One Night Only

  He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if he was studying me. "So you want to know about my influences? Want me to say how I studied the greats like da Vinci and van Gogh? Or maybe one of those new controversial artists who like to smear shit on things that everyone thinks are important and call it making a statement?"

  His questions weren't angry, but I caught a definite edge to them, as if they were a test rather than rhetorical. I wasn't sure what he was waiting to hear, but I gave him the truth.

  "I've never been one of those people who thinks that the popularity of a particular artist or subject is what makes it quality. Most of the ones who use sensationalism to sell their work don't actually have any talent." I tapped my pen on the notebook. "But I also don't think that, just because something is popular, it isn't any good either. I judge purely on the art itself."

  He nodded as if I'd said something right. "All right then, let's talk artistic influences."

  The next thing I knew, almost two hours had passed. Jace answered all of my questions, but it had been more than an interview. Even though we kept our conversation completely professional, there had been an undercurrent I couldn't deny.

  When his phone rang, a part of me was actually relieved. I admired him as an artist, and I wanted to write my best work so that others could see how amazing he was as much as I did for my own benefit. I didn't want to do anything that could screw it up.

  I gave him a brief wave as I stood, silently letting him know that I would see myself out. He nodded and smiled, then turned his back on me, stepping out of the kitchen. I felt a mild pang of jealousy as I wondered if he was talking to his girlfriend. He hadn't said anything about his romantic life, but all that meant was that he was good at keeping things quiet.

  I put my notebook back into my purse, then figured the least I could do since he bought me dinner would be to clean up a bit. I tossed the empty cartons and bottles into the trash, then opened the fridge to put the leftovers away. As I closed it and turned away, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something fall. I picked it up and realized it was a matchbook, the sort that some hotels and clubs still passed out for advertising.

  It was plain and black, with two words written in fancy script.

  Gilded Cage.

  I'd never heard of it, and I had no reason to think that I'd be interested in whatever club or hotel this matchbook was from, but I still slipped it in my pocket. If it was a club, maybe it was worth checking out. Everett would probably be game, even if it was a straight club. If it was a gay one, that might be what I needed too: to find out that Jace was gay. That would make it a whole lot easier to just admire his looks and not keep thinking about what it would be like to feel his hands all over my body, his mouth moving down...

  Shit.

  I needed to go home and get a cold shower. Now.

  "What do you mean you didn't see the paintings for the show?"

  I tried not to flinch as spittle flew from my boss's lips and showered the top of his desk. I wasn't the kind of person who judged others by how they looked, but when a person's actions made them into a pervert, it did tend to influence how I saw their appearance. Thinning brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and an extra hundred fifty pounds on a six-foot frame – none of those things would've screamed please keep your hands off me, but the lecherous look in those dark eyes of his...yeah, those made me do everything in my power to keep at least one piece of furniture between Abel Updike and myself.

  "I got backstory today," I said, keeping my voice even. "I'll speak to Mr. Randall in a day or two about a private showing so I can get an impression of the paintings on their own, then I'll attend the show to see how they look in the space."

  Abel rolled his eyes and leaned back. The chair creaked in protest, and I waited to see if, this time, it would give up the ghost. "When I did my doctorate thesis..."

  I tuned him out. I wasn't trying to be rude, I'd just heard this speech before. At least a dozen times before. He'd talk about how he did his doctorate thesis on artists in the French Renaissance, neglecting to mention that the online school where he'd gotten his Ph.D. had since gone belly up. Once he explained the topic in the most possible condescending tone possible, he'd continue on for another quarter of an hour or so about how he'd write all of the copy if he could, but he was so busy that it wasn't possible and blah, blah, blah.

  I let him go through it all again while I mentally went through the contents of my closet. When I got home last night, I texted my friends about Gilded Cage, but none of them had ever heard of it, and even if they had, they wouldn't have been able to go with me until the weekend.

  It was a club. I might have focused on being an art critic, but I knew how to investigate. I didn't know what type of club it was, but I managed to find an address. Now, I was thinking I might take a trip tonight just as something to do to get my mind off of how much I wished I could tell Abel exactly what I thought of him.

  And if I happened to see a handsome artist there, I might feel obligated to have a dance or two with him.

  Purely out of politeness, of course.

  Eight

  Savannah

  Not knowing what sort of club Gilded Cage was, I'd gone with the ever classic little black dress. It was an off-the-shoulder slinky number I usually wore without a bra. I'd forgone jewelry and kept the makeup and hair simple, but had chosen a pair of heels that added nearly five inches to my height and made my legs look amazing.

  I'd suspected that the club was a private one, but as I watched from across the street, I began to think that it wasn't merely private, but elite, the sort of place where one needed a sponsor of some kind to be granted access. Fortunately for me, I had the name of someone I believed was a member. I just hoped using it wouldn't prove to be as stupid as I expected it would be.

  I smiled up at the man who blocked my entrance and resisted the urge to press my hands against my skirt to dry my palms. When it came to getting into restricted places, confidence could go a long way. "I'm meeting Jace Randall here."

