He had hidden from everyone he had ever known, she thought. So effectively that she had never suspected that the man who had been so tender, so gentle, with others' children would never want one of his own.
Chapter 14
EVERY HEAD IN THE MAIN room of Diva's Downstairs turned when the elevator opened and Morganna stepped into the elaborately furnished room. There had to be fifty pairs of eyes suddenly trained on her, surveying her naked face, the short length of the leather skirt, and the collar at her neck.
The collar had surprised her. It wasn't the traditional leather or studded belt that many of the submissives wore, Clint had surprised her instead with an inch-wide silver choker chain that fitted her perfectly and showed up clearly against her dark skin. Hanging in the center of the chain was a small deep blue sapphire, almost the color of his eyes. A pendant to mark her as his alone.
They paused at a wide, curved dark wood reception counter where Morganna signed the confidentiality statement Clint had warned her would be waiting for her. The six-page agreement involved everything but her firstborn child if she dared divulge the activities seen, practiced, or heard of within what they called Diva's Downstairs, Merlin's Down Under, or the Roundtable Caverns. As Drage had stated before, he covered his ass well.
With his hand at her back, Clint led her into the plushly carpeted room. Moving with relaxed ease, he guided her across the room to a small group seated at the small end.
Drage Masters leaned back in his chair as he watched their progress, a small smile tilting his sensual lips as her gaze flickered over the men and women gathered there.
Good Lord, there was the senator's son. Aaron Hawkins. She had long heard rumors of his excessive tastes in sex, but she hadn't believed them. Beside him, Jayne Smith reclined back in a chair, her exotically tilted eyes following their progress. She wore no collar, which proclaimed her as a Domme rather than a submissive.
Morganna would have much preferred to make her debut here on her own terms, under her own control. Instead ... She glanced at the women sitting at the feet of their Doms. Jeez, that was going to suck.
She tensed as Clint moved to an empty chair, ignoring the warning flex of his fingers at her back. She wasn't a moron; she knew what she was supposed to do. Be submissive. She almost sighed at the thought. That was so not her.
"McIntyre." Drage nodded as Clint took his seat easily, tugging at her hand subtly until she managed to sink down gracefully to the floor at his feet.
With her legs bent, balancing carefully on one hip, she was able to maintain at least a semblance of decency as she did so. She was going to kill Clint when they left here for not warning her what she should expect.
She had expected something similar to the club upstairs. What she found instead was a sanctuary of control. The music was sedate, a soft murmur of classical tunes that throbbed with an undertone of sexual heat. Comfortable seating arrangements were scattered throughout the room, as well as what appeared to be card tables. On the far side was a well-stocked bar, and the waiters and waitresses wore leather and red leather collars with the word "Diva's" emblazoned into them.
The seating arrangement Clint had chosen was eight chairs grouped around a wide, low table. All the chairs were filled, with only Jayne Smith lacking a female companion at her feet. Instead, a heavily muscled male leaned against her chair, his handsome face filled with amusement as he glanced at Morganna.
This was too unreal. Jayne's sub was a very well-known member of society. Excessively wealthy, handsome, and considered one of the state's most sought after bachelors, Todd Harrington wasn't anyone's idea of a sub. Yet here he sat, dressed in black leather pants, his muscular chest bare, :he black leather band at his neck simple and understated but unmistakable with its small silver looped chain that hung from the side. Rather than a full leash or a gem, Jayne had marked her sub with a small, barely four-inch-long, chain.
Morganna's attention turned from the sub as she felt Clint's ringers threading lazily through her hair as he ordered himself a drink, then ordered her a water. Water?
She turned her head and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. Oh, he was going to pay for that one.
"Good evening, Morganna," Drage finally greeted her as everyone else continued to watch her.
She turned her head, meeting Drage's gaze directly.
"Hello, Drage." She ignored the delicate tensing of Clint's hands in her hair.
Drage's lips twitched as he glanced at Clint. "She's going to be difficult to tame, McIntyre," he informed Clint.
"Eventually she will be." Clint's voice hardened in determination, and though Morganna well understood the act they were involved in, she was suddenly intensely glad it was an act. Because she knew Clint could be a very dangerous man to cross.
"I'm surprised you pulled off making her wear the collar," an older gentleman across from them commented. "She never wears another's mark, nor has she allowed a chain to grace her own neck. Congratulations."
What the hell was she, a trophy? She looked at him through her lashes, memorizing his face. His tone was insulting, his gaze disapproving, as he stared at her.
"I don't make her do anything, Collins," Clint stated with an undertone of exasperation. "Morganna is here by choice, as I assume Velvet is."
Velvet being the twenty-something blonde sitting at the older man's feet, her head lowered. She was dressed in a black velvet dress that hugged her figure and left little to the imagination. Her breasts were nearly bursting from the too-tight bodice, and the slit running up the thigh stopped just shy of her hip.
"Of course she is; aren't you, sweet?" He patted the blond head as though she were a favorite pet.
"Of course," Velvet murmured, her head still lowered.
Morganna placed Collins high on her list of suspects at that point.
