He couldn’t hear his friend’s steps, but he definitely sensed his presence as there one minute, gone the next.
His attention returned to the woman below.
As she weaved through the furniture groupings, she stopped periodically when a scene caught her attention. Several minutes later, she stood on the outskirts of a trio—two men spit-roasting a diminutive redhead—her head tilted as if judging their technique while she sipped a colorful martini.
Something about her detached observation sparked a response from his body. Not a conflagration, but enough that, without any consideration, he straightened to his full height and pushed away from the pillar. Smooth and sleek, his movements drove him across the balcony, down the stairs, and to her side.
On the surface, he recognized her attractiveness. A few years ago, particularly after he’d first joined here, she wouldn’t have made it twenty feet through the doors before he pushed her down over the back of a couch and fucked her stupid.
However, at a deeper level, he recognized that his body’s reaction to her wasn’t about physical need. It wasn’t even emotional. The need to dominate tonight… now… hinged purely on a psychological response. Everything he held in tight suddenly tumbled out of his control, and a scene where the other individual had no choice but to do as he commanded was the only thing that would cause chaos to right itself. For now.
When he was half a room away, she saw him coming. Her posture straightened, and in very unsubmissive-like behavior, her eyes met his. A summery blue green.
Nope. That wasn’t going to work. Wrong color. They should be brown. He didn’t want to look into eyes that were the wrong color.
Without preamble, he spun her around, one hand collaring her throat while the other held her hip tight against him. “Someone should have taught you it’s rude to stare.”
He felt the shiver slide through her body at being called out.
“It’s a sex club. Staring is expected. Welcomed, even. If it wasn’t, they’d be in a private room.”
Under his thumb, her pulse raced. Her brat behavior and her breathy words were at odds. Gooseflesh pebbled her skin.
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.” He pushed her over the back of the couch she’d been caught watching, quickly pinning her hips with his so she couldn’t move out of place.Lightning fast, he secured her hands at the small of her back. Holding her wrists, his cock creasing the shift into the crack of her ass, he ground into her fleshy cheeks.
She twisted in his grip, but it was part of the scene. When you entered the doors here at Shadowlands, submissives knew they were consenting to give up consent. It was part of the contract. If they had particular hard limits, they had wristlets they wore in various colors, and everyone knew what the colors meant. Her wrists were empty. No limits.
Releasing one of his hands from holding her wrists, he cradled her throat in his palm and forced her to watch the trio in front of them by guiding her chin to rest on the other woman’s lower back.
He tugged the thin material of her dress from between them and flipped it onto her back. With each grind of his hips against her, she moaned and sighed, her eyes riveted on the penetration in front of her.
“You wanted to watch so much, little subbie. Then maybe you should get an up-close-and-personal look while I play with this pretty pussy.”
“Yes, sir!” she exclaimed with a giggle.
AFTERCARE
Triumph
Disappointed mews emergedfrom the woman straddling his lap on the lounge chair.
He held a bottle of water to her mouth. “You need to drink for me, Poppy.”
To the woman’s credit, she tried to do as he asked, but based on the soft shaking of her hands, she still shivered with aftershocks from their playtime. Sitting up, he curved a hand around the back of her neck and guided the bottle to her lips with the other. After she took several sips, he set the water on the table next to the chair they lounged in and pulled her down to rest against him.
“Good girl. Let’s get you warm.”
Lap and chest filled with a well-pleased sub, he worked around her to open the warm blanket. While she lay with her ear against his chest, her heartbeat beginning to sync with his, he ran a comforting hand up and down her back.
Normally, he loved aftercare. Even if the scene was a one-off with someone he’d never met before, it gave him a chanceto at least feel like he was spending quality time with someone. Helped him get his head straight while he guided his partner out of subspace.
Tonight though? For the first time in a long time, his head was nowhere near where it should be. He’d managed to learn her name at some point, but damned if he could remember exactly when or how.
Worse? He barely remembered the scene beyond seeing her, approaching her, and her eventual collapse at the end. Had he even gotten off? He was pretty sure he hadn’t. At least she didn’t seem disappointed in his performance.
Whatever. Rolling his eyes as he stared at the ceiling, he realized it didn’t matter. As irritated as he was with himself, an orgasm for him meant nothing in regards to the success of a scene. However, he owed it to Poppy to do right by her all the way to the end, not just the sex part.
Around him in the shadowy cubicles of the room, many other couples and throuples engaged in the necessary aftercare before the club closed down for the night. Monitors patrolled, checking to make sure everyone had what they needed—water, chocolate, blankets, cool or warm washcloths. Technically, the club was closed, but everyone was allowed to stay as long as needed to make sure patrons were safe to drive or head out.
