“I’m fine,” she muttered, turning so her back was to him. “I can manage by myself.”
“No, you obviously cannot,” he said evenly. “Wash the mud out of your hair. The left dispenser has shampoo.”
Mud in her hair. She’d totally forgotten; maybe she did need a keeper. After using the vanilla-scented shampoo, she let the water sluice through her hair. Brown water and twigs swirled down the drain. The water finally ran clear.
“Very good.” The water shut off. Blocking the door, he rolled up his sleeves, displaying corded, muscular arms. She had the unhappy feeling he was going to keep helping her, and any protest would be ignored. He’d taken charge as easily as if she’d been one of the puppies at the shelter where she volunteered.
“Out with you now.” When her legs wobbled, he tucked a hand around her upper arm, holding her up with disconcerting ease. The cooler air hit her body, and her shivering started again.
After blotting her hair, he grasped her chin and tipped her face up to the light. She gazed up at his darkly tanned face, trying to summon up enough energy to pull her face away.
“No bruises. I think you were lucky.” Taking the towel, he dried off her arms and hands, rubbing briskly until he appeared satisfied with the pink color. Then he did her back and shoulders. When he reached her breasts, she pushed at his hand. “I can do that.”
He ignored her like she would a buzzing fly, his attentions gentle but thorough, even to lifting each breast and drying underneath.
When he toweled off her butt, she wanted to hide. If there was any part of her that should be covered, it was her hips. Overweight. Jiggly. He didn’t seem to notice.
Then he knelt and ordered, “Spread your legs.”
No way. She flushed, didn’t move.
He looked up, lifted an eyebrow. And waited. Her resolve faltered beneath the steady, authoritative regard.
She slid one leg over. His towel-covered hand stroked between her legs, sending a flush of embarrassment through her. The full enormity of her position swept through her: she was naked in front of a complete stranger, letting him touch her…there. Her breath stopped even as disconcerting pleasure moved through her.
He glanced up, his eyes crinkling, before moving his attention to her legs. He chafed the skin until she could feel the glow. “There, that should do it.”
Ignoring her attempt to take the clothing, he helped her step into a long, slinky skirt that reached midcalf -- at least it covered her hips -- then pulled a gold-colored, stretchy tank top over her head. His muscular fingers brushed her breasts as he adjusted the fit. He studied her for a moment before smiling slowly. “The clothes suit you, Jessica, far more than your own. A shame to hide such a lovely figure.”
Lovely? She knew better, but the words still gave her a glowy feeling inside. She glanced down to check for herself and frowned at the way the low-cut elastic top outlined her full breasts. She could see every little bump in her nipples. Good grief. She crossed her arms over her chest.
His chuckle was deep and rich. “Come, the main room is much warmer.”
Wrapping an arm around her, he led her out of the bathroom, through the entry, and into a huge room crowded with people. Her eyes widened as she looked around. The club must take up the entire first floor of the house. A circular bar of darkly polished wood ruled the center of the room. Wrought iron sconces cast flickering light over tables and chairs, couches and coffee tables. Plants created small secluded areas. The right corner of the room had a dance floor where music pulsed with a throbbing beat. Farther down, parts of the wall were more brightly lit, but she couldn’t see past the crowd to make out why.
Her steps slowed as she realized the club members were attired in extremely provocative clothing, from skintight leathers and latex to corsets to -- oh my -- one woman was bare from the waist up. A long chain dangled from…clamps on her nipples.
What in the world? Wincing, Jessica glanced up at her host. “Um, excuse me?” What was his name, anyway?
He stopped. “You may call me Sir.”
Like the Marines or something? “Uh, right. Exactly what kind of club is this?” Over the music and murmur of voices, a woman’s voice suddenly wailed in unmistakable orgasm. Heat flared in Jessica’s face.
Amusement glinted in the man’s dark eyes. “It’s a private club, and tonight is bondage night, pet; I thought you’d have realized that from reading the rules.”
Just then, a man in black leathers walked by, followed by a barefoot woman with her head down and wrists cuffed. Jessica’s mouth opened, only no words emerged.
