Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

TRISTAN

Sending Liam to pick up Layla was probably unnecessary. She's been seen in public with me once before this shit with the Bratva kicked off. The likelihood of her being on their radar at this point is negligible. At least, it will be until she steps through the doors of the club in about thirty minutes. Right now, I should probably be more concerned with Liam and the shit his big mouth is going to spill before she gets here.

The two of them walk into the lounge at the front of the club, laughing as though they are the best of friends. "The two of you look quite chummy."

"Are you jealous?" Liam snarks.

Crossing the room to them, I wrap my arm around Layla's waist and possessively pull her into me hard enough to elicit a tiny gasp. Fuck, I love that sound. Her body pressed tightly to mine, I breathe in her sweet floral scent as she stares up at me. My gaze unwavering from hers, I respond to Liam, "Something tells me I don't have a thing to worry about."

A slight smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, drawing my attention to her pouty pink lips. Lips that I haven't been able to stop thinking of for days. Leaning down, I finally taste them again. "I'll lock up on my way out," Liam groans.

"So." Layla places her hand on my chest and delicately pushes herself back, making a breath of distance between us. "What was it you wanted to show me?"

Everything.

"Would you like a drink, darling?" I gesture toward the bar as I lift my glass from the table.

"Yes," she answers while shaking her head in disagreement, "but I want to talk first. Until you answer my questions."

"Of course." I take the last small sip of my whiskey and leave the glass tumbler on the glossy black table. "That's why I wanted to meet here. I can answer your questions and demonstrate as well."

When we get to the couch, I offer her a seat, thinking this might be a less intimidating place for us to have this conversation. It is, after all, what it was diagnosed for. Sitting beside her, I place my hand on her thigh as I rest my other arm on the back of the couch. "Ask away, darling."

"Fuck," Layla exhales. "I don't think I've ever been this fucking nervous."

I give her thigh a reassuring squeeze. "I've had my face between your thighs and my cock deep in your cunt, and you're nervous about asking me a question? "

"Well, when you put it like that…" Her voice trails off, and her gaze wanders the room for a moment as she clearly collects her thoughts. "I've obviously never done anything like this before, and the idea of giving you—or anyone—that kind of power is… kind of scary."

This isn't happening with anyone else.

"That doesn't happen overnight. The power dynamic between a Dominant and submissive happens over time. It's trust; it needs to be earned—by both parties."

She grabs my glass from the table and drinks the watered down remnants of my drink "I want to see the club. I want to know exactly what it is I'm thinking about," she quietly asks, swallowing hard.

My heart races at her continued intrigue in delving into my interests. The other night with her was undoubtedly incredible—and has been playing in my dreams on repeat—but I also can't stop thinking about how much more it could be.

"Show me your world." She slips her fingers into mine and stands from the couch, prompting me to rise with her. Lightly squeezing her hand, excited about the possibilities beyond the double doors, I lead her down the hall and into the club.

Her gaze scans the room, taking in every detail before returning her attention to me. "This place is beautiful. Nothing at all like I imagined. Or what I saw online."

"Clubs and dungeons come in many varieties." I tug her hand to lead her into the depths of the club as I continue. "This one is designed for an upscale clientele. Men and women who would prefer their sexual interests to be kept private while allowing them the opportunity to practice the things that they enjoy openly."

"Oh." Her gaze fixates on the room we are passing. The suspension apparatus Declan purchased is sitting in the center of the room, which has various textures and lengths of rope perfectly bound and hung from small hooks on the wall. "Shibari?" Her tone is inquisitive.

"Yes. Not my specialty or one of my interests, though."

"And what are your interests, then?"

"Obedience." I continue to lead her down the hallway, past viewing and demonstration rooms, with a brief pause to explain the glory hole as we passed it. "Full, unwavering obedience."

"And how does that work?"

"In a perfect world, a submissive who follows every demand, request, and instruction without question. That involves learning that I know what is best for you and that the decisions I make are for your betterment."

"Really?" she gulps with a slight roll of her stunning, deep chestnut eyes. "You know what's best for me."

"I wasn't finished." My tone is curt as I step close and press my finger to her lips, immediately feeling it tremble against my fingertip. The deep breath she takes causes her tits to rise and fall dramatically. I slide my finger from her lips, dusting them down her throat and over the swell of her breasts as I lean close enough to nearly kiss her lips. "Giving all of yourself to me, allowing me the privilege of fucking you when and where I see fit. "

Her eyes widen, and she swallows hard. "Turning every bit of you and your pleasure over to me, coming on command and only for me," I continue, the pace of her breathing continuing to increase in speed.

"And when your submissive doesn't listen?" She stares up at me, her eyes filled with both intrigue and lust. "What happens when you don't get obedience?"

"Correction," I answer as she presses herself closer, leaving our lips a hair apart, "Disobedient submissives are provided with discipline to teach them to behave."

"To punish them—" Her lips buzz against mine.

"To correct them."