the bar, toward the back room, where an unknown spectacle was occurring. I didn't have the energy to get up, nor the courage to wander around and subject myself to leering men all alone, dressed like this.

  Several men were hauling someone out. It was the bulky silhouette of a man, putting up one hell of a struggle as
they carried him away.

  None of my concern. I turned back to the fire, letting its meager warmth wash over me, one more welcome caress added to lust and liquor.

  “Miss Casey?” I turned toward the small, shaky voice.

  The same tall, skinny young man again. He was wearing a red leather vest and jeans over his skinny frame. Definitely a male sub, I thought, my drunken brain sizing him up.

  Lucky me he was a sub. If he were another male Dom, I would've been a lot more self-conscious and worried.

  “What's up?”

  “It's your partner, Mister Foster. He'd like to see you upstairs. I can take you there, if you'd like...”

  My brow wrinkled in confusion. “Huh? Garrett said he'd be coming back for me. What's with the change in plans?”

  “He...he just told me to pass that along to you.” The young man shrugged. “I just follow orders around here.”

  Yeah, I'm sure you're good at that.

  With a heavy sigh, I stretched my legs on the floor and stood. Maybe following him to the elevator wouldn't be such a bad idea in my intoxicated state.

  I needed to make sure I could still navigate in my heels.

  The young man gave me a weak nod and a smile as I entered the familiar elevator. He left me there, alone. I spread my hands on the wall and tapped the button for the tallest floor.

  How long had Sir been away? Why did he send some lackey to pass his message along, knowing how nervous I was being alone in this place?

  The elevator dinged.

  I stepped off it, holding myself close, tucking in my shoulders. The big chamber seemed a little darker than before, as if someone had turned all the lights down. I crept forward, toes curling inside my heels, as if I could feel the cold of the marble floor through my shoes.

  It was also deadly silent. The fountain's steady trickle rushed on, with no sharp exhalations of pain or pleasure punching through it.

  “Hold still and shut up!” A voice growled.

  I fell, almost crashing to the floor, but two sets of powerful arms caught me. For a second, I was so drunk I hoped it was Garrett.

  Except he'd never talk to me like that. I'd just stumbled into deep shit...but what kind?

  I looked up. My heart leaped into my throat when I saw the cold eyes staring back at me from a short, bald head. Both men glared at me like Dobermans, aiming the same icy stares I'd seen when their master visited me in the coffeehouse.

  “Michael?” I yelped.

  As if on cue, they slowly pivoted me around, pushing me toward the nook in the corner where Garrett had dominated me so many times. The curtain was pushed open, strung to the ceiling.

  There, with his legs spread out, sat Michael. His tight gray suit matched his dark eyes.

  “You remember my name. Very good, little pet.”

  I inwardly gagged. He had no business calling me by that name. Panic scorched its way to my brain, dizzy and overwhelming. I jerked in the bodyguard's arms, head whirling in search of Garrett.

  “It's okay,” he said to his goons as they tightened their grip. “Show her.”

  Slowly, they turned me around, never loosening their tight grip. Garrett crouched on the opposite side of the room. His hands were stuck out unnaturally in front of him, obviously clasped together some way, and a big gag was shoved in his mouth.

  “Jesus! What is it you want?”

  I swallowed hard as they turned me to face Michael again. Deep down inside, I already knew, though no part of me wanted to admit it.

  “You, my pet, but not because I find you all that attractive or because I think you're a good sub.

  You're going to help me make my old friend here a little more cooperative.” Michael stood, pacing toward me like a hungry panther.

  “I can't. I won't,” I stuttered.

  Everything about this situation told me I was powerless, but I wasn't going to admit it.

  “Fine,” he said, forcing the razor sharp word through his teeth. “I'll have to make you. That's okay, though, I like to play rough.”

  He stepped behind me and grabbed my hair. Not gently as Garrett had done.

  For a second, I thought he was going to jerk out a big clump of hair by the roots. Pain sizzled on my scalp.

  He dragged me toward the padded table. The same bench that electrified me with love now sent horror shrieking through my nerves.

  I screamed. Behind my cries, Garrett grunted in his gag, twitching violently on the floor until the bald men walked over and hit him in the stomach. Hard.

  His face tensed and he crumpled, spinning dangerously close to the floor.

  “On the table, you loud little bitch. Don't scream like that again or I'll introduce you to knife play.

  Only there won't be anything playful about it.”

  He brought me to the edge of the table and shoved me down, ass up and vulnerable. I started to cry and tipped my head up.

