A Hell's Angel

Chapter 1

Within seconds of meeting a man, Aggie could assign him to one of two lists.

List A: Men Not Worth My Time.

List B: Men I’d Like to Fuck.

List A grew in length every hour she worked at the nightclub, Paradise Found. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had landed himself on List B.

That might explain why Aggie dropped her bullwhip when he caught her attention. Whoever he was. Potential List B strode across the floor as if he owned the place. He had that stereotypical bad boy look—leather, tattoos, and a giant chip on his shoulder—which was contradicted by the sweetest face she’d ever seen. When he took a seat at the table closest to her stage, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankle, as if he planned to stay for a while.

Interesting. And entirely fuckable.

Sipping his beverage, Angel Face gazed up at her with an odd gleam of challenge in his dark eyes. Something about him had her instantly thinking naughty thoughts. Only half of them involved inflicting pain on his tight body. Oh, the guy was a looker, no denying that, but that wasn’t his main appeal. Strange thing was she didn’t know what set him apart from the other nightclub patrons. Perhaps she needed a new list just for him.

Temporary List C: Men I Can’t Instantly Label. She had no doubt that this list’s only assignee would quickly land himself on List A. In no way would she ever consider a customer List B potential. It didn’t matter how attractive he was.

Aggie retrieved her bullwhip from the stage floor (how embarrassing) and cracked it next to Hottie’s cheek. He didn’t flinch. His body tensed, but not with fear. From the slight gasp he emitted and the flutter of his lashes, she could tell her threat turned him on.

Most men liked to watch Aggie’s routine from the shadows and think they could take her abuse. Trying to show their toughness, they chose the dominatrix in leather to entertain them at Paradise Found, but few sat within striking distance of her bullwhip. Not that she’d actually hit anyone at the club. If a man wanted her to punish him for being born with a Y chromosome, he had to pay extra.

Aggie drew her arm back and lashed her whip at the new arrival’s cheek again. The leather snapped centimeters from his skin. She was satisfied when he didn’t flinch this time either. Oh Lord, he’d be fun to break. It had been forever since she’d had a real challenge in her dungeon.

He stared directly into her eyes as she danced closer. He looked quite young—midtwenties, maybe—but he had eyes wise beyond his years. She’d bet he’d seen a lot of tragedy in his life. Many of those who sought her for release had.

The young man beckoned her closer with a crooked finger. Surprised, she arched a brow at him and glanced at Eli, the bouncer who stood near the stage. She wasn’t supposed to discuss her side business at the club. As far as her coworkers were concerned, Aggie’s dominatrix routine was entirely an act. Later, when she moved to the floor to interact with customers on a more personal basis, she would slip her card to potential slaves, but her stage set wasn’t over yet. She needed to concentrate on her dancing and not daydream about making some tough-looking übercutie her bitch.

Aggie hooked her leg around a silver pole and twirled around it, her long, black hair flying out behind her. When she stopped, she found the guy had vacated his chair and was standing against the stage at her feet. He pulled a bill from his back pocket and held it out to her between two fingers. Hello, C-note. Mama needs a new pair of boots.

Holding onto the pole with one hand, she leaned toward the customer, offering the tops of her full breasts to his view. His gaze shifted to her bare skin, and he drew his tongue over his upper lip. Usually, one guy looked as mundane as another to her, but she took in every inch of this one, from his heavy black boots to his spiked platinum blond hair. Dark eyes. Dark eyebrows. Dark beard stubble. The hint of a tattoo revealed itself above the neckline of his T-shirt. A studded leather band adorned his right wrist. He looked hard and tough, yet saccharine sweet at the same time. A hell’s angel, heavy on the angel. She wondered if his beard stubble was an attempt to cover up that undeniably cute face of his.

He slid the bill between Aggie’s breasts and into the bodice of her black leather bustier. As his fingertips brushed her skin, her nipples tightened. Totally unusual reaction for her. Customers typically gave her the heebie-jeebies when they touched her. This one had all her systems set to go. The small silver hoop in his earlobe caught a strobe light. Aggie gnawed on her tongue, wanting to nibble on his ear instead. She did have a thing for ears.

Um, wrong answer, Aggie. Customers were never fair game for action in the sack.

“Do you do private dances?” he asked, his chocolate-brown eyes locked with hers. His voice was deeper than she’d expected and so quiet, she wouldn’t have heard him over the throbbing club music if she hadn’t been leaning so close.

“You mean like a lap dance?”

“If that’s what you do. How much?”

“Fifty bucks.”

He handed her another hundred. The guy must have had a good day at the casino. He didn’t look rich. He wore a plain white T-shirt, worn black leather jacket, and snug blue jeans, which clung to the huge bulge in his pants. Well, hello there, big guy. She was glad she wasn’t the only one thinking her next dance should be the horizontal mamba.

Aggie, pull yourself together, woman. He’s a customer. No can do. Oh, but she so wanted to. Do. Him.

His gaze lowered to the floor, and he flushed. “Do you offer other services?”

Whoa, buddy. Brakes engaged. “I’m not a prostitute, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I want you to hurt me.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath into his expanding chest. “Hard-core.”

Oh yeah. Can do, sugar.

Aggie glanced over at the bouncer again to make sure he wasn’t watching her side transaction. Eli’s attention was on the far stage, where Paradise Found’s newest dancer, Jessica, a.k.a. Feather, was dancing in her white feathers and silk scarf. Men were mesmerized by her. Even though Jessica had a fantastic body and knew how to move it, she simply didn’t have the right mind-set to be an exotic dancer. None of the drooling men who surrounded Feather’s stage with slightly bulging eyes and excessively bulging flies would agree with Aggie’s opinion. All they saw was her beautiful outer package—not the severely broken heart within. Aggie saw it though. She’d recognized it the instant she’d met Jessica and helped her land this job. Poor lamb. So confused and conflicted.

Aggie returned her attention to the guy at her feet. She didn’t have the same sympathy for men. “I do indulge for a price,” Aggie told him, “but no sex.”

“I don’t need sex.”

She nodded. He wasn’t new to this. Which made him so much more fun than her usual victims. She had a few regulars who visited her dungeon, but most of her customers were guys visiting Vegas who wanted to explore their darker sides for a night. She never saw most of them again, which suited her just fine. Many dommes preferred regulars, but Aggie would rather turn over a quick buck and avoid growing fond of one of her submissives.

Her current interest’s body held tension in every line. When he glanced up at her, the deep emotional pain in his gaze made her belly quiver. Yeah, blondie, you’re exactly the challenge I need right now. “I can work you over, angel, but not here. I’ll slip you my card later, and you can call me. If you’re lucky, I’ll show you my dungeon.”

He shuddered, his breath coming out in an excited gasp.

Maybe she should take him backstage and give him a taste of what she had to offer. He looked ready to explode with the strain of containing his pain. He needed the release she could give him. And she needed to see him grovel at her boots so she could dismiss him as not worth her time. The sooner he joined the thousands of men on List A, the better.

Aggie dropped down on her knees on the stage to continue dancing as she talked to him. “When do you need this?”

“As soon as possible.”

“I think I have an opening in a few days.”

“Tonight. I’ve got money. Name your price.”

Name your price? He was definitely speaking her language, but making him wait would do half her work for her. She ran her bloodred, pointed nails down the side of his neck, leaving light scratches in their wake. “I’ll check my calendar and see if I can squeeze you in. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.”

She was eager to raise welts on his flesh and hear him cry out in pain. Wanted the ultimate prize he would gift her: begging her for mercy, begging her to stop. That sweet instant he gave her all of his power and she owned him. That’s what she wanted. What she needed to keep herself elevated from that deep, dark pit she’d once resided in. But it was too soon to indulge him. He’d attain greater fulfillment if she put him off a few days. Let the anticipation settle into his body and his thoughts until he could think of nothing but the delicious agony she promised.

A commotion on the other side of the room drew her attention. Eli, Aggie’s bouncer, darted toward Feather’s stage. Some big, good-looking customer had captured Jessica in his arms. She was wrapped in a leather jacket with her arms trapped helplessly. Several bouncers were trying to secure her release. Several others were escorting some tall, thin guy out of the club. A third guy standing next to Jessica’s captor shook his head in disgrace. All three customers had a similar look to them. Like they were in some rock band or something. Come to think of it, the cute guy at the end of her stage had a similar appearance. A matching set. She looked down to find her potential good time had vanished.

“Motherfuckers!” her blond angel yelled as he launched himself onto the back of one of the bouncers.

***

When Jace saw that a bouncer was dragging Sinners’ drummer, Eric, toward the exit, he didn’t think, he just acted. All thoughts of the beautiful, black-haired dominatrix and what glorious things she could do to his body fled his mind.

Jace raced across the club, hurdled a chair, and landed on the bouncer’s back. He knew he wasn’t big enough to take him down, but Jace could fight. If things had turned out differently, he might have become a professional boxer, instead of the bass guitarist for a rock band.

