HurtMeHealMe Page 4

  Caitlin mustered all her courage—all one and a half ounces of it—and walked up the stairs. Stopping at the closed door, she risked a sidelong glance at Mr. Man Mountain.

  “You see something you like?”

  Caitlin jumped slightly. Cripes. He speaks.

  His voice was the deepest she had ever heard in her life. She hadn’t known humans could even make a sound that deep. Maybe he wasn’t human. That wouldn’t surprise her.

  Caitlin made some kind of noncommittal sound, almost a squeak.

  He laughed at her. Well, not exactly laughed, like normal people do. It was more like something in his eyes. Even though his facial expression didn’t change even slightly, she just knew he was laughing at her on the inside. Hell, he was probably busting a gut in his stupid man-mountain, enigmatic way.

  Caitlin held up the temporary membership card she’d received in the mail after sending in her application forms. Since Dante’s was a members-only club, waving the card around was her version of “open sesame”.

  Deep-and-Unfathomable reached out his tree trunk of an arm and pushed the door open.

  Caitlin summoned up some bravado to mask the anxiety she was feeling. “Don’t pull a muscle,” she quipped, surprised her voice didn’t shake.

  He raised one eyebrow. About one third of an inch. “You think I’m going to hurt myself opening the door for you?” he rumbled.

  “No. But I wouldn’t want you to strain a gut muscle laughing at me.”

  Another third of an inch. “I’m not laughing at you.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re yukking it up. On the inside.”

  Caitlin stepped through the door and quickly glanced back at Man Mountain. Ah, he did have at least one facial expression. He looked surprised. Slightly. Caitlin smiled as the door closed behind her.

  After spending about thirty minutes in an anteroom handing over her coat, a rather hefty entrance fee, obtaining an official membership card and being given one thousand and fifty instructions and rules by Trixie—a five-foot-nothing, spiky-haired blonde wearing more body piercings than clothes—Caitlin was finally ushered into the main club area.

  It was darker inside the club, so Caitlin just stood in the shadows by the door, giving her eyes time to adjust to the gloom.

  It looked like any other dance club. There was a bar along one side of the room. Serving only nonalcoholic drinks. Apparently, according to Trixie, alcohol and BDSM did not mix well together. Fair enough. Who would want to be on the wrong end of a whip wielded by some inebriated sadistic Dom? A sober sadistic Dom was bad enough.

  Quite a few people were lined up along the bar, talking and drinking goodness knows what. Could have been Shirley Temples for all Caitlin knew.

  Something at the foot of one of the barstools caught Caitlin’s eye. She peered into the gloom under the shadow of the bar and stiffened.

  Now there was no mistaking this place for a regular dance club.

  A woman lay on her front on the floor next to one of the barstools. Her legs were spread and her arms were by her sides, palms facing upward. She was wearing black panties and a nose ring. The ring went through her septum and there was a chain attached to it. Her Master, owner, Dom or whatever he was held the chain taut, so that the woman had to keep her face off the floor. The man was perched on the edge of his stool and one of his booted feet was planted firmly on the woman’s lower back.

  Caitlin winced and found herself rubbing the knuckle of her index finger back and forth under her nose, wondering if she should beat a hasty retreat.

  Ivan had never taken her to a club. He had been a very private person—wasn’t that the understatement of the millennium?—preferring to limit all their encounters to the basement of his house. Caitlin really didn’t know what to expect in a place like this.

  She locked her knees to try to overcome the temptation to flee.

  I can do this. I can do this. I. Can. Do. This.

  She chanted it in her head like a mantra.

  Who was she kidding? She’d come in here with a plan. A plan to find a man. And, well, get her jollies, she supposed. She, who had never even been on a regular date before.

  Jesus.

  There was a large dance floor in front of the bar that was crowded with club patrons baring a lot of skin, dancing and grinding to the strange, pervasive music with its deep, primal drumbeats.

