Lorelei James - Bound

Her jaw dropped. “There’s a sex club in Denver?”

“Lady, there are a dozen different underground private sex clubs in Denver.”

“Oh. You can tell I don’t get out much.”

“It’s not like they’re advertised.”

The conversation she’d overheard between Ronin and Knox at the dojo, where Knox asked if Amery was the reason Ronin hadn’t shown up at the club, made more sense. “So you’re offering to take me to this sex club?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell Ronin if I decide to go?”

“Not sure. I’d hate to tell him you’ll be there and then you get cold feet and pull a no-show.”

Amery started to protest that she wouldn’t do that, but she couldn’t guarantee it. There was a huge chance she would chicken out.

“Ronin hasn’t said anything about what went down between you two. Not that I’m surprised; he’s the most private man I’ve ever met. I’ve worked for him for years and still only know parts of him.”

“That drives me crazy.”

He shrugged. “It is what it is and that’s the way he prefers it. What I do know of him I respect the hell out of, so it makes it easier to accept the walls he’s built around himself to maintain that privacy.”

No doubt Knox had Ronin’s number.

“The other reason I know something unpleasant happened is that Sensei has been a fucking taskmaster the past three days. His training regimen for advanced students is difficult, but he’s kicked it up a notch to brutal. And that’s with all his classes, not just the higher-ranking belts and the MMA trainees. He’s been equally brutal on himself—driving harder than usual during his workouts.”

She had a moment of relief that Ronin wasn’t unaffected by what’d happened between them.

Knox stood. “So think about it.” He handed her a business card. “Call me either way.”

“I will.”

“I’m really hoping you’ll say yes.”

AFTER two restless days and two sleepless nights, Amery called Knox on Friday morning and agreed to go to the club. And she told him to make sure Ronin knew she’d be in attendance.

That decision made, she tackled the next one on her list.

She’d been vacillating about agreeing to work on Cherry Starr’s project, given the erotic subject matter. She didn’t want to alienate her existing clients, some of whom were religious organizations.

On the other hand, broadening her job opportunities made good financial sense, especially in this economy. Besides, she could call that branch of her design company something else. Like Hard-time Designs. Or Hard-up Designs. Or Hard-on Designs. She snickered at the last one, opened her e-mail, and started to type.

Cherry,

Again, thanks for your honest and informative response. I’m very interested in helping create a sexy cover for your book. If you want to send me the parameters for the image as well as what you envision for art and an approximate deadline, I’ll get started on it as soon as possible.

Thanks, A~

“WHAT does one wear to a bondage sex club?”

Knox looked up at Amery sharply. “Ronin didn’t instruct you on what to wear?”

“I haven’t heard from him. So I was surprised he told you to bring me to the penthouse first.” She paused. “Is that part of the scene? The rope master or whatever he’s called specifies clothing?”

He nodded. “Especially if you’re being displayed.”

Displayed. That word twisted the knots in her stomach tighter. Amery almost bailed on this adventure right then.

But she knew she had to go.

She wandered to the window. Twilight sent a pinkish orange glow across the Denver skyline. “What time are we supposed to be there?”

“In an hour.”

“Doesn’t exactly give me any time to shop.” Wasn’t as though Amery could call up Emmylou and ask to borrow fetish wear. Or Chaz either, for that matter, but if she had to lay odds on who owned leather and rubber clothing, she’d pick Chaz.

“I have a suggestion,” Knox said.

“Me going naked is not an option.”

Knox let loose a big booming laugh. “Ronin would have the head of anyone who saw you naked without his permission—including mine.”

Again she fought the urge to bristle at the word permission.

“I think the reason he wanted you here is that there are women’s club clothes in storage on the fifth floor.”

Amery asked, “Whose clothes?” even when she knew the answer.

“They belong to Ronin,” Knox said diplomatically. His gaze moved over her clinically. “You’re the right size.”

“So Ronin has a type?” she snapped. “Average-height strawberry blondes of Nordic descent with small breasts and pasty white skin?” And no backbone. “Is that what Naomi looks like?”

