Angelina Giardano floated. Free of pain. Free of her body. Free. Where had Allen gone? Who cared? She was free of him, too. She found herself staring down at what looked like her body being held by a dark-haired stranger. Definitely not Allen. This man’s tanned and muscular bare arms held her blanket-covered body. Even though she was unable to feel his arms around her, she knew it was her body somehow. She marveled at the sense of security she felt.
Safe.
How strange. The delicious feeling left her without a single care.
Why didn’t she open her eyes to look at his face?
“You were so brave, cara.”
Brave about what? She’d never been brave in her life. But his words made her want to believe him. He wiped away her tears. Why was she crying? She felt so incredibly safe. Blissful. Not a reason for tears. He’d even said she’d been good. Exactly what she’d been good at, she didn’t know. She was just happy she’d pleased him.
A tremor shook her body and he pulled her closer to his chest, resting his head on top of hers, as if to keep her still. You did well, cara. He even used Italian endearments. Cara. Dear. Papa called her cara. She wished she could brush her fingers over the soft-looking black hairs on his corded forearms.
How could she be looking at him from above but feel him? Even though her eyes remained close, she saw short black curls on the top of his head. Why didn’t she open her eyes and look at him? Mio Dio, had she died? Was this heaven? If so, it was nothing like she’d been led to expect.
Suddenly, a blinding flash of light engulfed the room. Oh, Dio! The pain!
“Accckkkkkk!”
The once strong, safe arms wrapped around her now only caused the pain to intensify. Her butt burned as if held over a flame. She screamed and fought to get away. From him, from the pain.
“Shhhh. I have you.”
Safe. No!
His hand wiped the tears away from her cheek. When the underside of his forearm brushed lightly against her breast, she felt her nipple swell as if reaching out to him. More. Her skin tingled where he’d barely touched her, sending a zing to her clitoris.
“Ohhhhh!” Both nipples hardened, as did her clit. She was going to come. How could that be without her or someone else stroking her clit? Dio, even with Allen touching her there, she’d never had an orgasm unless she took matters into her own hands. Now she was nearing orgasm without that stimulation?
Heat engulfed her—delicious, curl-your-toes heat. The pain in her butt receded as she reached up to hold onto his vest. The pecs she brushed felt like velvet-encased steel. She moaned, grabbing his vest tighter, frustrated as she tilted her hips upward seeking release. More. Please!
She needed him. So hot. Why did he have her wrapped in a blanket? Oh, good! His hand pulled the blanket apart. He was going to take the damned thing off of her. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand reached inside the blanket, took her knee, and opened her wider, then his fingers moved to delve just inside the opening of her vagina. Oh! With two fingers, he spread her folds, then one finger slide up her cleft until he drew wet circles around the hood her swollen clit.
“Oh, oh, yesss!”
Angelina’s lower body bucked toward his hand. His finger moved faster. She wanted to feel him inside her. As if he’d heard her, his finger glided back along the path to her pussy lips and his finger slid deep inside her. So wet. Allen had never been able to do that without lubricant.
“That’s right, cara. Just feel.”
Oh, she felt him, all right. Her grip tightened on his vest. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Don’t stop! Had she shouted the words, or were they only reverberating through her mind? Thank God he continued, whether he’d heard her or not.
His finger slid out of her and back up to her clit again, this time directly touching the hard nubbin.
“Yes! Oh, Dio, yesssss!” Angelina pressed her forehead against his chest. The sensations were too intense. She was losing control, if she ever had any. Her hips bucked against his hand, harder and harder, simulating intercourse.
“Mio Dio! Don’t stop!” she screamed as her release approached. Angelina pulled her head away from his chest and reached up, digging her fingers into the back of his neck. She pulled the stranger’s head toward hers. Even with her eyes closed, she guided his lips to hers perfectly and tried to open his mouth with her tongue. His unyielding lips pulled away. She groaned, then didn’t care anymore as she crested the waves of ecstasy.
“Voli, cara. Fly. Fly apart for me.” His thumb rubbed her extremely sensitive clit as he rammed two fingers inside her vagina. She bucked up. “Yes, that’s right. Ah, shit, bella, you’re so damned tight.”
