Bite the Bullet (3 page)

She stole a glance at the Hallidays. Katie was leaning forward now, face flushed, eyes shining with avid interest.

Reece had one arm around her across the back of her seat, his hand draped over her shoulder, his fingers idly tracing lines across the top of one breast. His face was taut with desire. They’d be some outstanding couple to watch at play.

“Lincoln has been very, very bad today,” Melora was saying. “He has begged me to punish him so I am going to oblige.”

Gripping the chain between the nipple clamps, she tugged until Linc followed her to the rectangular contraption. Coiling the whip around her shoulder for the moment, she took great care in locking the manacles around her sub’s wrists and ankles, then running her hands lightly over every inch of mouthwatering body. Finally, she touched a switch in the platform with her toe and the apparatus rotated so Linc was facing the audience.

Reaching between his legs, she cupped his balls, squeezing, and Montana could see the tension in every rigid line of Linc Stoddard’s well-defined muscles. His Domme teased him with her touch, no doubt ordering him not to react lest his punishment increase.

At last she was satisfied and rose to her feet.

“And now,” she announced, “we begin.”

Montana felt the sexual tension in the room encircle everyone like an erotic fog. She glanced around beneath lowered eyelashes to see the other spectators and how they were reacting. On the other side of the Hallidays, a man had lifted his companion into his lap, flipped up her skirt, and was slowly stroking her cunt while he stared straight ahead.

Further down the row, one woman had shed her blouse completely, exposing her breasts and the sparkling nipple clamps attached to them while her companion tugged on the chain between them and kneaded the firm mounds.

“The audience is as fascinating as the performers, aren’t they?”

The deep voice vibrated the air next to her, and a hot flush crept over every inch of Montana’s skin. She turned her head slowly to see Clint crouched beside her aisle seat. She clenched her thigh muscles as a drumbeat thundered through the walls of her cunt.

This man should have Danger!
imprinted on his forehead.

Especially for me.

“Yes.” She hoped her voice sounded normal. “I’ve often found that to be true.”

He inclined his head toward the performance area. “She’s getting ready to begin.”

Melora indeed was ready. She had rotated the platform again and now rubbed her hand once more over Linc’s very fine ass and down his thighs. Then she lifted the hand holding the whip, and the air cracked once more. The tail landed just next to Linc’s tense body. But the next lash struck the backs of his thighs. Then it struck again. Narrow stripes of red bloomed on his skin. He jerked with each one, but he had yet to make a sound.

Now Melora was really getting warmed up. The whip struck again and again, leaving its mark on the man’s back, his ass, and his thighs. With each kiss of the instrument, his body quivered then stilled. His fists clenched in the restraints. He began to respond vocally, his cries carrying through the speakers into the audience. Rising in intensity as Melora wielded the whip again and again.

Montana preferred to gag her subs, but each Domme had her own preferences. For many of them, the screams of pain that rode the hot edge of pleasure were as arousing as administering the punishment.

Melora let the tail of the whip drag on the floor as she rotated the platform again. Her eyes roamed Linc’s body, taking in his heaving chest as he dragged in air and the taut strain of his muscles. She moved around to his front and wrapped her fingers around his cock, leather cage and all.

“Ah,” she crooned. “So hot and swollen. You love the kiss of the lash, don’t you, my pet?”

Montana had to strain to hear what, if anything, he said.

“I don’t think everyone heard you.” Melora’s voice was firm. “Do you need more encouragement?”

She must have squeezed his shaft harder because every muscle in the man’s body flexed.

“Yes, Mistress.” His voice was hoarse from screaming. “It gives me great pleasure.”

“And you beg me for it,” she prompted.

He nodded. “All the time.”

“Perhaps you would like to come now. Are your balls full?

Are you ready to explode?”

Montana was sure everyone in the room was aware that he was. As were many in the audience. She almost let her hand creep along her thigh and beneath her skirt when she remembered where she was. And that Clint Chavez was crouched beside her. She slid her gaze to him and was startled to see the lust flaming in his eyes, the muscle twitching in his jaw, the fine tension radiating from his body.

