She's All Tied Up: Club 3, Book 2 (2 page)

Tossing her hair back, she stalked over to the bar and opened her mouth to ask for another margarita. Then she remembered she wanted to lose at least five more pounds. Ten would be better.

“Ice water, please.” When the bartender handed her a tall glass, she thanked him. Taking a thirsty drink, she turned back to the dance floor. Her eyes widened, she inhaled ice water and bent over, coughing helplessly.

At one of the small cocktail tables nearby, a tall man with dark skin was leaning over to suckle his date’s bare breast, her pink bra hanging from her arms. The redhead leaned back against the table, her eyes closed, lipsticked mouth open. Her thighs were also open, and his hand was buried in her pink panties, flexing as he stroked her to the melting strains of Snow Patrol.

Carlie stared, mesmerized. Then a powerful hand closed on her bare arm and she was towed swiftly through the tables, into the shadows at the side of the room. She had to follow or be dragged.

Jake stood over her, a broad shape looming between her and the room.

“What?” She struggled to process what she’d seen. Oh, mama. She’d kind of thought maybe stuff like that would be on hold for this party. Not that it wasn’t fine, because it was. She just hadn’t known she’d see that tonight.

“Just making sure you’re in your comfort zone,” Jake said, his deep voice rumbling from the depths of his chest.

“I’m fine,” she said defiantly, tossing her hair back and avoiding his gaze as if it were a death ray. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“‘Cause this is a BDSM club and you’re as vanilla as a big bowl of ice cream.”

Her face burning, she glared up at him. He thought she was big, even though he was built like the side of Mt. Hood? Hurt mingled in a sickening ball along with her embarrassment at klutzing out just because he’d watched her dance, and sheer humiliation at his being the one to catch her gawking at the first heavy petting she saw here.

“And you’re not in the army anymore, Colonel, so don’t give me orders.”

His heavy brows shot together. “Marines, master sergeant. What’s the matter? What’d I say to piss you off?”

She scowled back at him. “Nothing. Just keep in mind, you’re not the boss of me,” she retorted, and stuck out her tongue.

Jake’s gaze fastened on her mouth. If possible, his face hardened even more. He narrowed his eyes, looking down at her from under thick, dark lashes. Her breath froze in her throat, her heart beating faster. Uh-oh, so maybe she shouldn’t have given in to her childish impulse.

“You’re in
my
club, vanilla girl.” Oh, crap, now his deep voice held an edge of danger. “Which means I am in charge. Stick that little pink tongue out at me again, you better be prepared to use it…anywhere I say.”

Use it? Like, on him? Graphic images filled her mind, of him naked and her licking him up like that ice cream he’d mentioned. Heat curled low in her middle, and her brain fogged with steam. All she could do was stare at him.

After a moment, he nodded, the corners of his mouth turned down. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he prowled away and left her there, taking the heat and power of his focused attention with him, leaving behind a chilly vacuum.

Carlie sucked in a shaky breath. What did he think? That she was unworthy of his—his domination? Had she missed a secret signal, telling her to drop to her knees right here or something? She wrapped her arms around her middle. Not that he wanted her anyway—he’d just been jacking her around.

“Sergeant,
huh
,” she muttered, glowering at his back as he sauntered away. “Drop and give me twenty, why don’t you?”

Then a tiny brunette in a little black dress with a pink dog collar stopped him and asked something, a pleading pout on her full lips. Jake’s back was to Carlie, but she saw him nod. Foreboding clutched her stomach.

The woman’s face lit up with excitement. Jake led her away through the crowd to the long staircase that angled across the back of the room. He moved with his usual focused power and grace, while his companion was practically wriggling like a puppy.

Carlie’s heart sank somewhere down into her strappy sandals. He was going off with another woman? Right in front of her?

This was a sex club—
his
sex club. So that meant he was going to… Okay, she was not going to think about what he was going to do with the woman once they disappeared up those stairs. They sure weren’t headed up there to play pinochle. Carlie pressed her lips together, hot, shaky emotion swelling in her chest and up her throat to prickle behind her eyes. She blinked hard.