His words and the friction of her motions caused her butt to rub against the blanket. Fire. She was on fire again. But the pain only added to the exquisite sensation. Pain mixed with pleasure.
“Yes, yesss, ohhh, ohhhhh, God! Yesssssss!” The intensity of the orgasm caused her body to stiffen, then buck, and stiffen, over and over again. Her climax went on forever and she her eyes flew open as she clutched his vest, hanging on for dear life.
The wave receded much more quickly than it had built up. Tiny tremors shook her body as she floated. Her clit became hypersensitive and she moved away from his hand. He supported her back and readjusted the blanket over her hips and breasts, surrounding her with his arms, pulling her close against his hard body once more.
Her body began to shake, the muscles in her neck, arms, and legs spasming. Oh, God, what was happening to her?
“Shhhh. I have you, cara.” He tucked her arms inside the blanket again.
That voice. Her angel from heaven. The sexy angel with a Northern Italian accent. Oh, Papa you were right. Heaven is in Italy!
Fire burned in her butt. No. This was hell! Another chill wracked her body. Hot. Cold. The uncontrolled tremors caused her stomach muscles to contract, as well. He held her tighter.
“It’s over now, bella. You’re safe.”
She crashed to earth violently. Disturbing images invaded her once-euphoric state. Allen. An X-shaped cross. Cuffs. Arms aching, stretched so high above her head. He’d used a flogger to beat her senseless. He wouldn’t stop. She’d used her safe word. Hadn’t she? Why didn’t he stop?
Spasms gripped her calf muscles. She groaned and pulled her knees up toward her chest. The blankets trapped her arms, but she tried to reach down anyway to rub the knotted muscles in her legs.
“Hurts,” she whimpered.
The angel took her calf in his firm hand and massaged the cramp away, first one leg, then the other.
“Ow!” Oh, Mio Dio, the pain was more than she could stand. Tears wet her cheeks. Hot against her skin, then cold. She’d never been in so much pain in her entire life. Not physically, at least.
Why had she agreed to come with Allen to his kink club in Denver? He’d used much more force than they’d agreed upon when they talked about doing a BDSM scene. At first, she’d tried to please him and not cry out, but the beating had continued for what seemed forever. She’d begun to scream. Soon she realized Allen had been getting off on her screams of anguish.
That bastard!
Where was he now? They had driven up here together. Had he left her at the club? Or was she somewhere else? How would she get home?
She heard a door open and close, seemingly far away. Her angel reached out for something, then tilted her head back. She missed the warmth of his chest against her cheek.
“Here, cara. Sip on this.”
At last, she would be able to see his face. She opened her eyes, looked up, and gasped. Oh, God, he wasn’t an angel at all. He was a wolf! She tried to back away, frightened again.
“Shhh. It’s just water. You’re dehydrated. This will help take care of the cramps in your legs, too.”
An English-speaking wolf, with a Northern Italian accent, and intense green eyes. Was this a dream? A nightmare? As if in a trance, she opened her mouth and let him tilt the bottle until cold water trickled down her throat.
“Good girl.”
Her insides melted. Why was it so important she please him? She didn’t even know him. Some water dribbled down her face to her neck, but what she managed to swallow soothed her scratchy throat, raw from screaming, she guessed. She took his hand and tilted the bottle at a steeper angle.
“Whoa, easy, cara. Not too fast.”
He smiled at her and she realized he was only half wolf. Warmth pooled in her stomach. His mouth and chin were very human. A man, with a full lower lip and straight white teeth—no wolf fangs—against tanned, beautiful skin. Below his mask, his jaw and chin sported a shadow of scruff. As she sipped slowly, she wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by her angel-man-wolf. Why hadn’t he let her kiss him moments ago? Would his whiskers abrade the skin on her face and neck—and other places?
He pulled the bottle away. “Now, have some chocolate. This will help you come back to us faster.” He smiled.
She wasn’t sure who he meant by us, then she remembered the door. She tensed. Allen! “Don’t let him touch me again!”
“Shhh. He’s gone.” He clenched his jaw.
