Doms of Dark Haven 2: Western Night (26 page)

Sub roping? He hadn’t planned to participate—well, maybe he’d considered it—but damn. “Sounds like fun.”

After Xavier left, Virgil checked out the upstairs. A bar was located in one corner, surrounded by tables. The giggling submissive riding a mechanical bull held his attention for a while. Line dancing. A poker game tempted him briefly, but a pretty brunette sub kneeling at one man’s feet kept giving her dom concerned glances. Too tense for his mood tonight.
You’re not here to play cards, Masterson.

He took the stairs down to the dungeon. And stopped. At the Serenity Lodge parties, only a handful of scenes occurred at any one time. Dark Haven had…more. His gaze drifted down the long room: several St. Andrew’s crosses, stocks, and a whipping post. Sets of chains dangled from a low rafter. Cages, spanking benches, sawhorses, bondage tables. Scene after scene. Throaty moans, high screams, whining, whimpering, and groaning.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph
. All his cop instincts shouted for him to get his cuffs out and start arresting people.

Yet the dominant in him noted that the scenes were hot as hell. Like the redhead getting wax poured on her nipples. Glazed eyes. Moaning. Her dom had spread her legs to let everyone view her soaked pussy.

At the next scene, a dark-haired domme ran a device like a pizza cutter with tiny metal spikes around a man’s nipples. Poor guy had a woody so hard a cat couldn’t scratch it.

Unlike the scent of beer, cologne, and perfume upstairs, the dungeon smelled of sweat and leather and so much sex that he could feel testosterone flooding his veins. He stopped at one area to watch a dom with a single-tail delicately lashing a dress from his sub. Fucking fine technique.

Feeling a presence beside him, he looked down to see a pretty little submissive.

“Excuse me,” she said, her melodic voice like a meadowlark in a valley of pain.

He stepped back to let her edge past and gave her a slow once-over.
Very nice.

A leather skirt barely covered her grabbable, round ass. Heeled cowboy boots showcased bare legs, and her full breasts pushed a laced-up leather vest open so far her nipples almost showed. Golden blonde hair, straight and silky, hung to her midback. When she looked back to whisper a thank-you, her eyes were as clear and blue as the sky over the Sierras in June.

Down, boy.

He sighed as the little sub knelt beside the dom. Apparently she wasn’t available. Then again, she sure didn’t focus on her dom’s every movement as if she wanted to serve him with all her being. With the Hunts and some others he’d seen, their dominance over their subs showed up like heat waves in July. And didn’t that sound a tad too woo-woo for a cop?

With a snort, and one last regretful look at the sub, Virgil wandered on.

* * *

Refusing to listen to Mark whine, Summer Aragon dragged him away from the whipping scene to the upstairs stage. The calf roping had started.

Bouncing on her toes, she watched a dom chase after a collared older submissive on the raised platform. Almost to the end, he managed to grab her and toss her down on the well-padded platform. As he tried to bind her ankles and wrists, the crowd roared advice, cheering in yeehaws and whoops and whistles.
God, didn’t that look like fun?

“And another sub bites the dust.” Mark slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his lanky frame. “I’m heading home. You gonna come over?”

“Leave now?” After she’d spent all yesterday shopping for just the right leather skirt and vest? She gave him an exasperated stare. When he’d shown up in a T-shirt and jeans instead of western wear, she should have known he’d bow out early. “We haven’t been here even an hour.”

“Don’t care. I had a rough day.”

A rough day of programming?
Please
. She thought of her own day as charge nurse for the surgical floor: filling in for the med nurse, transferring a patient to the ICU, wading through reams of doctors’ orders, managing a code right at the end of her shift—successful, but God, the paperwork—fixing the diet orders the kitchen had screwed up…and on and on. “Don’t you want to join the calf roping?”

“Nah. Jason lent me a new apocalypse movie, and I want to see it.”

She considered briefly: a cozy winter evening watching TV or finding someone to play with here.
Play, play, play
. “I’m going to stay a little longer. I’ve got an urge to be a
calf
.”

“Go for it.” He frowned. “I don’t think Rick or Mike are here though.”

Summer bit her lip. No buddies? That wasn’t good.

