Her nipples puckered under his gaze and more delicate shivers racked Alessa’s body. The smiles aimed toward them went a long way toward bolstering her self-esteem, the approval etched on a few faces something new for her. She’d always been on the plump side, no matter how much she dieted or exercised, and her short stature of five foot three didn’t help. She often wondered if her insecurities about her body contributed to the desire to turn complete control of herself over to another person. If someone else were responsible for her well-being, it wouldn’t be her fault she maintained a few extra pounds, right?
Alessa shoved aside questions she’d never found answers to and closed her eyes as Master Greg drew one nipple into his mouth. His strong, suctioning pulls on the tender bud sent an arrow of heat straight down to her core, the resistance her automatic tugs against the restraints met with was an added, unsuspected bonus to the slow build-up of pleasure. He switched to her other nipple, gifting it with the same attention, and her panties dampened in response. She’d never been aroused this fast before and wondered if it was the place, the man or the new experience of bondage that accounted for it. The low murmur of voices mixed with the sound of slapping against bare flesh and high-pitched cries that could be from either pain or pleasure, reminding her this was just a taste of what the BDSM lifestyle offered.
“You don’t seem to mind public exposure,” Master Greg commented after releasing her nipple with a tug that curled her toes. “Is there anything else you want to try yet?”
Alessa didn’t know if it was just her, or maybe her inexperience, but she wished he would just take her where he wanted to go, without asking. Wasn’t that what the safewords were for, to stop anything that became too intense or uncomfortable? She shook her head, not knowing what she wanted.
“No problem, we can stick with this.” He slid his hands down to her thighs as he returned his mouth to her right nipple.
Opening her eyes, Alessa cast a quick look around when Master Greg glided his hands up her skirt then around to cup her silk-covered buttocks. Her gaze landed on the woman strapped facedown on a padded bench a few feet from them. It wasn’t the woman’s reddened ass that caused a lump to form in her throat, but the way the Dom gripped the brunette’s hair, lifted her head and kissed her with rough possession followed by the proud look he bestowed upon her when he released her. That control, given with an underlying possessive thread of caring, yanked at Alessa’s constant yearning for that something more she never could define.
With a mental shake of her head, she shoved the ache aside and concentrated on what she did have, at least for the moment. Shifting her hips, she sent a silent plea to Master Greg to hurry things along. His hands tightened on her butt, the slight discomfort releasing another gush of cream between her legs and making her think she might not oppose a touch of erotic pain. She bit her lower lip to keep from begging out loud then released it with a gasp when he slid one finger under her panties and slipped inside her pussy with ease.
“Yes,” she breathed when her swollen muscles clamped around his invading digit and she pushed her hips forward to welcome his pumping finger. The oblivion of an orgasm was what she craved now. He released her nipple with a deep thrust that reached the softer, more sensitive area of her vagina and swooped down to kiss her with enough pressure she opened her mouth for the sweep of his tongue. Arching toward his much larger frame, Alessa shook with need as he pummeled her sheath over and over, pausing only long enough to graze her clit with each withdrawal. The hard press of his body against hers sent a thrill through her and within seconds she was splintering apart with the convulsive onslaught of an orgasm.
“Well done, Alessa.” Master Greg’s compliment broke through the lingering pleasure as he freed her ankles then her wrists. He held her against him when she wobbled and she basked in his embrace, but when he stepped back within seconds, a cold chill swept through her, replacing the warmth. “You can feel free to wander around now, check out the rest of the equipment and see if anything, or anyone else appeals to you. Thank you for trusting me with your first experience.”
Chucking her under the chin, he walked away without a backward glance, and Alessa felt her hopes crumble, her chest squeezing with the hurt of familiar rejection.
SEAN TIGHTENED his hand around the glass and brought it to his mouth to take a fortifying drink of the potent whiskey, hoping it would throw off the urge to make an ass of himself by storming across the room and demanding answers from a Dom he’d never met. He’d spotted Krista’s close friend, Alessa Alexander, taking the hand of the tall blond as soon as he’d entered Dominion an hour ago. His first instinct was to confront her and demand to know what she was doing here, but luckily his common sense kicked in and reminded him it was none of his business. He’d met her at Jackson’s fundraiser last October and enjoyed dancing with her at both Zach and Dax’s weddings, but that was as far as his association had gone with the attractive strawberry blonde. It hadn’t taken him long to peg her as a closet submissive, though, and since she’d never attended their play parties, he’d assumed she remained a virgin sub. He stayed away from the newbies, but something about the longing etched on her face piqued his curiosity.
Because of that look, not to mention Dax and Krista would have his hide if anything happened to her, he’d kept one eye on Alessa and the other watching for anyone suspicious who might be the culprit harming female club members. But, the longer he watched her, the more compelled he’d become to keep his attention focused on her. Her expressive face fascinated him with the myriad of emotions she conveyed in such a short amount of time. She’d followed the Dom who had signaled her out with eager willingness that slipped into an air of resignation as he talked her through what Sean assumed was her first time being bound. As a Dom himself, he wondered why the other man couldn’t see she might benefit more from a stricter, take charge attitude rather than the mild manner the other man portrayed. As a psychologist, he found himself pondering her motives for coming here, to a club so far from where she lived in Miami, and without the backup of her friends.
