Breathe (29 page)

Elijah eyed his friend thoughtfully. He’d long ago gotten over the visual paradox of the big, rough-looking man sipping fancy wine; beer might have seemed a more appropriate beverage for him. But he’d never seen Luca share that fancy wine with a sub, let alone someone he’d never—at least to Elijah’s knowledge—scened with.

“Is there something I should know?” Elijah asked, looking over to Angie, who by now was sitting next to Samantha on a low couch. It would have been impossible to miss the spark of possession in the other man’s eyes, even if Elijah hadn’t been feeling the exact same thing for another woman. “I saw that she tried a scene with Levi earlier, but I don’t think it worked out. Why don’t you go play once they’re done talking? Julien can come inside and man the bar.”

Luca snorted, then returned to polishing glasses. “I’m not fixing to hook up with a woman who’s barely legal.”

Elijah narrowed his eyes at the women. “Angie is twenty-four.” Not experienced enough for his liking, but certainly not a child.

“Too young for me,” Luca said flatly, then charged the subject. “Are you fixing to keep this one, then? You’ve never brought a sub from outside to Veritas before.”

Elijah let his eyes trace over the classic profile of his redhead. The first time he’d laid eyes on her he’d thought she looked like a goddess, and that impression hadn’t changed.

“I want to.” It felt good to finally admit it out loud. “She offered me a month of submission in return for introducing her to the lifestyle. I didn’t think she’d really be able to submit, but she does, beautifully—at least, in the bedroom and at the club.”

Luca leaned over on the counter, propping his weight on his elbows. His stare followed Elijah’s intent gaze at the two beautiful women.

“And after Tara, you’re worried that if you try to keep a sub who isn’t submissive in every way, you’ll wind up getting hurt and, worse, hurting her.”

“True enough.” Elijah winced and chugged at his wine. It sounded so blunt, when put like that. But as always, Luca had put his finger right on the heart of the problem. “She has a secret in her past that she refuses to tell me. And in total honesty, I’m not sure that I can get it out of her without damaging something inside of her.”

Luca studied the women for another long moment, then tipped back his head and swallowed down the rest of his wine.

“There are a lot of rules,” he said as he set his glass on the back counter of the bar, next to the other dirty glasses. “But there’s nothing to say that you have to hold hard and fast to each and every one if they’re not working for you.”

Those simple words cleared a fog in Elijah’s head.

“If you want her, if it’s working between you, then go for it. She’s nothing like your ex.” Luca nodded, then turned away from Elijah to take a drink order from Rani. Elijah reached for the bottle of Romanée-Conti and refilled his glass. He usually limited himself to one drink while in the playroom, but he was done playing there for the night and was feeling the need to loosen up.

If you want her, if it’s working, then go for it.

He would wait for Samantha to finish her conversation with Angie, though he wanted nothing more than to stride across the room, sweep her into his arms, and take her mouth with rough possession.

Once she was done . . .

Once she was done, he would take her back upstairs to his home. It was time they had a serious chat, rather than circling each other like wary dogs. He was fully aware that it was usually the fairer sex who wanted to have talks about emotions and the future of relationships, but Samantha was a skittish little cat.

His
skittish little cat. And fully submissive or not, he’d be damned if he was going to let her go.

•   •   •

S
amantha could feel Elijah’s stare burning into the back of her neck from all the way across the room. Knowing that his attention was firmly fixed on her, even as he spoke to Luca, made her feel as though his hands were still on her skin.

She couldn’t help but feel ridiculous, approaching a woman she didn’t know to ask her some very intimate questions. She wished that Elijah had at least introduced them, though she understood why he hadn’t.

It was his way of pushing her boundaries, of making her more comfortable with this lifestyle.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

To her relief, Angie smiled easily at her and offered a hand. Samantha stared at it for a moment, a bit startled that people observed such normal niceties as handshakes here, in what felt like a different world. It seemed there should have been a secret way of greeting one another perhaps.

It was just another reminder that people from all walks of life were practicing BDSM—teachers, doctors, businesspeople, artists . . .

