Page 81 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

Chapter 2

Candace

Leathers—BDSM Club

Five Years Ago

The tension is electric as I enter the club, sparking through my body in ways that make me shiver. I love this—the anticipation, the surrender, the not knowing exactly what will come next. For me, half the thrill of D/s is in the loss of control. And tonight’s Dom has already managed to get under my skin, even before we’ve met. My hard preferences as well as my hard and soft limits are well known here. I have nothing to worry about, but still the butterflies in my lower belly tell me differently.

The corset and thong he sent were delivered in discreet packaging, yet the contents were anything but subtle. The lace barely covers me, my nipples stiff against the cool air, visible beneath the delicate fabric. I’m already slick, my body betraying how much I want this. My clit pulses, swollen and aching for attention, and I know he planned it this way—the thong no real barrier between me and what’s coming.

A woman behind me ties the blindfold—a lilac silk scarf with a fitted nosepiece—around my head. The world goes dark, my senses narrowing to the feel of the silk against my skin and thesound of my own breathing. I steady myself, trying to adjust to the disorientation, the subtle vulnerability.

A hand touches my elbow, firm but not rough. One of the house Doms, I assume. “You can still say no,” he says, his voice calm but laced with authority. “High protocol doesn’t mean you can’t use your safe word.”

I smile faintly, though I doubt he can see it. “No. I’m fine. More than fine,” I murmur, my voice low and edged with arousal. “But he should know—if he’s looking for fear, he’s got the wrong girl.”

The Dom chuckles. “Noted. As soon as I hand you to him, you’re under his command. No speaking unless he gives permission. I’ll guide you to him now.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak again without betraying how fast my heart is racing.

The journey through the club is a blur of muted sounds and distant music, my blindfold heightening every small sensation. The air shifts slightly, cooler, as we step into another room. My hand is passed to someone else—his hand. The moment our skin touches, I know he’s the one. His grip is stronger, firmer, commanding without being harsh. He tugs on my wrist, indicating he wants me to kneel.

He helps me down, steadying me before releasing my hand. My knees sink into the soft rug beneath me, and I sense his movement as he leans in.

He doesn’t give me time to linger. His hand trails down my spine, firm and deliberate, before tweaking a nipple. I gasp, a mix of pain and pleasure sparking through me. I can hear him finishing a drink and feel the leather-wrapped handle of a flogger—old, well-used, its deerskin falls supple and pliant.

It isn’t long before he helps me up and carefully leads me into the dungeon. I know the club well and don’t need my eyes to know where we are. He leads me up onto the main stage andstraps me to the St. Andrew’s Cross. I feel the spine of a knife blade slip between my skin and the laces of the corset as well as both sides of the thong. They both fall to the floor.

I can hear a swish of sound as the Dom swings the flogger once, then twice, the swishes sound graceful, almost hypnotic. Then he strikes.

The rhythmic blows of the flogger land on my back and thighs, each one sending a wave of pleasure and pain through my body. The Dom's measured strikes are soft enough to warm me up but firm enough to make my body hum in anticipation. I let myself sink into the sensations, melting against the St. Andrew’s cross as the tension in my muscles fades.

A moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, my body reacting instinctively to the pleasure derived from the pain. The Dom pauses for a moment. I can feel his eyes gauging my reaction. There’s a pause, and when I sense he likes what he sees, I hear him pick up a second flogger to be used in concert with the first.

I gasp as the blows begin to come faster and faster. He must be using one flogger in each hand. The sensations are overwhelming, the pain melding with pleasure until I can no longer distinguish between the two. The Dom's movements are precise, his rhythm matching the beat of the music playing in the background. I close my eyes, even though I’m blindfolded, and let myself get lost in the experience, the fog of subspace descending upon me.

My mind quiets, leaving only sensation, heat, and the rising tide of pleasure that make me tremble. The Dom's skill is evident, each strike calculated to push me closer to the edge. And just when I think I can't take any more, he stops.

He runs his hands over the areas he has worked, his touch light but deliberate. My skin burns in the best way, hypersensitive to every brush of his fingers. I let out a soft sigh, completely lost in the moment.

He makes a lovely resonant sound from deep in his chest as he releases the restraints, and I melt into him. He is strong, solid…

“Good girl,” he purrs, his voice soft, familiar.

The voice.

I freeze.

No.

I stand up and push myself away as I whirl around, whip off the blindfold with my fist already clenched, and punch him square in the mouth. “Bastard!” The room falls silent, the other Doms and subs staring, but I don’t care. “Someone get me a cab,” I snap, my voice trembling with rage. “I’m out of here.”

Present Day

The vintage hum of the Rolls Royce engine quiets as we crest the final hill of the long, winding drive. The Celtic Knot Winery is every bit as picturesque as I remember, the vines stretching like delicate green ribbons over the rolling hills, kissed by the golden light of the late afternoon. It's beautiful—achingly so—but I refuse to let it affect me. I sit perfectly still in the back seat, my hands folded in my lap, every bit the picture of poised indifference.

The memories claw at the edges of my mind, sharp and unwanted. The last time I was here, my world had shattered. Ryan had left me. His father, that cruel bastard, had told me to get lost, twisting the knife by calling me ‘white trash’ as I stood there clutching the pieces of my broken heart. And then the crash. The loss of my baby. The loss of myself.

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