He didn’t mind an occasional brawl—he was good at fighting and knew how to knock a man out in one punch—but Jace wasn’t even sure why they were engaging with a bunch of bouncers at Brian’s bachelor party. They were supposed to be celebrating, not stirring up shit. Eric had better have a good reason for making eight club bouncers pissed enough to hit anything that moved. As the fight moved to the sidewalk outside the club, it escalated. Jace took out a couple of guys with one punch, before pausing to assess the situation.

Tall and wiry, Eric was putting up a fine fight, but was outnumbered four to one. Surrounded on all sides with no way out, Eric unexpectedly pointed to the sky. “Look, the Flying Elvises!”

All four bouncers stared up at the dark sky like turkeys in a hailstorm. When their attention turned skyward, Eric crashed into one of the bouncers at waist level, trying to escape the circle of muscle, but as soon as they realized there were no parachuting icons to entertain them, all four bouncers pounded Eric in rapid succession.

Jace decided to even the odds. Two uppercuts and a couple dozen jabs later, two more bouncers lay on the sidewalk: one out cold, the other attempting to rise, but failing to regain his equilibrium.

Eric wiped the blood out of his eye, his surprised gaze shifting from the human debris at his feet to Jace. “Jesus, little man, you’re a one-man wrecking crew.”

Distracted by Eric’s compliment, Jace found an unexpected fist against his jaw. Pain radiated up the side of his face. His ears rang. Vision blurred. The pain he didn’t mind, but the jar to his senses left him unbalanced. He took another hit to the jaw before he could focus well enough to knock his adversary out with one hard punch under the chin.

Breathing hard, Jace spun and saw some guy whack Sinners’ rhythm guitarist, Trey, in the back of the head with an aluminum bat. Trey hadn’t even been in the club when the fight broke out. Why had he been targeted? “Fuckin’ queer,” the bouncer growled.

Trey dropped to the sidewalk, instantly unconscious. Eric went after the fucktard with the bat, yanking the weapon out of his hands, and tossing it into the road beyond the sidewalk.

“No one.” Eric punched the guy in the face. “Calls him.” Hit him again. “A queer.” And again. “Ever.” Eric continued to pummel the guy until he stopped getting up.

Their lead guitarist, Brian (when in the hell had he joined the fray?), had a one-on-one fight going with the last bouncer standing. The two of them went back and forth with blows down the sidewalk. Brian took a hard fist to the nose, which pissed him off enough to take the guy down with a couple of quick punches.

Jace took a deep breath. Glad it was over. Now maybe he could finish his whiskey and make that appointment with that hot-as-blue-flames dominatrix. Sinners’ vocalist, Sed, burst out of the club. Apparently, he’d gotten tired of the stripper he’d captured off the stage and was ready to fight. They could have used him earlier. Sed was huge. A bodybuilder who would have made a good bouncer had he not been gifted with a voice from the heavens. Sed glanced around, looking for someone to hit, but every bouncer was already down.

Unfortunately, so was Trey.

Sed crossed the sidewalk in two strides and bent over Trey. Sed took him by both shoulders, lifted his torso off the ground, and gave him a gentle shake. Out cold, Trey’s head lolled loosely. “Trey? Trey! Trey, open your eyes.” Sed glanced at Eric. “What the fuck happened to him?”

“That douche bag whacked him in the back of the head with a ball bat.” Said douche bag was groaning in the middle of the sidewalk. Eric had made a mess of the guy’s face.

“What the fuck?” Sed eased Trey down to the sidewalk, dropped to his knees, and put his ear to Trey’s chest. “His heart’s still beating. He’s breathing.”

“Well, duh. You didn’t think he was dead, did you? He isn’t even bleeding.”

Brian staggered his way back up the sidewalk to join them. He massaged the knuckles of his right hand, his dark brows drawn together in an angry scowl. “Damn it, Eric, why do you always have to start shit?”

“It was Sed’s fault. He’s the one who grabbed Jessica off the stage.”

Jace’s gaze swiveled toward Sed in astonishment. Jessica? Sed’s fiancée who’d dumped him almost two years ago? Small world. Jace hadn’t recognized her without clothes.

“Who cares who started it? It’s over,” Sed said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before the cops show up. I doubt Myrna will want to bail Brian out of jail on their wedding day, and then there’s the concert tomorrow. Kind of can’t miss it.”

They probably should have thought about that before they messed up their hands, faces, and bodies in a brawl that seemed pointless now that it had ended. While a world record contender for the Shortest Bachelor Party Ever, Brian’s last night as a single man had definitely been one to remember.

Jace glanced at the club’s door and released a frustrated sigh. He hadn’t gotten that wood-inducing dominatrix’s card, and he so needed to see her in private. Fighting tended to release some of his tension—that’s why he continued to box for recreation, even though he had a better gig in a rock band now—but getting in a bar fight didn’t sooth his soul’s turmoil. Not in the same way being whipped to the limits of his tolerance by a woman in spiked heels and black leather would.

Sed scooped Trey off the sidewalk, tossed him over one broad shoulder, and headed to the pink ’57 Thunderbird parked at the curb. The sound of sirens grew increasingly loud.

“Jace, let’s go!” Eric shouted.

After one last look of longing at the club’s swinging doors, Jace climbed on his Harley, waited for Eric to settle down behind him, and then followed the car back to their tour bus behind the Mandalay Bay Hotel. Surely someone would report their vehicles. There were plenty of witnesses to the fight. Every member of his band was probably screwed. Busted. In huge trouble. Their manager, Jerry, had told them if any of them were arrested again, not to bother calling him. He refused to bail them out. He also threatened their stage crew with immediate termination should they lend their aid. Jerry didn’t make idle threats.

When Jace pulled to a stop behind the tour bus, Trey stumbled out of Myrna’s car and leaned against the fender. At least he was conscious now. Jace rocked the bike back on its kickstand, shut off the engine, and went to check on Trey.

“You all right, man?” Jace asked.

None of his bandmates were what Jace would consider tan, but Trey looked downright ghostly.

“Yeah. Just a little dizzy.” Trey pressed on his temples with both hands. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

Brian leaned out the driver’s window. “Get back in the car, Trey, and we’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Fuck that. You know I hate hospitals. Why do you think I never followed in my father’s footsteps?”

“Because you’re too dumb to be a doctor,” Brian said. “Now get back in the car.”

Sed unfolded his six-foot-four frame from the little car. “Listen to Brian, Trey. Get back in the car.” He grabbed Trey by the shoulders and tried to force him.

Trey pulled out of his grasp. “Eric’s bleeding all over the fuckin’ place, and you aren’t threatening to take him to the hospital.”

Sed shrugged. “Whatever. It’s just Eric.”

“Thank you very fucking much for your concern, Sed,” Eric said. “Really. Appreciate it.” From the gash on the side of his head, blood continued to drip down Eric’s face and onto his black T-shirt.

“Do you need stitches?” Jace asked.

Eric’s brows drew together. “Do you?”

Jace shook his head. “I’m not bleeding anywhere.”

“And why is that, little man?”

Jace shrugged, shifting his gaze to the ground to prevent Eric from recognizing that he’d managed to push his buttons. Again. He just couldn’t win with Eric. Ever. And he respected him too much to knock him on his ass. Jace took a deep breath and released it slowly as he stared at the ground. He took a lot of shit from Eric, but if that’s what he had to do to stay in this band, he’d continue to take it. Nothing else on this whole fucking planet meant more to him than these four brilliant musicians.

“Sed, give me your sunglasses,” Brian said, now standing in their little huddle and waving a hand at Sed.

“What the fuck do you need sunglasses for? It’s almost midnight.”

“Just hand them over.”

Sed retrieved his shades from his jacket pocket, handed them to Brian, and then took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going in. Myrna is going to kill me for letting Brian get his ass kicked the night before their wedding.”

“I didn’t get my ass kicked.”

“You’ve looked better, my friend. Trust me on that.”

Sed headed up the tour bus steps, followed by Eric.

“You sure you’re okay, Trey?” Jace asked.

“Yeah. I just need some ice.” Trey fingered the back of his head and winced. He followed Eric up the steps, only veering slightly to the left.

“You go next,” Brian insisted of Jace.

Jace grinned at him. “Afraid of Myrna?”

“Hell, yeah, I’m afraid of Myrna. I hate arguing with her. She always wins. And she has every reason to be pissed at me. Who wants to stand at the altar with a guy who has two black eyes?”

Jace’s grin widened, and the warmth of embarrassment spread across his face. “Myrna does. She loves you.”

Brian took a deep breath. “I hope you’re right. God, I can’t get that ring on her finger fast enough. Okay, Jace, go. Sed’s probably broken the news to her by now. I need multiple obstacles in her path, and I don’t think she’d actually hit you. She thinks you’re the sweet one.” Brian almost choked on his laugh.

Jace had never given Myrna a reason to think otherwise. “Everything will be okay. Just grovel.”

“Grovel?” Brian looked reflective for a moment, and then nodded. “Can do.”

Jace climbed the steps to find Myrna, still wearing her business suit and looking all prim and proper, when she was decidedly not prim and proper by any stretch of the imagination, fussing over the cut near Eric’s temple. Eric ate up every minute of her concern. He had a little, make that big, crush on Brian’s woman, so any attention she paid him made him giddy and stupid. Trey was searching the freezer for ice. Sed stood next to the dining table looking like he’d robbed a bank.

