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The yearning to stay consumed him, but her well-being held more importance. He withdrew his cock and moved to her face. He cupped her cheek, dropping a kiss onto her parted lips. Her mouth brushed against his with emotion so deep it clenched his chest. Some kisses held little meaning. Cora’s kisses meant everything, making him aware of her every move, every breath.
With a final press of his lips, he leaned away and removed the condom, placing it in a tissue on the tray of the rolling cart that held all of his other toys. His gaze cut to her, and she regarded him with hooded eyelids. Under her pretty eyes, he pulled up his boxer briefs and jeans.
Sweat coated his skin and the scent of their sex engulfed him as he approached her. A flare, hot and greedy, stormed through him. His to care for now. His to protect in this moment. His to hold.
His heartbeat slowed and a pure heat that radiated out of his chest engulfed him. He reached for the leather strap on her ankle and removed the binding, rubbing her ankle before he moved to the next strap.
Once he freed her from the bindings, as she remained on the cross, he massaged her limbs until her circulation returned. She watched him steadily; her pupils were enlarged and she looked messy, pink-cheeked: a well-used and content submissive. He liked that look on her. “Any numbness or soreness?” he asked.
She shook her head, giving him a silly grin. “Soreness? Lord, no, sir. Happy female bits and pieces, yes.”
He winked. “Suppose that means I’ve done my job.” His hands tingled as he cupped her cheek and his smile widened when she leaned into his touch. “We don’t want unhappy female parts, do we?”
She giggled with dancing eyes. “Certainly not, sir.”
Her soft laugh erased dark and icy parts in his soul. He couldn’t look away from her pretty eyes as he brushed his thumb under her eye. “You look much better than you did earlier.” When she’d arrived at Club Sin, he hadn’t liked what he found. Tension had bled from her, and that made him equally tense.
“No shit.” Cora smirked. “I just came hard enough to see freaking stars.”
Chapter Two
In the center of Club Sin on the black leather couch, Cora lay in Master Aidan’s arms wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. The exclusive, membership-only BDSM dungeon was located in the basement of Dmitri Pratt’s mansion. Each member was chosen specifically by him to suit the type of kink done within these walls; anyone who played at Club Sin had a similar view on limits. If someone wanted more than what was offered, Club Sin wasn’t the place for them.
Dmitri had told her when she joined, “My club. My rules.” Cora never minded. Club Sin’s rules fit her personality, and it was the perfect place for her. She appreciated the mastery of the Doms, and she flourished under Master Aidan’s care.
In the dimly lit room, Master Aidan brushed his fingers over her arm and she smiled at his sweet touches. In his hold, life was just as it should be. She felt happy, and that wasn’t only the result of her orgasm.
She gazed over the couches and tables; the sconces on the walls cast the room in a romantic glow, highlighting the BDSM equipment. From spanking benches to Saint Andrew’s Crosses to wooden tables to large metal hooks on the ceilings and walls for bondage, Club Sin had it all.
Sensual sounds bounced off the flagstone walls, and when she looked for the source, she discovered the strawberry-blond submissive Kenzie Hart. To Cora’s surprise the feisty submissive had her mouth shut during the scene. Normally she’d be sputtering out something rude to receive punishment. Cora never understood Kenzie’s antics—Cora enjoyed obeying Aidan, avoiding his punishments at all costs.
When Master Aidan punished, he did so swiftly. It was the only time he used a cane. One hit for every infraction will teach you to do better, Cora. He’d only swatted her once during each punishment, and even though he kept the hits light, they always left a mark. He never allowed her to add up her mistakes. He dealt with them immediately, and she appreciated his method. Some Doms could be quite tough. It’d been so long since she received a punishment, and she didn’t intend to change that as she preferred sensual pain.
The first year in Club Sin, she’d been punished four times. In the second year, it’d happened only twice. Cora learned Club Sin’s rules quickly—not leaving off the sir and addressing Club Sin Masters with the Master before their names—so as to avoid future inflictions.
In her old public BDSM club, Chains, where she played before Club Sin, she had to call a man only sir, not Master, and unless it was her Dom, she never needed to finish a sentence with sir. It took time to get used to that change and she had messed up, but Aidan’s punishments made her a fast learner.
Cora wondered if Aidan’s scene set a mood for the crowd tonight to follow his lead. Hell, she had appreciated their moment together. His soft touches to his later intensity gave her all she needed, eliminating any tension.
She snuggled into him, relishing the safety of his arms. Here, nothing could harm her. Sometimes she wished she could stay in Club Sin all the time. As if this world was the real one and everything else didn’t exist. That she didn’t have responsibilities. That she could pretend that all she felt in Club Sin was real.
A firm finger tapped her arm and she leaned away slightly, looking to Master Aidan. His gaze held hers, as his shadowy eyes searched hers. “Tell me why you looked so worn earlier.”
Of course he had spotted her strain. She had expected him to. Since Club Sin was open only on the weekends, she’d been anticipating Friday night all week. She was anxious to play tomorrow night, too. “Nothing serious—just a draining week, is all.”
As a social worker at the Las Vegas Wellness Clinic, Cora’s job could suck the life out of her. She loved helping troubled teens, though, at times dealing with so many adolescents with such big problems took its toll.
The design he traced on her arm halted and one sleek eyebrow arched. “Bad case?”
“A fifteen-year-old abused girl—need I say more?”
Cora tried not to take work home, but every once in a while she’d connect with a teen on a more personal level. Their sad stories would weigh on her heart. Her clients lived real-life nightmares. Her job was to help them, even be a friend.
Sometimes that worked.
Sometimes it didn’t.
