Chapter 13

TRISTAN LEFT NARISSA wrapped in a blanket, snuggled up against her domme’s side, sipping water and nibbling on chocolates, and strode to the lounge. A good thirty minutes had passed since Piper had wisely made herself scarce, but that time hadn’t lessened his anger. She knew he disapproved of her being here, yet she ignored his wishes and warnings.

From the perimeter of the packed lounge, he searched for a mass of blonde waves. A flash of fiery-red hair at the bar caught his eye first. When he started that way, members and guests quickly cleared a path, correctly reading the annoyance emanating from him.

The sight of two of his neighbors in the crowd outside the suspension station had been a surprise. Piper’s expression, filled with longing for something she had no concept of, had come as a shock. It aroused him more than the eager, experienced submissives who offered themselves to him each night. Even more than the stunning, nearly naked sub he had suspended tonight, who craved the power and control of shibari as much as he did.

After nearly two decades in the lifestyle, he had encountered plenty of newbies. Never once had he felt the need to warn them away. But something about Piper roused his protective instincts and so much more. Releasing Narissa with a rock-hard erection in his pants was awkward—not to mention damn uncomfortable. And it still was as he stalked through the crowded bar.

As expected, Piper occupied the stool beside Josie. She had her back to him, talking with Samson, who was stationed behind the bar, as usual. Tristan could tell the moment the fellow Rossi man caught sight of him. His eyes locked with his own, and he stroked his bushy red beard, as if unraveling an intriguing mystery. Then, leaning in closer, he whispered something to both women. The distance and noise level drowned out his words, but the way Josie tensed, whirling on her stool to face him, confirmed Sam had warned them of his approach.

Piper didn’t move a muscle, which gave him a moment to study her. The brightness of her hair and clothes matched the flowering pots lining her kitchen windowsill, the orange sunflower throw pillows on her purple couch, her obnoxiously cheerful yellow car, and her perpetually sunny disposition. Her light didn’t belong here in the darkness, and she sure as hell didn’t belong anywhere close to him.

He stopped behind her, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t speak, but the way she didn’t move—was she even breathing?—told him she knew he was there.

“I thought I made myself clear the last time?” he said in a low, unflinching tone as he sought her face in the mirror behind the bar. Only when he found it, and her blue eyes locked with his, did he continue. “This isn’t the place for someone like you.”

Her head whipped around first, then she swiveled to face him fully. “Someone like me?” she asked, eyes narrowing at his veiled implication. “What does that mean?”

“A naive farm girl from Iowa,” he said pointedly. “What would your preacher father think?”

She slid from her stool. He didn’t move to allow her space, and barely an inch separated them. He rethought his intimidating posture when he could see down her low-cut top.

“What my father thinks is none of your concern.” She raised her chin defiantly and met his gaze as she asserted, “Neither am I. And I can handle myself here just fine, thank you very much.”

“You have no idea what you’re playing at.”

“That’s true,” she allowed. “But that’s why I’m here—by invitation—to find out. I had a glimpse the other day, but I was curious about what it was like with the lights dimmed, the music on, and the membership here in full force.”

“Now you know.” His fingers wrapped around her upper arm to escort her to the lobby. “I’ll have one of the men take you home.”

“But I drove. Besides, we just got here. They allowed us in for your, um, demonstration.” She blushed, delicately clearing her throat then soldiered on. “But I’m...or rather, we”—Piper gestured with her thumb toward the wide-eyed redhead beside her—“are eager for the full tour.”

His gaze slid to Josie, who gave him a little wave. “Hi, Tristan.”

“That’s sir or Master Tristan,” Samson corrected in his booming voice. “You’re new, but you need to learn that quickly. Uh, Tris,” his friend said, nodding to the room behind him. “The single doms are circling.”

When he glanced in the mirror, at least six eager dominants were taking in the scene. Piper, in her pink leather vest and minuscule skirt, had captured their predatory attention. And who could blame them? She looked amazing, but it only ticked him off more.