It didn’t even take two minutes for Myrna to put Brian in his place. She was conscious enough of the lack of privacy to take their argument to the bedroom at the back of the bus, but even with the door closed, Jace could hear Brian’s groveling. He was doing a fine job by Jace’s estimation, though Myrna still didn’t sound too forgiving about her fiancé’s matching black eyes.

Jace rubbed his swollen knuckles, wondering how he was going to play the next night. He couldn’t let himself get into any more fights. If he hurt his hands, Sinners would undoubtedly get rid of him. He didn’t want to give them a reason to fire him from the band. Not after he’d worked so hard to become a part of it.

Sed retrieved a bottle of aspirin from the bathroom and grinned as he handed it to Trey. He nodded toward the thin bedroom door. “I guess they made up.”

No more sounds of Brian groveling. Just the unmistakable cries of ecstasy that Myrna produced on a very regular basis.

Trey laughed. “Who can stay mad at Brian?” He swallowed several pills and passed the bottle to Eric.

“I’m glad they made up,” Eric said, holding a bloody dish towel to his temple. “I’d have felt terrible if she called the wedding off.”

“You should feel terrible,” Jace said, staring at the floor, as he knew his gaze would hold a challenge. Through all the lessons his father tried to teach him, keeping defiance out of his gaze had never stuck. “You started the whole thing.”

“Well, I didn’t ask for your help, little man, now did I?” Eric said.

Nope, he hadn’t. Jace should have stayed out of it and let those bouncers rearrange Eric’s face.

Jace pursed his lips and nodded slightly. He left the bus without a word, not in the mood for another confrontation. Not with Eric. The man who had no idea how much of a positive impact he’d had on Jace’s life. If he’d thought of Eric as anything less than his hero, he would have punched him in the face years ago.

Jace climbed on his Harley, secured his helmet, and started the bike. The engine roared to life beneath him. The freedom the sound represented instantly brought him peace of mind. He headed off, not really knowing where he was going, but his thoughts had settled on a black-haired beauty with a whip. That woman was exactly what he needed.

He wondered if she was still at the club. He needed to pick up that card she’d promised him and make an appointment for her perfect abuse.

Immediately.

Chapter 2

Jace pulled into the alley alongside the strip club. He shouldn’t even be there. While he’d always been good at remaining unnoticed, he knew he had a distinctive appearance, and bouncers didn’t take kindly to getting their asses kicked. If they caught sight of him, he’d probably spend the night in jail. Or worse, the hospital. Participating in a fight was one thing, being jumped by a group of musclemen, another thing entirely. But he was willing to risk it to see her again. Her. Whoever she was. Hell, he didn’t even know her name.

Jace turned off the Harley’s ignition, shifted the bike backward to engage the kickstand, and climbed off. Leaning against the side of the seat with his helmet on, he waited outside the back exit for his beautiful demon in black leather to emerge. He hoped he hadn’t missed her. He needed her. In a bad way. He’d wait all night if he had to. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to be.

Over the next half hour, several people, mostly other dancers, exited the club through the back door. Jace earned a few curious glances, but no one questioned his motives.

When she finally emerged, his breath caught. She wore a long, black fur coat over her leather bustier, black satin panties, and thigh-high boots. Jace suppressed a shudder of primal longing. She paused at the bottom of the steps and reached into her pocket, searching for something. A cigarette, perhaps?

Jace patted his pockets looking for a lighter, but she pulled out a pack of gum and popped a piece in her mouth. She turned her head in his direction.

Noticed him.

His cock stirred with excitement. Anticipation. Every inch of his skin tingled with longing.

Her full, red lips curled into a sexy smile.

Did she recognize him? He didn’t know how. He still wore his helmet with its black face shield down. Maybe she smiled like that at every guy. He wasn’t sure why that thought bothered him. He just wanted to buy her services for a few hours, not make her a permanent fixture in his life. But as fixtures went, she was in a class all her own. Dear God, the woman was positively luscious.

She walked toward him, moving gracefully, like a prowling cat. The closer she got, the harder his heart thudded and the faster it raced. Jace stood straight, stepping away from the bike.

She stopped directly in front of him. He could feel her body heat through his clothes. It caressed his skin. Heightened his awareness of her.

He leaned toward her. Wanting to touch her. Taste her. Experience everything she was.

But mostly, he wanted her to beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

“I thought you might show up,” she murmured. “I still owe you a dance.”

In her three-inch, thigh-high boots, she stood a couple inches taller than him. Without them, he probably had an inch on her. Her height didn’t bother him. Looking up at her excited him. Her long white neck excited him. The sharp angle of her jaw. Smooth cheek. Full eyelashes. Thick, black bangs. The musky scent of her perfume mingled with leather and spearmint gum. The soft, husky sound of her voice. Everything about her excited him. He needed her. Now. It took every shred of his willpower not to drag her body against his.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked.

She lifted the visor of his helmet and stared into his eyes. Her cerulean blue irises stood in shocking contrast to her jet-black hair and porcelain-white skin. “Besides the fact that you’re still wearing the same clothes?”

Oh.

“It’s the way you carry yourself, angel. The tension in your body. It pulsates off you. How long has it been since you’ve had release?”

He knew what she meant. She didn’t mean sexual release. He could have that any time he wanted. She meant how long since he’d gotten what he needed. The release she could give him. “Almost a year.”

She pursed her lips with sympathy. “Poor baby. I’ll fix it.” She touched his cheek. “Make it all better.”

Ripples of delight snaked along his jaw, down his neck and belly. Grabbed him by the balls. He shuddered. Reached for her. Needing it. Her.

She slapped his hand away. “No.”

He clenched his hand into a fist and lowered it to his side. He knew she was a domme and used to men taking her orders, so he allowed her to retain her power. For now. “Let’s go.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now. Right now.”

She laughed. The rich, husky sound made his spine tingle.

“I’ve got to go back to work, sugar.”

His breath came out in a frustrated huff. “Then when? When?”

“Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock.”

Jace’s stomach tightened. He shook his head. “I can’t wait that long.”

Her hand cupped his crotch. His breath caught. She squeezed his balls. Not too hard. Just enough to gift him with delicious agony. It hurt so good, he bit his lip to stop himself from crying out in ecstasy.

“You will wait,” she said evenly. “Say it.”

He resisted.

She squeezed harder. “Say it.”

He drew the horrible, sweet pain inside, craving more of the same.

She removed her hand, and he winced. His stomach roiled, but he wanted more pain. Lots more. And he knew she wouldn’t give it to him, ever, unless he obeyed her. “I will wait.”

She smiled and slid something into his hand. A business card. “This is the address. Be on time, or I won’t answer the bell.”

He glanced down at her plain black business card. There was just enough light in the alley to make out the blood red text.

Mistress V

Specializing in corporal punishment

Corporal punishment? Lord, he almost came down his leg, just seeing it in print.

Jace took a steadying breath to clear his thoughts. He had other responsibilities to consider. Sinners had an important performance the next night. Would the concert be over by ten? Though they usually headlined, Sinners was opening tomorrow, so their set started earlier than usual. They should be done by nine thirty, so he’d have to hurry. “I’ll be there,” he said.

“I look forward to making you beg for mercy,” she murmured.

“Then you’ll be disappointed.” He slid her card into his pocket and climbed onto his bike. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life beneath him. “Until tomorrow.”

Chapter 3

Jace moved his ice pack from his left hand to this right. The swelling was starting to go down, but he knew he wouldn’t play for shit tonight. They were opening for Exodus End, in front of a sold out crowd. In fucking Las Vegas, Nevada. This should be a huge boost to their music careers, and they were all but guaranteed to suck. Sinners was moving up in the business, but Exodus End was at the top of the genre with no signs of slowing down. Could Sinners have picked a worse concert to be off their game? Not likely.

Rock star hair wet from a recent shower, Eric sank onto the sofa beside Jace. “How’s the hand?”

Jace shrugged. “I’ll live.”

“Yeah, but more importantly, can you play?”

Jace looked up at Eric, who had three thin strips of tape on his temple holding his wound closed. “Should be able to. How’s Trey?”

“He’s taking a nap.”

Jace drew his brows together. “A nap?” That didn’t sound like Trey. Shouldn’t he be out finding some girl to fuck for a couple hours? Or some guy? Trey didn’t care either way. “Maybe we should take him to the doctor.”

“I think he’s kind of down about Brian getting married this afternoon. He won’t say anything, of course, but Brian isn’t going to have as much time for his best friend now that Wifey Sinclair is in the picture.”

Jace guessed that made sense. Trey and Brian had been best friends for almost twenty years. They were even roommates. Trey was bound to feel left out now that Brian was married. “Yeah.”

With no warning, Eric slapped Jace on the back of the head. “Why didn’t you ever mention that you fight like a UFC champion?”

Jace glanced up at him. “You never asked.”

“Where did you learn to kick ass?”

The cabin of the tour bus seemed to close in on Jace. He did not like to think about his past, much less talk about it. He stared at the ice pack on his hand and shrugged. “I dunno. How about you? You were kickin’ some ass.”

