Page 15 of What About Love

Chapter 4

TUESDAY ENDED UP BEINGone of the longest days he could remember. Haunted by the uncomfortable encounter with Angie the night before, he hadn’t slept well and woke in a foul mood. There was no improvement by the time he arrived at headquarters an hour later.

Ordinarily, he loved his job, even when he had to take his turn in the surveillance room. Today was the exception. Lori, their usually bright and bubbly although extremely efficient office manager, all but tied him to his desk and forced him to complete his paperwork so they could bill for the last four bonds he’d brought in. Filling out tedious expense reports, billable time logs, and sifting through three months of wadded-up disorganized receipts was not his idea of a good day.

He broke away for an hour to spar with Jonas, and although the smaller man wiped the floor with him—never count someone out by size when they’ve got the skill and power of an 8th-degree black belt to back it up—the outlet of physical energy had helped. The afternoon brought more pencil-pushing drudgery. His neck was stiff, and a headache was building behind his eyes by the time he finally finished at a quarter till closing time.

Now, as he entered the club, he was looking for another type of outlet. It was early, the crowd thin, and the band was still setting up in the lounge. Hoping a shot of liquor would ease the persistent tension in his neck, he slid onto a barstool and signaled Ben. Without having to ask, he set him up with his favorite twenty-year-old bourbon—Elijah Craig—neat.

While he sipped, tasting the spiciness and savoring the pleasant burn as it first hit his tongue then slid down his throat with a slow heat that curled in his belly, he relaxed and surveyed the crowd in the floor-to-ceiling mirrored-wall behind the bar.

As his gaze roamed the plush couches in the seating area, the couples merged into an unremarkable sea of black leather and lace. But then he caught a flash of color in a shadowed corner and homed in on the couple seated there. The man was almost invisible, nothing more than a dark shadow, but the woman perched on his lap clad in bright purple club wear stood out. So did her small cinched waist, the vertical seams of her corset leading his eyes up to full breasts which overflowed the lacy top edge just enough to spur a reaction in his body. Above the generous display of cleavage, he traced up a delicate throat, over a gracefully curved chin to full, pink lips he’d recognize anywhere.

Having dreamed about that mouth often enough, either kissing it or watching as it opened to receive his hard cock, he knew instantly this wasn’t fantasy. Angie was all too real and currently ensconced in Dan Ogilvie’s lap. Determined to tamp down his desire for her and his envy of him, he jerked his gaze away. It didn’t stray far, noticing her arms, leather cuffs encircling wrists, keeping them secured at her lower back. The position gave the hand slowly stroking her body complete access.

T watched with growing agitation as another man’s fingers touched her how he wanted to, gliding over her cheeks and slowly brushing her mouth. Moving downward, skimming along the centerline between her breasts and down her belly, passing her hips until they came to rest on her thigh. He noticed Dan avoided intimate areas as he spoke near constantly in her ear. He could guess at those hushed words, because he’d done what the other dom was doing often—early submissive training—he was getting her used to his voice, his commands, and his touch.

He waved Ben over, nodding to the corner when he approached. “How long has that been going on?”

Ben’s head twisted in their direction briefly. “They’re all the buzz. Dano hasn’t taken on a submissive since the divorce. That it’s Angie has sent shock waves through the club. She’s been coming to hear Elena perform for months, but not once has she ever stayed to play. We all thought she was pure vanilla. I guess she decided she wanted more of what she’s been seeing.”

“She’s young for the old man, isn’t she?”

The bartender’s gaze snapped to T. “He’s a year older than me. Are you calling me old, bud?”

“Forget I mentioned it,” he muttered, tossing back the remains of his bourbon, and stalked away.

Rather than heading for the dungeon as planned, he climbed the two flights of stairs to the control room instead. No longer in the mood.

He shot the shit with the Rossi man on duty that evening, hoping he’d regain interest in finding himself a sub to play with later on. After a half hour passed, and the spirit still hadn’t moved him, he relieved Kyle for his supper break. Left alone, he watched the screens, completing a routine top of the hour sweep by cycling through the monitored areas one at a time on the main screen. As he checked the problem spots, he noticed the long line of members waiting to check in. All seemed in order there, so he switched back to the bar, tensing at the sight of a rather heated argument between two doms. As soon as Sean stepped in to mediate, he moved on, scanning the lounge, the locker rooms, the outside corridors, and the dungeon alcove where an attendant checked out equipment and stored subs shoes. Next up, the dungeon itself. Starting at the back stairs, which led to the second floor, he worked his way through the theme rooms, which were all occupied, and on to the crowded observation deck where members had a bird’s-eye view of everything happening on the main floor below them. That left only the main floor, which he switched to next.

The club had filled up in the last hour and almost all the stations were in use. Members made the rounds on the circuit, taking in the various scenes at a discreet distance behind the ropes or from the viewing areas beyond. Couples and singles looked for someone special to help fulfill their needs. While he scanned the large room, vigilant for anything unusual or the slightest hint of trouble, he was conscious of searching for something else—something purple.

It didn’t take long for him to find her. Then he wished he hadn’t. Kneeling at Dan’s feet, they watched a scene from a viewing couch. She tilted her head back and said something to him. An offhand remark or a bit of sass, he guessed by the quirking of her lips. He tried to pinpoint the audio but was too late. Her dominant’s hand had already wound in her hair and pulled her head farther back, exposing her vulnerable throat, her spine arching and making her delectable breasts swell over the top of her corset, threatening to burst free.

With a stern expression, Dan spoke into her ear, likely scolding her and reminding her of the rules. Had he told her not to speak without his permission? Would he pull her across his lap next, lift her skirt, and spank her until tears sparkled on her lashes? Better yet, until she rocked back to meet each descent of his hand as he swatted her luscious round ass repeatedly because she loved it as much as he did.

His head snapped around as Kyle reentered the room. Shit! He was supposed to be monitoring the club, not acting the voyeur as his cock hardened and his blood boiled. The latter, not from desire but out of an overwhelming urge to storm the dungeon and rip her away from fucking Dan Ogilvie.

Any tears she shed should be by his hand so he could kiss them away. Scolding or instruction for whatever perceived wrong should come from his lips with his hand in her hair and her scent wrapped around him. If there was going to be any spanking, he wanted to be the one heating her round cheeks to a fiery crimson.

“Fuck!” he swore again, this time aloud, drawing a startled look from Kyle.

Grumbling a weak excuse about being tired, he slammed out of the room. In the hall, he paused, striving for control. It was a futile attempt as he flashed on an image of Angie restrained over a bench. Her raised skirt and panties, lowered to mid-thigh, would frame her beautiful pale cheeks. While squirming in her restraints, she’d inadvertently give onlookers glimpses of her pink pussy lips glistening with the proof of her desire.

Taking the stairs at a jog, he burst through the rear door and stalked across the lot. He couldn’t return to the club, not with her there under the control of another. It would drive him mad. Worse, to violence toward a friend and colleague whose only crime was claiming what he wanted but stubbornly refused to take.

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