Morganna watched the gathering as the discussion moved to county politics, the age-old argument. The waitress brought Clint's drink, then set Morganna's water on the low table. She stared at it. Hard.
A second later Clint reached forward and set his drink on the table beside hers. The whiskey sour just called to her. She bit her lip, glancing away before an imp of less than submissive impulses took hold of her.
She reached out, lifted his drink, and took a fortifying sip as she ignored the flicker of amusement in most of the expressions around her. Everyone's but Collins'.
"Morganna sweetheart, that was mine," Clint said, an edge of steel in his voice. "I may have to punish you."
His fingers tightened sensually in her hair. And that just wasn't fair.
"I'll remember that," she answered in reply, barely holding back a smile at the silence that filled the group for a moment.
"So, Jayne, has your little boy toy managed to suppress his fondness for other women?" Collins asked then, turning to Jayne. "He seemed to take particular pleasure in fucking Hawkins' woman the other night."
Oh man. Morganna's gaze flew to Jayne and her "boy toy." Jayne's fingers ruffled through his black hair.
"It was quite arousing, wasn't it?" she said softly. "He has such a way about him. I believe the girl enjoyed it greatly."
Todd bent his head, kissed Jayne's leather-covered knee, and winked subtly at Morganna.
"If I remember correctly, he took particular delight in helping Clint last month with that girl from Merlin's," Collins piped in as he smirked at Morganna. "Your master enjoys sharing his women, Morganna."
"He used to enjoy sharing his women perhaps," she stated calmly. "No longer."
Collins lifted his gaze to Clint. Morganna didn't bother turning to see the fury blazing in Clint's eyes; she knew it was there. It was reaffirmed by the slight paling of Collins' face.
She was also aware of the fact that that the men watching her had suddenly become more intense, their gazes hotter. One in particular, Hawkins, watched her with blistering lust as his hand tightened in his sub's hair. And as Morganna watched, wide-eyed, the woman moved between his thighs, her finge
rs obviously loosening his pants.
They wouldn't.
They did.
Hawkins stared back at her with narrowed eyes as the brunette eased his erection from his trousers and lowered her head.
Morganna jerked her head around, feeling the heat pouring into her face, all too aware of how closely she was being watched. She forced her hand not to tremble as she snagged Clint's drink again and took a larger, burning drink.
Hawkins was obviously enjoying his lover's attentions if his quiet murmurs of pleasure were anything to go by. Good Lord, didn't these people believe in privacy?
Rising to her feet, Morganna ignored Clint's quiet murmuring of her name as she inhaled deeply and stared back at Jayne.
"Do you have a ladies' room?" Morganna glanced at the woman sucking intently at Hawkins' erection. "Or is that for public view as well?"
Jayne looked over at the couple for a long moment before patting her lover on the shoulder and rising to her feet. "Clint?" She turned to Clint.
"I need his permission to visit the ladies' room?" Morganna was practically burning with embarrassment now. She was going to kill Clint for not warning her.
"With another Domme you do." Jayne laughed. "But he knows he needn't worry. As lovely as you are, dear, women aren't my thing."
Morganna wasn't about to comment.
"Come along then." Jayne indicated a hallway several feet from where Morganna stood. "I need a break myself."
They moved into the hallway, where Morganna came to another bone-jarring stop. The way was lit by windows, but the view wasn't of the outside. It was of small rooms stretching down the hall, one window after another, with varying degrees of sexual acts being played out behind the windows.
"I can see Clint followed the letter of his contract with Drage," Jayne commented as Morganna began to follow her slowly. "Warning you what to expect is expressly forbidden by a member. Until you're accepted by myself and Drage, you aren't allowed down this hallway."
Morganna stopped again, staring through a glass partition with wide eyes. She knew that woman. The TV anchorwoman was bent over and shackled to a bed, her hips raised as a leather-clad man took a paddle to her rear and the woman raised and lowered her hips, working the dildo her lover held inside her with each backward thrust of her hips.
So this was what the confidentiality agreement Morganna had signed when they first entered meant. Sweet mercy.
"The ladies' room is just down the hall." Jayne gripped her arm and pulled her forward. "Why the hell are you here, Morganna? You're obviously not submissive material."
"Says who?" Morganna questioned her absently as she paused again, swallowing deeply at the sight of another couple. If she had ever been curious about anal sex, she was getting an eyeful now.
The toy Clint had used on her the night before didn't even compare to the sight of the couple engaging in it on the other side of the glass.
"Come on, Morganna," Jayne chuckled as she pulled at her arm again. "You can watch later when Clint's with you...."
Later? With Clint? Good gracious. That very well may not be a very good idea.
Morganna escaped into the ladies' room, breathing in roughly as she tried to plaster herself to the tiled wall just inside the door.
Jayne had excused herself to return to the main room, and to be honest, Morganna was damned glad of it. She hadn't expected this. To be honest, she had expected something darker, rougher, and she could have handled that much more easily. Shadowed rooms and pounding music with a few sexual antics in the corners. That wouldn't have thrown her nerves into a tailspin.