Jace hoped to change the focus from himself to Eric. It usually worked to dissuade prying. Especially with Eric, attention whore extraordinaire.

“I had no choice but to learn to fight. I was shuffled from foster home to foster home for fifteen years. I didn’t get the benefit of being matched with a sponsor who wanted to help kids or make a healthy family. They were all just looking for an easy paycheck. Half of them didn’t even feed me.” He shrugged, his blue eyes brightening as he effortlessly abandoned thoughts of his past. Jace wished he was capable of doing that. “Knocking heads together is fun though, right?”

Fun? No, not really. Validating? Yeah, totally. “I guess. What started that fight anyway?”

“You didn’t see that bouncer put Sed in a choke hold? He didn’t even release him when I told him he was a professional singer. I had to deck him one.”

Jace would have probably decked him one too. Sed’s voice was one of those things that made Sinners so unique. Jace smiled slightly. “I’m glad we kicked their asses then.”

“We should go rehearse.” Eric launched to his feet. “Our set is about half the length it usually is. I just know I’ll end up kicking off with the intro to ‘Twisted’ when I should be playing ‘Good-bye Is Not Forever.’”

Jace chuckled. “I have the feeling we’re gonna suck tonight anyway.” He climbed from the comfortable leather sofa and tossed his melting ice pack in the tour bus’s small freezer.

“No one will notice. The fans will be too excited to see Exodus End to give a rat’s ass what we do.”

“I think they’ll notice that we suck.”

Eric chuckled. “Don’t worry. No one ever listens to the bass guitarist. Suck as much as you want.”

Jace bit his lip to prevent himself from telling Eric off. The tension was really starting to get to him, and he needed an outlet. How many hours until he could visit Mistress V? He glanced at the clock on the stereo. Shit. Four hours too many.

After rehearsal and a quick bite of leftover wedding cake, Jace stood backstage off by himself, trying to psyche himself up enough to play live in front of twelve thousand people. The swelling in his hands had gone down, but his fingers lacked their usual flexibility. He feared that they’d let Exodus End down and do a piss-poor job as their opening band tonight. It made him sick to think that he might disappoint them. He owed that band a world of gratitude. Especially their lead guitarist, Dare.

Something poked him in the left shoulder, and he turned to find Eric grinning at him, while using his drumstick as a prod. “You gonna hide out by the drum kit again tonight?”

Jace shrugged. He didn’t like the performance part of playing live. He just wanted to play his bass guitar with all the skill he could muster and leave the crowd entertainment to Sed, Brian, and Trey. The three of them were naturals when it came to interacting with the audience. Jace wasn’t. He felt like an ass whenever he forced himself from the security of the back half of the stage.

“There’s a problem with that idea tonight, little man.”

“What problem?”

“We’re opening, which means we’re working with half a stage. There’s no room for you near the back. My drums take up too much room. It’s front and center for you tonight.”

Jace’s stomach plummeted into his boots. “Shit.”

Eric laughed at his misery. “This should be entertaining. Though I do remember a show when Brian was distracted with Myrna, and you took up his slack. You can be entertaining when you want to be.”

Problem was he never wanted to be. He was there for the music. No other reason. He didn’t require the ego trip of fan adulation. A loud crash startled Jace out of his reverie. Travis, one of their long time roadies, extended a hand into a pile of empty guitar cases and pulled Trey to his feet.

“You okay?” Travis asked.

Trey stumbled sideways as he regained his footing and held onto Travis’s arm for a long moment. Still unnaturally pale, Trey nodded slowly. “Yeah, just lost my balance.”

Jace moved to stand next to their unsteady rhythm guitarist. “I think you should go get checked out. Head injuries aren’t something to mess around with.”

“I’m fuckin’ fine. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m severely injured. Where in the hell is Brian?”

“I think he’s getting in a quickie with Myrna,” Sed said, chomping down red licorice ropes by the yard. He used the candy’s glycerin to lubricate his vocal cords, or so he claimed. His throat must still be bothering him.

“Jesus, all he does is fuck that woman these days,” Trey grumbled. “Doesn’t he realize we’re onstage in ten minutes?”

“Seven minutes,” Dave, their front of house soundboard operator, corrected before jogging out into the audience to work his magic on their audio equipment.

Trey stumbled against Jace, who grabbed him by both arms to steady him. “Take deep breaths.”

Trey closed his eyes and obeyed without argument.

“Better?”

He nodded slightly and then winced in pain. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Eric said. “You’re going to break something.”

“Probably your neck,” Brian said as he finally joined them and lifted his guitar strap over his head.

“Done boning Myrna?” Trey asked, shaking his head at the pussy-whipped disgrace his best friend had become.

Brian chuckled. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”

Sed scowled and grabbed Jake, their Mohawk-sporting, guitar-tuning roadie, by both arms. “Yo, Jake. Find me two real hot ones for tonight.” Sed’s scowl deepened. “Make that three hot ones.”

No one needed to ask three hot whats. Sed meant groupies. He’d been in a mood since he’d run into his ex, Jessica, the night before. Whichever three groupies Jake selected for Sed’s entertainment were going to get fucked. Fucked long, hard, and good. Sed was in all-out predatory mode. Jace was doubly glad he’d be spending the time after their concert in Mistress V’s dungeon. The bite of her whip was sure to be less painful than watching Sed’s groupies cry and beg for his attention, after he’d finished with them and sent them on their way.

The stadium lights went down, and the crowd cheered, knowing it meant it was time for the band to take the stage.

When Trey stumbled over the bottom step in the dark, Brian took him by one arm and helped him climb up to the stage. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?” Jace heard Brian say over the crowd noise.

“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm free of Brian’s hold and trotted over to his usual spot stage right. There wasn’t much light for Jace to find his own yellow X taped on the floor. At least he was behind the front line and somewhere in the middle. Here he could probably hide behind Sed’s broad, muscular form.

The first thump of Eric’s bass drum kicked Jace’s heart rate up a notch. He entered the first song, “Twisted,” with his steady bass line progression. His bruised and swollen fingers protested every note. By the time Brian entered his solo, Jace could scarcely force his fingers to move at all. Trey found a speaker to sit on. He typically strummed his rhythm guitar shreds with great enthusiasm, but several stumbles into his mic stand had him seeking a stable place to rest. He did manage to play without problem, as long as he didn’t move around much. When Sed roared into the mic at the end of Brian’s somewhat screwed up solo, the singer broke off mid-note with a cough. He cleared his throat and tried again with no success. Jesus, what a disaster.

When the song blissfully came to an end, Jace rubbed his stiff and aching knuckles while Sed called to the crowd and told them they were the best audience ever. Same thing he told every crowd. He made no excuses for the band’s unusual suckatude. The only one who was performing anywhere near normal was Eric. As Eric was the main reason they’d gotten into a club brawl in the first place, it didn’t seem fair that he didn’t suck as much as the rest of them.

Since Sed’s singing was subpar, he apparently decided additional showmanship could make up for it. He dove into the crowd in the middle of their set’s second song and seemed oblivious to the fact that he missed singing the vast majority of the lyrics, as the crowd passed him hand-over-hand above their heads. If Jace had tried that crazy shit, he’d probably have been tossed on the cement and trampled to death. Security rescued Sed from the writhing crowd, and he eventually made his way back to the stage.

“Hell yeah. You crazy muthas know how to rock!” Sed cried into his microphone. “Who’s here to see fucking Exodus End?” He thrust a fist in the air as the crowd erupted into cheers. He cleared his throat. Winced. Turned his volume down to a lower roar. “My throat’s a bit sore tonight. Note to self, do not get into fights in strip clubs the night before a show, no matter how fucking hot the chick is.”

The audience cheered Sed’s debauchery. Jace couldn’t help but smile. The more trouble Sinners got into, the more their fans loved them. Occasionally, they had to act like, well, sinners and maintain their mostly fabricated, dark image. They waited while Brian and Trey traded their usual electric guitars for acoustics to play their next song, “Good-bye Is Not Forever.” This song always put a fucking knot in Jace’s throat. It reminded him of Kara Sinclair. They’d had a secret relationship as teenagers. The more reckless, lawless, and out of control Jace had been, the more attracted to him she’d become. One reason he couldn’t forget her was Kara was Brian’s younger sister, or had been, before a car accident had taken her life. Brian had no idea that Jace had once dated her. Stolen her innocence. That was a secret he planned to keep to the grave. No reason to tarnish a man’s pure and cherished memories of his perfect little sister.

Trey and Brian flanked the sides of the stage, sitting on platforms, as they strummed the intricate riff of the band’s one and only ballad. Sed sat on the front of the stage, his legs dangling over the edge, and sang his heart out. Requisite knot in his throat, chills raced down Jace’s spine at the sound of Sed’s amazing voice.

The only one standing, Jace felt incredibly exposed. He took a deep breath, his fingers finding the thick, metal guitar strings and appropriate notes by memory. Concentrating on producing the perfect sound—which wasn’t easy with his knuckles so swollen—he approached the front of the stage, standing between Sed and Trey. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking note of the sudden enthusiasm of several young women in the audience as he entered their view. Jace saluted a particularly excited twenty-something with two fingers, and she grabbed the hem of her T-shirt. She lifted both hands over her head, screaming at the top of her lungs, as she exposed her naked breasts to the band. Sed glanced up at Jace and grinned. Not to be outdone, Sed lifted his shirt and flashed a pair of hard pecs and his washboard abs to the Lady Sinners in the first few rows. The squeals of the women in the audience made Jace’s ears ring, even over the music filtering in through his earpiece.