She relaxed again. Safe. He smiled. All she knew for certain was that she wanted to keep him smiling at her. As he broke off a piece of chocolate, she opened her mouth, waiting to be fed. He wouldn’t have to force her to eat chocolate. When he looked down at her, his smile vanished and his hand went still just short of delivering what she craved.
“Please.” Her voice sounded raspy to her ears. She wasn’t sure if she was begging him for the chocolate or to smile at her again. She wanted both.
Used to taking care of herself, she reached up and pulled his hand toward her mouth, biting off a piece of chocolate, accidentally nipping his fingers in the process. He laughed. Bliss. The deep rumble from his laugh sent shivers down her body. She didn’t know or care what was so funny. Closing her eyes, she sucked on the nectar of the gods while being held by an angel.
“Mmmm.” The dark chocolate melted in her mouth. She licked her lips to get every bit. When she opened her eyes for more, his gaze was fixated on her mouth. Perhaps he wanted some of her chocolate. “I don’t mind sharing.”
He looked puzzled, his gaze straying to whoever was standing behind her, and then back at her. She looked down at the chocolate bar in his hand and licked her lips again.
He laughed, as if relieved. “Insatiable.” She opened her mouth and this time he placed the flat rectangle on her tongue. She smiled at him and closed her mouth and eyes again, her lips surrounding his thumb and finger before he pulled them from her mouth. He lowered his arm and tightened it around her, holding her close again. If only she could stay here forever.
Not possible. The world intruded on her post-orgasmic state. She had to get back home. She had an event to cater on Wednesday. At least she thought it was this Wednesday. She didn’t really care anymore. Her body became more relaxed and listlessness blanketed her. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep for a year or two. Curl against her angel-man-wolf. She smiled. As her eyelids drooped, she heard him speaking with whoever stood behind her.
He’d taken care of her. He hadn’t hurt her. She deemed him safe enough to let down her guard. Angelina curled against him and felt his arms adjust to support her in sleep. If Allen came back, he would protect her.
Safe.
* * *
“I came down as soon as I could get rid of the dickwad.”
Marc looked up at Adam, bare-chested as well, except for his all-black leather vest. He stood with his legs apart, hands fisted on his black leather-clad hips. The man looked as if he held his beast on a tight leash. Well, join the club. He’d known Adam would take care of Sir Asshole. None of the Masters at Arms tolerated abuse like what had been done to this woman.
Now, how did they keep it from happening again? Clearly, he needed to offer classes again, if it would keep her and others from going through something like this. He looked down at the beautiful angel sleeping in his arms and felt an unfamiliar tug at his heartstrings.
Dangerous.
Adam cleared his throat. “How is she?”
Marc tried to keep his voice low as he answered. “Better. Sleeping.”
“I’m having a room prepared for her upstairs—the one next to Karla’s.”
Marc knew every room in the house, of course. Adam had purchased the run-down mansion in Denver’s Five Points neighborhood after he retired from the Corps. Seeing that Marc was going to be at loose ends after receiving his medical discharge, he invited him to join him in starting a fetish club. Soon after, they’d discovered Damián needed a lifeline after the trauma he’d suffered at Fallujah.
The unlikely crew of three had embarked on converting Adam’s monstrous house into a club and a residence for Adam and Damián. They’d worked over the next three years to refurbish the Victorian into the showplace it was today. Marc had never realized how good it could feel to work with his hands, or to be so proud of accomplishing something he’d set his mind to.
Luke had worked during the last year of renovations to do the cabinetry and trim. The man had become fixated by Marc’s SAR work with the mountain rescue squad, asking a thousand questions. Then Marc had learned he’d lost his wife in an avalanche. Soon after, Luke began training for the squad and the two had become very good friends over the ensuing years.
He’d even had Luke make some equipment for a private playroom in the tower of that monstrous cave of a house his grandfather had bought him when he’d first come home from the war. He’d tried to convince Gramps it was more house than he wanted or needed, but the man had insisted the family’s “war hero” accept it.
Marc was no hero. His brother, Gino, Sergeant Miller, and Damián were the heroes.