“Red is spoken for,” Axyl announced, appearing beside him. “Are you ready?” he asked Josie.

“Yes, but I can’t leave Piper. If she gets kicked out, I’m going too, since I’m her wingman.”

Samson’s laughter didn’t drown out Axyl’s shocked response. “Kicked out by who?”

Josie didn’t respond verbally, but her green eyes shifted pointedly toward Tristan.

Axyl turned to him impatiently. “You understand the purpose of open sub night is to attract new members, particularly those of the submissive persuasion?” He frowned at Piper while still addressing him. “She’s new. If she broke a rule, surely it can be addressed.”

“Piper and I have been on our best behavior, Master Axyl,” Josie insisted, coming to her friend’s defense—aptly so as wingman. “We watched the bondage demonstration without making a peep and then came to the bar, but we haven’t even had a drink yet.”

“Then, what’s the issue?” Axyl inquired, his hands on his hips, glaring at him while waiting for an explanation.

Samson leaned in, propping a forearm on the bar, all ears. “I’m wondering the same thing.”

“She’s a client,” Tristan stated, although that was the least of his concerns.

“So is a third of our membership,” Axyl replied, not buying it.

“Half I’d say, at one time or another,” Samson put in, not helping one bit.

“Not officially,” Piper clarified. “We don’t have a contract.”

Samson connected the dots. “She’s the new stalker case.” He chuckled low, exchanging a smirking glance with Axyl.

Understanding now, the younger man declared, “Ah, I see,” with a smile that wasn’t as wide as the barkeep’s but came close and was clearly at Tristan’s expense.

“You see nothing,” he snapped. “As owners, we have veto power with membership. It’s my call, and I’m making it.”

Piper’s calm evaporated. She moved closer, her breasts almost touching his chest when she fisted her hands on her hips. “I don’t get you. First, you helped me move in, and I thought you were nice. Then you yelled at me for taking your parking space. I thought it a bit of an overreaction, but Josie said you worked nights sometimes, so I chalked up your grumpiness to that. I kept trying to be neighborly. I even brought you your mail, but you slammed the door in my face—twice.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did,” she shot back. “You’ve gone above and beyond with this stalker business, but being decent and concerned for me one minute and a total jerk the next is giving me whiplash. I didn’t ask for your help. You took it upon yourself to change the locks and install all the security. Not that I don’t appreciate it—”

“Funny, you don’t sound like you do.”

She rose onto her toes. Barefoot, she wasn’t tall enough to look him in the eye, but he gave her credit for trying. “It’s like you’ve got two people living inside you. Just pick one already, so I know who I’m dealing with!”

“You really shouldn’t be here,” he said through gritted teeth, his jaw tightly clenched as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“So you’ve said,” she retorted sharply. “I disagree.”

He was unaccustomed to arguments and such blatant defiance at the club, of all places. It further reinforced his argument. With his temper flaring, Tristan bent toward her. “You’re unbelievably stubborn. I tried to discourage you gently last time—”

“Gently!” she fired back. “You ordered me to get out!”

“I don’t recall saying that.”

“You said go home, which is the same thing,” she insisted in such a snit, her vest brushed his shirt as her chest rose and fell with her accelerated breathing.

Nose to nose with her now, he asked not the least bit politely, “If I say it again, are you going to listen?”

“I’ll save you the trouble.” Dropping to her heels, she glanced at Josie. “You don’t have to leave, but I’m going. I already have enough stress in my life.”

The ends of her honey-blonde hair danced above the gap between her fitted vest and snug skirt as she stormed off. Male heads turned as she passed, and it irked him even more that he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Josie hopped down from her stool. With a deep frown etched on her face, she craned her head back to look up at Axyl as she issued an apology. “I’m sorry. We made a pact to back each other up, no matter what.”

“I understand what a wingman is, Josie,” he replied.

She smiled at him, although her disappointment was palpable. Then she hurried after her friend, calling, “Piper, wait.”