Sed tilted his head at Jace, as if to say, your turn. Jace shook his head and took several steps backward, his temporary desire to interact with the crowd completely obliterated. He kept in good shape, but was no match for Sed’s body-builder physique. No sense in embarrassing himself in front of twelve thousand people.

By the time the concert ended, Jace’s fingers refused to move, Trey could barely stand at all, Sed was singing at a whisper, and Brian was so distracted—by thoughts of his honeymoon, no doubt—that he walked offstage without removing his guitar. It produced a series of discordant sounds as he headed backstage at a run until a roadie managed to stop him long enough to claim the instrument from their eager lead guitarist. All things considered, Jace couldn’t remember a worse performance. If the crowd noticed, you couldn’t tell by their cheers and the chanting of “Sinners, Sinners, Sinners” ringing through the entire stadium.

“Wow, you all sucked,” Eric commented as he tossed a drumstick into the crowd at the front of the stage.

Jace flicked his guitar pick to the flasher chick in the front row. When it landed in her outstretched hand, she drew it to her lips, kissed it, and then started jumping up and down.

“I think you have a fangirl, Jace,” Sed commented, wiping the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. “Maybe you should invite her backstage. You look like you need a blow job.”

Jace felt his ears turn red. That fangirl had nothing he needed, but a black-haired dominatrix dressed in leather did. Thinking about Mistress V and the needs she was about to fulfill forced Jace to adjust his fly behind his bass guitar.

“I know I need one,” Sed added.

“I get to watch, right?” Eric asked.

“You know I perform best in front of an audience.” Sed winked, took another bow, and headed offstage.

Jace handed his instrument to Jake, who carefully carried it to the collection of guitars along the side of the stage. Jace dug the black and red business card out of his pocket. Now he just had to find her address. Nothing short of death would prevent him from arriving on her doorstep at precisely ten p.m.

Chapter 4

Aggie’s doorbell buzzed at five minutes to ten. She smiled. Lit another candle. Flicked her fingers through the flame. Made him wait.

The bell buzzed again, longer this time. Looking in the mirror that covered one entire wall of her dungeon’s outer room, Aggie smoothed her long, straight hair with both hands. Checked her makeup. Ran her tongue over her teeth. Made him wait.

Buzz. Buzz-buzz. Buzzzz.

She stroked the handle of her favorite whip. Traced the floral design she’d embroidered on her leather corset. Glanced at the clock. Two minutes until ten. Not yet.

He laid on the buzzer. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Aggie chuckled.

She left the soundproof room and walked through the foyer to answer the door.

On her doorstep stood the tough angel she couldn’t get out of her thoughts. His name was Jace. Jace Seymour. Jessica, Sed’s ex-fiancée who had privilege to such information, had spilled that sweet tidbit to Aggie earlier that day. Yeah, Aggie had swallowed her tough bitch facade long enough to ask Jessica about a guy. Not her proudest moment. She didn’t think Jess would tell anyone that she was interested in someone she shouldn’t be.

Jace met her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. “I thought I was late. That you wouldn’t answer.”

Just as cute as she remembered him. If he’d lose the piercings, spiked hair, and tattoos, he could have made a comfortable living as an Abercrombie and Fitch model. How did a guy this fine end up with a pain fetish? None of her business, she decided. She was just trying to make a living here. And hell, she might as well enjoy her work.

“Come in.”

He entered. Glanced around, looking excited and anxious.

She took his hand and led him to the zebra print love seat just outside the open door of her sanctum: the room where men spent most of their time on their knees. Aggie and Jace sat side by side, inches separating their thighs. They needed to talk business so she knew what he wanted. How he wanted it. And for how long. Each customer was different. “What do you want me to call you, sugar?”

“Jace,” he said.

“Is that short for Jason?”

He tensed, and a flash of deep emotional pain stole across his even features. “Never call me Jason. Never.”

“Whatever you prefer. I’ll call you dog, slut, slave, pussy, bastard, Batman, whatever you like.”

He grinned and shifted his gaze to his hand, which rested on his knee. “Jace is fine.”

That brief glimpse of his smile had her belly quivering. She’d never been this stupid over a guy before, especially not one of her submissives. What was wrong with her? She was going to hit him extra hard for making her want him.

She lifted her free hand and stroked the dark, rough beard stubble on his cheek, trying to get him to look at her. His mouth fell open, and he tilted his head in her direction, shuddering with contained desire. Oh fuck, yeah. She needed to get to work.

“Your safe word is mercy. Mercy, Mistress V.”

“I don’t need a safe word.”

She bit her lip to hold back her snort of amusement. “I specialize in corporal punishment.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

She decided this guy was into the kind of stuff she was too squeamish to perform. “There’s something you should know before I start. I refuse to break the skin. I don’t do hooks or barbed wire. I won’t nail your nut sac to the floor. If you get off on that kind of thing, I have a couple colleagues I could refer you to, but I won’t go that far, no matter how much you pay me.”

He shook his head. “I just want you to hit me.”

She laughed. “That I do. And do it well.”

“Can we get started now?”

Yeah, they could. “Do you want me to restrain you?”

“No.”

“Gagged, hooded, collared?”

“Just fuckin’ hit me, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

She would make him regret that disrespect. “You pay half your tribute now. Half when we’re finished.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred for ten minutes.”

“How much for two hours?”

Her eyes widened. “Two hours?”

He nodded curtly, avoiding her gaze.

“Sugar, I don’t think—”

“How much?”

The longest she’d ever gone was forty minutes. He must not know what he was in for. Some dommes spent the majority of the session teasing, but she liked to get right down to business. Her theory was spare the whip and spoil the slave. She didn’t tie guys up and leave them in the middle of the floor for two hours while she painted her fingernails, and then spanked them for three minutes before sending them home. She spanked first. Whipped second. If they made it that far. But if Jace wanted to pay her for two hours, she was more than happy to take his money. “Two grand.” Hot guy discount.

He opened his wallet and retrieved ten crisp one-hundred- dollar bills.

She folded the cash and slid it into her leather bodice. “No refunds.”

“Fine.” He stood. “Where?”

A man of few words. She was really starting to like this guy.

“I want to make it clear that I’m not a prostitute. You aren’t buying sex. I don’t have sex with clients.”

“I know how this works.”

“Good.” She climbed to her feet and took his hand. “Follow me.”

She led him to the sanctum and slid the heavy door closed behind them. It clanged shut. She bolted it and checked the panic button to make sure it was functional. She’d never had to use it and doubted she would now, but even a girl who was an expert in self-defense and knew how to use a whip might need assistance from the police or a paramedic at some point.

Jace glanced around with interest. The room was perfectly square, with padding on three walls to muffle sound. The mirror on the fourth wall was for clients who liked to observe while she inflicted pain. If they didn’t want to watch themselves cry and beg, she could slide the heavy, velvet curtain across it. There was a second room where she stored extra instruments and cleaned and sanitized the tools of her trade after each session.

Jace examined the implements on a table against one wall.

“Something there catch your fancy?” she asked.

“I’d like to try them all.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, his brown eyes meeting hers unflinchingly. “Repeatedly, and in excess.”

Aggie covered her surprise with a laugh. “You’re going to regret giving me complete freedom, Jace. I’m known for my viciousness.”

“I look forward to it.”

He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. My God, he was probably the cutest guy she’d ever encountered anyway, but when he smiled… She swallowed and gave herself a mental shake. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to a client. Not even one who made her wet on sight.

“You ready to start?”

“Yes.”

She stepped close to him, her nose inches from his. “Yes, Mistress V.” Her voice was hard.

He shuddered, watching her through half-lowered lids. “Yes, Mistress V.”

“Take your clothes off.”

“All of them?”

She gritted her teeth and poked him in the center of his chest with one finger. “Don’t question me. Never fucking question me. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

He removed his leather coat, T-shirt, boots, and socks. Nice body. Lean with sculpted muscles. Decorated here and there with tattoos. She wished she had time to examine them more closely, but she had to pretend she held no regard for him. That he was insignificant. That he was privileged to get any attention from her. Even her abuse. Especially her abuse. It was one of the most important components of the game they played.

Jace hesitated, clutching the waistband of his jeans. “I don’t wear underwear.”

“What? You think I care about seeing your cock? Do you think it’s special? That it might hold my interest?”

He trained his gaze on the floor. “No, Mistress.”

“Then strip.”

He took off his jeans. It turned out his cock was something special. Enormous. Beautiful. Thick. And hard as granite. Her pussy throbbed at the sight of it. Okay, so she was interested, but she couldn’t let him know that.

“Do I excite you, Jace?” she asked with a sardonic grin. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to fuck a man. Any man. And she’d never wanted to fuck a client.

Until now.

“Yes, Mistress.” He gasped. “You make me hard. Punish me.”

“Down on your knees.”