He couldn’t disrespect the man by turning him down. Still, he sometimes wished he had someone else to rattle around with inside the mausoleum. He just hadn’t found a woman he wanted to let that close—and probably never would. Pamela was long gone before Marc had been able to complete the playroom. Okay, so maybe the room wouldn’t have helped their relationship and he did have commitment issues, as she’d accused him of being. Or maybe he was just discerning.
He wasn’t the only one steering clear of commitment, though. All three of the club owners led pretty solitary lives outside of club activities. Adam lived upstairs, in the private west wing. Damián had lived here, as well, until a year or so ago when he got an apartment of his own—alone. He’d said he wouldn’t put a woman at risk sleeping with him because he might hurt her if he had a nightmare or something triggered his PTSD. He’d had a tough time dealing with the amputation and Sergeant Miller’s death. Marc guessed he still fought that firefight in his mind on a regular basis.
When Karla had shown up for an audition two months ago and had been hired, Adam moved her into Damián’s old room. He’d said he wanted to keep an eye on her, be there for her. His former master sergeant liked to make people think he was a hard-ass, but Marc knew his heart was about as soft as they came. He was always rescuing the lost ones. Damián. Karla. Hell, he’d even rescued Marc on that rooftop in Fallujah, and afterwards, too, when he didn’t know what to do with himself after the war.
Of course, Adam always kept rooms available in the east wing upstairs for club members who wanted their privacy. The bedroom in between was a sanctuary for someone who needed one, like his little angel here.
He glanced up at Adam again. While his friend kept his emotions in check most times, Marc saw the muscle twitching in his jaw. He was about as pissed as Marc had seen him since Fallujah.
They thought they’d done all they could to teach the Doms who frequented the place to behave responsibly, but despite putting Sir Asshole through their basic training, he’d broken most of the rules anyway.
“I’m glad you got to her in time,” Adam said, unable to take his eyes off her.
Marc looked down and held her closer. Mine.
Whoa! Marc put the brakes on thoughts like that right away. He didn’t know where that possessive thought came from, but looked up at Adam again. “We’re going to have to address the problem of abusive Doms before someone else gets hurt.”
“We’ll discuss it at this week’s meeting.”
Marc nodded, then looked back at the angel in his arms. He brushed the hair away from her face. Her eyelashes twitched and she grimaced. “Shhhh,” he whispered.
He’d hoped helping her reach orgasm would take away some of the bad memories, but she’d probably be plagued with nightmares for a while, depending on how well she thought she could trust Sir Asshole. Marc brought his hand up to brush his fingertips across her full lips. His cock tightened, leaving him with the unfamiliar wish that he could stay with her tonight to hold her. Be there for her when the nightmares came. Help her forget.
Hold on. He hadn’t spent an entire night with a woman in more than a year. Pamela. He’d moved too fast that time. He wasn’t going to go there again, either.
“She’ll be monitored closely during the night,” Adam continued, as if he’d known the direction of Marc’s thoughts. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll see that she gets home safely. Karla has a friend who lives near where the sub’s from, according to the guest form she filled out to enter the club tonight. I think Karla would like a chance to get away from…the club for a while. I’ll ask her to take her home.”
Marc wished he didn’t have a five-day survival training excursion planned starting tomorrow at noon. He’d liked to have taken her home himself, to be sure she made it safely. But Adam’s relief at being able to send Karla away for a while wasn’t lost on Marc either. Adam liked to keep the young singer at arm’s length—and sometimes even further away.
Not his concern. He looked down at the sexy woman in his arms. He knew Adam was trying to tell him to stop worrying about her and resume his DMS duties, but damned if he wanted to let her go. She brought out his most basic Dom instincts—to rescue and protect.
“I’ll carry her upstairs soon and get back to work,” Marc said to appease Adam.
“Stay with her until I send Karla up after she finishes the next set,” Adam instructed. “We can switch to canned music tonight.”
Marc knew Karla would nurture the woman to the extreme, given the way she took care of the three Dom owners like a mother hen, despite her young age.
He stroked the soft cheek of the woman, who smiled in her sleep. His bone-hard erection grew even harder, if possible. The thought of training this little one into the lifestyle excited him a bit. Correction, she scared the living hell out of him.