She only scened with a few doms, ones who were just friends outside the club. Lightweight scenes, lightweight doms. She didn’t want more. That would mean dealing with a real dominant—like the darkly tanned man watching the whipping downstairs whose slow scrutiny had heated her from the toes up and set her insides to quivering.
Not for me, thank you.

But if her buddies weren’t here, who would she play with? She glanced up, realized Mark was considering staying…just for her. She smiled at him. “Go home, Mr. Couch Potato.”

 “That’s me.” He gave her a relieved look and added, “Sis is having everyone over for Sunday brunch. She said to invite you so you can get your kid fix in.”

“I’d love it.” She kissed him lightly before he headed for the exit.

A whooping scream pulled her attention to the far corner where a submissive had been thrown off the mechanical bull. Laughing like a loon, the brunette forfeited her bustier and climbed back on. The bull started to buck and twist. Summer winced as the submissive’s breasts bounced in conflicting directions.

In another corner, people line danced to Tim McGraw’s “I Like It, I Love It.” One row held only unattached submissives, both male and female, wearing very few clothes. Tempted to join, she observed for a second. More bouncing breasts—and balls and cocks and butts.

Summer folded her arms over her full chest. Just watching was painful. No, she wanted to be a calf, she really did. But without her safe buddies?

Hmm
. Recently she’d thought about testing her nerve by playing with other doms…easy ones, of course. Was this a hint from the gods?

I can do this
. Determinedly, she joined the submissive queue, trying to figure out the rules. To her dismay, Xavier and Simon sat at a table by the stage, matching up each dom and calf. They’d make the choice for her? Her stomach clenched. What if she got a sadist?

But Simon was supervising. He’d been all protective since his party last year where Dirk had hurt her so badly, and he’d surely not choose someone cruel. Besides, if the dom caught her, she could still negotiate what the session afterward would involve. And they’d play here in a public place.

Despite her self-assurances, her heart rate increased as she neared the front.

The audience groaned as a sub managed to evade the chasing dom. The blonde, giggling in a high voice, jumped off the stage. Adjusting her skintight latex dress, she trotted back to the end of the line.

Xavier glanced at the sub in front of Summer and announced, “Jen is next. Gentlemen?”

The contenders raised their hands, and after a moment, Simon pointed to a tall, lanky man. “Aaron. Good luck. She’s a fast little critter.”

Jen and Aaron took their places.

My turn
. Summer stepped up to the desk and waited for the two doms to notice her.

With dark hair and dark eyes, Simon and Xavier appeared like a matched set although Xavier looked flashier in his gambler’s clothing. In his forties, Simon was older and attired as an 1860’s banker. Rich, classy, powerful doms—so not her kind.

“Summer, it’s good to see you.” Simon motioned her forward and asked quietly, “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Thank you, Sir.”

“Are you being careful?”

After she’d healed, he’d given her a lecture on safety measures, and she’d listened carefully. One set of scars from a misjudgment was enough. “Yes, Sir. I never play anywhere but here.”

He straightened, a crease forming between his brows. “That’s taking prudence a little too far, pet. How can you form a relationship if you won’t leave here?”

At the thought of being tied up and alone with a dom—a real dom—she felt as if someone had run a cold hand up her spine. “I’m happy being a sub here.”

Xavier frowned also. “A sub? You’re not submitting; you only go through the motions. Playacting.”

Just team up on me, why don’t you? And you’re wrong
. Her chin went up. “I believe that’s up to me.” When Xavier’s eyes turned to black ice, she gulped out a hasty, “My Liege.”

His forefinger tapped the desk for one beat.

She had a vision of being caged and hung from the ceiling like the last sub who’d displeased him.

Another tap.

Or up on the stage being used for flogging practice.

He finally nodded. “That is your choice.”

She took a relieved breath.
Thank you, God.

Xavier turned to the crowd. “Gentlemen, this is Summer. Who would like to win her submission?”

Oh great. Make a big deal of the submission part. Thanks, Xavier
. She turned to see an ego-stroking number of hands had gone up. A couple of sadists, some younger doms, and—her gaze was trapped by intent hazel eyes shaded by a black cowboy hat. The rest of the crowd blurred and faded away, leaving only the darkly tanned dominant she’d seen earlier.

He studied her; then his lips curved in a faint smile. He raised his hand to compete.