His attention, and interest, took a different turn when he saw the enticing view of Alessa’s bare breasts. They were soft and full; he’d always suspected she hid a lush, round figure beneath the loose clothing she seemed to prefer. She closed her eyes, her cheeks flushing to a rosy hue as the man used his mouth on her light pink nipples. Disappointment flitted across her face the more he talked to her, and Sean again wondered if a more commanding Dom might suit her better. He didn’t know how long she’d been playing in clubs, but guessed she was still inexperienced enough to be searching for what worked for her. Given the risk this abuser they were searching for posed, it wasn’t a good idea for her to be out and about right now.
Sean enjoyed watching her climax, the flush staining her pale face and the way her body jerked in the restraints. But when her partner released her from the St. Andrew’s cross, chucked her chin with a few words then walked away, the disappointment and pain reflected on Alessa’s face poked at him to step in. The close bond he shared with the six guys he’d met and befriended all those years ago ensured his protectiveness toward their well being, and that now included the women who had entered their lives. Even though Alessa was not involved with any of his friends on a personal level, it seemed his tendency to want to fix any and all problems for those he cared about now extended to her.
He kept an eye on her as she wound her way through the crowd toward the exit where security waited to escort guests out. Since news of the perpetrator Troy was after had spread throughout the state’s BDSM communities, club owners had been taking extra precautions. Confident Dominion’s security would see her safely to her car, he left his seat at the bar with a sigh of relief. Now that he didn’t have to concern himself with Alessa, he could focus his whole concentration on what he’d driven all the way to Coral Springs to do.
PULLING into the driveway of his childhood home Thursday evening, Sean shook his head in mental resignation
. Why did he continue to make these visits every month with the hope his father might have changed? Between his PhD in Psychology and the years that filled the gap between his youth and now, he ought to be able to get over his difficult past with the man who had sired him but did little else in the way of parenting. He excelled at steering his friends in the right direction when their pasts rose to haunt them. The six of them would have a field day if they knew how fucked up he continued to be over the way Paul Bates had failed his mother.
As if this visit and his workload weren’t enough to contend with, he couldn’t seem to get the look on Alessa Alexander’s face last Saturday out of his mind. It bothered him he couldn’t pinpoint what she’d been feeling when she’d finished the scene with that Dom and watched him walk away. It had been far from sated, as he would have expected after being brought to climax. There had been a slump of dejection to her shoulders when she’d headed out, but a hint of determination in her walk. Not my problem. He’d been telling himself that all week, but that hadn’t stopped him from worrying Krista’s best friend might return to a club to rid herself of whatever demons were chasing her.
Sliding out of his sporty Mustang, Sean reached in and grabbed the sack of groceries he knew his father would need, then strode up the weed-lined walk. He couldn’t solve everybody’s issues, but there were a few he could do something about. His mother’s flowerbeds needed tending as much as his father, which didn’t surprise him. The problem with having an analytical mind like Paul’s was refusing to take note of what was right in front of you. In his dad’s case, he’d always reserved his detailed focus for his first and only passion, medical research into cancer treatments, leaving his family to make do without him during twelve-hour workdays, six days a week. To give the man credit, he had tried to connect with them on Sundays, but more often than not that hadn’t lasted longer than an hour or two before he would hole up in his office to go over lab reports. Why he’d ever married was beyond Sean and something he’d given up trying to understand.
He entered the house without knocking and went straight to the kitchen. “Dad, I’m here,” he called out before setting the groceries down on the counter and opening the refrigerator. With a shake of his head, he pulled out the mold-covered food and replaced it with the fresh items he’d picked up on the way over.
“Sean? Is it the end of the month already?”
Sean turned, facing his father over the kitchen counter. As usual, Paul’s thinning hair stood up from his habit of running his hand through it, and his wire-framed glasses sat crooked on his nose. His tall, thin frame appeared to be even leaner, and nothing like Sean’s bigger build. “Yes, Dad. I see you haven’t been eating again. Sit down and I’ll join you for dinner. I picked up tacos.” Mexican cuisine was Sean’s favorite, and he often wondered if that was because it had also been his mother’s.
“I guess I could eat. What have you been up to, son?” Paul took a seat at the small round table in front of a bay window that offered a view of the back yard. Sean tried to avoid glancing outside and seeing the neglect that matched the front of the house.
“Just working, meeting up with the gang of seven once in a while.” Paul’s lips quirked at the nickname Sean and the guys had come up with before departing the summer camp for juvenile delinquents and promising to stay in touch. He’d never forget his shock when his absentminded, neglectful father delivered the ultimatum of going to the camp for three months or juvenile hall for three years after his latest stunt of getting kicked out of school for fighting, followed by his arrest for vandalism later that same day. If only Paul had come around for his mother in time to save her from herself like he had for Sean, things might have turned out different for them all.
“This is good,” Paul said after taking a large bite of a crunchy taco. “You’re a good boy, Sean.”