There was no judgment here—apart from what she put on herself.

“I’m Angie.” The small, curvy woman sat on a low couch and patted the seat beside her. She looked up at Samantha expectantly as she tucked a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear.

“Samantha.” Knowing that she was acting stiff and awkward didn’t make her any more relaxed. She lowered herself to the couch and forced a friendly smile to her lips.

“I hope you don’t hold it against me, what Charlotte did the other night.” Worry flitted across Angie’s face.

“Never.” Though she’d been a little grumpy when Elijah had pointed her in Angie’s direction for that very reason, her irritation was rapidly vanishing in the face of the woman’s friendliness.

“We all make our own choices. We’re not responsible for what others do.” Shock rocketed through Samantha as she heard her own words.

She’d never said that out loud before, and though she’d been talking about Charlotte . . . well . . . wasn’t that somewhat applicable to her life, too?

The pretty, plump girl who’d brought her a blanket and water after Elijah and Luca had turned her brain to mush arrived at that moment with a sparkling glass full of ruby wine in each hand.

“From Master E and Master Luca,” the girl said, her gaze trailing wistfully back to the bar where the two Doms sat. “Shit, you gals are lucky. Every sub here would kill to trade places with y’all.”

Samantha felt her skin heat even as Angie stiffened beside her.

“I’m not with either of them.” Angie looked at the glass of wine apprehensively, as if it might bite her, before pasting a smile on her face and gesturing her thanks across the room.

“I’m—” Samantha cut herself off before agreeing with the other woman. What was she to Elijah exactly? She’d offered herself to him for a month in an attempt to learn more about the pressing needs that she’d been experiencing. Well, and because the chemistry between them was killer. But she knew he was never going to settle for less than all of her . . . And was that something she was prepared to give?

Samantha waited until the serving submissive had gone, then asked, “Are you— Have you—have you ever had a relationship with a Dom? Like a boyfriend or a husband or something?” She had a hard time picturing Luca the Dom as a doting husband. Elijah was easier, maybe because she wanted him so badly.

“Sure,” Angie said easily, tucking her arms around a knee. The gesture caused her minuscule skirt to ride up, and Samantha and the rest of the bar could see the bright red of her panties. Samantha was beginning to understand that there were different rules here in the club. “A good Dom is hard to find, though. The idea of control attracts a lot of assholes.”

Samantha barked out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think that’s limited to the BDSM world,” she added, sneaking a peek over her shoulder at Elijah. Though he was speaking to Luca and sipping a glass of wine, his gaze was still fixed on her.

It sent a sensual thrill coursing through her body. He was everything she’d ever wanted. How would she be able to live without him after the month was up?

“In a relationship like . . . this,” Samantha started, choosing her words carefully, “do you . . . are you submissive all the time? Is that what a Dom expects?”

The other woman leaned back, tucking her legs up underneath her. While enjoying her drink, she appeared to be thinking long and hard about Samantha’s question.

“There’s no easy answer to that.” Angie looked at Samantha over the rim of her glass, the gaze tinted with sympathy. “It’s different for everyone. Hell, it’s different even with different Doms.”

“What do you mean?” Samantha smoothed palms that were damp with sweat over the silky skirt of her slip.

“Well, some couples have a Master/slave relationship, which is pretty much exactly what it sounds like,” Angie began, causing Samantha to shudder inwardly—she wanted a guy who would take control, but nothing that extreme. “And there are lots of other types—weekenders, people who are just into kinky sex, and people who live it twenty-four/seven. But you have to understand that the dynamic between every couple is different, even if they fall into one of these categories. The important thing is that it works for you and your Dom, not that it can be defined.”

“Right.” Hope was a wild thing rising up inside her. “But . . . it’s not crazy to think that a sub could be with a Dom and not be submissive a hundred percent of the time?”

“Not at all.” Angie smiled. Then, with a friendly gesture that surprised Samantha, she reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

Samantha looked at her, startled. Angie smiled back, again with that tinge of sympathy.