The restrained elegance, controlled lusts, and blatant disregard for the normal rules of sexual privacy were on the verge of freaking her out. Doing something in a shadowed corner or within a large crowd was one thing. The hall of windows into the bedrooms provided for sexual play, and Hawkins' display while calmly sitting within a discussion group, was another.
She knew the role she was there to play. The defiant submissive unwilling to actually submit. And if she wasn't mistaken, she had caught sight of the suspect she had been trying to keep an eye on upstairs several nights before in one of those window rooms.
He didn't appear any nicer to the woman he had facedown on that bed than he had acted upstairs to the uninitiated women dipping their toes into the lifestyle. Morganna was certain Roberto Manuelo was involved with the drugs. He socialized often with the three men who were arrested for dosing the drink last week, and since the arrest he was a shadowy figure rarely seen in the clubs.
The underground clubs Drage ran explained why Manuelo wasn't seen entering or leaving the main entrance of the building and yet could be glimpsed occasionally on the main floor. The underground private parking would allow him just that sort of entrance as well, but watching it was a hazard. Drage allowed no vehicles to park along the back entrance to the club without permission and it was the only spot to get a proper view of the entrance that led beneath the club.
Shaking her head, Morganna moved to a gleaming porcelain sink and waved her hand beneath the sensor. Warm water sprayed out onto her hands, dampening them before she brought them to her face.
Soft towels were folded to the side, and she shook one out with a snap before drying her face and forcing her equilibrium back where it belonged. Out of her throat. Damn, she never thought she could get so flustered just watching another woman give a blow job. Or another couple having sex. Or anal sex.
Her butt clenched as she braced her hands on the sink and she drew in a deep breath. She had to go back out there.
Oh God. She was not ready for this. She was not this blatant about sex.
Morganna drew in a deep breath, straightened her top. then turned and moved back into the hallway. She was not going to look into those windows.
Four windows down she stopped. Drawing in a deep breath again, she stared into the room, mesmerized by the sight of the couple.
The female half of the duo was tied to the four posts of the bed, spread-eagled and obvious in a world of her own. Between her thighs, her guy was doing some real lip action against her bare pussy. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. He licked, sucked, nibbled, and his lover's lips moved frantically as she pleaded for release.
Morganna was not a voyeur. This should not be turning her into one.
But it was. She could feel the liquid heat between her thighs as she forced herself to turn away, lower her head, and rush through the hallway. Damn, some things were just wrong. Getting turned on watching a stranger have sex was just so wrong, on so many levels.
As Morganna moved back into the main area, she kept her head down. She wasn't going to look. She didn't want to see sex. She didn't want to think about sex. She wanted to have sex.
As she moved back to Clint he caught her wrist, drawing her to his lap rather than allowing her to sit down once again. She expected to perch on his knees, but when he drew her farther back, lifting her legs over the side of his, she stared back at him in surprise.
He continued his conversation with Drage. Something about a new club Drage was considering? It was hard to keep track of the conversation when Clint's hand was stroking high on her thigh.
God, she needed a drink.
His free hand pressed her head against his shoulder while his hand stroked over the skirt to her hip.
This was so not fair. She was already so hot she was about to go up in flames. She had never had any defenses where his touch was concerned, and it was disconcerting to realize how easy it would be to lie there, to let him touch her, no matter the eyes watching them.
He was relaxed, comfortable, in this setting. And it was obvious he had done this before. Touched a woman as others watched, caressed her. Made her moan.
Morganna jerked at the sound of the soft whimper of desire that passed her lips.
"Clint, that's enough." His hand was moving beneath the edge of her skirt, his fingers caressing in small, mesmerizing circles.
At her words, he paused as his hand tightened
in her hair.
"My body," he murmured softly then. "Remember? To do as I please.
"This wasn't the agreement." No, it was the act.
She tightened as his fingers slipped beneath her skirt.
"No." Her legs tightened, her senses aware of the eyes watching.
His hand paused again.
Morganna was aware of the sudden silence of the group around them.
His hand tightened in her hair again; then his head lowered and his lips covered hers. And God, he could kiss. His lips dominated hers, his tongue ravished her mouth, and her nerve endings began to flame in need despite the eyes watching.
Morganna curled her fingers into the material of his shirt as she fought her hunger, her arousal. This wasn't the place. She was his lover, not his toy. In this arena, she would always be a toy. To him. To the men who watched her. And this arena was something Morganna would never submit to. She knew it. Clint knew it. And the enemy knew it.
She jerked back from him, scrambling from his lap as he stared up at her with a dark frown. There were too many eyes watching her. Too much lust whipping around her, inside her. Her own emotions were suddenly frightening, because she knew, to the soles of her feet, that being Clint's toy might not be so bad. And it might be all she could have, unless miracles occurred and the battle she often saw raging in his eyes stilled to acceptance.
Loving her and accepting it would be two different things with Clint. Whereas to her, they had gone hand in hand all her life.
"I said no," she repeated softly. "Not here. Not like this."
She turned on her heel and stalked across the room, back to the elevator and escape. They had discussed this. Gone through the act more than once. But as she stalked away from him, she felt the pervasive little thrill of arousal, the suspicion that perhaps she wouldn't have made a bad submissive, if Clint had been the one teaching her.