  His eyes moved over me, but not in a sexual way, more like if he was trying to see if I matched the sort of woman Jace would normally bring to something like this. He nodded once. "Is he bringing your mask?"

  Shit. I hadn't considered that it might be a place that required masks. What had I gotten myself into?

  "We have extras inside," he continued. "In case anyone forgot that tonight was a masquerade."

  I pushed the sudden influx of nerves away. "Thank you. Jace must have forgotten. Busy with his upcoming show."

  I kept the smile as I walked past him, my eyes widening as I stepped closer to the tables with masks, not just simple ones, but ones elaborate enough to cover most of my face and prevent Jace from recognizing me if he showed up. While a part of me wanted to see him here, another part didn't want him to know that I'd stolen the matches with the sole purpose of finding Gilded Cage. He might think I was stalking him.

  When I reached the section of the table with masks that would best fit me, I selected a one made of gold filigree and red lace. It arched over my eyebrows, then cut down on both sides to curve along my cheeks before moving back up to meet just across the bridge of my nose. It left my eyes revealed, and framed my mouth, but covered the rest of my facial features.

  Perfect.

  I donned the mask, checked in the mirror to make sure my hair was still good and that my face was hidden, then crossed over to the far door. As I stepped inside, the first thing that hit me was the beauty. The room was simple but elegant, all the lines and curves designed for sensuality and a natural sort of beauty. The second thing that hit me was the music. It was deep and throbbing, but not pulse-pounding club music I expected. Perhaps it was because I'd come on a theme night, but it didn't seem to have the right beat for energetic movement. No, it was the kind of music that made people want to writhe against each other, the sort of decadence that confirmed my opinion that this wasn't an ordinary elite club.

  And that was when my brain fi
nally registered the people.

  Some of the women wore dresses similar to mine, sexy but nothing overtly revealing. Many of the men were in suits and tuxes. Others, however, both male and female alike, wore a whole lot less. Still, it wasn't until I saw a statuesque blonde wearing a dress made of what looked like loosely linked gold chainmail, holding a leash connected to a dark, voluptuous beauty wearing only a pair of silver studs in her nipples and what appeared to be a silver chastity belt, that it truly registered.

  Shit.

  This was an S&M club.

  Okay, so not exactly what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't entirely shocking once I wrapped my head around it. A lot of people in the arts tended to have more liberal views toward sex, and even among the general populous, sex clubs of all kinds had been working toward more widespread acceptance over the past few years.

  Even as I thought those things, I knew none of it would have made a difference to the curiosity that kept me observing rather than quickly excusing myself. I was self-aware enough to know that it wasn't simply a dispassionate interest either. From articles I'd read, I already had the inkling that this might be the type of lifestyle I'd find interesting, but it wasn't until now that I'd felt a true pull toward this world I didn't quite understand.

  I was still standing on the fringes of the crowd when I felt someone watching me. It wasn't the sort of prickling feeling that came with unwanted attention, but rather a sort of heated knowing, a mental caress. I scanned the crowd, skipping over the costumes and accessories as I searched for the eyes that were on me.

  He was standing only a few yards away, leaning against the bar as he sipped a drink and stared. The dim lighting made it impossible to see a specific color for his dark eyes, but nothing could have disguised the intensity in his gaze. He wore all black, including the mask that began just above his eyebrows and descended over his cheekbones to cover almost his entire face. His was cut so that the sides framed his nose and mouth while highlighting his strong, clean-shaven jaw. It didn't matter that I couldn't really see what he looked like. The compulsion I felt as I started to walk toward him had less to do with physical appearance and more to do with the sheer power I felt radiating out from him. I might not have experience in this lifestyle, but even I knew immediately that he was what they called a Dominant. He couldn't have been anything else.

  He let me take half a dozen steps in his direction before he pushed away from the bar and started toward me. His long-sleeved shirt and pants were flawlessly tailored to show off the strength of his body without hindering his movements, and I wondered if he'd had those clothes made exclusively for this place, or if he wore them elsewhere.

  I wasn't the only one affected by him. People parted in front of him, half of them dipping their heads as if they couldn't bear to look directly his way. I knew it was some submissive trait, but the effect was a little disconcerting. When he stopped less than a foot in front of me, he didn't say a word, but rather simply looked down at me, as if waiting to see what I would do next.

  "Hi."

  That wouldn't make an impression. The only thing worse would have been if I'd asked him if he came here often.

  I felt a strong and sudden longing for my friends, but it vanished almost as quickly as it came. As much as their support would have been appreciated, I wasn't going to deny that I was actually a little glad they weren't here to caution me away from the things I really hoped this man would ask me to do.

  He held out a hand. "Dance?"

  His voice slid over my skin, warm and heavy, barely loud enough for me to hear over the music. I didn't need to have a conversation with him to know that I wanted to dance. Hell, I wanted to do anything that let me be closer to him.

