Whipping her gaze around, she looked out the big, slanted window, to the floor of the club below. Within seconds, she spotted them both, searching the dungeon for her. Xander tried to search unobtrusively, scanning the participants, then creeping past one station after another.
A beautiful blonde made her way toward him on towering silver stilettos. Her mile-long legs gleamed tan and bare under the lighting. The cheeks of her perfect ass were high and firm in a little lacy thong as she approached. The shirt she wore . . . calling it a tank top would be generous, with little glittering straps and a silky, shimmering material that draped elegantly around her slender figure.
The woman slid to her knees before Xander, head bowed, offering herself—and exposing her bare, utterly perfect back from her nape nearly down to the crack of her ass. For a terrible moment, London’s heart stopped. She pressed a hand over her lips as more tears burned her eyes. She bit her lip to hold in the sob. Thorpe must already pity her. No way was she going to give him more reasons to feel sorry for her.
When Xander splayed his palm on the crown of the sub’s pale head and bent to whisper in her ear, London tore her gaze away. She couldn’t watch. The moment was a stark, ugly reminder that Xander wasn’t really hers. She’d been something between a convenient distraction and a way to help his brother. The other woman was a beauty Xander would likely welcome, particularly after her own failure. London had to face facts. A gorgeous billionaire who could have—and had—taken any woman he wanted to bed would never choose the scarred, chubby girl. She’d been living in a fantasy world to ever think that was possible for longer than it took for him to have an orgasm or two.
She turned and caught sight of Javier on the other side of the room, still searching for her. Apparently he didn’t give a whit for being polite. He barged in on a Dom who towered over three subs on leashes crouched on all fours. After inspecting their faces, Javier ripped away, crowding a Dom who’d restrained a squirming sub to a table wearing only a leather hood that concealed everything but her nostrils. Blond hair cascaded around her, covering most of her breasts.
London knew Javier was going to burst into the middle of the Dom’s scene. She didn’t know a lot about this world, but she couldn’t imagine that behavior would be welcome. It had to be like the doorbell ringing in the middle of sex.
She gasped, and looked to Thorpe, who’d gone tense.
“I can’t let this continue,” he bit out.
“I understand.” Javier couldn’t be allowed to act like a bull who’d make a china shop out of his business.
With her heart in her throat, she glanced back over to the spot where Xander had been with the kneeling sub. They were both gone, and knowing him, well . . . he’d soon be inside the perfect blonde, giving her the kind of incredible ecstasy London knew she’d never feel again.
Barely holding in her tears, she whipped away from the window and paced across the room.
“Wait here,” Thorpe barked.
Gladly. London didn’t dare look out the glass again. But when she turned, the phone on the little coffee table taunted her. She could call Alyssa and plead with her cousin to pick her up. Immediately, London dismissed the idea. Lafayette was six hours away, and she couldn’t take the busy woman away from her businesses or her toddler. Alyssa’s plate was already full. London knew she had to find her own way out of this mess.
She collapsed onto the sofa, leaning on the soft arm, and sobbed until she felt spent and sick and so wretchedly empty, she had no idea how she’d ever feel whole again. By now, Xander had undoubtedly given the mystery blonde a slew of orgasms. Maybe he would want his brother to join in as well and help him devour their new, unblemished conquest. An ice pick to the chest would hurt less, but the other woman was probably what they both needed.
It certainly wasn’t her.
Suddenly, Thorpe opened the door again. “Come with me.”
Where? In the end, London didn’t ask. She didn’t care. She just wiped her tears and rose.
When he offered his arm, she slipped her shaking hand around the hard strength of his biceps.
Without a word, Thorpe led her out of the room, down the stairs, and into his private office. Besides an industrial desk and a sleek laptop, culture abounded here, too. Expensive art. Glass and stainless steel. Within these four walls, sleek, practiced women knelt for Dominant men’s pleasure. She wore nothing but a trench coat and smudged mascara. Less than a week ago, she’d been a virgin.
She didn’t belong here.
A moment later, the desk chair swiveled, and Javier stood, looking both furious and relieved. He slammed an empty glass on Thorpe’s desk and barreled toward her. With a snarl, he grabbed her shoulders, pushed her against the wall, crowded her body with his. He smelled of vodka, hunger, and determination. Her breath caught, and her womb clenched.
Of course she wanted him, but she couldn’t be selfish. She’d always love him and Xander with all her heart. Right now, she’d assure them she was fine, then quietly slip out of their lives. But she couldn’t, in good conscience, stay when she couldn’t be what they needed.
***
GRABBING her face in his hands, Javier stared down at London’s wide blue eyes. He gripped her possessively, torn between embracing her from now until the end of time and turning her over his knee to blister her ass red.
“Don’t you ever put yourself in danger like that again. You don’t know who the fuck is stalking around a club like this. Sick freaks who devour innocent little girls for dessert.”
“I do screen my clients, thank you,” Thorpe drawled from the doorway.
Javier turned on the guy. “And your system is foolproof? I notice that you didn’t let her alone on the dungeon floor.”
“Touché.” Thorpe ignored him to regard London. “He’s right. This isn’t anyplace to be independent. Play nicely, Santiago. I’ll send your brother in and leave you alone to . . . talk.”
When the man bowed out, Javier watched London drop her gaze to the slick marble tile. His heart ached. He and Xander had pushed her too hard, and Javier kicked himself for not listening to his brother’s instincts more. But London’s fears went deeper than tonight’s fiasco. He didn’t know what it would take to reach and reassure her, but whatever it was, he wanted to do it now. As soon as Xander showed, they would talk to her, listen and negotiate, let her know how special she was . . . tell her that they loved her.