Tara couldn’t afford any of this, especially right now.
“I’m starving, and that smells good.” She nodded at the tin rounds of food. Definitely Italian.
He heaved a disappointed sigh at her, then removed the lids. “Lasagna. Salad is in plastic containers in the other bag.”
“Thanks.” And she felt like a heel for hurting him. That she had was written all over his face. “I really do appreciate it.”
“If you’d let me, I’d take care of you always.”
God, it was getting hard to say no. She couldn’t imagine what another three days with him would do. “Can we just focus on the case right now?”
“Yeah.”
But he didn’t look happy about it.
“What’s on tap for the rest of the day?”
“Not telling. It’s the first real test I’ve prepared, which will encompass a lot of what you’ve learned into one scene. You’ll need to remember to stay in protocol and submit to the best of your ability.”
A bit of foreboding filled her. “Will Thorpe be there?”
“You can bet on it.”
She grimaced, but couldn’t stand to tackle this fear alone. She took Logan by the hand. “I’m afraid of failing.”
He slid a hand behind her neck. “Don’t be. I won’t let you. Focus on me, on being with me and pleasing me. The rest will come.”
Club Dominion—Saturday night
With a reassuring hand at the small of her back, Logan led her out of his dungeon and down the club’s hall. It would be a simple act . . . except she was wearing nothing but the short buttery, pale silk robe he kept in his armoire.
Tara didn’t think for a second that she’d be wearing it for long.
She knew better than to ask again where they were going and what was going to happen. He’d refused to answer the question twice and vowed that if she asked again, she wouldn’t come for the rest of the night.
This was a trial run for her work at Fantasy Key, the resort where she’d go undercover. Eventually, Robert would lead, and she’d follow. Since he wasn’t proving to be a strong Dom, she’d have to fill in the gaps by being especially submissive to him. Somehow.
“You’re shaking,” Logan whispered. “Nothing to be afraid of. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He wouldn’t; she knew that. “It doesn’t make the unknown easier to take.”
“Deep breath. I know you like to plan everything and run all the contingencies in your head, but don’t. Submission works for you, in part, because it’s the one place in your life where you let go. Relax into it and know that I’ll take care of you.”
It all came down to trust. She was shocked to realize how totally she trusted him to keep her safe. He’d push her, but not beyond what she could endure.
The nervous flutters didn’t go away, but the fear gripping her eased. “Thanks.”
As they approached another door, he opened it. Immediately a wall of grinding, sexy music filled the cavernous space. The slap of leather resounded, followed by cries of passion. A man to her right groaned, and she was shocked to see a naked woman kneeling before him, taking the hard stalk of cock in her mouth as he fucked her lips rapidly. About twenty feet away, a woman in full leather had bound a man to a St. Andrew’s Cross and was whacking his ass with a cane. His abundant muscles rippled with every blow.
“She’s marking him!” Tara’s first instinct was to race across the room and rescue him.
Logan’s hand at her elbow silently reminded her that the submissive man had signed up for this and had a safe word if he really wanted out. “He likes it. And those are your last words until I ask you to speak. Are we clear?”
Protocol. People were watching. Around her, she saw stares, some lustful, some curious. One sub with short pixie dark hair served another Dom a drink, stabbing Tara with a dark glare. A former sub of Logan’s? In her head, she knew it didn’t matter; he hadn’t had sex with the girl, whoever she was. But it wasn’t just about sex. Logan showed genuine caring when he topped, and the thought that this woman had experienced that for herself...
“You’ve gone tense.” Logan caressed her hip.
When she looked back, he’d already followed the line of her vision and his gaze fell on the sub, who quickly wiped the expression off her face. He clenched his jaw.
“Hey, Logan.” Xander approached from their right. “Tara.”
“Watch Cherry for a minute,” Logan said to his friend. “I need to have a word with Callie.”
“Good call. Since she found out you’ve been holed up in your dungeon with Tara, she’s been in a foul mood.”
“I’ll nip it now.”
With that, Logan stalked off. He’d said no talking, but . . .
Xander raised a brow at her. “Ask quickly, sweet thing.”
“What’s her problem?”
“She wanted your boy something fierce. She’s tried really hard to get him to fuck her.” Xander shook his head. “Callie’s not dumb. She can already see that he’s different with you.”
Logan might believe that he loved her—and an insidious part of her wished that were true since she still cared for him. But wishful thinking would get her nowhere. He didn’t truly know the woman she’d become; just the girl he’d crushed on in high school. Their unresolved feelings and the case were drawing them together temporarily. Once this was over, and he no longer had to train her, he’d get some clarity and likely be ready to move on. He’d probably do so with a sense of relief.
Whatever conversation Logan had with this Callie woman was short. He scolded her, his expression firm, then motioned to a dungeon monitor, who escorted her away. Then Logan headed back toward her.
“What will they do to her?” she whispered to Xander.
“Punish her, Cherry. Which is what I’m going to do if you open your mouth one more time,” Logan warned.
And he would. She pressed her lips together.
“Let’s go.” He leaned over to Xander. “You get everything in place?”
“It’s exactly like you requested.”
The not knowing was making Tara’s imagination work overtime. Her belly twisted in knots, and she took a deep breath, willing herself to calm as Logan guided her deeper into the club’s public area. Still, she couldn’t decide if Xander having a hand in whatever it was made her less apprehensive or more.
Finally, they reached a fork in the main hallway and turned left. Xander took point, and suddenly the crowd parted, letting them through, closer and closer to—Oh shit, no.