“I hope you’re happy,” Axyl ground out, shooting him a piercing glare. “You ran off two potential members, one of whom I’ve had my eye on.”

Samson, who stood watching now with both forearms on the bar, offered additional information. “They were talking about going to one of the public clubs.”

“They’ll be chum for the sharks,” Axyl declared, which sounded like an exaggeration, but wasn’t. The lack of safety in the public clubs was one of many reasons they opened Club Decadence. “Nice going, old man,” he said, scowling. “You’ve just made protecting our client, if she doesn’t boot your ass and the rest of us out the door, even harder.”

Without uttering a word to either man, Tristan went after the women. They were winding a path through the bustling lounge, but he went around it, taking advantage of his longer strides and a practiced scowl to move people out of the way and cover double the distance in half the time. He reached the lobby doors several steps ahead of them.

Piper’s eyes were bright with anger and a sheen of unshed tears when she looked up the short steps at him. “What? Didn’t I exit your turf fast enough? Sorry, but it’s hard running on tile barefoot.” She looked down at her feet and then at Josie, who appeared by her side, panting. “We forgot our shoes.”

“You won’t need shoes on a tour,” he grumbled.

“I will because I’m not going on a tour. I’m leaving,” she snapped back.

“Josie is going with Axyl, and you’ll be with me.”

“But you said—”

“Forget what I said,” he replied, his tone firm. “I’m going to give you a taste of what BDSM and the lifestyle are all about. Just remember that you asked for it. Follow me.” He didn’t give her a choice. His fingers encircled her wrist as he pulled her down the steps in a blink, heading toward the playroom.

“Wait,” she protested. “What about—”

“I’ve got Josie,” Axyl called, answering her unfinished question.

Tristan heard his temporary neighbor, who had known him much longer than Piper, inquire, “She’ll be okay with him, won’t she?”

“She did not just ask that,” Tristan muttered irritably.

“It’s a valid question. It’s not like you’re happy about any of this.”

He whirled on her so fast, she skidded to a halt to avoid plowing into him. His fingers encircled her upper arms, steadying her. “Let’s get something straight here and now. You will always be safe with me. I don’t need to be happy to be a good dominant. Is that understood?”

More experienced subs than her backed down under the intensity of his glare. Not Piper. She stood her ground, licked her lips, then replied haltingly, “It’s...understood. But...”

“Now is the time to say what you have to.”

“Um... Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I don’t belong here.”

His mixed messages had confused her. Hell, they confused him. Like just now, when she was almost out the door and he stopped her. But the idea of her in a public club, prey surrounded by predators, was unthinkable. If his words of warning didn’t convince her, he’d give her more than a glimpse of his world so she would see she was in over her head.

“Are you using your safeword?”

Piper returned his gaze, mouth set mulishly, as sweet as she was stubborn.

Then something occurred to him. “You do know what a safeword is, don’t you?”

“I read the rules before signing,” she said with a nod.

“Then end this now, or we’ll follow through on this course you’ve set us on.”

He counted to five in his head, a remarkably long time, actually. He set them into motion again when she said nothing, leading her through the towering playroom doors and down the steps to the main floor. It was packed—recruiting events always were. They merged with the circuit traffic, and he scanned the various scenes in progress until he found one that would illustrate how dark the dungeon could get.

The group of members and guests looking on from outside the ropes was large, and it took some maneuvering to get Piper to the front row. He heard her sharply indrawn breath at her first glimpse of the scene. Mistress Kara had her sub, Allen, naked and bound to the St. Catherine’s wheel. The quirt was an extension of her wrist and landed with stinging accuracy on his chest, abs, and thighs as he slowly revolved. The metal cage around his cock and balls provided protection but would be painful if he became aroused, which Allen was.

Although he’d watched this type of scene play out many times over the years, he had to steel himself not to cringe at the medieval-looking torture device around the man’s most vulnerable parts. Allen didn’t seem to mind though. With every swish of the quirt, he answered with a moan. From the redness of his skin, he had been up there for quite some time, too.

