Sanctuary (2 page)

“I'm ready,” she answered.

Concentrate.

It wasn't usually difficult for him, no matter who he played in the Ring. Never, actually. It was all about the exchange of energy, of sensation and response. That's what he got off on. He didn't even have to sleep with them, rarely took any of these girls home. It had been months since any had captured his attention in that way, and none had ever managed to hold it for long. He wasn't built for permanence. Yeah, he was a chip off the old block, wasn't he?

But tonight Devin was holding his attention.

Focus!

He narrowed his gaze to Roya's smooth skin, on the pattern of her breathing as he began a slow, rhythmic flogging with a light suede flogger—nothing too heavy, nothing too hard. The Ring was mostly for newcomers, people who wanted to try their kink out in a controlled environment run by professionals. No sex. No nudity. No real risk since truly hard play was not allowed there. But for the first time he felt
he
was in some danger tonight.

He allowed his gaze to flick back to where Devin stood. Damn it, she was gone. A hard knot formed quickly in his stomach, and he took longer than he needed in replacing the suede flogger on the rack and exchanging it for another—this one a bit longer, with smooth leather tails—giving him a chance to look around.

Fuck, where was she? Ah—there she was. She'd moved to the farthest corner, to the edge of the crowd, but even from there he could see the heat in her gaze, the longing. He could feel her need. She needed
this
.

He needed
her
.

He never needed anyone. Hadn't his dad taught him that lesson? He shook his head. This wasn't need, even if it felt like it. It was nothing more than lust.

Focus…

He turned back to Roya, smoothed her dark hair to one side and began a slightly harder rhythm, criss-crossing the hits over her shoulders, listening to her small panting breath, to her quiet moans.

“How are you doing?” he asked her. “More? Or are you feeling like you're done?”

He wanted to be done. He wanted to go after Devin, convince her to come into the Ring and do what she so obviously wanted. What
he
wanted, damn it.

Focus. Focus or you will ruin Roya's first flogging.

Unforgivable.

One last look.

He stroked a hand slowly down Roya's spine, felt her long shiver, knew she was into it, feeling all right. And as he smoothed his hand over this stranger's skin, something he did every week at the Ring, he looked up to meet Devin's gaze once more. Hers locked with his and he read it all there—her fear, her naked yearning, her confusion. And Christ he
wanted
her. Too damn much.

His hands fisted around the woven handle of the flogger and just as he was tempted to hand poor Roya over to someone else and go to Devin she bit her lip once more, turned and disappeared into the crowd.

The club had filled up since she'd arrived. It took some work and a few carefully placed jabs of her elbow to make it to the edge of the crowd where she could breathe again. She hadn't spotted Kimmie anywhere.

She made her way down from the loft that held the Ring to the enormous main dance floor, but even there the club-goers were practically on top of each other. People gyrated to the hard-hitting beat of the music. Go-go dancers on platforms, dressed in skimpy black leather and thigh-high boots for the evening's event, writhed and twined their bodies around poles.

She'd never find Kimmie there, and she really didn't want to wait. She needed some fresh air. She needed to be
gone
. To be as far away from seeing Shaye play with someone else. Stupid. She'd just met him. But she couldn't help feeling this way. As if from the moment he'd spoken to her she had to…belong to him. Yes, she had to get the hell out of there, and fast. She'd go outside, catch a cab and call her friend later.

She got her leather jacket from the coat check then made her way to the front door and shoved it open, letting herself out into the chilly San Francisco night. The damp air made her shiver as she stood beneath a street lamp while the club's bouncer flagged down a cab for her. She got in and slammed the door behind her, grateful for the heat of the car. She smoothed the hem of her short red skirt down.

“Where to?”

“Eleven-fifty Capra Way.”

“Ah, the Marina. Nice down there, huh?”

Why did she have to get the rare chatty cab driver tonight? She didn't want to talk. She had too much to think about. But she didn't want to be rude, either.

Always the good girl.

