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Kimberly’s breathing picked up again, but this time it wasn’t because she was getting turned on.
“Nice people don’t write aboutthesetypes of clubs.” Dean motioned toward the table of torture with a nudge of his head. “This isn’t the fluffy, happy side of the lifestyle, and there’s a reason the owners had to resort to hiring ex-military as monitors. These bastards get mean, and they won’t allow people in here who aren’t just as bloodthirsty as they are.” He stepped even closer, glared down at her like he almost hated her, and said, “Now either get the fuck out of here, and stay out. Or take off the fucking gown.”
If he was trying to terrify her again, he succeeded. But he didn’t know why she was here. Kimberly was looking for Shawna. She had to fit in. With narrowed eyes, a firm jaw, and shaking fingers, she unbuttoned the pearls under her chin and at her wrists. She handed the whisper-thin material to him like a haughty queen.
“Don’t let that touch the floor. It’s French chiffon.” His nostrils flared and his cheeks hollowed out, clearly provoked. “Careful not to crumple it like that either,” she added.
“Legs bare,” he snapped, but he took the time to drape her peignoir over one arm, so Kimberly took a bit of courage from that. Dean stood with his legs spread in those made-in-heaven jeans, and there was no hiding what it did to him to see her like this. What it did to him to see her peel out of her clothes, skimpy layer by skimpy layer. At his will. By the time she was down to nothing but her corset and thong, the lust was back—big time—and it was having a wrestling match with her fear. The battle was making her high as fuck.
Dean took her things, put them on a duffle she recognized from his office, and turned back to her. There was a bench in this station with three pads on it. He started adjusting them, then stood back to motion to it. “Kneel here and spread your arms out flat for now. Grab onto those rings. Rest your head on the top bench and keep your knees wide.”
Kimberly swallowed, stepped to the platform, and did as she was told. Sweat prickled at her skin and made the fine hairs on it stand on end as he prepared his tools and left her kneeling like a supplicant. In her position, she could not see higher than his knees as he got his things lined up.
Finished with the prep work apparently, Dean finally gave his attention to her again, this time fiddling with her position. He adjusted the brass rings out farther, so her arms were stretched almost to their max. Next, he moved the bench under her forehead, and her head on it, until he was satisfied, and Kimberly was as comfortable as if she were in some sort of resting yoga pose.
At last, Dean knelt down on one knee where she could see him and gently swept her ponytail over her shoulder. “Last chance, little she-wolf.” He twirled her hair around his fist, giving it a “pay attention” tug. “Use your safe word.” Kimberly’s eyebrow flew up. Small bolts of pleasure zapped their way across her scalp like Morris code. His words were a dare now, and God help her, that made it even hotter. She sent him a look she hoped fueled his wet dreams for years to come. Slowly, oh so slowly, she let her gaze work its way to the floor and felt the fist in her hair tighten. She curled her lip.
“You’re going to wanna make sure you wash those jeans before you wear them again.”Did he say fuck, or is that the sound my brain makes when it malfunctions?she thought when that fist finally—at good Goddamn last—went iron-hard in her hair and he yanked her head back.
Dean’s other hand cupped her throat, and his thumb and forefinger bracketed her chin. He held her face up to his at an angle that had her not exactly struggling for breath, only aware that he could make it so for her if he chose.
“Oh God,” Kimberly whispered, while inside, fireworks and sonic booms erupted. His grip tightened while his emerald gaze traced over every inch of her face and took in every nuance of her reaction. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
His lips landed on hers, and Kimberly jolted as shocks of electricity flew at warp speed from her lips to her breasts and farther. He had a full, gorgeous mouth, and she’d known it’d be soft, but he wasn’t soft with her now. Ravaged? Was that the old-fashioned term for a kiss that becomes your reason for breathing? Because that’s what this was for her, and Kimberly kissed him back just as fiercely as he did her. She thrilled at the danger as much as the kiss, and she was beyond questioning why that was at the moment.
Dean broke away by sucking first her top, then her bottom lip into his mouth. He pulled hard on her hair while he squeezed equally hard on her jaw. It skirted the edge and caught the breath in her lungs. And she couldn’t be positive, because it had never happened before, but she was pretty sure it also just made her come a little.
“That wasn’t your safe word,” he said. “I guess it’s time to dance.”
He let go of her and stood to his full height. Kimberly watched his expensive-looking leather kicks as he walked to some pedals in the floor she hadn’t noticed before. He pressed one, and the entire bench lifted. He pressed another, and her ass was lifted to an even higher angle.
“Spread your knees wider,” he told her.
Kimberly couldn’t hold back a moan as she did. She was spread like she was ready to get fucked. Once satisfied with her position, Dean then picked up the fucking torch. Her eye-line was directly in view with the tabletop, and no way was that an accident.
The table itself was steel, from top to bottom. Sitting on it were three tall cylinders and some other stuff that terrified her, but before she could continue to catalog, Dean began a nifty mocking lecture.Joke’s on him, she thought. She was paying attention to every fucking word.
“Have you ever heard of fire play, Kimberly?” he asked as if it was a real question.
“Why? Are you going to set me on fire?” she hissed.
“Yes,” he answered. Then the asshole left it at that.
“Well, then.”By all means, call me Joan of Arc, she thought dryly, “Obviously, I haven’t heard about thisalready.” Was she still turned on, she wondered, or had it all turned into that fear you get when an earthquake hits? That instant frozen drop in your stomach when you realize flight or fight isn’t a choice you have at all; it was survival, instinct. In her case, she wasn’t entirely sure which instinct was going to win out.
The primal one to mate, or the primal one to survive.
Dean bent over so their faces were level, waved the unlit torch under her nose like a magic wand, and smiled his crooked, dimpled grin while he pretended to contemplate the thing. “Come on, Kimberly. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of playing with fire?”
Turned on. She was definitely still turned on.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Dean’s smilewidened as if he knew he’d drawn her back from the edge, and Kimberly’s heart rate picked up. “Just remember your safe word, Brat, and when it gets too hot in here for you, let me know.” Then the sexy bastard winked at her and turned back to his table of torture.
Dean picked up the cylinder that was filled with clear liquid. “This beaker has ninety-one percent alcohol in it, Kimberly. Ever order a flambé or bananas foster? Water is denser than alcohol.” When he met her eyes this time, his were dead-serious. “When I take one of those pieces of cotton and swab some of this on your skin, the alcohol is going to float on top of the water. Then, when I light it on fire, it’s the alcohol that’s going to burn. Not you. Tell me your safe word if you understand.” He smiled at her, and she forgot some of her nerves for a moment.
Here she was in some kind of perverted downward-dog pose with her butt in the air, wearing nothing but a thong over it, because the corset stopped at her hips, and was she about to have the best sex of her life? No! She was about to get burned alive like a willing sacrifice.