No, she would not be his sub.
“Take as much time as you need. I’ll send a sub in here to clean the equipment after you leave.”
Marc nodded and Adam left him alone with her. Dark lashes lay fanned below her closed eyes. Serene again. She appeared to have returned from deep subspace fairly well.
A strong woman.
He didn’t even know her full name. If she’d opted for confidentiality, as most guests and members did, he’d never find out who she was. Only Adam had access to membership and guest records. Good. He didn’t want to have further contact with her anyway.
Of course, he didn’t expect to see her back here again—ever. Not after the experience she’d had with Sir Asshole. He wondered if being someone’s submissive was even her fantasy. Some women just went along with a kinkster boyfriend or spouse for fear of losing them to someone else who would be willing to share their kinky fantasies.
He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone again, unable to keep his hands off her. She moaned in her sleep and pressed her face into his hand. His cock tightened. No sense torturing himself with what might have been if they’d met under different circumstances. Still, he regretted refusing to kiss her earlier. Maybe just this once…. He bent down and brushed his lips across hers.
He felt her lips curve into a smile as she snuggled closer to him. Don’t take advantage of her. With a sigh, he pulled his face away, held her closer to his chest, and stood, leaving the room and making his way to the brick stairway. At the top of the stairs, he turned down the hall toward the private living quarters.
The door to her room was open. Marc carried her inside. The sheet and comforter had been turned down. He laid her down gently near the center of the bed. It pained him to see her grimace and moan as her sore backside made contact with the mattress. She needed some lidocaine to help ease the pain.
Trying to keep a professional medic’s demeanor, he unwrapped the blanket and turned her onto her stomach. Don’t ogle her gorgeous ass. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out the tube of soothing gel and a pair of latex gloves. She didn’t appear to have any lacerations, just angry red welts on her ass and thighs, but he didn’t want to chance infection.
He squirted the gel onto his gloved finger and spread it along the flogger lines on her thighs first. When she moaned, his cock threatened to rip through his zipper. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He moved as quickly as he could to cover the welts on her ass, too, then blew on her skin to dry it more quickly, watching gooseflesh spread over her ass.
When he finished, Marc wrapped her in the aftercare blanket again, turned her onto her back, and pulled the sheet and comforter over her. In the morning, Adam would retrieve her clothes from her locker in the women’s dressing room downstairs. Then she’d be gone.
As Marc looked down at her, she curled onto her side, burrowing under the covers. He wished he could crawl into bed with her and curve his body around her backside.
Cut that shit out.
Still, he’d try to get back upstairs to check on her tonight. But with all the activity going on in the club, that would be hard to do. He sighed. For the first time in months, he wished he hadn’t volunteered for DMS duty.
Oh, shit. He had it bad for this one. What was the matter with him?
“How is she?” Marc turned to watch Karla enter the room. She’d changed into black jeans and a “For My Pain: Fallen” Finnish band t-shirt. “Adam told me what happened.” She shook her head. “Poor thing.”
Marc smiled. Yes, Karla would mother her to death.
“I’ll check back in on her later, if I can get away.” Marc longed to bend down and kiss his angel again.
Hell, no! Not his. Still, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, letting his finger trail across her lips before he turned and left the room.
* * *
Fire. Angelina’s skin was on fire. She turned onto her side again, moaning at the pain. Something lashed at her backside, again and again, harder and harder.
“Red! Oh, God, please stop!”
“Shhh. You’re dreaming.”
Angelina opened her eyes to find a familiar, yet unfamiliar, woman standing over her in a strange bed. The woman was about her age, long black hair, heavy eye makeup, pale skin. Where would she have known her?
The young woman held out a glass of water to her. “Can you take ibuprofen?” Angelina nodded and, with great care, scooted up to a sitting position. Dio, the pain in her butt grew even worse, definitely not the result of a dream.
A flood of memories washed over her. Oh, God! Allen. The St. Andrew’s cross. Leather flogger. The man had ignored her safe word. Selfish, abusive bastard.