“Yes, it's very nice.”

Luckily, he got a call before he could reply and spent the rest of the drive arguing with someone on his cell phone while she tried to organize in her mind all the jarring images of the evening: the Ring itself, which was intimidating, fascinating. The people who went there to be spanked and paddled and flogged by the professional Dominants who worked there. Yes, she knew what they were called—Dominants and submissives. Knew what much of the equipment was called from the erotic novels she'd read. She simply hadn't ever put it all together before. But she'd had no idea that this sort of extreme sensual play—BDSM—interested her this much.

She was suddenly
very
interested.

In Shaye Vincent. In the things he did in the Ring. In the idea that he would do those things to her if she allowed it.

Mostly she couldn't get the image of Shaye out of her head. Of him standing there with that swaggering, crooked grin on his beautiful face. She knew men didn't particularly like to be described in those terms, but she couldn't think of another word that fit him as well. He
was
beautiful. And wicked-looking in the most luscious way.

The cab raced through the dark night, down Lombard Street now, with all its restaurants and bars, brightly lit neon signs whizzing past the windows in a blur of yellow, blue, pink. The streets were still lively at…she checked her watch. It was already almost one in the morning. How long had she stood at the edge of the Ring watching him? No wonder Kimmie had taken off.

Crap. Kimmie. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and pulled up Kimmie's number. Her friend's voicemail picked up.

“Hi, Kimmie. I'm sorry I left, but I had to get out of there and I couldn't find you. I…just call me tomorrow, okay?”

She stuffed her phone back into purse. She didn't want to talk about the club tonight, even to her best friend. She needed some time to absorb her feelings, her reaction to the Ring.

The cab pulled up in front of her building, a classic San Francisco-style stucco built in the twenties, like so many of the other buildings in this part of town. She paid the driver and went inside. Too edgy to wait for the elevator, she jogged up the four flights of carpeted stairs and let herself, breathless, into her apartment.

It was chilly inside and she flipped the heat on as she passed the thermostat in the hall. In her room she kicked off her black stiletto heels, placed them on her closet shelf where her shoes were lined up in perfectly ordered rows. She quickly changed into her burgundy velvet robe, a vintage piece she'd found at one of the thrift stores on Haight Street. After hanging up her skirt in the closet, she put her red lace top into the laundry basket, then padded on slippered feet across the wood-floored hall to the bathroom. There she ran the water to wash her face, then decided she wanted the bar smells out of her hair and turned the shower on instead.

She carefully took off her makeup while the water heated, twisted her long, straight auburn hair up into a clip and slipped out of her robe before stepping into the steaming blast of water.

This was one of the things she loved most about her apartment. The view of the Palace of Fine Arts only eight blocks away was gorgeous, and she loved the dark, gleaming hardwood floors and the bay window in the living room. She loved the ornate crown moldings in every room and the old black-and-white tile work in the kitchen, but she was absolutely in love with the bathroom. It was enormous and had the best water pressure and endless hot water, something one rarely found in these older buildings. She could stay in the shower forever if she wanted to. She loved the pure decadence of it. Loved the sensation of the water sluicing hot and silky over her skin.

She let her head fall back against the dark green tiles as the shower stall filled with steam and let her mind wander, remembering once more what she'd seen tonight.

Of course, the first image that came to mind was Shaye. His bare torso shadowed in the nightclub lights that defined and illuminated every ridge and plane of muscle. His flashing white teeth. His lips on her hand.

His soft, soft lips.

She shivered.

That brief, hot kiss on her palm had been one of the most erotic moments of her life.

Her body went warm and loose all over. She pictured the way Shaye had looked when he was working that first girl with the paddle, the muscles of his back rippling, the tattooed armbands gripping his flexing biceps, and her pussy pooled with molten heat. No, if she were being truthful, what really did it for her was imagining
she
was the one he was doing it to. That it was her stripped nearly naked and on display for all those people. That it was her flesh being smacked with the paddle. By
him
.