  When I put my hand in his, a pleasant shiver ran through me, and I let him pull me to him. He settled his hands on my waist and gave me the choice to keep the distance, or close it. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, allowing him to put his hands at the small of my back, just above my ass. His palms burned through the thin fabric of my dress and desire hit me strong enough to make my knees weak.

  We didn't talk as we moved to the music, letting our bodies find their natural rhythm, find the rhythm that the two of us had together. A lot of people, myself included, thought that dancing was a good indicator of how two people would be when they had sex. If the past couple minutes told me anything, it was that this man would rock my world.

  "Would you like to go somewhere more private?" His fingers flexed on my back, the strength in them making my stomach lurch.

  I hadn't come here for this. I hadn't intended to come to a club to find someone to fuck. I'd wanted to scope it out, maybe see what it was about this place that appealed to Jace. Maybe see him. Observe him. It hadn't been about sex.

  But the man holding me, waiting for me to answer his question, he was clearly about sex. Walking, talking sex. And I wanted it.

  Plus, there was always the chance that some hot and heavy fucking would help me keep my head on straight about the sexy artist in the coming weeks.

  I nodded, then threaded my fingers between this stranger's and let him lead me toward the back of the club. I assumed we were on our way to a back exit, then to a hotel or his place, but instead, he stopped in front of a discreet door for a moment, doing something I couldn't see, and then it swung open.

  "Well, shit." I couldn't stop the curse as I followed him into the room, but his soft laugh told me he didn't mind.

  The lighting was only a little brighter in here than it was in the main room, but it was enough for me to see that the walls held whips and crops and floggers, as well as other things I had no name for. A bed sat against one wall, posters on each corner. I could see restraints on the closer two, so I assumed a matching set were on the far ones. There was also a tall chest of drawers, and a few other pieces of furniture I didn't recognize, but could guess at their uses.

  "This is your first time here," he said as a statement instead of a question.

  "It shows, huh?" I glanced over at him.

  One side of his mouth tipped upward in a crooked smile. "I won't be offended if you back out."

  I turned toward him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pressed my body against his as I stretched up to brush my lips across his. "The hell I will."

  He was still laughing when he covered my mouth with his. I felt the kiss all the way down to my toes, in every cell of my body. His tongue stroked mine, but before we could deepen the connection, our masks bumped together.

  His fingers threaded through my hair. "Should we take off our masks?"

  My stomach flipped. I didn't know who he was, and while I was desperate to discover what was under those clothes, I wasn't sure I was ready to share our identities.

  "Would it change things if I said no?"

  He smiled at me. "Not at all. I have no problem with a little mystery." He gave me a soft kiss, then stepped back. "But since I won't be able to see much in the way of facial expressions, we need to have a safe word in place."

  I knew what that was, at least. "Do you have a suggestion?"

  "I usually prefer yellow and red, so we have a slowdown and a stop."

  That answered any question I had about whether or not he'd done this before. Strangely enough, it didn't bother me. If anything, it made me confident that the two of us could have something in the here and now, and then go our separate ways without any hard feelings or expectations.

  "Works for me."

  I started to reach behind me to unzip my dress, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  "In here, I'm in charge." He didn't shout, and it wasn't some macho declaration either. It was a simple, profound statement. Then he waited to see what I'd do.

  "All right." I dropped my hand and tried not to show how much his words affected me. I shouldn't have found it so hot, shouldn't have craved what he offered. But I did. "Be in charge."

  His eyes narrowed, like he was trying to figure me out, and I felt a stab of fear. I did
n't want that, didn't want this to be something complicated. I was taking a giant step out of my comfort zone, moving toward something new and probably crazy. I didn't need to also worry about someone trying to get inside my head.

  I didn't know how much of what I was feeling reflected on the small section of my face he could see, but he must have seen something because he took a step back and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  He didn't have to tell me to watch, because I couldn't take my eyes off him. Fuck, he was gorgeous. Tanned skin and firm, defined muscles, a trail of golden curls starting at his belly button and going down until they disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. And those tattoos...swirls of black in elegant Celtic designs. I wanted to trace each and every one of them with my tongue.

  He folded his shirt carefully and draped it over a nearby chair. Without a word, he walked around behind me, and a moment later, I felt his hands on my zipper. As he slowly lowered it, he pressed his lips to my ear. "I knew you'd never done this before from the moment I saw you walk in tonight. Most submissives don't look a Dom in the eyes. They keep their heads down. But you didn't. I knew you weren't a Dom either."

  I wasn't sure if I was allowed to ask a question, but I did it anyway. "How?"

  I sucked in a breath as his fingertips grazed my back. That small touch shouldn't feel that good. Everything about this was impossible. Taking control by giving it up. Revealing intimate parts of my body while hiding my face. A desire so strong that I was no longer sure that I had the power over my own body to stop myself.

  He kissed my neck even as he pushed my dress off my shoulders. "Because you want to submit to me."

  I closed my eyes. Fuck. How in the world could this stranger have known that about me when I hadn't even figured it out about myself?

  "For tonight, while we're in this room, let go. You're safe with me. You say the safe words, and I'll stop, but until then, trust me to know what you need."