Knox stared at her as if she’d crossed a line.

“What?”

“You’re wrong. Naomi is nothing like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, first off, she’s Japanese.”

Why hadn’t Ronin told her that?

Because Ronin doesn’t tell you much.

“Do you want to wear the clothes or not?” he asked.

“It’s not like I have a choice.” She headed to the elevator. “Let’s go.”

Knox curled his hand around her biceps, stopping her. “The storage room is off-limits. I’ll grab a few things and bring them to you.”

She bit back her sarcastic comment about actually being allowed to choose her own clothing and returned to pacing in front of the window.

What should she expect at this club? Would she see members getting whipped and spanked? Would there be lewd sex acts? What qualified as lewd in a sex club anyway?

And where did bondage master Ronin fit in? If she was disgusted or scared by what she witnessed, would she ever speak to him again?

Or maybe you’re more worried it won’t disgust you at all.

But what woman wouldn’t freak the fuck out if her lover brought out a coil of rope and demanded, “On your knees, hands behind you”?

Amery rested her head against the glass. She was so confused about all of this. Would tonight clear it up or further muddy the waters?

The elevator doors opened. Knox approached her, holding out half a dozen hangers enshrined in plastic dry cleaners bags.

“I brought a variety. You are a guest tonight, so that will create some interest. But I’d suggest understated clothing if you don’t want to stand out.” He offered her that same slight bow she was used to from Ronin and left the room.

Amery stripped to her bra and panties in Ronin’s bedroom. She snagged the black leather miniskirt from the first bag. She hated that it fit her like a dream. Had Ronin seen Naomi in this skirt? Had he slid his hands beneath the hem and cupped Naomi’s ass?

Stop it.

But the image wouldn’t go away, now that she had a better idea what Naomi looked like—probably exotic in that Japanese geisha way—so she nixed the skirt.

The second dress was one piece; not leather, not rubber, but somewhere in between. Composed of funky cutouts that left her midriff exposed and a sweetheart neckline, it might’ve been okay except for the rings on either side of the neck that were probably meant for a leash.

Definitely the no pile for that one.

The next number was hot pink rubber. Amery couldn’t figure out how the hell to get it on, so it hit the discard pile.

The last item was a pair of leather pants. She worried she’d have to grease her legs to squeeze her thighs into them, but they molded to her contours as if they were made for her. Glancing at her ass in the mirror, she grinned. Her butt looked fantastic.

The shirt selection left a lot to be desired—either see-through or midriff. She eyed her lacy black bra. Although it wasn’t any more revealing than a swimsuit top, she couldn’t waltz into this club wearing leather pants and her bra.

On a whim she opened Ronin’s closet. She flipped through the dozen white dress shirts until she found one in the back that looked smaller than the rest. She slipped it on and Ronin’s scent washed over her. She closed her eyes against the pang of longing. How could she miss him so deeply when at the same time she felt she didn’t know him?

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror. The shirt was too big. Grabbing the ends, she tied a knot at her waist. Her black bra peeking through was a little trashy, but a better choice than a rubber dress with her ass cheeks hanging out.

Amery wandered out of Ronin’s room and Knox looked up from his cell phone. “That’ll work.”

“Good. So we what . . . just go? You’re driving us?”

Knox shook his head. “Ronin is sending a car. It’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

“Oh. Okay.” She headed for the bar and made herself a dirty girl lemonade—vanilla vodka, Chambord, triple sec, sour mix, and Diet Sprite. She looked at Knox when he perched on a barstool. “Can I get you something?”

“No. I don’t drink on club nights. I’d take ice for my water, though.”

Amery dropped cubes in a glass and slid it in front of him. “Maybe you’d better fill me in on sex club etiquette.”

“You’re a guest, so rule one is observation only. In scenes where there are whips or paddles and you hear the submissive saying no, understand that’s part of the game. There are members who like getting pain and others who like giving it. Do not intervene.”

She sipped her drink. “Is Ronin one of the types who like to give pain?”

“Not directly. He has several bondage suspensions that end up being painful enough to be called punishment.”