She let out a groan and her hand smoothed down her body, sliding over her breasts, over the hard peaks of her nipples, finally coming to rest between her thighs. She rubbed her fingers teasingly over the lips of her sex, deliberately avoiding her tender, aching clit.

In her mind it was Shaye's hand there, sliding over her mound while the hot needles of water pelted her skin. She turned her body into the spray with a small moan. The wet heat fell on her breasts, slipping down her body just as his hands would.

Shaye.

Her fantasy became more elaborate as she used her fingers to part her swollen pussy lips, to explore the waiting, expectant heat between them. In her mind she was with Shaye in the Ring, with the flashing lights, the music pouring through the place, making her body vibrate with the beat. All around was the crowd, wild with anticipation. He led her to one of those long chains hanging from the ceiling, stretched her arms high above her head, cuffed her wrists firmly, then ripped her clothes from her, the fabric tearing, until she was naked before the crowd. Before him.

She let her fingers brush her clitoris. Pleasure hummed through her.

He would touch her there, would use his hands on her, running them over her bare skin, caressing her breasts.

With her other hand she cupped one breast, slid the palm up over her nipple, squeezed gently with her fingers, then harder. He wouldn't be gentle, would he? He would hold her breasts in his big hands, squeeze and knead them. Pinch her nipples.

Yes…

She pinched, hard, and cried out at the hot jolt of pleasure.

More. Now.

She spread her legs apart and pushed two fingers inside in one sharp thrust.

“Oh yes,” she gasped.

She'd never been so wet, so stricken with desire. She needed to come so badly it was almost painful.

She let her body rest against the tiles behind her, the cold surface a jarringly erotic contrast to the heat of the water, the heat of her fingers still working her pussy. In her mind he was behind her as she stood, her arms suspended over her head. Helpless. And he was shirtless, as he'd been tonight, pressing his muscular body up against her back, reaching around and moving his hand between her thighs, massaging her clit.

Yes…

She trembled on the verge of orgasm, tugging and pulling at her clit, trying to remember the scent of him while she moved her fingers inside herself, pumping. Her pussy was on fire, pleasure thrumming through her body while her mind whirled with flashes of Shaye, the Ring, the evil little whips she'd seen there.

It all became a blur of image and sensation as the first fierce surge of climax washed over her. She rubbed hard at her clit, driving her orgasm on. Her sex clenched and spasmed around the fingers of her other hand, still thrusting inside her. And still she came, wave after wave crashing over her in a powerful tide.

Finally it was over and she was left shaken and weak, leaning into the wall of the shower. Steam rose all around her in ghostly wisps. Her skin was burning hot from the water, from the savage climax that had just ripped through her.

She couldn't get his face out of her mind.

Shaye.

She stayed beneath the pounding spray of water for a long while, trying to catch her breath. What was it about him? What was it that had her fantasizing about being naked on display in public, being hit with a paddle? Being dominated by him? She'd never had these thoughts before. Never anything this extreme. And now it was all she could think about.

Her body was thrumming with need again already, and she thought immediately of the vibrator she kept in her nightstand drawer. It would give her a powerful orgasm—it always did. But never had it delivered anything like the one she'd just experienced, using only her hands and a vivid imagination. Thinking about
him
.

She turned the water off and stepped from the shower, still trembling. She dried herself with a thick white towel, her skin sensitized, needy.

She needed the vibrator
now
. She had a feeling it was about to become her new best friend. And if she couldn't find a way to satisfy her needs, to get Shaye out of her lust-addled head, she may never leave her apartment again.

She grinned wryly at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she dropped the towel. Her skin was pink from the heat of the water, her breasts full and round, the nipples dark pink. She brushed one with her fingertips and gasped at the sharp stab of pleasure, watching as her nipples swelled. She glanced up, found her own glossy green gaze, her pupils enormous. Keeping her gaze on her reflection in the mirror, she stroked both nipples.