  Caitlin watched the seething mass of sweating, undulating bodies. The spectacle seemed almost orgiastic, bringing to mind unfettered, mindless, raw, urgent animal sex.

  She watched one particularly gorgeous couple grinding their genitals together in time with the music. What would it feel like to dance like that with a man? Having him touch her, hold her close and rub his body against her—all over her? A frisson of anticipation ran through Caitlin’s body.

  On the far side of the room, beyond the bar and dance floor, was the public display area. There were different rooms separated from each other by solid walls on either side. The wall at the back of each room had a door in it. A head-high glass wall ran along the front of the rooms so when couples were carrying out scenes inside, anyone in the club could watch. One woman was tied on her back with her feet in some kind of stocks as she was subjected to foot torture with a cane. Another was bent over a stool with her arms and legs shackled, being given a thorough, barehanded spanking. A youngish-looking, blindfolded man was tied to a bench and enduring electro-stimulation with a violet wand, wielded by a diminutive woman in a black leather catsuit, a high blonde ponytail and an extremely wicked smile.

  Caitlin was transfixed by the goings-on behind the glass. She stepped away from the relative safety of the shadows near the entry door, drawn to the pain and excitement as if it were a living, breathing thing calling out to her.

  As she walked past the bar, Caitlin suddenly became aware of many pairs of eyes trained on her. Some of the people at the bar, along with a few of the dancers, stopped what they were doing to track her movements across the floor. She felt like an impala at a lion convention. Fresh meat.

  She stared straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone, and ran the gauntlet between the bar and the dance floor. Although to say she ran wasn’t quite correct. It was more like she wobbled with jerky movements on spiky heels and shaky little limbs all the way to the other end of the room.

  When she reached the viewing wall, she touched it, pressing a hand up against the glass. This close, she could hear the slapping of flesh, the smack of the cane, and the moans and cries of all three submissives.

  She wanted to be in there, tied up like one of those subs, taking the pain being inflicted. But she wondered if she could actually do this with some stranger. How could she just give herself over to some unknown Dom?

  The submissive who had been spanked was unleashed from the stool. She and her Dom stood in profile to the glass wall. He rubbed and massaged her wrists and arms, and then, to Caitlin’s utter shock, he knelt at her feet and rubbed her legs and ankles. Caitlin didn’t even breathe as the man leaned up and placed a kiss on his sub’s belly, before turning her around to caress her bottom, substantially reddened from his ministrations.

  He leaned forward and proceeded to tenderly lick and kiss every mark he’d made on her. The woman looked as if she would fall as she stood on trembling legs, eyes closed with a look of pure rapture on her face.

  Caitlin sucked in a ragged breath.

  The Dom adjusted his grip, holding his woman even more tightly around her waist, making sure she was held securely as he worshipped her body. And that’s exactly what it was—worship. It was there in the reverent way he kissed and caressed her. The way he looked at her with awe and burning love and desire in his eyes. It was right there for everyone to see.

  Caitlin felt a gnawing, empty ache that was a lot more than just a need for sexual release. She felt shaky and confused—and surprisingly close to tears. She hadn’t shed one tear since that terrible day after Ivan’s funeral, when Thomas had cradled her in his arms an
d wept with her. She breathed deeply and struggled with her control.

  Paul stood at the top of the stairs to the second floor of the club, captivated by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She looked young and fresh and innocent—and so darn mouthwatering.

  He had been standing up on the second floor watching the patrons downstairs. It had been quite a while since he’d mingled with the masses. He wasn’t even sure why he kept coming to the club, considering he couldn’t even summon the enthusiasm to do the bump ’n’ grind out on the dance floor or watch the couples in the common area, let alone seek out some warm, willing sub to flog and to fuck.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure when it had started, but for quite a while before his self-imposed dry spell, all the women he’d slept with had left him feeling cold. Sure, he could get off, and he could get them off, but it left him feeling empty, and even worse when it was over. Maybe he was just tired of the parade of jaded, hardened subs with their silicone boobs and porn-star moans. He needed something, but damn if he knew what it was.