Tristan dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “You need to understand that BDSM is not for the faint of heart.”

When the tail of the quirt connected with his thighs, a strident cry rose from his lips, “Mercy, mistress!”

She snorted in response. “You’ve been a very naughty boy. Give me a reason to be merciful.”

“Because you love me, mistress. But not half as much as I love and respect you.”

“That didn’t seem to be the case earlier. Who’s in charge tonight?” Kara asked.

With another well-aimed flick, a bright-red line appeared across Allen’s lower abdomen, just above the trembling cage. His groan, deep and long, clearly from pleasure as much as pain, mingled with the rattle of the metal cuffs embedded securely in the wood as his body arched sharply off the wheel.

“He’s actually enjoying this,” Piper whispered in amazement.

He gave her a little background on the couple. “They’re married and have been in the lifestyle for years. They have both dom and sub qualities and alternate topping each other, which makes them what we call switches. They are competitive as well as creative with their punishments. I’m guessing Allen forgot his place and tried to exert his dominance when it wasn’t his turn, which is the reason for this little reminder.”

“Are you...”

“A switch?” He grunted. “Hardly. And CBT isn’t my kink.”

“CBT?”

“Cock and ball torture. The metal cage locked onto the man’s genitals is a perfect example.”

“Ouch,” she whispered.

“I can’t say from personal experience, but ouch seems like an understatement.”

“Are you into creative punishments, too?” she asked, her eyes not leaving the scene.

“While I’m not opposed to flogging a misbehaving submissive who’s earned it, I’m no sadist. I prefer the beauty, creativity, and control of shibari.”

She glanced up at him, pretty pink mouth pursed.

“You seem surprised?”

“I am, a little. You seem like the whip-wielding type.”

He caught her chin in his hand and tipped her face up to his, stating low to not disturb Kara or Allen. “I’ll remind you what you told me once about not judging a book by its cover.”

Her smooth brow furrowed, and a blush rose to her cheeks. “You’re right, of course. My apologies.” When he released her chin, her eyes stayed on him. “In truth, I can see the appeal of shibari. The skill required amazed me, as did the level of trust involved. I found it fascinating.”

“If we’re going to talk, the front row during a scene isn’t the place.” With his hand on her back, he moved them along.

They stopped in front of a station with one of the three new fucking machines. It pistoned away between the legs of a sub bound to an upright cross. From the sheen of sweat on her skin and her steady wails of pleasure, Eric’s purchase was money well spent.

“What do you hope to find here, Piper?”

Several groans and a desperate plea to stop emanated from the woman on the cross, but he heard not a peep from beside him. Tristan glanced down and took in her crimson cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and her gaze, fixated on the scene. Clearly, the circuit, with the sights and sounds of a host of things she hadn’t witnessed before, wasn’t conducive to talking, either.

He clasped her hand and pulled her away from the distractions of the stations to a vacant booth along the outer wall. He waved her onto one of the padded benches and sat across from her—keeping temptation at arm’s length.

“Now then, perhaps you can answer my previous question.”

She blinked at him—innocence personified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you ask one.”

“You were preoccupied, which is understandable. I asked what you hoped to find here. An adventure? Sex? Danger? Or do you have a fantasy you’re trying to fulfill?”

“A little of all of that, I guess. Before helping Josie with her booth last weekend, I didn’t think places like this existed outside of romance novels.”

“You’re not shocked by what you see?” Tristan asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Oh, but I am. Completely. It’s also hard to look away.”

“Are you actually considering joining?” he inquired, studying her closely.

She looked down at her folded hands before answering. “That’s what I’d hoped to decide tonight.”

“Decadence is pricey,” Tristan warned. “Our typical member isn’t a twenty-something aspiring actress unless they have a trust fund or a wealthy sponsor.”

She glanced at him, one smooth blonde brow arched. “Is the security business so lucrative?”