He hesitated. He didn’t look at her when he said, “No.”

“No?”

So he wanted to play. She did like a challenge. She rarely got one.

“I just want you to hurt me. I don’t want to grovel or be humiliated.” When he tilted his head to look at her, there was defiance in his eyes. Defiance? He wasn’t a submissive? Then why was he here? What in the hell did he need her for?

She watched him struggle to repress his defiance and decided that he did want to submit. He just needed more encouragement than most. Her typical clients would already be crawling around on their hands and knees, begging for pain, and then crying for mercy.

“If you want me to hurt you, you’ll do as I say,” she said in a dangerous growl. She slid her hand over his lower back, and he tensed. She tried to ignore the thrill of excitement that trembled in her belly when she touched him. “And if you think you can talk to me without addressing me properly, I’m going to fucking gag you. You will always address me with respect. As Mistress V.” She grabbed his nipple and twisted. What she really wanted to do was knock him off his feet and drive his massive cock into her pussy for about an hour. It was the look in his eye. The strength. So unlike what she was used to. It made it difficult for her to stay in her dominant character. Made her want to submit to him. And that was entirely unacceptable. Without even trying, he had managed to throw her off her game, and she didn’t appreciate it. It pissed her off.

She gritted her teeth. “Don’t look at me like that, Jace.”

The defiance never left his eyes, but he lowered his gaze. To hide it. When she released his nipple, he took several deep breaths. “I apologize, Mistress V.”

His unusual mix of strength and weakness drove her crazy.

“If you want to feel the bite of my whip, Jace, you’ll get down on your knees.”

Struggling with his pride, he dropped to his knees at her feet. He didn’t look at her. Kept his eyes downcast. No doubt he was still hiding his defiance from her. She’d relieve him of it soon enough. She lifted her foot and pressed her spiked heel into his chest. “Kiss it.”

Again he hesitated. This one would be so fun to break. She couldn’t wait to get started.

She waited patiently. The minutes ticked by slowly. Her leg was getting tired by the time he pecked the sole of her boot. “Forgive me, Mistress V.”

“Stand, Jace.”

He stood. No hesitation there.

She grabbed a thick, red rope that was hooked to a ring in the wall. She pulled it out straight and handed it to him. He wrapped it around his left wrist and gripped the taut rope with a bruised left hand. She handed him a second rope affixed to the opposite wall. He wrapped that one around the black leather cuff on his right wrist and gripped the rope with his right hand. With his arms extended to the sides, it left his back exposed for her work, and gave her a wonderful view of his hot body. He wasn’t tall, but had a perfect physique. Especially that tight little ass of his. Damn, her one major weakness when it came to men. A perfect ass. And it couldn’t get any better than his. A gentle curve. Tender cheek. Slight indentation on the lateral sides. She could write sonnets about that ass, but he hadn’t paid her to ogle his gorgeous naked body. She had work to do.

Aggie would start light and increase the intensity until she found his happy place. She didn’t know his tolerance for pain and had to seek his threshold before she could do her real work. Finding his edge and driving him just beyond it. Not too far. Never too far. But taking him exactly where he wanted to be. Beyond pain. Where euphoria ruled.

Selecting a smooth, round, wooden paddle from her table, she moved to stand beside him. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Have you been naughty, Jace? Do you need a spanking?” The musky scent of his excitement engulfed her, and her nipples tightened.

“Yes, Mistress V,” he said breathlessly.

She dropped the Mistress V act for a moment to whisper to him. “Yell all you want, Jace. The room is soundproof. No one will hear you. I will hit you until you say, ‘Mercy, Mistress V.’ Do you understand?” She slapped his ass with the paddle, careful to make it sting, but not leave a bruise.

He didn’t even flinch, much less yell.

“What do you say to get me to stop?” she prompted.

When he didn’t respond, she rubbed her hand over his ass, his hip, his thigh. The firm muscle of his flank quivered beneath her touch. “Tell me, Jace, or I’m finished.”

“I don’t need a safe word.”

She dropped her hand and stepped away. “Then I’m done. Put your clothes on.”

“Mercy, Mistress V,” he said.

She smiled to herself. She was starting to understand how this one ticked. She touched her paddle to his ass. “That’s good. Say it again so you don’t forget.”

“Mercy, Mistress V,” he whispered.

“Now don’t say it unless you mean it. The second you say it, I promise to stop no matter how much I’m enjoying your agony.”

He swallowed hard and nodded.

She struck his ass with her paddle, watching his reaction to determine when he was near his limit. Harder. In the same place. Again. Again. She knew the sweet spot. That tender place on the buttocks that stung like the dickens when swatted. He glanced at her as if to ask her when she was going to start.

“You’ve been very naughty, haven’t you?” she said, rubbing his ass with her bare hand. She usually did that to ease the sting so her client could take more pain, but in his case, she just really wanted to touch him.

“Hurt me, Mistress V. Please, hurt me.”

She moved to something more vicious. She skipped the riding crop and selected the three short whips attached to a handle. She struck his back with a loud crack. Most guys would have cried out. Jace didn’t even twitch. In the mirror, she saw his eyes were glazed with pain. Not physical pain. Emotional pain. Deep and scarring. Why did she have the sudden, ridiculous urge to hug him? She struck him harder. Harder. Harder than she normally would, watching the welts rise in threes on his skin. She didn’t usually take a man this close to bloodletting. Why did he refuse to cry out or beg for mercy? Could he even feel pain?

Feeling twinges of frustration, she tossed the short whips aside and grabbed her bullwhip from the table. It cracked loudly as the tip snapped and left a red stripe along his side. A second strike wrapped around his body and left a welt on his belly. His thigh. His chest. His back again. He didn’t react. Not once. The only indication that he felt anything was the occasional twitch above his left eye. He wasn’t even gripping the ropes very tightly.

Where the fuck was this guy’s threshold? She wasn’t sure how much harder she could hit him. And the usual signs she recognized to help her locate a man’s limit were all missing.

“Am I hurting you at all?”

“Not enough,” he whispered. “Make me bleed.”

She refused to make him bleed, but there were other things she could do to break him. And that’s what he needed. He needed to be broken. She would drive him to his knees. Make him beg her to stop. He would submit to her, even if it took all night.

Mistress V tossed her whip aside and returned to the table. She blew out a candle. Tested the melted wax with her fingertips and jerked them back. Hot! She stared him in the face and splashed the wax up his chest and neck. “How’s that?” she sputtered. “Did that hurt?”

“Do I make you angry, Mistress V?”

She’d never met a man she couldn’t break, and yes, his silent suffering—his stoicism—angered her. He had to be in a lot of pain, but for all he showed, she might as well be tickling him with a feather.

“I’m not angry. I’m trying to figure out how to make you submit.”

“No one ever has before,” he told her, “but you’re doing a fine job trying. Don’t stop now.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Do you have a flog? With knots?”

She flogged him, first with her nylon flog with its three dozen, foot-long, stinging strings. And then with her knotted leather flog that left his skin a mess of crisscrossed welts. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t protest. She took up a thick wooden rod and caned him more than a dozen times against his already raw back. Careful to avoid vital organs, such as his kidneys, she grunted with exertion as each strike landed between his shoulders. Caned him. She never resorted to such vicious caning. Didn’t use the cane very often, as it wasn’t usually necessary. And still he made no protest. She wasn’t even enjoying this. The feeling of power that usually infused her when she served her slaves was nonexistent. Her temper flared.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “If you’re getting tired—”

“Shut up.”

She took up her bullwhip again and vented her increasing frustration on his back. She wasn’t even in her role as dominatrix as she cracked her whip. She just wanted him to cry out. Just once. Any indication that she was getting through to him would be appreciated. She needed that. To know she was in control. She didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t. Or that as long as she let him get to her, he was the one in control. She struck the backs of his thighs, realizing how much that fucking hurt, but he took it. He took it and calmly waited for her to continue.

“Damn it, Jace! Work with me.” She struck him across the back again. An angry red stripe appeared. Not a welt. Blood.

He gasped softly.

Aggie dropped her whip. She prided herself as a professional in causing all the pain, but never drawing blood. What she’d done to him hadn’t been professional. She’d been frustrated. Angry. She’d never become angry during a session before. Of course, she’d never met a man she couldn’t break in ten minutes or whose threshold for pain was this far above normal. Maybe he was juiced-up on painkillers or something. He didn’t look stoned, but she couldn’t think of any other plausible reason for him to accept so much pain so easily. Aggie paused behind Jace, gently touching the raw skin above the bleeding gash that ran diagonally from shoulder to spine.

“I’m so sorry, Jace. I didn’t mean…”

“Thank you, Mistress V, may I have another?”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “No! Your session’s over.”

“I paid for two hours.”

“Then I’ll give your money back.”

“You said no refunds.”

She circled his body to face him and stared into his eyes. Never had she seen so much pain in a man so young. He wasn’t using her for release. He was taking her abuse and internalizing it, adding it to what already existed and building upon the ache inside him. She knew he’d felt every lash of her whip. Knew she had hurt him far more than he’d been letting on. Why did he refuse to crumble? She didn’t get it.