“It’s rough when you’re just starting out. Wondering what’s wrong with you, why you want what you do. Wading through a million new rules, a million new concepts. Not to mention dealing with headstrong Doms.” Angie rolled her eyes back toward the bar, making Samantha chuckle. “We subs have to stick together.”

“Thanks.” Samantha let the relief wash over her, but it was followed by tension. She needed to bring this up with Elijah somehow—or did she? Was she allowed? How submissive did he expect her to be? Would he be upset if she tried to talk to him about their future past the one month she had given him?

Screw it,
she thought, standing suddenly.
I’ll ask.

But first she had a more pressing need. “Can you tell me where the bathroom is?”

Angie pointed out the discreet doors in the far corner of the room. Elijah had allowed Samantha to bring her tiny purse with her cell phone to the club, which had surprised her until she realized that he was hoping for another call from Beth. Another chance for him to open the door for her to talk.

Apart from her cell phone, the purse had some lip balm, some breath mints. She felt sorely in need of both, so she snagged the bag, still lying beside Elijah’s toy bag on the spanking bench that they’d used.

After using the facilities, which were far fancier than any public restroom she’d ever seen—the counter boasted baskets full of shampoo, lip balm, condoms, even tiny packets of lubricant—Samantha paused for a moment at the sink, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. She looked . . . happy. Happier than she’d been in a long time.

Her mind rejected the notion that Elijah was the sole source of that happiness. But she couldn’t deny that he’d helped her understand herself, or that—if she dared to admit it—he filled something deep inside her that she hadn’t even known was hollow.

From inside her tiny purse, her phone rang. The vibrations startled her and she slapped a hand over her heart, then let out a fleeting laugh when she realized what it was.

“Shit.” She pulled her phone from her purse and saw it was Beth again.

Two calls from her sister in one day? It was unprecedented, and Samantha knew it couldn’t be anything good.

“What’s wrong?” Samantha held the phone up to her ear, adrenaline already beginning to surge through her veins.

“Mom’s getting her stomach pumped.” On the other end of the line, Beth’s voice was weary. Samantha raked her fingers through her hair as her ears pricked up, alerted by a barely recognizable tone in her sister’s voice.

“What’s wrong with
you
, though?” Samantha realized with a pang that she didn’t have many feelings left where Gemma was concerned. It saddened her that her mother had drunk so much that she had reached this point, but Samantha’s only real concern was Beth.

“Nothing major.” Beth’s voice sounded tired, and Samantha felt concern grip her all over. “Super tired. Thirsty. Vision’s a little blurry.”

“Have you treated it?” Samantha closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples against the sudden wave of stress that washed over her.

She knew that Beth checked her blood sugar faithfully and took the proper amount of insulin. She’d always been good about that, even back when she’d first been diagnosed as a teen. Sometimes blood sugar levels went wonky for no good reason—insulin wasn’t a perfect treatment and its effectiveness couldn’t always be predicted.

But the danger often rose in response to stress. And Samantha would bet money on what was making her sister sick now.

“Where are you? You’re not driving, are you?” Samantha paced the length of the empty bathroom as her thoughts whirled frantically.

She wouldn’t head back to Colorado on her mother’s account—as far as she was concerned, Gemma had made her own bed, and could lie in it until she died. But Beth . . . she was a different story.

Beth would worry herself sick over their mother, would let herself be manipulated into putting her own life on hold to care for the alcoholic as she recovered. She was already sick from it, and Samantha saw no reason why her younger sister should bear the burden of their mother’s selfishness and idiocy by herself.

“No, I’m about to leave for the hospital,” Beth replied. Again Samantha heard that warning note, that nagging fatigue riding her sister’s words. Panic closed in.

“Don’t you dare drive if you’re not feeling well,” Samantha snapped, raking her fingers through her hair, her heart pounding.

“I don’t have a choice, Sam.” Beth yawned through the phone. “She’s our mother. I have to go.”

Worry pushed Samantha over the edge of the cliff she’d been teetering on.