  Maybe what he needed came in the form of a five-foot-some little angel with alabaster skin, a veil of dark, silky hair and big, wide, ball-breakingly beautiful eyes?

  From his vantage point, he’d spotted her as soon as she came in the door. She’d stood there for about five years, just watching. Looked like a fawn in the headlights—poor little thing—and he’d been instantly intrigued. Couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

  He knew the exact moment she’d seen the couples in the public area. He could almost feel the tension vibrating off her body from all the way up on the second floor. And when she stepped away from the door and started walking through the club, his dick had stiffened. Instantly. And then he couldn’t even remember his own name, let alone when that had last happened.

  Hot damn, that swishy little skirt swayed and flipped around her thighs with every step. Tantalizing him, making him burn to tear it off to see what was underneath. And those gorgeous legs encased in fishnet stockings. He loved those darn things, and didn’t they look so much naughtier on this sweet little girl.

  The bustier she wore was laced up the front nice and tight. It pushed up the creamy swells of her small breasts—real, honest-to-god breasts—to their full advantage. Man, that top just begged for unlacing to free those luscious mounds into his awaiting palms. Mouth. Tongue. Teeth. Mmmm hmmm.

  So hard. Agonizingly hard. He palmed his erection through his pants.

  She had walked through the club mesmerized, until she got right up to the partition separating the general crowd from the kinksters playing publicly for their own as well as the crowd’s enjoyment. Trixie must have told her not to stand up against the wall; it was a house rule, making sure everyone could get a good view of the proceedings. But there she stood, palm on the glass, totally oblivious to the rows of chairs behind her that were set up for observation.

  He was spellbound, watching her, taking in her every reaction to what she was seeing. It was observing Ray’s aftercare of Sara that elicited the strongest response in her. She began trembling, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and it seemed as if she were struggling just to keep it together. She needed something—badly. He hoped to god and all the saints it was him. He started down the stairs. He had to get to her. Immediately.

  In his haste to get to the little woman, Paul almost knocked over Ray as the guy was trying to get up the stairs with Sara in his arms. Paul mumbled an apology and stopped two steps down, letting the couple past. Before he could get going again, some newbie staff member chose that moment to do a little impromptu meet-and-greet and the chatty little bastard attempted to talk Paul’s ear off. And he offered his ear only, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the woman.

  Caitlin watched as the Dom carried his sub out of the room, all the while whispering to her. The sub was curled up with her head resting on his chest and a dreamy expression on her face. As they went upstairs to the private rooms—where no doubt he would make love to her, not just fuck her—they had to veer around someone coming down the other way.

  That someone now stood near the top of the stairs, staring at Caitlin with such single-minded focus that a jolt of awareness ran through her, from her head to the tips of her toes.

  Oh my, oh my, oh my.

  He was like some kind of demigod standing up on high, surveying all that was his. And presently he was surveying Caitlin rather intensely with a deeply penetrating gaze. She felt another jolt, this time low in her belly.

  Wow, that was new.

  Caitlin had never had that kind of response before from just looking at a man. And he was a fair distance away. She could only imagine what she would feel if he got anywhere near her. Perhaps she would self-combust? Melt in a puddle at his feet? She wondered why she was responding this way—all pangs and contractions in her belly. Must be because she was so shaken by what she’d seen, watching the Dom and his sub. Maybe the small matter of not having had an orgasm since the beginning of time.

  Perhaps it was the pepperoni pizza she ate for dinner.

  Yes, it had to be that.

  Although, looking at this guy, she decided he could probably make most women vibrate internally from fifty paces.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered. His thick, slightly wavy hair was sandy blond and fell just to his shoulders, curling up a little at the ends. A face one would call ruggedly handsome—with its broad planes, chiseled cheekbones and strong, square jaw—was shadowed with sexy designer stubble, which just added to the whole rugged-man vibe he was giving off. He looked as though he spent time outdoors, sporting a lovely natural tan.