Angelina accepted the glass of water and two gelcaps from the woman. “Thanks.” After swallowing them down, she sank back against the pillows, too exhausted to sit up.
“How are you feeling?” the woman asked.
“Battered and stupid.”
The sympathy in the woman’s eyes touched Angelina. She didn’t even know her, but the caring seemed genuine. Why did she look so familiar?
“Adam…I mean, Master Adam, is very upset about what happened downstairs. I haven’t seen him that angry since he rescued me from a pimp in Chicago. When he dragged your boyf—I mean, the guy you were with—out the door, I thought he might change his mind and take turns with Master Damián to teach him a few lessons.”
The woman smiled, her blue eyes sparkling, as she spoke about the altercation. Angelina wished she could have seen it herself. Allen didn’t like to be pushed around. He was probably fit to be tied.
“I’m Angie Giardano.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Karla Paxton. I sing here at the club.”
Of course! The singer. That explained why she looked so familiar. Angelina hadn’t recognized her without her Goth dress and stage make-up. “You have a great voice.” Well, based on what little Angelina had heard while she was filling out the club’s paperwork, before Allen whisked her off to her private torture session.
“Thanks.” She glanced away, then back. “Master Adam said you live in Aspen Corners.”
Angelina nodded.
“I have a college friend who lives about thirty minutes from there. I have some decisions to make soon and have been dying to see her. So, Adam’s going to loan me his car so I can take you home today, after you’ve rested up a bit more, of course.”
Angelina tried to follow the woman’s conversation, but was so focused on the pain she only heard every other word it seemed. But the woman seemed trustworthy and kind—and didn’t seem to be making a special trip just to take her home. One thing Angelina knew for certain. She wouldn’t get into a car with a strange man at this point. She didn’t trust any of them, not after what Allen had done to her. Seven months together. How could he just shatter her trust like that?
She realized Karla was waiting for a response. She’d been talking about a ride home. Well, the sooner she got out of Denver, the better. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
Angelina looked down and realized the blanket wrapped around her had fallen, nearly exposing her breasts. Her very bare breasts. Her face flushed as she realized she was naked underneath the blanket. She pulled the blanket higher. Where were her clothes? She looked around the room to find a walnut dresser and a matching footboard of an antique cannonball bed. The room seemed rather stark. Definitely not lived in by anyone. Was it used for sexual encounters with club members? At least the bed didn’t smell of sex. It smelled of lavender, just like her Nonna’s room in Sicily. Comforting.
Karla took a seat in a chair next to the bed, where she must have been keeping a vigil, waiting for Angelina to wake up. The woman looked away, but Angelina had the feeling she wanted to say something more. She’d learned to just wait people out. Usually, the silence made them uncomfortable enough they’d fill the void by saying something without the usual filters. Sure enough, the woman didn’t disappoint.
Karla’s gaze met Angelina’s again. “Ad…Master Adam said you were new to this BDSM stuff.” She cast her glance away, then sat up straighter and brought her gaze back to pin Angelina’s. “Why did you want to try it? I mean, what made you think you were…?”
Angelina drew a deep breath. Okay, this wasn’t the line of questioning she was anticipating. “Submissive?”
Karla nodded.
Oh, boy. How to answer, especially now that she knew she’d been so wrong. “Well, I’d been reading BDSM romance novels.” She shrugged her shoulders, then smiled. “Something about the whole exchange of power with a dominant man interested me. Giving up control, in the bedroom at least.” She glanced away, not sure how to explain what attracted her to try it. Aha. Her gaze returned to the woman sitting beside her bed.
“I own and manage my own catering business. I’m in charge of a small temporary staff and am responsible for all of the details. Everything. All the time.” Angelina loved her business, even though things were a little slow in the Corners.
She took a deep breath before she continued. “I’ve always liked having the men I went out with make all the dating decisions. Where to eat. What to do. I just wanted a man who would take charge. Whisk me away on a date. Surprise me, rather than ask permission for everything. Allen was like that. How I ever let him talk me into this, though…”
“I’m confused. I thought it was about the giving and receiving of pain. Master Damián was really hurting someone tonight—and she was loving it.”