  The leather padding was ice cold beneath my skin. I forced myself to look at Garrett through the messed up hair that fell over my face.

  Big mistake.

  My lover, my Sir, had tears in his eyes. Not sadness, I realized, but rage.

  A terrible, certain rage that promised to go off like a mushroom cloud when it was free, devastating the brutal man behind me, and everyone else who dared to lay a hand on me.

  “We'll start with a spanking because I know how much you like it. Then I'm going to fuck you raw, pet. I'll force you to come in front of him. I'll force him to see all the things I can do that he can't. That mess of a man in front of you wrecked my business and stole my favorite sub. Did you really think I'd walk away without wrecking you, her, everything!”

  He bellowed over me, turning his demon eyes in Garrett's direction. The two men locked pupils. I nearly saw lightning colliding in mid-air as their pitch black gaze held, before Michael finally broke it, turning back to me with a ragged chuckle.

  Michael shoved the bulge in his pants against my rear. I whimpered.

  “Settle down and enjoy it. You're my bitch now, Jessie. And so is your Master.”

  He moved his hips away. Spine rattling blows replaced his bulge a second later, striking so hard I thought he'd tear right through my red panties.

  My vision blurred. I looked past Garrett, past the cloud of rage between the two bald goons, past the suspicion that I had my Sir's baby growing inside me.

  I'd heard about women being raped before. I never thought I'd experience this. Never the killing blow to the senses that shut everything down as the vile thing happened.

  Michael slammed his palm into my ass harder, crueler than Garrett ever did, again and again, throwing everything in it. And yet, I couldn't even feel it after awhile. Everything beneath my waist turned dull and cold.

  Dead.

  His whole hand was scarlet when he brought his fist next to my face. The sudden movement woke me a little from my trance, and I stared, watching the blood boiling beneath his skin.

  “Not gonna scream for me like a good girl?” Toxic irritation seeped out in his breath. “That's okay.

  When my cock's rammed up your cunt, I know I'll get a rise.”

  No, no, no...

  He wasn't kidding. Harsh soreness lingered on my ass, billowing up my spine. His savage spanking hadn't bothered me. But the thought of having this animal inside me was something else.

  My lips puckered. The strong girl defenses collapsed, and I began to cry.

  Fabric shifted behind me, a world away. He was taking down his pants, and then his hot hands were on my flanks, tugging at my panties.

  The whole world seemed to churn, smoke, and collapse.

  Through my tears, I saw Garrett's huge bulk twitch once, jerking against the rough hands of his captors. Then a blur, huge and sweeping.

  He sprang up, uppercutting the bald men with his huge shoulders. They both lifted off their feet, into the air, crashing onto the tile behind him, stunned and shaking.

  “Oh...oh, shit!” Michael barely had time to sc
ream.

  He froze, dick in hand, staring blankly at the boulder of justice rolling toward him.

  More than two hundred pounds of hard, tattooed, and very pissed off muscle collided with his chest, leaping right over the table. I slowly lifted my head and tucked in my legs, watching the men roll on the floor between the table and the cabinets.

  The guards behind me were knocked out cold. Garrett fought to pin his rival down with his big body.

  Michael didn't go down easy.

  He reared up, grabbed the edge of the table, snarling. I screamed.

  Then pure rage took over. I kicked him, right in the eye, stamping my sharp heel into his forehead.

  He bellowed as Garrett surfaced behind him, throwing his handcuffs across his neck. Michael's head just barely fit in the deadly loop formed by Sir's strong hands.

  They fell to the floor again. This time, the only sound was the muffled, slurred roar of Garrett behind his gag.

  My heart took off like a hummingbird. Pursing my hands across the table's ledge, I watched as Michael lay on his back with Garrett below, the handcuffs' tight chain pinching into the monster's neck.

  Those huge, hateful eyes in Michael's head glowed, bigger than ever before. Except they grew glassy, dull, the light sucked from their pearly centers as his brain lost its oxygen.

  Michael's fists beat wickedly at his sides. Each time, the smacks came slower, weaker, until they completely stopped and hung limp.

  I spun, making sure the goons were still knocked out.

  When I turned around, nobody was moving. Nobody except Garrett, buried and panting beneath the body of the man he'd just killed.

  “Oh my God!” I stuttered, as much to him as myself. “Hold on! I'll...I'll get help.”

  I kicked my feet to the floor and stood in place, quickly straightening the clothes my foiled rapist had peeled away. I started to go toward the elevator, but stopped dead in my tracks.

  This is a fucking conspiracy. There are others in on it...that stupid, gangly man who lied to get me up here. Who knows what I'll find downstairs?