  A gray turtleneck sweater clung to his frame, showcasing his broad chest and strong arms. His black dress trousers were of a looser style than most of the tight, black-leather variety worn by many of the other men in the club, but they didn’t hide the fact that underneath, he was powerfully built. He stood tall and strong and just radiated an aura of authority and command.

  Big. Strong. Gorgeous. Pure alpha male.

  He looked at Caitlin as if he knew what he wanted and he was going to take it. What he wanted being her. Caitlin got that feeling again, as if she were prey. Except there was something about his eyes—a hint of amusement, perhaps? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. One corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly. But instead of looking cruel, like it had on Ivan, it looked almost like anticipation.

  Well, Caitlin sure was anticipating.

  She realized she’d been standing there with her mouth hanging open, ogling a perfect stranger. Perfect being the operative word.

  Geez, Cait, pull yourself together.

  Caitlin felt herself blushing and turned her attention back to the Doms and subs in the common area.

  The woman having her feet tortured was wriggling and squealing now. Funny, Caitlin hadn’t heard a thing while she’d been busy gawking at Mr. Good Vibrations on the stairs.

  The young man being given electrostim treatment was begging his Domme to release him, to let him come. Poor guy. Caitlin could relate. Maybe the two of them could form a little club. They could call it WOBINA—Want Orgasm But I’m Not Allowed.

  Caitlin felt a familiar churning in her gut when the guy started crying and begging nonstop, chanting over and over, “Please let me come, please let me come, please let me come.” Although it didn’t look as if he was coming anytime soon. Or going anywhere, for that matter, with that nasty-looking metal cock-and-ball cage contraption keeping him from even pointing his penis in the right direction.

  Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a breath; it was just too excruciating to watch.

  She felt a finger slowly stroking along her shoulder and down her arm. She stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath. It was him. He had come to her.

  Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

  Caitlin gulped and opened her eyes as she turned to face him.

  “Oh!” she gasped in surprise and jumped back a fraction.

/>   The man was staring at her—however, he wasn’t the one she’d been expecting. This was the Dom who’d had his woman prostrate on the floor at the bar with his foot jammed in her back.

  What in the heck did he want with her? And where was the woman who belonged on the end of the chain swinging in his hand?

  “So it looks like you’re enjoying the show.” He gestured toward the window with his chin. “Although I must say, feet aren’t my thing. I mean, it’s nice that you can make ’em hurt so much, but I prefer having a nice visual at the end. You can cause a lot of pain to feet without seeing any marks. Kind of takes the fun out of it, you know? Personally, I prefer lovely red stripes on a luscious ass and milky-white thighs.” His eyes moved slowly down Caitlin’s body, lingering on her milky whites.

  Caitlin squirmed, trying not to outwardly show her revulsion to the nasty, oily character leering at her.

  He was tall and gaunt, like a bag of sticks encased in black leather. His long, thickly greased jet-black hair straggled limply down the sides of his face. Those protruding cheekbones and his pointed goatee, combined with his fathomless obsidian eyes and thin, almost nonexistent lips, made him look as if he could be a close relative of the guy downstairs. If this were a movie, he would be the bad guy. Standing-in-a-field-with-black-crows-circling-over-his-head bad.

  “So you up for a caning, girl?” he asked, his hot breath wafting over her face.

  “Um, no thank you.” Caitlin squeezed the words from her suddenly constricted throat. She even managed something vaguely resembling a slight smile before turning toward the dance floor. Maybe she could get lost in the crowd and get away from him.

  She furtively looked up to see her blond Adonis thundering down the stairs. She met his eyes for a moment. His face was drawn into harsh, grim lines, looking as if he had a serious mad-on.

  When Caitlin reached the wall of dancers, she bent her head and burrowed through, trying to get to the center of the dance floor. She didn’t make it very far before an arm clasped around her from behind. Satan Junior trapped her, wrapping one arm around her pelvis and a hand firmly around her throat. He started moving his body against hers, as if they were dancing.