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The rhythm and speed of the flogger, the application of heat, maximized the pulsing response between her own legs. Her hand tightened into a fist on her thigh, that pulse jumping every time Brick’s flogger hit. As if it was hitting her, like his hand between her legs. A gloved hand covered in fire.
Les tightened her thighs and rocked forward, trying to conceal her reaction. Even in this environment, she needed Brick touching her to lose her self-consciousness about who might be watching.
“Oh…” The climax grabbed Lisa, wrestling cries from her throat. Dirk moved his knee in between her legs, letting her grind against him as he clasped her hands on the cross’s handles, keeping her from making any unsafe movements.
She rocked against his hold, while Brick adjusted accordingly. He continued the flogging but backed off, the wick contact a mere brush against her hips and back before he stopped entirely. It allowed Dirk to put his arm around Lisa’s waist, his other hand back between her legs, helping her ride those final aftershocks. Her face was pressed against his bearded jaw through the opening of the upper cross pieces.
Brick moved back to the corner and spun the flogger, this time with a more abrupt snap of his wrist. The move extinguished the remaining flame. He dropped it into a metal bucket he’d left there and returned to Lisa, putting a hand on her back, his other on Dirk’s shoulder.
Les couldn’t hear the murmured conversation, but when Lisa looked at him, her expression was one Les knew. She’d put herself in Brick’s hands, trusting he would care for her, not cause her harm. If something went wrong, she knew he’d be able to get ahead of it.
She’d seen that look on the faces of patients. And their family members. That trust was a gift. Brick deserved that gift.
She didn’t.
Nausea boiled in her stomach, the thunder that proceeded the lightning, stabbing pains. Damn it, one freak-out per day was enough. But to keep it at bay, she needed to find a place she could draw a deep breath.
As unobtrusively as possible, she put her legs over the other side of the wall, threaded between two occupied tables and slipped away with a mumbled, “Excuse me.”
She sought the nearest exit door, which brought her into a hallway of locked doors, probably storerooms. Fortunately a turn brought her to another restroom with a lit sign mounted next to it. One arrow pointed her back to the main floor, while another in the opposite direction was labeled “rear patio.” The sign was unnecessary for the main floor, since she could hear the thump of the music, and the people coming out of the restroom were mostly headed in that direction.
She paused at the restroom, waiting to see if the fruit and nut bar was going to come up. When her stomach uneasily settled, she headed for the rear patio. She could always throw up into some bushes if needed.
The rear patio had high top tables, attractive potted plants, and another stone wall perimeter, only this one was taller, chest high. When she folded her arms on the surface and inhaled the night air, she saw a landscaped natural area on the other side of the wall. It was planted with gardenias, azaleas, and poles holding metal wind catchers, which caught the patio lights as they spun. Behind the plantings was a chain link fence, topped with razor wire, offering rear lot security for the club.
Past the fence, a downward sloping hill ended at a busy four-lane street. It was lined with a pawn shop, cigarette outlet, deli and adult toy store. Illuminated by random yellow streetlights, the view wasn’t pretty. Many of the stories that had played out down there probably weren’t either.
Three of the patio tables were occupied, but none were near her. She gazed at the view and tried to calm her stomach, which meant coaxing her mind out of the vat of despair her thoughts had plunged her into once again.
A shift caught her gaze, and she saw Mick. He’d lifted himself up on capable arms to plant himself on the wall a few feet away from her. He was mostly cloaked in shadows, and scrolling through his phone. She had privacy, but he was close enough she could initiate conversation if she wished. Maybe because of her erratic mental state—something she hoped to God wasn’t permanent, but she was beginning to wonder—Brick had somehow signaled him a standing request to keep an eye on her.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she appreciated he didn’t disturb her. She could stand here, stare into the night and try to empty her mind. She wasn’t hugely successful. Her tension didn’t loosen enough to give her room for a deep breath. Not until Brick joined her. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, his hip brushing hers in companionable contact.
He didn’t say anything until she was ready to talk. “It was beautiful,” she said at last. “Amazing.”
He kissed her hair, rested his chin on top of her head, an affectionate contact. A homeless man was shuffling in front of the pawn shop, pushing a cart of belongings.
“Even if a fire top anticipates, prepares, has experience, really bad things can still happen. Right?”
“Yeah.” His breath was warm on her scalp. “But a lot less than without all that.”
“When those bottoms get hurt, are the tops, the ones who thought they did all they could, able to keep doing it? How do they find the hubris to believe they won’t hurt someone again?”
“Kind of apples and oranges there, doc, the comparison you’re trying to make. A doctor has to learn how to handle the mistakes. We need doctors. Fire spinners, not so much.”
She turned it over in her mind. “You’re right about the question I need to ask myself. About why I decided to be a doctor. But that part of my brain is so tired.” She looked up at him. “Will you hold me?”
“Always.”
She put her head on his chest as he closed his arms around her. She wound hers around his back and waist. “Where’d your guard dog go?”
At his curious look, she pointed toward the now empty section of patio. “Mick.”
“He left once I arrived. I wanted to make sure you had someone nearby if you needed anything.”
Putting his hands to her waist, Brick lifted her up on the wall, next to the column that supported the covered roof edge. He leaned against it as she laid her hand on his chest to adjust and remove the heeled sandals. Placing them next to her, she let her bare feet brush his denim-covered thigh as she swung them.
“I can see why the fireplay appeals to you, beyond everything you told me. You’re a science guy. The fuel mixes, the understanding of oxygen, air currents.”
