Page 14 of Hard Ride
Fuck’s sake, I can’t believe I stood when he told me to and took his hand. I can’t believe I obeyed, just like that. I don’t like it. I don’t like how it’s an instinctive thing, how my body obeys him, even though my brain is very unhappy about it.
I know I could pull my hand out of his, but that would acknowledge that all of this is a problem, and it’s not. And while I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me, I care enough that I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking like a coward. He told me I used to be brave, and maybe that’s affected me more than I want to admit.
Anyway, Jesus, why am I overthinking this? It’s only sex. It’s not life or death.
So, I don’t protest, allowing him to lead me to a curtained doorway at the back of the club, and I follow as he pulls aside the curtain and we step into a dim hall lined with doors, allclosed. There are small windows in each door, and as we go past a couple of them, there are larger windows that look out into the hall, too, giving a good view into the room beyond.
I catch glimpses of a four-poster bed in one room, nothing at all in another, before we stop outside the window into a third.
The room is simple, a giant bed pushed up against one wall, an armchair in the corner, and a chest of drawers opposite the bed. It’s as dimly lit as the hallway, and I feel as if I’m at the zoo, in the darkness of the nocturnal house, watching the animals who only come out at night.
A shiver passes through me, a strange kind of anticipation gathering in my gut. Tate’s fingers have mine in a strong grip, and I half wonder if I were to pull away, would he let me go? It doesn’t feel as if he would, which makes an unwanted thread of excitement curl through me, and instantly I want to pull away. But that would be stupid, and again, admitting all of this affects me, and it doesn’t.
I’m wondering how long I have to stand here watching this empty room when a door at the back opens, and a woman walks in. She’s completely naked and apparently cool with that, because she gives the window a flirty little wave, acknowledging us, and I hear Tate mutter something under his breath.
Then she turns her back to us, and a man walks into the room after her.
And all the air rushes out of my lungs, because it’s Lucas.
Really? I’m going to watch fucking Lucas have sex?
A low throb of heat pulses through me, betraying me, but I force it away.
What I felt once for him is gone, along with what I felt for Tate. Neither of them affects me anymore, and I’m definitelynotturned on by the thought of watching him fuck some woman. Especially not with Tate also watching.
I say nothing, trying not to tense. I don’t want to give away to Tate that I’m bothered by Lucas’s presence in any way. But then he says, almost soothingly, “Luc is only going to show you what it’s all about. He’s an excellent Dom who knows what he’s doing. With a little help from Cherry, of course.”
“Sure,” I say, trying to be casual, but my voice is husky. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’s a Dom, too.”
“Oh, he tried being a switch, but it didn’t take.”
“A switch?” I’ll probably regret asking this.
“Enjoys being both a Dominant and submissive.”
Lucas as a submissive? I can’t see it. Not even a little bit. There was no mistaking the look he gave me out there, full of authority and will.
Fucking hot.
No. No, not at all.
“I’m not surprised,” I say, again trying to be casual and unaffected
“No,” Tate says, moving a little closer. “But that experience makes him an excellent Dom, since he knows what it’s like to be a sub.”
Lucas is dressed a little more formally now than he was out in front of the stage. He’s wearing a waistcoat and jacket over his white shirt, though he’s not wearing a tie. He looks…phenomenal. I don’t want to admit it, but he does.
He does not give us a wave. He doesn’t even look at the window. Instead, his attention is all on Cherry. He says something to her — the room must be soundproofed because I can’t hear what he says — and she turns her back to him, her gaze on the floor.
Lucas moves over to the chest of drawers, and then he gets something out of one of the drawers. A pair of black leather, padded handcuffs, joined by a very short chain.
Something inside me clenches tight, but again I ignore it. They’re just a pair of handcuffs, and I’ve seen those before.
Lucas takes the cuffs over to where Cherry is standing and issues another order. She puts her hands behind her back, and he calmly puts the handcuffs on her, securing her wrists together at the base of her spine. Then he says something else, and she turns around to face him. Her head is lowered.
I’d forgotten how tall Lucas is. He’s of a height with Tate, making Cherry look petite as she stands in front of him. He puts a finger beneath her chin and tilts her face up, his gaze meeting hers. And I feel the charge between them at the eye contact. It crackles outwards to where I’m standing, prickling over my skin and making goosebumps rise everywhere.
I know what it’s like to meet his gaze, how it gets under your skin, and for one mad minute, I imagine myself standing there in front of him, and he’s tilting my face up to look into my eyes.
