Fighting Attraction
Page 13
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“Oh.” She deflates, and her cheeks redden. “Well, I’m not allowed to use your real name at the gym, and no one seems to use real names when the team is out together, so I never really had a chance.”
“Say it again.” I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I like hearing my name on her lips, her British accent turning something ordinary into a sensual feast of rounded vowels and soft consonants.
“Jackson,” she says softly, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Jackson Caldwell.”
I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, trailing my fingers over her high cheekbone and the graceful line of her jaw. Just once I would like to see her hair down from that ponytail, the chestnut strands spreading across her back, her beautiful face framed in silky softness. “You don’t belong at Club Sin, Pen. What you’re looking for isn’t there.”
My words break the spell between us, and she pulls away. “You have no idea what I’m looking for. You don’t even know who I am.” She unlocks her vehicle, opens the door. “I’m going back to Club Sin. And if you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will.”
5
Get your hands off her
PENNY Redemption or Sin? Redemption or Sin?
After spending the day trying to work while researching BDSM clubs on my phone and not thinking about Rampage…no, Jack and his incredibly hot body, or the way his muscles bulge when he lifts weights, or the curious warmth I felt when he called me darlin’ with that soft Southern twang, I get in my car after work on Wednesday and drive toward the Golden Gate Bridge.
Do I go to Redemption for a workout, or do I go to Club Sin and ask Master Damien for an application form? Is Jack right that I don’t belong? Will I get hurt? Do I want to go back because of him? Or am I doing it for me?
My pulse kicks up a notch when I approach the turnoff. Left for Sin. Straight on for Redemption. Fear gets the better of me, and I choose Redemption, but just as I signal to change lanes, a white van cuts me off, and I am forced to take the overpass into the city. I might have chosen Redemption, but it seems like Sin has chosen me.
Half an hour later, I walk into Club Sin, letting out a relieved sigh when I see Kitty at the front desk. She is wearing a spectacular flame-red corset trimmed in gold, her blond hair piled high on her head.
“Look who’s here.” She grins. “The only woman who has ever made Master Damien lose control. After you gave him those papers, he went crazy. We had to lock him in his office until he calmed down.”
“I’m not here on business today.” I fiddle with the chain around my neck. “I… What do I need to do to become a member of the club?”
“Master Damien said you’d be back.” She reaches into the desk. “He left an envelope with the application forms for you.”
“He said I’d be back?” I take the envelope from her, glance up at the camera above her desk. “How did he know?”
“He’s a psychologist. And he’s very good at reading people. I guess he saw something in you when you were here.”
I’m not sure if that is good or bad or if he saw something I don’t want anyone to see, but now that I’m on this path, I’m not going to let anything or anyone turn me away.
Determined to get the application process done with tonight, I open the envelope and settle down on the red velvet couch. The first few forms are easy—medical history, contact information, and a brief description of my sexual history, work, and fitness. But I hesitate when I come to the ten-page questionnaire that requires me to answer yes, no, or maybe to a long list of activities, half of which I don’t even recognize.
“If you need help, let me know.” Kitty tugs on the front laces of her corset until her breasts look like they are going to explode over the top. “There was a lot of stuff I didn’t understand when I first came to the club, and it can be intimidating.”
Frightening is more like it. Fisting? DP? A spreader bar? Mummification? Suspension? My imagination works overtime, and I finally enlist Kitty’s help with the unfamiliar terms. I quickly decide I’m not into humiliation, service, exhibitionism, or any of the more extreme BDSM practices. I’m good with bondage, whipping, spanking, clamping, and all impact or sensation play. I’m willing to be controlled but not tortured. Hurt but not harmed. Everything else gets a question mark.
After I’m done, Kitty whisks the package off to Master Damien, and I fidget for five minutes, pacing the room, looking at the photographs with new eyes, imagining those leather cuffs around my wrists and that crop slicing across my thighs.
Kitty gives me a smile when she returns. “He has some time free, so he’s going through it now. Do you want to wait?”
“Of course I want.” I want it so bad, my mouth waters at the thought of going inside.
An hour of fidgeting with my ring, chatting with Kitty, and staring at the pictures on the wall later, Kitty leads me back to Master Damien’s office. We travel along the same hallway, although this time the alcove is empty. No Jack in sight.
Master Damien waves me in. I close the door and take a seat in the giant black leather chair in front of his desk. His office has a sensual, masculine feel, with red ochre–painted walls, heavy wood, dark leather furnishings, and lights so dim I can barely make out his face.
“I’ve read your paperwork.” Master Damien’s chair creaks as he leans back. “Usually we would do background checks to verify the information, but I’ve already spoken to Master Jack about you, and he assures me you are who you say you are.”
“You talked to him about me?”