Her heart gave a nasty thud.
Oh God.

“Virgil, I believe this little calf is a good one for you. She’ll need a steady hand,” Xavier said.

As if she were caught in a dream, she watched the dom—Virgil—move forward through the crowd. He looked appallingly big. A couple of inches over six feet. Dirk’s height. Probably about as heavy too, but this dom was as solid as the mechanical bull. He wore a scuffed black hat, faded cowboy shirt, and well-worn boots; she doubted his western outfit was a costume.

As he stopped beside her, his level, assessing eyes met hers, and the floor seemed to shiver like quicksand under her feet.

He glanced at Xavier. “Thank you.” He sounded pleased, thank God, since she really didn’t want to annoy him. Why did he have to be as big as Dirk? He made her feel like a little calf, and she glanced down to make sure she hadn’t grown hooves.

The sun lines beside his eyes crinkled. When he took her hand, hard calluses on his fingers scraped her palm. “Nice to meet you, Summer.” His rough baritone voice curled around her in a dark embrace.

All the spit in her mouth dried up, yet she wanted to move closer.
Confused much, Summer?

“Are you ready to play?” Virgil asked, unsnapping his shirt cuffs and shoving his sleeves up to his elbows.

Lord have mercy. Even his heavy-boned wrists were muscular.
But he’s not Dirk, and I’m going to be a calf
. Her excitement started to rekindle.
An ornery calf
. “Only if you catch me.”

His growling laugh almost made her knees buckle.

“I’m glad to see you here, Virgil,” Simon said and added, “By the way, this little sub had a bad experience last year, but it’s time for her to move past it.”

Summer’s jaw dropped. “You… Damn you, that’s none of your busi—”

A hand covered her mouth completely, and a voice rumbled in her ear, “I’m new to the club, but I’d say that disrespecting a dom is a piss-poor idea.”

Oh hell
. Xavier came down hard on rudeness.

Seeing the cold stare he gave her, she tried to back away, except Virgil’s unmovable, rock-hard body pressed right up against hers. Xavier turned his gaze to Virgil. “Are you still interested?”

“Definitely.”

“She will need to be reprimanded for her rude behavior.”

Virgil didn’t speak for a long moment, then said, “I understand.”

“Very good.” Xavier tilted his head toward the stage. “You’re up.”

Summer climbed the steps, way too conscious of the big dom behind her. He’d punish her? The thought of his strong hand coming down on her bottom—of having a real spanking—sent anticipation zinging through her. She glanced over her shoulder.

Such a serious expression, brows together, mouth in a tight line. But as he watched the stage where Aaron had just tossed Jen over his shoulder, laughter appeared in his eyes.

Summer smiled. He had a sense of humor after all.
Oh, this might be totally great.

On the platform, the male sub directing the roping pointed to a big sack. “Boots and shirt go in there, Sir.” He checked her. “Your boots too.”

She got one boot off, but then Virgil removed his shirt and, oh Lord, her gaze got stuck on the impressive contours of his chest. With every movement, muscles rippled under his tanned skin. As he pulled his boots off, his biceps bunched, making her fingers tingle with the need to touch and discover if his muscles were as hard as they looked.

He caught her staring and smiled—not a conceited I-work-out-and-have-a-great-body type smirk, but more of a I’m-a-boy; you’re-a-girl; life-is-good. He nodded at her remaining boot.

Oh, right
. She yanked it off.

“Okay, Sir and sub.” The sub handed Virgil two pieces of short rope from a box and pointed to a taped line ten feet away. “When she reaches the yellow line, you give chase. If she gets to the far side or you can’t restrain her within the time limit, you lose. No tackling.”

“Got it.” Virgil gave her a slow smile. “I don’t think she’s that fast.”

She eyed him as he put the ropes between his teeth. God, this was too fun. Her competitive spirit ordered,
Run like hell
. Her inner submissive said,
Let him catch me
. The gung ho voice won, and she leaned forward.

The sub yelled, “Go!”

Chapter Two

Feet slapping on the plastic padding, Summer tore across the stage as fast as she could. She passed the yellow line.

She heard him behind her, the sound of his heavy stride drowning hers out. Closer. Several feet before the end, he grabbed her arm, spinning her around him until she faced the wrong way.