“Whatever it is that’s eating you alive, you have to let it go,” she murmured, stroking his brow, his stubble-rough cheek, and his angled jaw with tender fingertips. “Let it go, Jace.”

His jaw set. He shook his head slightly. “I’d rather be gutted alive.”

Her hand still cupping the side of his face, she tilted her head and eased closer until a fraction of an inch separated their lips. She shouldn’t kiss him. She wanted to, but… Leaning away slightly, her eyes searched his. As much as she wanted him physically, it was more important to help him. Take that anguished shadow from his gaze. Take it away.

Take it.

Her lips brushed his, light as a feather. He shuddered, emitting a huff of air, and his lips parted to coax her closer for a deeper kiss. She devoured his mouth, intoxicated by his taste, his scent. A deep longing hollowed her core, leaving her empty and wanting. She pressed her leather-clad bosom against his hard chest, her free hand circling his back to press him closer. The stickiness of his blood against her fingertips reminded her of what she’d done to him.

She pulled away, knowing that kiss had been all her idea. She couldn’t lay any of the blame on him. He was still holding on to the ropes, his fists tight and knuckles white.

“I want you, Mistress V,” he growled.

Her lips parted, her nipples tightened, and her pussy swelled until it throbbed relentlessly. She wanted him too, but she never had sex with clients. She sighed with remorse. “The name’s Aggie.” She uncoiled the rope from his right wrist, and he released his grip. “Let’s go take care of that wound.”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. “Finish me.”

“It is something, and I am finished with you. You paid for professional treatment, and I got carried away. I apologize for breaking your trust. I drew blood. That is unacceptable.”

“I don’t think so, but fine. If you’re not into this, I’ll go.” He released the second rope and moved to the edge of the room to find his clothes.

She didn’t want him to go. His cock still stood at full attention. She wanted him inside her. Inside Aggie, not Mistress V, but it was Mistress V he wanted. He’d said so himself.

Before he could slide into his pants, she took his hand and yanked him toward the bolted door.

“You’re not going anywhere until I dress that cut,” she said.

He didn’t protest, allowing her to open the door and lead him through the foyer to a second part of her domicile—her private living quarters. She’d never brought a client into her personal home before, but now that their business transaction was over, she wasn’t thinking of him as a client. She tapped a code into the lock’s keypad and pushed open the reinforced door that separated her home from her dungeon.

After securing the door behind them, she led Jace to her bedroom and urged him to sit on the edge of her bed while she went to the connecting bathroom for antibiotic ointment, bandages, and… a condom. She slid the condom into her bodice and found the cash he’d given her still there. She pulled the thousand dollars out, tossed it into the sink, and carried the first-aid supplies back to her bedroom. She found Jace where she’d left him, with his eyes closed, breathing deeply through his nose. His cock grew softer with each exhalation.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He started and turned his head to look at her standing in the doorway. As his gaze drifted over her body, his cock grew stiff again. Good. She wanted it hard. Hard and uncomfortable, so she could soothe him with her flesh. And he could take care of that deep ache between her thighs.

“I’m trying to calm down.” Jace grabbed his cock in one hand and flinched, sucking a breath through clenched teeth. He was probably already too excited to be any good, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to take that huge cock of his deep. And hard.

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

“You don’t fuck clients,” he reminded her.

“True. Mistress V never fucks her clients.” She climbed up onto the bed behind him. He watched her over his shoulder as she applied antibiotic ointment and a few bandages in places that were still seeping blood. She hoped it didn’t scar. He had such a beautiful body. She’d hate to think she’d caused it permanent damage. She pressed a kiss to his skin, just above the gash. “I told you, your session is over. If you want to fuck Mistress V, she’s off duty, but if you want to fuck Aggie, she’s willing.”

She slid her arms around his body, loving the solid feel of his hard pecs and rippled abs beneath her palms. He had the sexiest strip of hair running down the center of his lower belly. She enjoyed the coarse texture against her fingertips while she sucked his earlobe and the silver earring that decorated it into her mouth. Ears. Another weakness of hers.

“Aggie,” he whispered.

The sound of her name on his lips wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She shouldn’t get tangled up with this one. She could already tell she’d be sad to see him go, whether he left in thirty minutes, thirty days, or thirty years. Damn it anyway. She had a soft spot for these tragic, quiet types. And a defiant submissive? Good lord, how was she supposed to resist that combination? She almost hoped he sucked in bed. That he was a minute man who climbed on top of her, thrust into her twice, and came with some stupid look on his face. It would make it easier to discard him. She had no use for a man. Any man. Not even this one, who seemed custom-made to her specifications.

Aggie released his earlobe, and he turned, crawling up on the bed to face her. He tugged her against him and kissed her, sucking on her lips with tender abandon. If he fucked half as good as he kissed, she was done for. She clung to his ruined back, opening her mouth to accept his exploratory tongue. He didn’t probe and thrust like some uncouth animal. He stroked and caressed her lips and mouth so tenderly it made her heart swell. While he kissed her, his fingers methodically worked at the clasps on the back of her leather bustier. Unhurried, he released the fastenings one by one, his fingertips brushing every inch of her spine as they moved downward. He loosened the garment until nothing held it in place but the proximity of their intertwined bodies.

His fingers found the smooth skin of her back. They dug into her flesh as he ground her body against his and then his touch softened, gently stroking, coaxing a soft sigh from her throat. He eased her onto her back, robbing her mouth of his, as he lifted his head to look down at her.

“Your beauty steals my breath,” he murmured.

“Your kiss steals mine.”

He smiled and cupped her face in both hands. He kissed her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her eager lips. She spread her thighs for him, and he settled between them. One strong hand moved to the margin where the leather of her boot ended and the flesh of her thigh began. His mouth moved over her chin to her throat, where he suckled and kissed her sensitive flesh until she thought she might cry from the care he showed her.

He shifted onto one elbow and peeled her bustier from her body. He tossed the stiff garment aside, found the condom resting between her breasts, and grinned crookedly. “What’s this?”

Her heart thudded. That smile of his. If she hadn’t already been utterly seduced by the man, that would have done it.

Jace slid the condom into the top of her thigh-high boot. Her nipples pebbled beneath his heavy gaze. He didn’t touch or kiss her excited flesh, only stared as if in utter awe. She felt like the most beautiful woman in the world at that moment. And then he slid down her body to suck her nipple into his mouth.

She gasped, her fingers stealing into his spiked blond hair. She held him to her breast. Her back arched and she shuddered with pleasure. His hand moved to her free breast, and he cupped it gently, caressing the nipple with his thumb. He used a rhythm that matched the strokes of his tongue. No awkward plucking and brutal squeezing from this guy. The man knew how to please a breast.

“Jace,” she murmured. “Jace.”

She squirmed, wriggling her hips from side to side, wanting him to fill her body with his. His shaft brushed the inside of her thigh, and she cried out.

Oh God, Jace. Take me.

She was ready for him. Probably had been the moment she’d noticed him striding across the room back at the club. He lifted his head, blessed her with a gentle smile, and then shifted his head to take her other breast in his hot mouth. He sucked hard, and then rubbed the flat of his tongue against her budded nipple. Sucked hard again. Rubbed. Sucked. She quivered beneath him, the throbbing ache between her thighs unbearable.

“Jace,” she cried desperately.

His hands slid over her rib cage, and he moved down her body, trailing tender kisses down the center of her belly. He made love to her navel with his tongue until she thought she’d explode. Sliding farther down, he shifted until his face was even with her crotch. Her thighs trembled in anticipation. He must smell her sex and feel the heat coming from it. She was so hot. So wet.

Waiting.

Wanting.

“Jace, please.”

“Shhh, Aggie. Don’t rush it.”

He lowered his head and kissed the inner surface of her thigh. She gasped, her pussy clenching, so close to release she knew she’d explode the second he finally possessed her. But he didn’t claim her. He kissed a trail down the inside of her thigh. When his mouth reached the top of her boot, he fished the condom out and tucked it inside her other boot. He then started his slow journey down her leg. Unzipping her boot as he went, his lips and tongue forged a gentle path of pleasure from thigh to toe. When he finished, her boot lay discarded somewhere on the floor, and she was clinging to the bedclothes.

“Jace, you’re driving me crazy.”

He chuckled. She loved the sound of his laugh. Deep and rich. Happy. Could a man so consumed by pain feel happiness?

She lifted her head and gazed down at him as he crawled his way up her body to work on her other leg. He was smiling to himself as he pulled the condom from her remaining boot and tucked it into her panties, as if to say, this is next on my list of things to pleasure with my sinful mouth. Her breath came out in an excited huff.

Yes, Jace. There. She couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait to feel his tongue against her clit. Stroking her fluid-drenched lips. Writhing in her pussy. Oh! Please, hurry.

He worked his way down her other leg, his beard stubble rough against the inside of her thigh. He soothed the rawness left behind with tender kisses. She was panting and thrashing with excitement when he moved back up her body. He ran his finger under the elastic of her black satin panties. She shuddered.

The condom tumbled free over her hip and landed somewhere on the bed beside her. He took it between two fingers and inserted it into her mouth. She fought the urge to bite into it, not wanting to compromise its integrity and have it break when he finally opened the package, unrolled the condom over his massive cock, and thrust into her. Her back arched at the thought of him inside her. Filling her. Pounding her. Oh God, Jace, I need you. Inside me. Immediately.

