Scorching Desire (7 page)

“Damn,” Damon muttered.

“I agree.”

“
Shh,” Tasha whispered to them. “I’m going to the bar to see if I can talk to Demario.”

“I’ll get us a table,” Marco said.

“Then I’ll go with Tas—Ashley and get drinks,” Damon added.

Marco found a small table in a dark corner. There was a stage behind him, but it was unoccupied. Positioning himself so he could see everything, he settled in to keep an eye on the room. The consternation he’d felt in the limo was gone, replaced by excitement at the novelty of the club.

*****

Damon scanned the women, looking for a familiar face. He had only a vague memory of the blonde woman he’d slept with, who he now suspected had taken the video, but he was hoping he’d feel a jolt of recognition.

He accompanied Tasha to the bar, which had a crowd three deep. As they pressed closer, Damon put his hand on Tasha’s back in an instinctive gesture. She leaned into him and then nudged his arm farther up her body. Reminding himself of where they were, Damon grabbed her neck and slid his fingers under the back of her collar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, looking at Damon.

“I serve my Master,” Tasha said before Damon could reply. “He would like two Glenlivets.”

The bartender nodded once and started pouring single-malt scotch. Damon wondered if there was code to the ordering. He wasn’t a scotch drinker, but Tasha had rattled off the order as if she’d done it a million times before.

“Is Demario available?” she said.

“Who’s asking?”

“Nero and Sammy suggested we might offer him my services.”

If Damon hadn’t known for sure that the woman he held was Tasha, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Her tone was sweet and somehow vulnerable. Her shoulders were soft and
relaxed, her body seemingly ready to sway and bend at the slightest order or demand.

The bartender slid the drinks across the bar. Tasha held up a hundred dollar bill and looked at Damon. He raised a brow in question, realizing too late that the mask would hide his expression. Tasha nodded once as if he’d given her some signal and then said, “Yes, Master,” and added a second hundred dollar bill. She passed them to the bartender.

“Thank you, sir.” He nodded once to Damon.

Taking one of the drinks, he kept his other hand on Tasha. He liked touching her, and some primal part of him liked this feeling of ownership over her. He knew it wasn’t real, but still, it was fun playing the silent man who communicated only through his lovely servant girl.

They found Marco, who raised his brow when he saw how Damon was holding Tasha. Damon took a seat as Tasha handed Marco his glass.

“I feel like a Bond villain,” Damon muttered.

Marco snorted out a laugh, and Tasha’s lips twitched. It was good to see her smile. Damon was rapidly coming to understand Marco’s attitude towards the blonde.

“You aren’t taking this very seriously.” She shifted the table back, clearing floor space between their chairs.

“I’m sorry,” Damon said, feeling guilty. “I assure you we haven’t forgotten the gravity of the situation.”

Tasha bit her lip and met his gaze. “Don’t stop. It’s…nice.” Her brows drew together in confusion, as if she hadn’t understood what she was saying.

Before he could say anything else Tasha dropped to her knees between their chairs. She spread her hands on her thighs and bowed her head.

Holding his glass in front of his mouth so no one could read his lips—and feeling like a secret agent as he did it—Damon asked, “What do we do now?”

“Wait and watch,” Tasha breathed.

Damon raised his glass.

Marco did the same. “To watching.”

Damon rolled his eyes but then went back to scanning the club, hoping that they’d find the girl who took the video and this would all end tonight.

*****

Tasha’s knees hurt. The bruises from earlier were making themselves known, but she couldn’t exactly get up and take a seat in a chair. Tasha had gone through submissive training at a club in Istanbul when she was seventeen, studied with a professional dominatrix, a famous porn star and a sex therapist. She’d been sold at auction in
Beruit, played the little girl to a man who wanted to be called Daddy, and been the Mistress of a whorehouse in Albania. She knew how to make a man lick her shoes clean and how to take a whipping.

Compared to those places, this club was Disneyland. It was open to the public and had no house rules for
submissives, no formal gameplay. There were people of all shapes and sizes, and she saw at least seven distinct sub-kinks represented. Still, she didn’t get up, didn’t rise from her submissive position. Right now, she didn’t want to blend in, she wanted to stand out, to be the submissive everyone was talking about.

The longer they sat there the closer the crowd inched in. A quick look out of the corner of her eye explained why no one had actually come to talk to them. Damon looked like he would break the arm of anyone who dared disturb him. The vest had fallen open, and the key to her collar was clearly visible against his chest. He’d wrapped the chain leash around his fist, as if he were preparing for a fight.

Marco was more relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, but he radiated control. They were sitting in shadow, and the masks hid most of their faces. Tasha wouldn’t be surprised if people thought they were the owners of the club, or in some other way figures of authority.

After an hour and a half, Tasha’s patience wore out. The club closed at two, and it was nearly one now. She didn’t want to come back tomorrow—it was unlikely she was a step ahead of
whomever was pulling the strings of this situation, but the faster she moved, the more likely she was to catch up with them before they could cover their tracks.

Kneeling up, she faced Damon and winked. His eyes were burnt gold in the shadows of the mask.

“Yes, Master,” she said, just loud enough to be heard. She stripped her shirt off, leaving her naked save the tiny leather bra and shorts. Staying up on her knees, she tucked her wrists behind her neck. This position raised her breasts and stretched out the line of her body.

She felt Marco and Damon’s tension notch up, and then fingers touched her back, a gentle caress that was almost like reassurance.

Five minutes later, a man in black pants and a white polo that was out of sync with the rest of the attire in the club approached them.

“I heard you were looking for me?” the man said.

Tasha raised her head but kept her gaze lowered, staring at his slightly pudgy belly.