The brunette was a size six. Half Carlie’s size.

Jake would snap that woman like a twig if he wasn’t careful.
Yeah, maybe he’d be involved in a messy lawsuit for the next ten years. He’d lose everything, and wind up living in a tent down by the river, looking for government handouts. He’d sit out front by a tiny campfire and remember Carlie, taking another swig of cheap fortified wine as he remembered that he could’ve had her and his life back, if he’d just opened his eyes.

Except of course she didn’t want the woman to get hurt, not really. Well, maybe just enough that she ran screaming out of the club and never came back.

Whatever. Her mother had been telling her all her life that men preferred slender women. Geez, she hated when her mother was right.

Carlie jerked her gaze away from the couple. Jake was just one guy and bad-tempered at that. She was at a party at a sex club, surrounded by gorgeous guys with one thing on their minds—sex. So, just pick one. How hard could that be?

She smiled brilliantly at the nearest guy, a cute, shy-looking redhead in a pink dress shirt and dark slacks.

“Hi, I’m Carlie. You wanna dance?”

His eyes lit up, a blush suffusing his fair cheeks. “Y-yeah. Are you a d-domme?”

“No, sweetie.” With an inward sigh, she patted his arm. “But good luck with that.”

She headed for the bar. Screw her diet; she was going to have another margarita.

Chapter Two

Carlie finally gave up on sleep sometime after sunrise the next morning, wrapped herself in her fuzzy pink robe and shuffled into the kitchen of her condo to make coffee. On autopilot, she leaned on the counter with her gaze fastened on her coffeemaker as it slowly dribbled hot, life-giving liquid into the pot.

When there was enough for a cup, she jerked the pot out, filled her favorite over-sized purple hand-thrown mug, shoved the pot back under the spout and traipsed out onto her tiny patio to watch the sun rise over the oak trees across the greenbelt. Her apartment building was built into a rise, so although she had to climb stairs to the front door, her patio was on ground level.

Pushing her hair out of her face, she sat at her tiny patio table and peered around.

It was a beautiful late summer morning, golden-green, cool but with the promise of heat later on. The air smelled fresh and sweet. A few people were already out walking and jogging along the paved pathway through the greenbelt that backed the apartment grounds, edged with rhododendrons and azaleas.

But despite the beauty of Portland in the summer and the caffeine jolt of strong, Pacific Northwest dark roast, Carlie knew there were only two ways to make her twitchy, grumpy feeling go away.

Well, three, but she evidently wasn’t getting great sex anytime soon, so that left two. She could either head to Dark Magic Donuts a few blocks away and eat enough fresh maple bars sprinkled with real bacon bits to put herself into a sugar-and-fat coma, or she could don her workout gear and exercise hard enough to get some major endorphins pumping through her blood.

She yawned so widely her jaw popped and rubbed her eyes. She’d hardly slept. Despite enjoying another excellent strawberry margarita, and a few more dances, the party had gone as flat as a popped balloon after Jake walked away with his tiny brunette. Every time Carlie closed her eyes, she saw him again, climbing the stairs at Club 3 with his arm around the woman’s miniscule waist.

Darn him. He was like a big, jagged rock in the middle of her road to feminine fulfillment. An immovable object smack-dab in the middle of her plan to get busy and find a guy to give her great sex. Great, slightly kinky sex.

She’d been so excited to help plan the Pink Night party for Club 3—she’d get to work side by side with Jake and the guys
and
pre-function at the club. This was her chance to dip her manicured toes in the BDSM scene before she finally got up enough courage to apply for membership and jump on in.

But Jake had only bothered to show up for the first planning session, held in Trace’s office at the club. He’d listened with his huge arms crossed over his chest, face grumpy as usual. Then he’d commented that since Trace managed Club 3, he’d leave them to it. And he had, the big jerk. He’d strolled out with only a perfunctory jerk of his sculpted chin at her.

