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“I won’t.”
Another little white lie. Because as soon as the words left Portia’s mouth, an idea began to form in Lottie’s mind.
Francesca Legare would never sit around, pining after a man. If he didn’t respond to her advances, she’d find a way to make him come to her. And Lottie had seen that exact scenario play out enough times to know exactly what Frankie would do.
* * *
BRADEN
Thank god Charlotte was scheduled off for the next two days. Watching her prance around his club, clad in increasingly skimpy outfits while his members openly ogled her was starting to wear on him. One more night and he was bound to drag her down to the pit so he could fuck her in front of God and everyone.
And if it meant throwing his weight around a bit to give her two nights in a row off, well, what was the point in being the owner of a club if you couldn’t use your position to get your way from time to time?
For the first time in a week, he felt like he could breathe again in his own club. As long as he ignored the little itch between his shoulder blades at the thought of her being out of his sight for an entire evening.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Stopping by a large corner booth where Elias Turner, commonly known as ‘Ice’ to his millions of fans around the world, was sharing a drink with another of the club’s long-time patrons, Braden flashed them both a welcoming smile.
They were a bit of an odd pair, Ice with his long, slightly unkempt hair and the beard he’d been growing out since he’d randomly shown up in South Carolina months ago. And Beckett Stone, clean-cut and still clad in the suit he’d probably been wearing since the crack of dawn. Beckett wasn’t just the owner of Club BDE’s favorite investment firm, he was hands down the strictest, most controlling Dom Braden had ever met. Compared to Ice’s laidback rockstar demeanor, they couldn’t have been more opposite if they’d tried. But from what Braden had seen, they’d become fast friends once Ice had shown up at the club. “I trust you’re all enjoying yourselves?”
It was a tongue-in-cheek reference to the club submissive currently kneeling between them, her back serving as a table for their whiskey glasses. Judging by the look of pure bliss on her face, she was enjoying herself just as much, if not more, than they were.
Beckett held up his whiskey with a smirk. “As always.” His grin widened. “Though we would certainly be enjoying ourselves more if we’d been able to get our hands on your new girl tonight before she’d gotten snatched up.”
“New girl?” Braden’s heart tripped in his chest as he tried to think of another ‘new girl’ besides…
“Lottie, I think her name is? Tall, dark hair, legs for fucking days.” Now it was Ice who smiled, though it lacked the same wicked gleam as Beckett’s. Despite his near-constant presence in the club, Braden hadn’t ever actually seen him play with anyone.
“You must be mistaken.” But even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow. “Lottie is an employee, not a member. She isn’t available for scenes.”
Beckett’s brow raised, amusement clearly stamped across his face. “You should probably let Killian know that, then.”
At Beckett’s nod toward the pit, Braden spun around and leaned over the railing. Sure enough, there was Charlotte, naked as the day she was born, bound to a St. Andrew’s cross. Killian stood beside her, stroking a hand down her spine as they shared what was clearly a private, intimate conversation.
He should let her have her fun. Killian was an excellent Dom, even if Braden didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him outside the club. And Braden had absolutely no claim on Charlotte’s person.
But even as his mind checked off all the reasons he had no business interrupting their scene, his feet were already moving, heading down the curved staircase to the pit, where Killian was putting on a show for their audience by ‘warming up’ with his favorite flogger, swinging it in complex circles as the crowd watched in awe.
Helpless, Braden watched, too far away to stop him as Killian stepped up behind the cross and took aim at Charlotte’s pale, unmarked skin. Braden reached the platform just as Killian raised the flogger.
“Red!”
Everything around them screeched to a halt, and dozens of shocked stares turned toward him. But Braden ignored all of them as he climbed the stairs onto the platform, placing himself between Killian and Charlotte.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte demanded in a low, furious hiss.
“Hush. I’ll deal with you in a moment, little girl.” Fury churning in his gut, Braden lifted his gaze to Killian’s face.
Which looked, Braden realized with a start, completely unsurprised by this turn of events. If anything, he looked downright… amused. And more than a little triumphant.
It’s a fucking setup.
“Is there a reason you interrupted my fully consensual, negotiated scene?” Killian asked, deliberately raising his voice so the audience could clearly hear his words.
Goddammit. He was stuck. Even if he stepped down, the juiciest piece of gossip in his club would be everyone wondering why he’d tried to stop a scene that hadn’t broken a single club rule.
Worse, perhaps, was the knowledge that if he backed down now, he’d have to watch Charlotte submit to another man. He’d be forced to sit back and watch as someone who wasn’t him drew those breathless cries of pain and pleasure from his lips. And, depending on what they’d negotiated, he’d have to watch as she came apart at another man’s touch.
The thought of watching all of that unfold, with Killian of all people, had him seeing red. Which basically left him with two options. One, fire Charlotte and ban her from the club, which was admittedly an appealing prospect other than the fact that he didn’t actually have a reason to ban her from the club. And, if he did that, he couldn’t keep an eye on her. At least if she was at the club, she was playing safely. If he kicked her out, there was no telling where she might go to satisfy her curiosity.