He slid her panties off, his hands skimming her thighs, the backs of her knees, calves, and ankles. He tossed the undergarment aside and spread her legs wide. Cool air bathed Aggie’s hot, aching flesh. His warm breath stirred against her wet skin. She groaned.

She was glad she’d waxed every bit of her pubic hair when he drew one exposed and swollen labium into his mouth, sucking until she thought she’d go mad, sliding his wicked tongue over the slick inner surface until her hips bucked. He suckled his way to her mound. His tongue brushed the hood of skin that covered her clit, and she cried out in delirious torment. He suckled her other swollen lip, swirled his tongue in the empty, wet well between them much too briefly, and scraped his stubble-rough chin over her tender asshole. He plunged his tongue inside the puckered orifice and then slid it up to bury it inside her throbbing pussy. Her mouth fell open, the condom sliding from between her lips and down her face.

“Jace, Jace!” She grabbed his hair, yanking upward hard.

He shuddered and then fucked her with his tongue, thrusting it as deep as possible and withdrawing, before thrusting inside again. He slid the tip of one finger in her ass, removed his tongue from her pussy, and replaced it with two fingers on the same hand. Her body strained against his hand as he burrowed his fingers deeper, deeper, wriggling them inside her, spreading her wide. And then, he sucked her clit into his mouth.

She exploded with ripples of unparalleled delight.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she screamed as he sucked her clit, his tongue stroking the engorged flesh, his fingers writhing inside her clenching pussy and her delighted asshole.

Too quickly, he pulled away and moved up her body until they were face-to-face. He licked her juices off his fingers, murmuring delighted sounds in the back of his throat.

He retrieved the condom from near her shoulder and tore it open with his teeth. He lowered his head and kissed her, before rolling onto his side to apply the condom. It was too small. He struggled to stretch it over his thick shaft, biting his lip with concentration—should have brought him a Magnum. She’d been with only one other guy who needed them, but that had been years ago. She knew she didn’t have one on hand.

He used his hand to guide himself into her body, and every concern vanished.

His strokes began shallow as he wet his cock with her juices and allowed her to grow accustomed to its glorious thickness. When he finally possessed her completely, she arched her back to take him even deeper. Ah God, she’d never felt so deliciously full in her life.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. “Your body—bliss.”

She didn’t know how he managed to make her feel so loved. Love? Now there’s a sentiment she didn’t typically consider when a guy was between her thighs.

Jace pulled back slowly and thrust forward again. He watched her closely. Seemed to be gauging her responses to determine what she liked. It was as if his own pleasure didn’t matter to him—only hers. Jace’s rhythm, relentless and perfect, tugged her willingly up the slope toward release, spiraling closer to nirvana. His deep strokes were neither too slow, nor too fast. Just right. And deep. Oh so deep.

Once he found her rhythm, he kissed her neck while he made love to her, brushed the backs of his hands over her skin, rubbed her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, and drove her utterly mad with desire. She’d never known a guy to continue with foreplay throughout the entire experience. Jace worked every pleasure point on her body as he moved within her. Going so far as to rub his big toe over the instep of her foot every so often, after he discovered it made her shudder with unexpected delight. She closed her eyes and let him have complete control. She’d never given her power to a man so effortlessly. She always struggled with this, but not with Jace. Why? She was too delirious to consider the reason.

After a long while of inflicting his perfect pleasure, Jace’s breath hitched, and Aggie opened her eyes to find him biting his lip. “I waited too long,” he gasped. “Can I come now?”

He was asking her?

“Yeah, go ahead.” He’d more than earned his release.

It was as if something inside him snapped. He tore into her like an animal. He wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs and folded her in half. He fucked her hard, driving his thick cock into her body. She cried out, unable to distinguish between pleasure and pain, knowing only that she loved it and didn’t want him to stop. She liked the harsh contrast of being fucked after the considerate, tender lovemaking he’d showed her before.

“Yes, Jace!” she screamed. “Fuck me.”

“Hurt me,” he countered.

Aggie’s nails dug into his chest. He groaned.

She drew her hands down, leaving eight parallel scratches down his chest. He shuddered, his head tilting to the side, his mouth falling open in ecstasy. “God, yes,” he growled.

She grabbed his nipple, twisting viciously.

He lowered his head to kiss her. She bit his lip until she tasted his blood. He didn’t resist her cruelty, but rose up on his knees so he could fuck her harder.

She cried out, close to orgasm.

His lip now free of her bite, he lifted his head and looked down at her. “Do you want to come hard?”

Well, of course she did. What kind of a question was that?

“Yes, Jace. Make me come hard.”

“Don’t take your eyes off mine.”

He continued to thrust into her, driving her closer to the edge. She stared at him, lost in his intense gaze. He watched her as if looking for the exact moment to let go and join her in bliss.

She felt a connection to him—deeply personal, more than sex. More than she wanted to experience with some guy she scarcely knew. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. For a short instant, he let her see him. That internal part of his troubled psyche he hid from the world. Her breath caught, and she held it even after her lungs began to sting in protest.

Unexpectedly, her womb contracted. A spasm gripped her pussy. Ripples of release sent her body into convulsions, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

Oh God, she was coming. And coming. And coming. He pumped into her harder. “Aggie, hurt me. I need…”

The instant she dug her fingers into his raw back, his body shuddered against hers as he spent himself inside her. He rubbed his face against the hollow of her neck as he called out. They clung to each other, bodies writhing in mutual bliss.

He paused and lifted his head. His voice sounded distant. “Breathe, baby. Take a breath.”

Breathe? What did he mean?

“Aggie!” He shook her by both shoulders.

She gasped, glorious air filling her stinging lungs, and came again. Came even harder than when that first orgasm had gripped her in that intense moment of personal connection she didn’t quite understand. Aggie cried out, rocking her hips to work against his softening cock. Her entire body writhed with ecstasy, twisting her into an involuntary spasm of delight.

That had been fucking amazing.

When her body stilled, Jace moved his arms from the backs of her thighs so she could stretch her legs out straight. He rubbed her hips to alleviate the ache, and then cupped her face in both hands to gently kiss her lips.

“You okay?” he whispered. He rubbed the tip of his nose against her cheek, his lips tickling the skin near her ear. “I think you forgot how to breathe there for a second.”

“I’m more than okay,” she said deliriously. “What was that?”

“What?” He rubbed his lips over her jaw.

“I can’t explain it. I don’t know if it was how hard you were fucking me or the way you were looking at me or something else. It was…”

“Exciting?”

“Exciting? That was fucking unbelievable. Do it again, please.”

He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes. He looked utterly stunned. “You don’t hate me now?”

“How could I hate you after that? I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. It was wonderful.”

“Even though I couldn’t come until you hurt me?”

“If that’s what you need to get off, I’m perfectly fine with it.”

He smiled. “This is usually the part where the woman calls me a sick bastard, grabs her clothes, and runs out of the room naked without a backwards glance.”

“I’m not running.”

His smile widened, causing her heart to stutter stupidly in her chest. “I noticed. Will you whip me again? I’ll take it better now that I’m not so sexually frustrated.”

She grinned. “I’d be happy to. Will you fuck me again when you’ve had enough pain?”

He kissed her and pulled out. “If I’m still capable of moving.”

He stripped the condom from his cock, glanced around the room, and got out of bed to dispose of it in the small trash can near her desk. She dragged herself from the bed, not ready to shake the afterglow still coursing through her body.

She sighed and reached for her panties.

“You’re getting dressed?” he asked.

“Don’t you want me to whip you again?”

“Yeah, I want you to whip me—Aggie, not Mistress V. I want you naked. I want the body I’m learning to please exposed while you hurt me.”

“I can’t, Jace. I’m not capable of hurting you as myself. I have to be in the domme role.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and ran his hand down the scratches on his chest. “Oh really?”

She ducked her head. She had hurt him. And something about it excited her. “This is usually the part where the man calls me a crazy bitch, grabs his clothes, and runs out of the room naked without a backwards glance.”

“I’m not running.” He held a hand out, and she crossed the room to take it.

He led her through her home, back into the foyer, and into the soundproof room. A cell phone was beeping in Jace’s pile of clothes. He had a voice mail. His brow furrowed. “Who could that be? No one ever calls me.”

He retrieved his phone from his leather jacket and listened to his message. She watched his expression change from confusion to horror. He reached for his clothes and started to dress.

“Sorry, but I have to go.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Trey’s in the hospital.”

“Trey?”

“Sinners’ rhythm guitarist.”

“Is it something serious?”

He stomped his foot into one boot. “Yeah, sounds like it. Head injury. Can I see you again?”

She crossed her arms over her naked breasts. “If you have an appointment.”

“Tomorrow night? Same time?”

“I have another client scheduled for ten tomorrow.”

His entire body jerked, the way it should have responded when she whipped him. “Oh,” he murmured breathlessly.

“How about five in the evening?”

His smile rivaled the sun in its brilliance. “Even better.”

She tried to hide a grin, but failed. “I’ll pencil you in.”

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