When she stole a glance at him, he rose and took a step away.

“They’re nearly finished,” he told her in a low voice. “I need to meet with Devyn, my manager, to see if she’s readied all the rooms that have been reserved. And that the bar is fully stocked.” His eyes glittered. “We’re always busy after a demonstration on Performance Night.”

“I can understand.” She was proud of herself that her voice sounded so normal, as aroused as she was. And it wasn’t just the performance. It was the man next to her.

“I’ll find you in the lounge afterward, and we can get your paperwork taken care of.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re approving me? So quickly?”

He shrugged. “You come highly recommended, and now that I’ve met you, nothing changes that.”

“Thank you, then.”

“I’m sure it will be my pleasure to have you as a member here.”

And exactly what did he mean by that?

What the fuck was he doing?

Clint wanted to smack his head and rattle his traitorous brain as he moved away from Montana. He never played with the clientele. Ever. Never, never, never. He’d seen too many times what happened when a relationship soured and the club was affected. And he always kept an emotional distance from his Mistresses. Juggling the two aspects of his life was always a balancing act.

Reece had tried to convince Clint that the knowledge he was a sexual submissive would in no way impact his image as an owner of Rawhide. That he of all people should know how many, many totally masculine males were sexual submissives—even in law enforcement and the military—and it hadn’t affected their lives at all. But Clint had had one very bad experience and didn’t intend to repeat it, so he guarded his personal life very closely.

But something about Montana Steele reached deep down inside him and grabbed his cock and his balls and refused to let go. Something so elemental he felt it in every place in his body. He could imagine himself on his knees before her, hands bound behind his back, gag firmly in his mouth while she punished and tormented him until he strained for release.

It wasn’t just a physical attraction, and that was what scared him. He’d promised himself not to get emotionally involved ever again. Too big a trap. But the moment he’d seen Montana in the reception area, sharp spears of lightning had reached down deep inside him and zapped him emotionally. Right where he lived. If he had any sense, he’d go hide in his office and leave a note for Reece to handle everything. But apparently the jolt of electricity had fried his brain at the same time.

From the relative safety of a dark corner, he watched the end of the performance. He’d seen it before. Melora released Linc’s cuffs and picked up the whip again. This time she trailed it over his body like a lover’s kiss, leaving each coil loosely wrapped around him. He could move his hands but only within a limited range. Then she pulled a small chair over to sit in front of him. Very carefully she unbuckled the latches on the latticed cock ring and slid it from his engorged shaft.

She kept her eyes locked with his as she wet her finger, stroking it down her tongue, then rubbed it over the head of his dick. Although he stood perfectly still, his fists opened and closed as he worked to maintain his control.

Finally, with the audience watching, mesmerized, she ordered him to masturbate and to pour his release onto her breasts. As he wrapped his hands around the heavy erection, Clint shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from ripping his fly open and jerking off right then and there. He watched Montana inch forward to the edge of her seat, rocking slightly.

To ease the pulsing in her cunt.

Something Clint would have been very happy to do.

Melora reached between Linc’s thighs and massaged his balls, her gaze locked with his as if compelling him not to look elsewhere. Her other hand stole between her thighs to find her clit. Although her back blocked much of the view, it was impossible not to know she was fondling her clit and her pussy as she watched her sub stroke himself to completion.

Suddenly she sat upright and moved one hand to clamp it over his wrist.

“Stop,” she commanded.

Every muscle in Linc Stoddard’s body locked up with the effort to hold back his climax. A soft gasp whispered through the audience. Clint looked at Montana, knowing this was one of her favorite forms of play. She was leaning forward even more, hands clenched into fists between her thighs, her mouth partly open, her high breasts rising and falling. Her tongue came out to slowly lick her bottom lip, and Clint nearly lost it right there.

“Do you wish to come?” Melora asked, her hand still rubbing Linc’s balls.

