Little Red Riding Crop
Page 4

Nora sighed.
“You’ll wait here for me, right?”
“Bien sûr,” Kingsley said.
Nodding, Nora opened the door and stepped into the rain. Just to be on the safe side, she brought her toy bag with her. The items in her toy bag were designed for inflicting pain--consensual pain but pain nonetheless. If she was heading into Black Forest, she would go armed.
Staring down the dark alley, she steeled herself. She could do this. She had Kingsley as her backup in case anything...
From behind her she heard the sound of squealing tires. Kingsley had gone.
Nora could only roll her eyes.
“Fucking Frenchman...” she mumbled as she strode forward. “It’s like World War II all over again.”
Early afternoon still, the club hadn’t yet opened. The heels of her boots echoed hollowly off the wet concrete and the sound followed her to the green door at the entrance to Black Forest.
A rare case of nerves overtook Nora. She’d beaten the shit out of some of the biggest, toughest men in the world if they paid her enough for the privilege. But they’d wanted her to, invited her to...Here at Black Forest, she came unwanted, uninvited. And Black Forest had the biggest damn Dom in all of Manhattan. To comfort herself, she took her red riding crop out of her toy bag and held it by the handle. One never knew...
Nora tried the doorknob and found it locked. No worries there. She started to open her toy bag to dig out her lock-pick set when the door flew open so suddenly she gasped.
The man said nothing, asked no questions, and made no introductions. Of course, he didn’t need to say anything or make any introductions. Nora knew Brad, had seen him before, had met him before...but no matter how many times she’d seen him she could never wrap her mind around the sheer size of the man. At six foot four he stood no taller than her tallest ex-lover. But where most tall men tended toward the lean side, Brad was muscle from shoulder to shoulder, neck to ankle, and so wickedly handsome with his lupine smile and his salt and pepper hair that Nora could never look at him without wanting to get hip to hip.
Enemy, she reminded herself sternly. No fraternizing with the enemy.
“Shouldn’t you be at the gym?” Nora recovered her composure quickly. “I can see you shrinking by the second.”
“Well...” he said looking Nora up and down. He seemed to take particular note of what she held in her hand and her red cloak. “If it isn’t Little Red Riding Crop.”
Nora gave him her brightest, broadest, most obnoxious smile.
“If it isn’t the Big Brad Wolfe. We meet again.”
“And me not even properly dressed.” Brad wore nothing but a pair of loose-fitting black pants and a black shirt...unbuttoned.
“I have that same shirt.” Nora tapped her chin. “Well, actually it’s a bed sheet. Same size. Very comfy.”
“I’ve heard tales of your bed, Mistress. Urban legends.”
“I live in Connecticut. They’d have to be suburban legends. I’ve heard tell of your bed too. Trees for bedposts, right?”
“You’re getting me confused with Odysseus.”
Nora raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.
“Brawn and brains—I would never have guessed. But then again, I don’t know anything about you.”
“Born in Albany. Played football at Rutgers. Rhodes scholar. Love kink. Hate normal jobs. Divorced. No kids. There. That’s the beginning and end of my life story.”
“Divorced, huh? Vanilla ex-wife?”
“How’d you guess?”
“I’m smart too. Used to a f**k a Rhodes scholar. By the way...are you going to invite me in?”
“Should I?”
Nora thought about that question and decided honesty would win her more points than charm.
“Nope.”
Brad raised a dark eyebrow at her and said nothing. Maybe she should have gone with charm.
While waiting for Brad to make up his mind, Nora started to twirl her riding crop in her hand like a baton. She did that often when burning off nervous energy.
Brad merely watched her. How many staring contests with gorgeous men was she going to get into today?
“If I let you in, will you promise not to break anything...or anyone?”
Nora spun the crop one more time.
“Nope.”
“The Dame will have my hide if I let you in and you know it.”
“Then let’s hope you’re into that sort of thing.”
Nora smiled again at him, the smile she reserved for midnight conversations whispered across black sheets. It seemed to work. Brad took a step back and let her pass.
Finally inside Black Forest, Nora took a moment to simply look around. Kingsley’s Underground Empire included half a dozen clubs all over Manhattan. But he only had one club that existed solely for their kind. The 8th Circle, as it was known to insiders, had been carved from the ruins of an old condemned hotel. Kingsley hadn’t done much to spruce up the joint. The seediness of the club suited the clientele. But where The 8th Circle quietly catered to money, Black Forest reeked of it. Black chandeliers with black light bulbs swung low from the black and gold ceiling. Leather chairs and sofas littered the floor. A dozen doors lined the first and second levels—doors that led to private rooms for secret activities.
“You don’t like it, do you?” Brad came to stand behind her so close she could feel the heat of his skin radiating from his bare chest.
“Bit middle-class, isn’t it? Got a Rotary Club feel to it.”