Page 19 of A Dead Man's Pulse
“Oh, Master Mitch didn’t say anything about that yesterday.” She held out her hand for Dakota to shake. “Hi, I’m Sasha Lewis. I’m a sub and work in the club’s boutique. We just got in a new shipment of inventory on Saturday, and since we’re closed today, I have to go through everything and get it all up on the display racks and shelves. I can’t wait to see some of the new fet-wear that came in. By the way, I love that corset . . . it looks fantastic on you.”
“Thanks.” Sasha had a bubbly personality that was infectious, and Dakota liked her immediately, even though it was a little weird to be dressed in fet-wear while the other woman was in a comfortable pair of jeans and T-shirt. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t mean to sound rude, but I have to get out to my Dom. Don’t want to earn a punishment before the class even starts.”
“Go. Run.” The sub waved her hand toward the door leading out to the pit. “It was nice meeting you too. If you want a peek at the new inventory, knock on the boutique door before you leave. Have fun.”
Pulling the door open, Dakota rushed out and ran right into a brick wall that let out a muffled “oomph.” Hands grasped her shoulders and steadied her when she would have ended up on her ass. Her gaze had been downcast and roamed upward, taking in a pair of snug, black jeans covering an impressive bulge, a black, leather belt, and a black T-shirt that hugged its owner in all the right places. Before her eyes made it to the man’s face, she’d known who it was, and she cursed her body’s reaction to her new partner once again.
“Hey, are you okay?” Logan’s concerned voice sent a shiver through her spine. “I came to get you because Marco’s just about to get started.”
His hands still cupped her shoulders as her gaze met his, and she didn’t miss the heat flaring in his eyes. Goose bumps popped up all over her skin, and she took a step back, out of his reach. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks. Just talking to one of the club’s submissives in the locker room.”
Sticking his hands in his back pockets, he eyed her down to her toes and back up again. “You look nice. Really nice.”
“Um. Thanks.” Feeling herself grow wet at his appraisal, she stepped around him and walked toward where the other UC teams were gathered in the middle of the pit. Glancing to her left, she saw him fall into step next to her. “You . . . um . . . didn’t get your leathers?” Not that he didn’t look extremely sexy in his current attire.
“No. I . . . uh . . . didn’t have time. Something came up that I had to take care of first. I’m going to head to the shop tomorrow, if you want to come with me. You know, make sure I pick out the right stuff. Aside from camos and jeans, I’m not a fashionista.”
Dakota chuckled and relaxed a little. “I think you’re the first guy I’ve ever heard use that word.”
“What can I say? My younger sister is a full-fledged fashionista. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know what the hell one was.”
“All right, let’s get started. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” Marco DeAngelis was standing on the center stage of the pit in front of a large St. Andrew’s cross. With his dark hair and good looks, Dakota was starting to think “being a hunk” was a requirement to be hired by the private security company.
Kneeling on a large, red pillow next to him was a gorgeous blonde, dressed in a pink satin camisole and shorts. In perfect present position, her head was downcast while her hands rested palms up on her thighs with her knees shoulder width apart. Dakota had met the retired SEAL at several task force meetings and knew he was married, so that had to be his wife. His next words confirmed it as he stroked the blonde’s hair, the expression of pure love on his face hard to miss. “My beautiful wife, Harper, has volunteered . . . sort of . . . to help me demonstrate a few things this afternoon, while our daughter is visiting her Aunt Jenn for a few hours. For those of you whom I haven’t met, yet, I’m Marco DeAngelis. I’m a retired Navy SEAL and have been in the lifestyle for about fifteen or sixteen years now. I’d like to go around the room and have you quickly introduce yourselves, so I can put names to faces, please. Tell me if you’re a newbie or how long you’ve been practicing.”
While the self-introductions went around the room, no one mentioned they worked in law enforcement. While everyone in the pit knew their true purpose there, and the club was technically closed, there were a few employees doing things upstairs, including Sasha.