A better son than you were a father and husband? He knew better than to let the old bitterness toward Paul rise to the surface, but even at the age of thirty-eight, there were still those moments when the memories forced the useless emotion to the surface. “If that’s a thank you, then you’re welcome. Has Aunt Vivian been by lately?” Sean had always been appreciative of the way Paul’s sister kept in touch with them both.
“She came by last week, or was it the week before that? Asked about you.”
Sean doubted his father had said much to Vivian’s inquiry. Why start now? Over the next thirty minutes, he managed to finish the meal and listen to his father’s latest successes and failures in the lab without wanting to run out the door without looking back. Pushing back from the table, he gathered the empty trash, saying, “I’m going to do some weeding before I leave. Do you need anything?”
Paul looked up and gave him one of his rare, probing gazes Sean had always failed to decipher. Or, hell, maybe it was just that he didn’t have the energy to probe too closely into what those looks might convey. There were only so many disappointments a person could take, especially when they stemmed from family members. With a sigh, Paul shook his head. “No, son. Thank you for dinner, and the groceries. I’ll get back to work.”
Sean strode out the front door without comment, averting his eyes from the shelf in the den holding the last picture he could remember taken of him and his mother, and her urn propped next to it. He’d never known why his father refused to bury her remains, just as he’d never learned what had happened to compel Paul to take decisive measures to rein in his wild, out-of-control, teenage behavior three years after her death. Whatever it was, being sent to that strict, physically and mentally taxing camp had been the best thing to happen to him. The required sessions with the camp’s resident psychologist were what first stirred his interest in the field. Seeing how torn up his six friends were over their equally dysfunctional home lives had spurred the slow craving to help others cope with hardships, to take control before it became too late, to avoid even more dire consequences than what they’d already been subjected to.
If only his father had taken control of his mother, as Sean had begged him to do for years. He knew his need to control women sprouted from the devastating outcome of Paul’s refusal to do so with his mother, and was why he wouldn’t settle down with one woman as his friends had.
Anticipating the neglect he’d find in the gardens and the work it would take to make a dent in it, Sean had worn an older pair of jeans and tee. Kneeling in front of the row of Lantana bushes, he remembered helping his mother plant the blossoming shrubs one spring afternoon. They’ll attract butterflies and we can sit on the porch with our lemonade and watch them. He could hear her soft voice as if she’d spoken right next to him, or maybe it was just the nostalgia of the time of year creeping up on him. Yanking out weeds, Sean tried not to think about the upcoming anniversary of Candace Bates’ death from an accidental overdose combination of prescription drugs and alcohol, but from the look of sadness on his father’s face when he stepped out onto the porch just as Sean stood and brushed the dirt off his jeans, he suspected he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
“It’s the end of January already. I don’t know where the time has gone.”
“You never do, Dad.” Mom doesn’t need help anymore, Dad. Thinking about what Sean had told him when he’d phoned Paul at his lab after finding his mother unresponsive in bed a month after Christmas initiated a wave of resentment he quickly suppressed. It would do no good to relive the same volatile emotions he could recall feeling when he’d been twelve and staring down at his mother’s still features. “Do you want to bury her urn this year?” he asked, already knowing the answer but not understanding it.
“No, not yet. You take care, Sean.” Paul turned and went back inside, leaving him to wonder what that was all about.
Sean started the drive back to his loft condo in a converted factory but, as always after spending time with his father, a craving to be around his friends consumed him. With a quick change of plans, he headed for Miles’ gym downtown. A sweaty workout followed by a few cold brews were just wha
t he needed.
CHAPTER 3
A lessa parked a block from the gym where she and her friends were taking a self-defense class for women. It had been a long week already and if she didn’t enjoy having Tuesday and Thursday evenings free to meet up with the girls so much, she would regret asking for the four ten-hour day schedule at the hospital. Working the longer hours on second shift on the heart floor was every bit as grueling as first shift, but getting the two days off during the week plus Saturdays made it worthwhile.
Locking her car, she took a deep breath of the warm evening air, enjoying the lower humidity that came with the winter months. Her heart rate kicked up as she hastened up the block and tried to think of a way to approach Krista about getting a guest pass into Chains, the Miami club she and Dax had been members of for a while. After giving it some careful thought, Alessa refused to allow the letdown from last week’s encounter hold her back from trying to connect with someone again.
Her first experience with a Master, bondage and exhibitionism hadn’t resulted in alleviating the need she’d lived with most of her life, but she was hoping to hook up with a stricter Dom and praying that would be enough to do the trick. The pang she’d experienced when Master Greg had finished with her and walked away as if the scene were no more memorable than she’d been to any of her foster parents still brought a tight squeeze to her chest. Good thing she’d had plenty of experience with deflecting thoughtless, hurtful actions from those she’d trusted to care for her.
Body thuds and heavy grunts greeted her when she entered the martial arts gym owned by Miles Cavenaugh. Her friend, Hope, and Miles were now together after months of ignoring their obvious attraction to each other. Ed, Miles’ mentor, manned the counter and smiled at her in welcome.