Tristan leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on her. “In LA, absolutely. Especially when you’re good at it. The same holds true with the club, which I was fortunate enough to buy into when I came to work at Rossi.”

“My sublet is reasonably priced, and my career is taking off,” she said at length. “I think I can swing it.”

“What about your small-town values? Can you set them aside so easily?”

“I mentioned I was a Midwesterner when I returned your mail but said nothing about my family. How did you know about my father?”

“Rossi does the club’s security screenings, and owners have access. We all sit on the membership committee.”

“Right. That makes sense. It’s surprisingly well organized, like any other business.”

“You used the term lucrative, and when friends are in business together, it’s smart to be organized so those friendships endure.”

“But is there a need to be so in-depth with the screenings?”

“To provide the level of privacy and security our members expect, yes.” They’d drifted off topic a bit, and he wanted to get back to why she was here. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and spoke candidly. “Look, Piper. I get it. You’re not only a small-town girl but a preacher’s kid eager to spread her wings, but Decadence may be biting off more than you can chew.”

“That’s why I left Last Chance. There isn’t much biting off anything there.”

“Last Chance is an odd name for a town.”

“Not in Iowa,” she said with a rueful shake of her head. “It’s rather telling, isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally, trying to figure her out. “What you’ve seen so far hasn’t changed your mind. But you can’t sit back and watch all the time. Management frowns on that. Maybe you need an experience before deciding.”

Appearing intrigued, she remained cautious. “What kind of experience?”

“Not just observing but a sample of Decadence.”

“Not on the CBT thingy.”

Cute and sexy in one package. No wonder he couldn’t get her out of his head. He tried not to laugh as he explained, “That thingy is a St. Catherine’s wheel. And no, that’s more advanced than any newbie is prepared for. I had something else in mind. Do you trust me?”

She didn’t hesitate before stating, “Of course.”

Curious, he asked, “Why?”

“Because your first instinct has always been to protect me.” The becoming blush returned to her cheeks when she added, “You grumble and snap and slam doors after.”

His priority had always been protecting the vulnerable, be it civilians in war, a neighbor with the unwanted attention of a stalker, or an inexperienced girl in his club who was in over her head. He didn’t say that, however. He didn’t need to. She’d seen through his grumbling and rudeness.

Tristan slid from the booth and offered her his hand. “Ready for a sample?”

“Yes,” she said confidently, although her fingers trembled when she laid them in his.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected her.

“I keep forgetting that.”

“Another dom would have you over his knee or strapped to a bench, getting a lesson in respect.”

She gulped hard at dodging that bullet then drawled, “I suppose I should be grateful you’re not another dom, huh?”

“Don’t speak too soon. We’re going upstairs.”

Her gaze rose to the upper railing, where members gathered to watch the activities on the main floor.

“You can see everything from up there,” he explained. “Our voyeurs arrive early to get a prime spot by the rail.”

Her head swiveled toward the center of the room. “Especially the stage, I imagine. Josie said it rises thirty feet in the air.”

“She is correct.”

When she turned her head, the ends of her hair brushed his forearm. Tristan had the intense urge to run his fingers through the shiny strands and find out if they were as silky soft as they looked. He quickly redirected his hand to the small of her back but immediately realized his mistake. The strip of warm, velvety skin exposed between her skirt and vest was an even greater temptation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “If the St. Catherine’s wheel shocked you, some of the activities on center stage will curl your hair. It won’t be in use tonight with so many guests present.” With slight pressure from his fingers, he moved her into the flow of circuit traffic. “The stairs are against the rear wall.”

“Are we going upstairs to watch?”

“We can, but first, we need to finish your tour. There are theme rooms on the second floor that offer privacy. If we’re lucky, one will be open. Unless you’d prefer your sample happen here in the playroom.”

Her hair swished across his hand as she vehemently shook her head. “Private sounds good to me. Sir.”

She remembered.

He suppressed a smile. His perky little neighbor was utterly captivating, and, despite his serious reservations about her being here, he was enjoying himself for the first time in a long time.