Angelina shuddered. “There are some who get into the pain aspect. But for me, I wanted the feeling of being restrained. To give over control of my body to someone who would make me feel…I don’t know what. Whatever I was looking for, I didn’t find it with Allen—the Dom I came here with. He went too far down the pain scale for me. I thought I could trust him. We’d talked about what my limits were…” Angelina looked away, embarrassed that she’d gotten herself into a situation like this. “I’m not sure I would ever trust someone enough to let him restrain me like that again. I think I’m going to stick to my novels from now on.”
Angelina looked over at Karla, who nibbled on her lower lip.
“I’ve never…I haven’t really dated. I wanted a career first and foremost. But there’s someone I like a lot who is really into this stuff. I just don’t know how to tell if I could fit in. What if I tried it and hated it? He wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me again.”
Angelina felt sorry for the woman. She had it bad for someone, that’s for sure. But who was she to be dishing out advice for the BDSM lovelorn?
“Does he know how you feel?”
“No. He thinks of me…as a kid.”
Angelina thought she saw tears in her eyes. She wondered how much older he was than Karla, but didn’t want to pry. There was one thing she could advise the woman on, no matter what kind of kink or vanilla sex life she wanted. “Talk to him. Communication is the basis for any relationship. You might be surprised that he likes you that way, too.”
Karla’s voice was barely a whisper. “But what if he doesn’t? I don’t think I could bear having him reject me again.”
Again? Okay, that didn’t sound good.
“I was only sixteen the first time,” Karla was quick to explain.
Now this was getting weird. Angelina didn’t get into the Daddy Dom stuff she’d seen online. Ick. Just how old was this guy?
Okay, to each her own. Who was she to judge? They were both adults. “I know it’s a risk. But if you don’t try again, how will he ever know you’re serious about him, and not just in a teenage-crush way?”
“I guess you’re right. I’ll think about it. I’ll talk to my friend Cassie after I drop you off. Although she’s has her own problems with men. Why do they have to be so complicated?”
Angelina laughed. That was the understatement of the century.
“Oh, I almost forgot! Adam said you could use chocolate. I made these chocolate-peanut butter brownies earlier today.” She handed Angelina a plate of two brownie squares that set her stomach to rumbling. “They’re Master Adam’s favorite.”
Had Karla blushed when she said the Dom’s name? Was he the one she pined for? Oh, my! Angelina remembered him from when she’d turned in her paperwork. Tall, intimidating to the extreme, definitely older—at least mid forties, she’d guess, a generation older than Karla. Although he certainly was in better shape than Allen, who was at least twenty years younger.
Maybe Angelina should revise her words of advice to the timid young woman and warn her she’d be way out of her league with a Dom like him, especially if she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be in the lifestyle. No way would he accept anything but a well-behaved submissive, Angelina was certain. Was Karla even sure she was submissive?
Stay out of it. It’s not like you’re an expert on BDSM.
Angelina munched on the best brownies she’d ever had. Who would have thought of adding peanut butter to a brownie? Holding up the last piece before popping it into her mouth, she said, “These are incredible.”
Karla smiled and thanked her, obviously pleased.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. This time, Angelina felt the need to end it. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my clothes are, would you?”
“They’re in the dressing room downstairs. Adam…Master Adam said he’d send them up after the club closed. He needs to wait to see what’s left behind to determine which are yours.”
“Listen, I can tell you exactly what I left down there, if you wouldn’t mind retrieving them. I just want to go home and put this fiasco behind me as soon as possible. Would you be up for leaving soon?”
Her intense blue eyes lit with enthusiasm. “I’ll need to throw some things into a suitcase. I’ll get your clothes first, but we could leave within the hour. I’m sure Adam won’t mind.”
After telling her where to find her things, Angelina laid back down on the pillow and closed her eyes. Strange, disjointed images flitted through her mind. A wolf. An angel. And the most sensual lips she’d ever seen. Ever felt. Her lips tingled at the memory as if he’d just brushed them with his. Who was he? Had he kissed her, or had she only dreamed him up? Perhaps her mind had wanted to give her something with which to erase images of Allen.
If so, it worked for her! The sooner she forgot about Allen, the better.