One eyebrow raised, the manager waited patiently. She could feel his hand pressed low against her back, like a brand.
What had she gotten into? “Bondage?” she managed to say. “Like men making slaves of women?”
“Not always. Sometimes a woman dominates the man.” He nodded to the left where a man dressed in only a loincloth knelt beside a woman. The woman wore a skintight latex vest and leggings with a coiled whip attached to her belt.
“And domination can range all the way from an entire lifestyle, twenty-four/seven, to just a fun bout of sex. Many women fantasize about having a man take charge in the bedroom.” He stroked a finger down her flushed cheek. “Here the fantasy is real.”
Something inside her tightened at his words, a fascination mixed with shock. Take charge -- what exactly did that mean? Then the memory swept through her of how he’d touched her naked body, how he’d simply…taken charge, and she couldn’t keep from looking at him.
His dark eyes were intent on her face, as if he could read her reactions as easily as she would read a client’s books. She felt telltale redness rise in her cheeks.
“Come,” he said, smiling, his hand moving her forward. “Let’s get something warm inside you --”
Inside her? Like the thrust of a man’s -- She jerked her mind away. Good grief, she’d been here five minutes, and her thoughts were in the gutter. A smart person -- and she was that if nothing else -- would make a polite retreat right about now.
“And then you can decide if you want to hide in the entryway or stay here with the grown-ups.”
Even as her spine stiffened, she realized how easily he’d played her, and she glared at him.
His lips quirked.
As they approached the circular bar, the bartender abandoned making a drink to come over. He looked like a Great Dane with shaggy hair, all bone and muscle, even taller than…Sir. She frowned over her shoulder at the manager. What the heck kind of name was Sir?
Chapter Two
“Something hot, Cullen, for Jessica. Irish coffee with lots of Irish.” As Zachary gazed down at the little intruder, he had to smile. She had a lovely body with lush hips wide enough to cradle a man in softness and full breasts begging to be savored. Her skin was fair, and her eyes the color of spring leaves.
And right now, those eyes were wide as his grandmother’s favorite supper plates. How she’d read the rules and not understood the nature of the club, he couldn’t comprehend. He really shouldn’t have let her in, signature or not, but her helplessness had brought out all his Dom instincts to protect and nurture.
“A hot drink would be wonderful,” she told the bartender.
Zachary’s eyes narrowed; she was still shivering a little but much improved.
The toweling off had helped, as had her dawning embarrassment when he’d handled her. Although in her mid- to late twenties, she was obviously not accustomed to being touched so intimately. Her blushes had left him with a growing desire to touch her even more thoroughly, to explore her body, and discover her responses.
But he hadn’t been able to ascertain if she would welcome his attentions or not. As for if she was a sub… The votes weren’t in on that yet either. However, once she moved past the initial shock of seeing the club, he’d be able to look into her mind and see if the sight of domination excited her.
The night was yet young. If he sensed desire in her thoughts, he would enjoy laying her soft, vanilla-scented body out across his bed, restraining and opening her for his pleasure.
“Master Z.” One of his newer dungeon monitors stopped beside him, his bony face worried. “Could you arbitrate for a minute?”
“Certainly.” Zachary glanced at Jessica. “Do you need an escort to the entry or will you be staying?”
Her mouth -- pretty pink lips that would look quite lovely around his cock -- pursed as she glanced around the room. He sensed her misgivings vying with her intense curiosity. The curiosity won. “I’ll stay.”
“Brave girl.”
The creamy Irish coffee burned all the way down, starting a little fire inside her. Heavenly. When the bartender came back, Jessica had finished and was gazing sadly into the already empty cup.
“Ready for more?” he asked.
Heck, her purse was in the car trunk and would be there until a tow truck pulled her car out. “No, thank you. That’s all right.”
He leaned an enormous arm on the bar and frowned. “You obviously want another. What’s the problem?”
What was it with these guys? “Are you and your boss mind readers or what?”
His laugh boomed, drowning out the music. “Master Z’s the mind reader; I’m just observant.”