Chapter Three
Lydia
Ronin stepped up to her side. “Ladies and gentlemen, the three hours are up.”
No other instructions were needed. The crowd left the room, headed to the next spectacle or perhaps home. Except her stranger. He did as was expected, ceasing all touching. Strangely, Lydia missed his fingers inside her. Never before had she wanted one of her visitors to carry on. For that reason alone, she needed to get away from him.
Before she could say a word, the man brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking her juices from his long digits.
Ronin ignored the man, reaching up to remove Lydia from her restraints.
A low sound from the back of her stranger’s throat stopped the guardian in his tracks. “Leave us. I’ll help her down.”
“Sir, that is against club policy.” Ronin’s voice was crisp and firm, not to be argued with.
But apparently, Mr. GQ didn’t give a shit. Without glancing away from Lydia, the man grabbed Ronin by the front of his shirt, drawing the man’s face closer. “I said I would take care of her. Stephan has okayed it. Go ask him.”
Not wanting things to get out of hand, and desperately needing to get dressed, pile into her limo, and pass out in her bed, Lydia intervened. “It’s fine, Ronin. I’m sure this man is capable of releasing me.”
Ronin turned and stalked from the room, his fists clenched at his sides.
Without a word, the moody stranger released her restrained wrists from the carabiner. Each muscle ached from the strain of being held aloft for so long, but his fingers rubbed and massaged feeling back into them, starting at her wrists and working up her arms. Once he had worked at her muscle to his satisfaction, he unbuckled the cuff from her left wrist, then reattached it on the right so it once again appeared to be an innocent piece of jewelry.
“These are exquisite.” Those intense eyes bore into hers, seeming to drill down to the essence of her very being. Somehow the man put her on edge and comforted her at the same time. “Just like you.”
“Thank you.” Exhausted beyond the ability to hold a conversation, Lydia slumped against the wall as the man moved to release her ankles from their restraints. His strong hands treated her stiff legs to the same careful treatment he had showed her arms.
In one swift move, Lydia found herself swept up into the man’s arms and carried to the private room that connected to the playroom. The small space held a fainting couch on one wall, a vanity with mirror and lights on another, and a bathroom complete with walk-in shower. Just enough energy still remained inside Lydia to try and remove herself from his grip, but her stranger held tight, cradling her against his chest as he moved toward the bathroom.
“I can take it from here. Thank you for the help though.” Lydia tried once again to extricate herself from the man’s hold.
“Stay still, woman, and let me take care of you.” The man’s rough voice brokered no argument.
Unfortunately for him, Lydia was no simpering, spineless sub. Just because she occasionally liked to give up the semblance of control didn’t mean she was going to hand it over to some pseudo-alpha male on a power trip.
With the little strength Lydia still had, she reached out and took a grip of the man’s nipple, trying to ignore the solid mass of muscles that lay just beneath her hands. She pinched and turned violently, making the man howl in pain while he dropped her feet to fall to the floor.
“I said I can take it from here.” Lydia released her hold on the man and stepped back, pulling to her full height and shedding the persona she had slipped into for her session as if it were the fake extensions in her hair. “Now, feel free to leave. I like to be alone after my time on the floor, and you are messing with my ritual.”
“Your ritual?” The man stepped closer slowly, but still with an air of possession that did not sit well with Lydia. “You make it sound like you’re some virgin being sacrificed to the volcano gods or something. And judging from what I just saw, you are far from a virgin.”
“And you sound like a man who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. There are rules here about men like you. Men who try to force their will on women. Some of us who frequent Zion may like to play that we have no choice, but make no mistake, we have far more control here than you could ever wish for.” Lydia flicked her fake hair over her shoulder and turned toward the shower, exposing her backside to the man. “You’ve served your purpose for the night. You’re excused. If you’re still here when I’m done in the shower, I’ll have Ronin remove you and make sure your permission to enter the club is revoked.”
Without another glance, Lydia stepped into the shower and turned the water to the hottest setting, steam filling the room as the seven sprayers came to life. The soft thud of shoes against tile told her the asshole had followed her wishes.
Finally.
Lydia pulled the extensions from her hair one by one and massaged her scalp where they had been placed. She couldn’t deny tonight had been one of the best she’d had at Club Zion. All the participants had been amazing, and that finale would carry her for weeks before she had to call on one of her studs who waited in the wings for a good fuck.
It took a great deal of effort not to think about how much of that finale had been thanks to her stranger. The fact that she thought of him asherswas problematic in itself. But she had done the right thing by getting rid of him. If she ever decided to make room in her life for a man, it would certainly not be some asshole who thought bringing her to orgasm one time gave him any right to the rest of her. It wouldn’t be a man whose eyes heated to the point of nearly burning her with just a look. Relationships based on passion and fleeting arousal were bound to fail. Her own mother had taught her that time and time again in the eighteen years they had lived together.
When and if she decided to get married, it would be to someone who respected her both professionally and personally, someone on equal footing intellectually, someone she was attracted to enough that they could have a solid sexual relationship, but who didn’t make her feel as if his touch was the only one, even when dozens of others had put their hands on her that night.
Once her trademark blonde locks were washed and she had scrubbed her skin clean of the sweat the night had produced, she stepped from the shower to find a note on the vanity.
We are not even close to done.
See you soon, my Angel.