“He expressed a concern about your interest in the club.” His cold, searching gaze bores into me, and even if I’d thought about outing Jack, I wouldn’t do it now.
“Say it again.” I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I like hearing my name on her lips, her British accent turning something ordinary into a sensual feast of rounded vowels and soft consonants.
“Jackson,” she says softly, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Jackson Caldwell.”
I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, trailing my fingers over her high cheekbone and the graceful line of her jaw. Just once I would like to see her hair down from that ponytail, the chestnut strands spreading across her back, her beautiful face framed in silky softness. “You don’t belong at Club Sin, Pen. What you’re looking for isn’t there.”
My words break the spell between us, and she pulls away. “You have no idea what I’m looking for. You don’t even know who I am.” She unlocks her vehicle, opens the door. “I’m going back to Club Sin. And if you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will.”
5
Get your hands off her
PENNY Redemption or Sin? Redemption or Sin?
After spending the day trying to work while researching BDSM clubs on my phone and not thinking about Rampage…no, Jack and his incredibly hot body, or the way his muscles bulge when he lifts weights, or the curious warmth I felt when he called me darlin’ with that soft Southern twang, I get in my car after work on Wednesday and drive toward the Golden Gate Bridge.
Do I go to Redemption for a workout, or do I go to Club Sin and ask Master Damien for an application form? Is Jack right that I don’t belong? Will I get hurt? Do I want to go back because of him? Or am I doing it for me?
My pulse kicks up a notch when I approach the turnoff. Left for Sin. Straight on for Redemption. Fear gets the better of me, and I choose Redemption, but just as I signal to change lanes, a white van cuts me off, and I am forced to take the overpass into the city. I might have chosen Redemption, but it seems like Sin has chosen me.
Half an hour later, I walk into Club Sin, letting out a relieved sigh when I see Kitty at the front desk. She is wearing a spectacular flame-red corset trimmed in gold, her blond hair piled high on her head.
“Look who’s here.” She grins. “The only woman who has ever made Master Damien lose control. After you gave him those papers, he went crazy. We had to lock him in his office until he calmed down.”
“I’m not here on business today.” I fiddle with the chain around my neck. “I… What do I need to do to become a member of the club?”
“Master Damien said you’d be back.” She reaches into the desk. “He left an envelope with the application forms for you.”
“He said I’d be back?” I take the envelope from her, glance up at the camera above her desk. “How did he know?”
“He’s a psychologist. And he’s very good at reading people. I guess he saw something in you when you were here.”
I’m not sure if that is good or bad or if he saw something I don’t want anyone to see, but now that I’m on this path, I’m not going to let anything or anyone turn me away.
Determined to get the application process done with tonight, I open the envelope and settle down on the red velvet couch. The first few forms are easy—medical history, contact information, and a brief description of my sexual history, work, and fitness. But I hesitate when I come to the ten-page questionnaire that requires me to answer yes, no, or maybe to a long list of activities, half of which I don’t even recognize.
“If you need help, let me know.” Kitty tugs on the front laces of her corset until her breasts look like they are going to explode over the top. “There was a lot of stuff I didn’t understand when I first came to the club, and it can be intimidating.”
Frightening is more like it. Fisting? DP? A spreader bar? Mummification? Suspension? My imagination works overtime, and I finally enlist Kitty’s help with the unfamiliar terms. I quickly decide I’m not into humiliation, service, exhibitionism, or any of the more extreme BDSM practices. I’m good with bondage, whipping, spanking, clamping, and all impact or sensation play. I’m willing to be controlled but not tortured. Hurt but not harmed. Everything else gets a question mark.
After I’m done, Kitty whisks the package off to Master Damien, and I fidget for five minutes, pacing the room, looking at the photographs with new eyes, imagining those leather cuffs around my wrists and that crop slicing across my thighs.
Kitty gives me a smile when she returns. “He has some time free, so he’s going through it now. Do you want to wait?”
“Of course I want.” I want it so bad, my mouth waters at the thought of going inside.
An hour of fidgeting with my ring, chatting with Kitty, and staring at the pictures on the wall later, Kitty leads me back to Master Damien’s office. We travel along the same hallway, although this time the alcove is empty. No Jack in sight.
Master Damien waves me in. I close the door and take a seat in the giant black leather chair in front of his desk. His office has a sensual, masculine feel, with red ochre–painted walls, heavy wood, dark leather furnishings, and lights so dim I can barely make out his face.
“I’ve read your paperwork.” Master Damien’s chair creaks as he leans back. “Usually we would do background checks to verify the information, but I’ve already spoken to Master Jack about you, and he assures me you are who you say you are.”
“You talked to him about me?”
“He expressed a concern about your interest in the club.” His cold, searching gaze bores into me, and even if I’d thought about outing Jack, I wouldn’t do it now.