A few moments later, the Doms were sitting in chairs facing the stage, while their submissives were on pillows at their feet as DeAngelis began telling the inexperienced people there the basics of the lifestyle, stressing that everything was safe, sane, and consensual.
Since this was all stuff Dakota had known for years, she took the opportunity to study Logan. While he was listening to the lecture, every so often his gaze drifted to the corner of the stage where a portable rack, holding various toys and instruments used in BDSM, had been set up. Each time he did, his face paled a little—she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been watching him so closely—and he seemed distracted, which wasn’t a good thing for a Dom to be on a play floor. Something was bothering him, and Dakota wished she knew what it was, but as long as it didn’t interfere with the two of them being undercover together, then that was all that mattered. If she learned anything too personal about him, she was afraid her attraction to him would grow even more.
The two hours went by faster than she realized. As expected, aside from proper presentation, an intro to the different types of play that were and weren’t allowed in most of the clubs, and all the other basics, there had been no full-scene demonstrations—those would start tomorrow DeAngelis told them. Before releasing them for the rest of the day, apparently a Shibari class was scheduled in the club that evening, he instructed each couple to talk about what they’d learned tonight and to check out three BDSM websites, then let him know if there were any questions before they started the class back up at 8:00 a.m.
When the class broke up, Logan stood and held out his hand to her. Hoping she wouldn’t have the same reaction she’d had earlier to his touch, Dakota placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her up. And, damn it, the tingling started all over again.
Once she was on her feet again, she snatched her hand back. If he’d noticed anything was wrong, Logan didn’t show it. “So, how does grabbing some dinner sound . . . you know, to get comfortable with each other? I have some questions that I’d rather ask you than Polo.”
Polo? Huh? Oh, that’s right . . . DeAngelis’ Navy nickname. “Um . . .” Dakota took a deep breath and glanced around. It looked like the rest of the faux couples were talking about doing the same thing Logan had just suggested. Well, if you and he are going to be believable undercover, then you better start getting used to him. “Sure. Let me get changed, and I’ll meet you upstairs.” She almost burst out laughing when he raised an eyebrow at her. Damn, the man picked things up quickly. “I mean, is it all right with you, Sir, if I go get changed and meet you upstairs?”
He chuckled. “That’s fine, little subbie.”
Turning away, Dakota started for the ladies’ lounge along with the other women. The whole way there, she felt Logan’s eyes on her and resisted the urge to glance back at him. She hoped like hell they caught the Kink Killer soon because, if not, she didn’t doubt she was going to wind up in her partner’s bed for the first time in her career.
Chapter Twelve
Logan watched as Dakota disappeared into the ladies’ lounge. The corset she was wearing had nearly knocked his socks off, and he wished she’d been wearing just panties and fishnet stockings with it.
A hand came down on his shoulder as Morrison chuckled at him. “You need a towel to gather up all that drool, Cowboy.”
“Fuck you, Skipper.” He gave his teammate a playful shove, and then strode toward the grand staircase leading up to the balcony floor with the other man following. “Besides, your new partner’s pretty hot, too.”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately, she plays for the other team. Told me point blank when I met her earlier. She’s cool, though, and pretty funny, so the gig should be okay.”
When they reached the top of the stairs, there were a lot more people than Logan had expected. Numerous couples were gathered at the bar, while a bartender served them drinks—mostly bottled water, but a few wines and beers were being consumed. Tiny Daultry and Mitch Sawyer, Ian and Devon’s cousin, were talking to a tall man with a crew cut, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. From his stance, it was clear he was, or had been, in one of the military branches.
Logan and Morrison stepped over to the small group, and Tiny grinned at them. “How was your first class?” While the former football player was the head of security for the club, it had surprised Logan to learn he didn’t participate in the lifestyle.
“Interesting . . . let’s leave it at that,” Logan responded, dryly.
