Timeless (2 page)

I fix him with an icy stare. "Is that a problem?"

"Of course not," he says quickly. He studies me closely. "Are you sure you're not a Domme?"

"I'm not sure of much when it comes to all this, but I’m absolutely sure about that,” I say with a sigh. “But trust me, you’re not the first to think so.”

"So how did you find out about us?" he asks curiously.

"My friend Tori knows the guy who’s in charge of it. I think Dominic is his name?”

His eyes light up. "Tori as in Tori Black?”

I nod. “Yep. The same Tori Black who, depending on how things go, might be dead after this weekend,” I say darkly. Forget that she’s the one who tried to talk me out of coming in the first place.

“Girl! Why didn't you say so sooner? I adore that girl. She's enough to make me wish I was straight." He pauses to consider for a moment, then shakes his head. "Nah! Not really. But if I were straight, I'd fight her hunky husband for her. On second thought, maybe I’d fight her for her hunky husband.”

I can’t help but laugh. He’s like a puppy with ADD.

He cocks his head at me, considering. “Listen, since it’s your first time and you're a friend of Tori’s, if you want I could introduce you to a Dom that I know you can trust who could show you around tonight until you're comfortable."

I smile at him. "That would be great!" I say with relief.

An hour later, I’ve hastily unpacked, freshened my makeup, and dressed for the evening’s theme—pirate night—in a white, long-sleeved, lace-trimmed shirtdress that barely reaches mid-thigh, a black leather corset that’s laced over it, a jaunty little black pirate hat, and black stiletto boots that conceal the smaller of the two guns I brought with me. What can I say? Agents always believe in being prepared.

Downstairs in the lobby, there’s no sign of Gavin. I wait ten minutes, but when he still doesn’t appear, I decide to take the bull by the horns. Gavin or no Gavin, it’s time for me to find out once and for all if this is what will fulfill my needs. Even if it's scary. When you’re five-foot-four, small-boned, and your father is the head of the FBI, people tend to think that nepotism is the only way you got the job, and from my first day at the academy to every job I’ve been assigned to since, I've always had to work harder and be tougher than everyone else to prove myself. I've gotten where I am by never letting my fear get the best of me. I’m not about to let it beat me now.

Resolutely, I walk into the great room where this evening’s party is being held. Although it looks kind of like a nightclub with dim lighting, throbbing music, and people mingling and laughing, the assortment of equipment—from huge X-shaped structures that I’ve read are called St. Andrews crosses to padded benches and hooks on the walls—is an unsettling reminder that it’s not.

First things first. I go to the scarred wooden bar and order a whiskey. According to the bartender, there’s a one alcoholic drink limit at play parties, so I figure I’d better make the most of it. I down it in one gulp, set the empty glass on the bar and then wander around, taking it all in. There are people on the small dance floor, which seems normal enough, as well as several stages set up around the room where demonstrations are taking place.

I watch, fascinated, as a man in a long leather coat that’s opened to reveal a smooth, muscled chest wields a flogger over the back and buttocks of a pretty blonde who’s chained to a St. Andrew’s cross, her tanned skin turning a dusty rose as the leather strands kiss her bared flesh. I give a little shiver of apprehension mixed with anticipation, pressing my thighs together as my vivid imagination sets my own nerve endings on fire as I imagine what it would feel like to be chained there helplessly as a man warms my skin so erotically.

“It’s quite sensual, isn’t it?”

I’m so involved in the scene in front of me that I jump at the low voice near my ear. I turn my head and look into the handsome face of a man who looks like he walked straight out of a Calvin Klein ad—blond, All-American good looks, hard body, and penetrating blue eyes. He’s a bit younger than me, but he has an air of confidence and authority about him that leaves no question that he’s a Dom. I nod, suddenly at a loss for words.

“What’s your name?” he asks kindly.

“Ariana, but my friends call me Ari.”

“Well, Ari then, as I hope we’ll be friends, it’s nice to meet you.” His smile is warm and it sets me immediately at ease.

We talk for a few minutes, and I learn that his name is Michael, he’s from Portland, and he’s a paramedic. I tell him I’m originally from Virginia and currently live in Texas, but I leave out the part about my job. I suddenly want more than anything to see how this goes without anything screwing it up.