A stage.
Suddenly, Tara felt all the eyes in the room on her. She wasn’t just going to do a scene; she was going to publicly submit to Logan for this swelling audience. Panic tore through her, along with the edges of a humiliating sting. People wanted to watch her bow and scrape and beg . . .
Tara turned to Logan, giving him a look that both resisted and pleaded.
“Speak,” he demanded.
“I’m going to be sick. It’s one thing to submit to you in private, but in front of all these people—”
“Stop.” He took her hand. “You did brilliantly in front of Xander. We’ve got a few more days to perfect this, and I’ll make sure you’re absolutely ready before the mission. But don’t forget, you have a safe word if the scene becomes too much. Other than that, focus on me. Trust me to make this not about you bending for me, but about us connecting by giving one another what we need. That’s the beauty of what happens here, Cherry. Haven’t you felt that?”
Yes, she had, earlier today especially. He’d expanded her horizons because she’d trusted him, and she’d given him a way to experience the sex he hadn’t had in five years—all because they were connected by this mysterious power exchange and emotions she didn’t completely understand.
Tara nodded.
He squeezed her hand. “Come with me.”
Biting her lip nervously, she did, following Xander.
As they grew closer to the stage, a golden glow flickered all around the perimeter. Dozens of tea light candles burned softly. It was almost romantic, and the fact that Logan had asked Xander to do this for her touched Tara. Then she realized the candles illuminated a small padded ottoman and a pair of leather-lined shackles hanging from the ceiling.
Her belly did a flip, and her first instinct was to turn around and run. But she felt dozens of eyes on her, including Thorpe, who now stood at the edge of the crowd, near the front, watching her with a critical eye. Beside him stood a man in a pristine suit with dark hair and piercing black eyes like she’d never seen. He put off an intense vibe like nobody’s business—and looked straight at her, assessing her almost clinically.
Instinctively, she dropped her gaze to the floor, figuring the gesture would help her submissive image. But inside, her stomach was rolling with apprehension. How the hell could she go through with this?
No idea, but if she left now, all these people would think she was a coward. Thorpe would undoubtedly report the development to Bocelli. Since she’d only been working with her new boss for two weeks, he’d assume she didn’t have to right stuff for this mission and maybe choose someone else. If she bailed, she wouldn’t be helping to rescue Darcy. And she’d let Logan down. To her surprise, the thought of disappointing him hurt more than she could stand.
Tara took a deep breath and stepped toward the stage. Other people survived this. If there was a way to make this good for her, Logan would find it. She knew that as well as she knew her own name.
With a tender hand at her elbow, he helped her up the stairs to the stage. She saw a table in the shadows, its top dotted with a coiled whip, a long rectangular paddle, and a flogger with soft leather strips.
She gulped.
“Eyes on me, slave.” Logan’s voice sounded deep and downright commanding, making her shiver. She couldn’t do anything but obey. “What is your safe word? Say it loud enough for everyone to hear.”
“R-Romeo.”
“Very good. Strip and hand your robe to Master Xander.”
She’d known this command was coming, yet it startled her. Still, hesitation wasn’t going to accomplish anything, so she forced herself past her nerves and unbelted the little silk garment, shrugging it off her shoulders, down her arms. When Xander held out a hand, she gave it to him, not surprised to find that she was trembling.
Logan nodded, his expression full of approval. “Face the wall and kneel here.” He pointed to the ottoman.
Tara fought the urge to glare at Logan and instead looked at the padded cube like it was a snake. Once she complied, everyone would see her abundant ass. But her insecurities weren’t the issue. Submission was. She could do this for Darcy, for her own sense of success. And she would make Logan proud.
Facing the wall, she settled one knee down on the black vinyl, then another . . . The surface was cool, but soon warmed under her skin. But those shackles dangled just above eye level, and Xander turned a crank to raise them, they clinked against the wall, stirring up a whole new batch of fears.
Logan reached one and pried it open. “Give me your wrist.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God. She forced down nausea, forced herself to forget that people were watching. She couldn’t see them, and they’d gone silent. She knew from her research, from being restrained earlier while Xander watched, that the best coping mechanism she had was to focus on Logan.
Finally, she drew in a rattling breath, then held out her wrist to him. He snapped it into the cuff just above her head, and she was startled to find that the snug way it hugged her skin was almost comforting.
“Another hesitation will cost you, slave.”
A few feet away, Xander picked up the paddle from the nearby table and smacked it lustily against his hand with a grin. A part of her feared something that solid against her rear, having everyone watch her punishment. But some other part of her must like it because moisture gushed from her slit. Shocked, she gasped.
Logan sent her a secretive little smile. “Your other wrist.”
This time, she didn’t dither. Logan’s touch calmed her even more as he settled her into the next shackle, then he squeezed her fingers before releasing her and walking over to the little table in the shadows.
Her belly clenched and turned again.
He took a long moment, then selected something. Tara couldn’t see what, since his body blocked her view. But once he had an instrument in hand, he walked behind her and caressed his way down her back, over her ass, lingering on one cheek.
“Bend at the waist.”
Tara sucked in a deep breath. Okay, he was going to spank her. She’d managed this before, but tonight he was adding something new into the mix. The thought of that whip scared the hell out of her. She tensed, but complied as much she could, until her arms dangled from the shackles, pulling at her shoulders. The sensation felt foreign, but so submissive that it aroused something in her. Then she realized that, as she’d bent, she’d given the audience a perfect view of her pussy.