“Yes, Mistress. I do.” The words grated from his throat.

“Then beg me,” she commanded.

“Please, Mistress.” It was impossible not to notice how dark the head of his penis was or how the muscles of his stomach flexed involuntarily. “I beg you. Please let me come.”

Melora leaned back in her chair, using both hands to lift her breasts even higher.

“Yes. Now you may come. On my breasts. And do not lose a drop.”

As the man threw his head back and spurted from his cock onto Melora’s breasts, Clint looked at Montana. Her face was flushed, a delicate rose visible even in the subdued lighting.

Her eyes flashed with heat. She squeezed her thighs together, the play of muscle visible beneath the very short skirt, and he wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees between those creamy thighs and obey whatever commands she gave him. He ground his teeth until he was sure his molars would turn to powder.

Jesus. He needed an orgasm more than he needed to breathe.

Taking care of things himself wouldn’t work tonight. Just as soon as he checked with Devyn, he had a phone call to make. And a trip to Austin after he closed for the night. He just hoped he didn’t bump into anything and damage his very rigid shaft before then.

He headed for his office, trying his best to kill an idea that was germinating in his brain. He had a feeling he was about to do something he’d probably regret. He could already feel the quicksand sucking at his feet.

Montana was seated at a small table in the lounge in conversation with the Hallidays when Clint walked up to them.

“I hope you enjoyed your first evening at Rawhide.”

His voice was professional and formal. But she couldn’t miss the heat in his eyes that he didn’t seem able to conceal.

But was it the aftereffects of watching the performance, or that compelling power that sizzled and snapped between them? That threatened to destroy all her carefully constructed shields?

Run, Montana.

“Yes, thank you.” She tried to match his tone, somewhat difficult with the high level of sexual energy still racing through her system.

“If you’d like to join me in the office, we’ll get your application for membership taken care of and your provisional card issued.”

She looked at Reece. Somehow, because he was her connection here, she’d expected he’d be the one to process her. She wasn’t sure being alone in a small room with Clint Chavez would be good for her mental well-being.

But Reece just smiled at her. “Clint handles all the paper work. He’ll take good care of you.”

“Well. Okay, then. Nice meeting both of you.”

She slid the thin strap of her purse over her shoulder, rose from the chair, and followed Clint as he wove a path through the crowd. Several things registered as she made her way through the lounge. The excitement of the performance still lingered in the air, obvious by the hum of conversation and the number of people engage in stroking and petting each other. Faces were flushed with arousal, and the scent of sex lay heavy in the air.

And the man walking in front of her probably had the finest ass she’d seen in a long time. His slacks had obviously been custom-tailored, and she could see the flex of muscle as he walked. More cream drenched her already soaked thong as an image of that ass exposed to her special cane popped into her brain to tease her.

They passed the performance area as well as the hallway to what Montana knew had to be the private rooms before reaching a heavy carved door. Clint pulled a key from his pocket to unlock it, then opened it and stood aside for her to enter.

The room had a warm personality, with rich chocolate carpeting, soft beige walls, and tastefully framed erotic art on the walls. A massive oak desk and credenza were angled into one corner, with two armchairs upholstered in butter-soft leather facing them. In another corner was a long couch matching the chairs, and mounted so they could easily be seen were flat screens that obviously connected to a club security system. Montana saw views of the lounge, the hallway to the rooms, the entrance hall, and the performance rooms.

“I think it’s important to keep an eye on what’s happening,” he told her, noticing her glance at the screens.

“Devyn is an excellent manager, but ultimately, Reece and I are responsible for what happens here. I don’t like to leave things to chance.” He gestured toward a chair. “Please. Sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

Yes, she would. Her mouth was dry as dust, but as edgy as she suddenly was, she was sure she’d probably spill it all over his desk so she just shook her head.

“All right, then.” He sat down in the big desk chair, opened a file, and slid two sheets of paper toward her. “This is all basically very simple. Probably just like the one you filled out at your previous club. They were kind enough to give us access to your information.”