“Do you like the flogger?” he asks as casually as if he’s asking if I like coffee.

“Um, I don’t know,” I admit. “This is my first time. But it looks interesting.”

He smiles at my admission and it lights up his entire face. He’s amazingly attractive. How did I get lucky enough to meet this gorgeous, nice guy right off the bat?

“Would you like to try it? Maybe pick out a flogger and see if you like the feel of it?”

When I hesitate, he adds encouragingly with the hint of a smile, “We’re in a room full of people. All you have to do is say ‘red’ and an army of monitors will be there faster than you can blink.” He cups my chin in his hand, bringing my gaze to his. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” His voice drops an octave. “That is, unless you want me to.”

I swallow hard as butterflies flutter tentatively in my belly. Do I? “Yes, I’d like to try it,” I whisper.

I follow him over to a wall where a variety of floggers are displayed, and he straightforwardly explains the differences between them—how the wider strands, called falls, feel more thuddy, and the narrower falls deliver more of a sting. Apparently, what the flogger is constructed of makes a difference as well, and I learn that suede is the least painful and oiled leather the most. At Michael’s suggestion, I choose a black and red suede one with a thick braided hilt, and with more than a little trepidation, I follow him to one of the padded benches.

“Is it okay if I restrain you?” he asks.

My stomach drops to my toes. My pulse is racing and my palms feel slightly sweaty, but this is what I came for. I nod.

“Say yes or no,” he instructs.

“Yes,” I say. It comes out louder than I intended and I flush with embarrassment.

Then his hand is on my upper back, pressing me forward until my chest is flush with the padded surface of the bench, my left cheek resting against the cool leather. He gently takes one of my wrists and fastens a leather cuff that’s attached to the bench around it, and then repeats the process with my other wrist. I pull against the restraints, testing them. My heart beats a little faster as I realize I can’t move my arms at all. Oh god.

I can feel Michael move behind me and then he flips the short skirt of my dress up, exposing my ass. Oh crap! I’m wearing nothing under the dress except a sexy, black scrap of a thong —it had seemed to fit the pirate theme when I put it on—and I feel utterly exposed. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying not to think about the fact that everyone who walks by can see my bare butt. I can feel the cool air of the room whisper across my skin and then Michael’s hands are on me, kneading and stroking each cheek until I feel myself begin to relax.

He removes his hand, and seconds later I feel the thud of leather against the warmed flesh of my buttocks. It’s pleasurably noticeable but not painful at all, and the rhythmic dull impact of the soft leather against my bare skin lulls me into a slightly foggy-headed stupor, like when I get a massage.

“Ah, there she is!”

Gavin’s distinct drawl yanks me straight out of my blissful state of relaxation. My eyes fly open. Two pairs of masculine legs fill my vision—one muscular pair clad in black with an unmistakably large bulge at the crotch and the other pair slimmer and ensconced in black leather boots. The boots disappear and Gavin’s face appears.

“Looks like you already found someone to show you a thing or two,” he says with an impish grin. He inclines his head toward my bare posterior. “Michael’s a good guy, but I wanted to introduce you to the Dom I was telling you about.”

Another face appears next to his and warm cognac eyes meet mine. I’d know those eyes anywhere. After all, they’ve haunted my dreams for the last ten years. I am totally fucked!

“Ariana, I’d like you to meet Marcus Dunn. He can show you around when you’re finished here.” Gavin winks at me, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m slowly dying inside.

Although one part of me had fervently hoped I’d never again lay eyes on the only man who’s ever broken my heart, another decidedly female part of me had fantasized about seeing him again one day. However, in my fantasies, I was looking drop-dead gorgeous with a gun trained on him as he begged for mercy, not bare-assed and tied to a table.

Marcus’ eyes widen slightly as recognition registers on his face. “Ari?”

“That’s Agent McKnight to you,” I snap, desperately trying to regain an iota of power in this uncompromising position.

“Is that so?” he says as a slow grin crosses his handsome features. “I’ll be damned. I didn’t think you’d make it a week.” He leans closer, his mesmerizing eyes holding my gaze. “But agent or not, here in the club you’ll call me ‘Sir,’” he adds softly.