“Sir, if you’ll allow me, my Master chooses not to speak.”

Tasha felt Demario’s gaze run over her. “Fine, girl. What does your Master have to say?”

“We’ve only recently moved here, and at the recommendation of Misters Nero and Sammy we’ve come to visit you.” She spoke slowly and with the overly exaggerated sentence structure that leant an air of rehearsed formality to the words.

“All three of you?”

“No, Sir. My master wears the key to my collar. The other is a new acquaintance who hopes to see you grant my Master’s request.”

“And what is that request?”

“My Master would like to see me submitting here.”

“I see. And you worked for Nero?”

“No, Sir, but I was given the opportunity to fulfill my Master’s desires in their club.”

She heard Demario sigh. “Hang on.” He walked away.

Damon leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “What are you doing?”

“He’ll try to verify our story by bringing Jennie out. Right now he doesn’t know if we’re important or not. He can’t risk offending you until he knows.”

“Jennie won’t recognize you, but she might recognize me or Marco,” he whispered urgently. “Then we’re fucked.”

“First, you need to see if you remember her from that night. Second, you’re wearing a mask. If she figures out who you are that might push her into doing something. If she doesn’t realize who you are then we have the opportunity to get information from her.”

Demario
returned. This time Tasha looked up. Demario was younger than Nero or Sammy, and if Tasha had to guess she’d say he didn’t find any of this appealing. He looked about as engaged as a warehouse manager.

“Jennie, do you know these two?” he pointed at Tasha and Damon. The woman with him was the tattooed and pierced girl who’d been on the St.
Andrew ’s cross when they walked in.

There was no way this woman would have blended into a crowd at Marco’s party. They would have remembered her and been able to describe her.

“Who?” Jennie’s face was strangely blank. Tasha examined the other woman, who was naked except for panties and some electrical tape. There was a tattoo of a tree on the inside of her left arm. With a snap, Tasha put it together—this may be the right girl after all.

“Jennie?” she said, smiling a little. “Is that you? You shaved your head. Your hair was so pretty.”

Jennie ran her hands over her scalp. “Yeah, yeah I did. He wanted it that way.”

Tasha nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for implying you should not have done that. A Master’s wishes are the most important thing.”

Jennie nodded slowly. “Gotta do what they want so they’ll give you what you need.” She blinked and looked up at one of the lights. “Can’t be gold anymore.”

Demario
looked disgusted. “Jesus, Jennie. You sound fucking dumb. If that guy didn’t drop five large at a time to see you, your ass would be out on the street.” His words were low enough that Tasha couldn’t hear him, but she could read his lips. She filed everything he said away, seeing the pieces of the puzzle coming together in her mind.

Loud enough to be heard, he said, “Jennie, do you know these two from Vegas?”

“Mr. Nero and Mr. Sammy asked that I say hello when I saw you,” Tasha said, making sure it would be hard for Jennie to say no. People hated admitting that they didn’t recognize or remember someone. As it was she didn’t think Jennie was all there anyway.

Jennie blinked, looking first at Tasha and then at Damon. “Oh yeah, I know them.
Big time. These two are hot, super hot.”

“Fine.
You can go.” Demario waved her away.

“Sir, if you please.” Tasha leaned toward Marco and cocked her head as if she were listening. He played along and leaned forward, lips pressed to her ear.

“I don’t recognize that woman. I don’t think it was her,” he said.

Tasha nodded. “I will ask for you, Sir.” To
Demario, she said, “My Master’s friend would like to spend some time with Jennie.”

“That’s up to her. I don’t play these weird games.”
Demario caught himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… It’s been a long day.”

Marco pointed two fingers at Jennie, crooked them in a come-here gesture and then pointed at the
floor at his feet. Jennie’s eyes widened and she scrambled to obey. Even Tasha felt a little flutter at that display of casual dominance.

Demario
cleared his throat. “Uh, what did your, um, Master, want exactly?”

“As I said, he’d like to have me perform at your club.”

“He wants me to give you a job?”

“No, Sir. He simply wants an audience.”

Demario stuck his hands in his pockets, took them out again. “We have pretty strict rules about what can happen here. People aren’t allowed to just come and play.”

“Rules?”
Tasha asked.

“No full nudity. No real spankings, whippings, anything like that. If you saw Jennie when you came in, then you saw her getting beat with a fake whip made out of lightweight plastic and velvet. It’s all fake, a performance. That’s how we’re zoned.”

Tasha’s mind was racing, but she nodded. “We understand, Sir.”

“Okay then, yeah, you’re welcome to do your thing.”
Demario looked around. “Would that stage work? I’ll get the lights on.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What are you drinking? I’ll send over a bottle as a thank you for coming in and giving us a bit of a show.”

“My Master prefers single-malt scotch.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Maybe not a bottle.”

When
Demario was gone, Tasha rose to her feet and perched on Damon’s knee, crossing her arms behind her back. He closed his big, warm hands around her waist, stroked his thumbs over her belly. Tasha doubted he realized he was doing it, but for her it felt as intimate and powerful as if he’d fucked her. She shouldn’t be having this reaction to him.

“Marco says he’s never seen that woman before,” Tasha whispered to him, trying to ignore the way she was shivering in reaction to his touch.

“I didn’t think it was her either, but her voice—there’s something familiar about it. It’s hard to imagine her with hair and without all the piercings, but maybe it is her. She changed a lot. On purpose?”

“Undoubtedly.
And I think she’s drugged.”

“What?”

“The tattoo on her arm. That’s to cover track marks. Either she was a druggie before, or they got her addicted after she took the video in order to keep her quiet.”