She’d been trying her hardest not to hyperventilate at actually being in the club, at seeing him in his milieu as a dom. When he exited the plush office behind the front desk and disappeared out into the summer sunshine, she’d wanted to stomp her feet and howl.

Instead, she’d taken a breath and pulled her head back where it belonged. She’d listened attentively to Trace’s ideas and added her own. The Pink Party was a fund-raiser and meant something to Daisy and the local cancer foundation, even if it didn’t to Jake.

As a fundraiser and a surprise for Daisy, the party had been a huge success. As a chance for Carlie to discover if she belonged in Jake’s chosen sexual milieu, it had been an epic fail. After last night, she wanted to do more than stomp—she wanted to kick the big weightlifter for good measure, with her pointiest pair of lipstick-red Emma Blake’s. And then go buy a dozen donuts, fresh from the deep fryer, soaked with fat and sugar and devour them all, until she was too comatose to care about his lack of interest.

As if on cue, her phone pinged. A text from Sara.
R U up?

Carlie’s finger hovered over the smiley, but on second thought, she sent back a frowny-face graphic as her message.

Her phone rang, and she clicked it on. “Morning, coach.”

“Hi, whatcha doing?” Sara asked, her voice still husky with sleep.

“Slugging dark roast,” Carlie said, her voice just as froggy. “Why are you up so early the morning after a party?”

“Checking in with my favorite fitness trainee. You’re not at Dark Magic, are you?”

Carlie sighed wistfully. “No, I’m not stuffing fat and sugar in my face. But I must admit the urge is there. The strong urge. The
craving
.”

Sara yawned audibly. “I figured. You know, since…”

“You saw him, huh?” Carlie asked gloomily.

“Jake and that woman? Yeah.” Sara sounded puzzled. “You know, I really thought he was into you. I mean I still think he is. I don’t get it. I saw you two talking.”

Carlie snorted. “The only reason he spoke to me was to reprimand me for staring at a couple getting it on right by the bar.”

“Ouch. I saw a few things that shocked the hell out of me too, and I’ve already been there once. Mason, the guy you danced with? He’s a total hottie, but he’s also a complete exhibitionist. Swear to God, when I left, he was doing that blonde chick in the middle of the dance floor!”

“Holy cow.” Carlie took another drink of coffee, got nothing and stared into her cup. It was empty. She rose and walked back into her kitchen to pour another cup. “That’s brazen.” And she was
so
bent for kind of wishing she’d been there to watch.

Mason was indeed a hottie. And he thought she was attractive. Maybe he’d like to do more than dance. But not in the midst of an audience… That was just too weird. If he liked that, she had no problem with his choices, but she knew she would never be willing to share with an audience.

Although, she did want to go upstairs. A guilty thrill coursed through her just at the thought. The stairs at the club were a portal, she knew that. The things that happened on the second floor were
different
. The people who ventured up those stairs were involved in a higher level of play, not just there to play in public.

Carlie was still trying to puzzle out if she belonged up those stairs. She certainly hadn’t responded to any of the vanilla guys she’d dated lately. Full coffee mug in hand, she walked back outside.

“It was pretty damn sexy,” Sara said. “And I feel like such a slut for admitting that. Anyway, back to Jake. He was watching you dance with Mason.”

“Laughing at me, you mean. I tripped.”

“Yeah. And for a sec? I thought he was going to vault onto the dance floor and rescue you. I’m telling you, girl, he wants you.”

“But he—he
did
that other woman,” Carlie burst out. Her mug wobbled in her hand, and she had to set it down on her little wrought-iron patio table before she spilled scalding coffee over her hand. It was no hotter than the tears that filled her tired eyes. She sniffed and swiped them away with the edge of her palm, taking a fortifying slug of coffee.

Sara sighed. “Certainly appears that way. But he is a dom. That’s what they do. I’m betting Dack was with a
lot
of women before he met Daisy. If looks could kill, she’d have died on the dance floor last night.”

“Well, those other club bitches better not mess with our girl,” Carlie said.