Just like it did ten years ago, the authoritative tone of his voice reduces my insides to a puddle of liquid heat. There’s a little gray at the temples of his close-cropped dark hair and a few more laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, but otherwise he looks the same—reassuringly solid, confident, and sinfully gorgeous, with that same commanding but comforting presence that used to make me want to crawl into his arms and never leave.

His eyes darken as he takes in my compromising position. “Damn but you look good in cuffs,” he murmurs. His gaze turns to Gavin, and the younger man squirms under his scrutiny. “I thought you said it was her first time.”

“It is!” Gavin protests. “At least that’s what she told me.”

Those intense brown eyes focus on mine again as he arches a brow in silent question.

“It is my first time,” I manage.

Michael joins the other two men in my field of vision and my humiliation is officially complete.

“Please uncuff me,” I ask Michael with as much dignity as I can muster. He hesitates for a fraction of second, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“You heard her!” Marcus snaps, and Michael jumps into action, unbuckling the leather cuffs that had bound my wrists and helping me stand up. I adjust my skirt, my face flushed with heat.

“Thank you for giving Ari her first taste of BDSM,” Marcus says smoothly, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. “But I’ll take it from here.”

Michael nods quickly at Marcus and disappears into the crowd, clearly unwilling to tangle with the older and more commanding Dom. I want to call to him to come back. He was so nice and considerate. Nothing like the intimidating man standing next to me who seems to own the very air around us and who’s staring at me with eyes that still have the power to undo me.

“What did you do that for?” I demand. “We were having a perfectly nice time.”

“I could tell,” he says dryly, but his eyes are sparkling with humor and I feel like I’m missing the joke.

“Who have we here?” An older man in his early forties with a neatly trimmed goatee joins us, and Gavin lets out a breath of relief. I can’t blame him. The man exudes a certain air of calm civility and decorum and you can’t help but feel like everything’s going to be okay with him around.

“You already know Marcus,” Gavin says to him. “This is Ariana McKnight. She’s a friend of Tori’s and completely new to the scene. I offered to pair her up with Marcus for the evening so he could show her around and make sure she was safe.”

I’m pretty sure Marcus is about as safe as a barracuda.

The man smiles and holds out his hand, taking mine in his warm clasp. “Welcome to Five Pines, Ariana. Any friend of the Blacks is a friend of mine. I’m Dominic Bonnaire. I own the Pinnacle Club in Houston, and I’m in charge of this little club of ours away from home this weekend.” He has a richly cultured voice with a faintly European accent that is oddly reassuring.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

“Do you two already know each other?” he asks, looking from Marcus to me.

“We do,” Marcus says evenly, daring me to challenge him.

Dominic turns to me for affirmation. I nod. I may be fearless, but I doubt there’s anyone on the planet brave enough, or stupid enough, to contradict Marcus Dunn in a bold-faced lie. There’s a reason he’s one of the highest ranking Navy SEALS in the country. Of course when I first met him I hadn’t known that, any more than he’d known my father was the head of the FBI. We’d just been two Americans who became lovers in Italy.

“Yes. We were…friends many years ago.”

Marcus raises his eyebrow even higher at me, which I ignore.

“Excellent. So you are amenable to being Marcus’ submissive for the evening?”

I don’t want to spend a second longer with Marcus than I have to, but I also don’t want to make a scene in front of Tori’s friends, especially when they’re trying so hard to make me feel comfortable. I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

I have every intention of ditching him as soon as possible.

“Then I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted,” Dominic says to Marcus. He turns to me and adds, “Miss McKnight, please let me know if there’s anything you need. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

And then he’s gone, with Gavin scampering after him, and I’m alone with Marcus.

“What are you doing here, Ari?” he asks, turning to me.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I counter.

“Still feisty, I see,” he says, tracing my cheekbone with his finger. My breath catches. His touch still has the power to make me ache with need. He trails it lower, over the rapidly beating pulse in my neck, and then skims his knuckles across the tops of my breasts which are pushed up by the corset. This is what’s been missing with every other guy I’ve dated—the butterflies, the quickening pulse, that indescribable burst of chemistry that sets every nerve ending on fire.