She looks up and meets my gaze. And even though she’s on her knees and displayed to me -- totally at my mercy -- she raises an eyebrow. Still rebellious, still stubborn as hell. She’s not giving in without a fight.

  Yes, this is going to be fun.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ZOE

  I’ve really screwed up this time.

  All I had to do was keep my head down. Stay out of Dax’s way, just be a good little employee until he’d forgotten all about the way I led him on and left him hard and hanging in his office the other night -- and the fact that I was trespassing there in the first place.

  I had a plan, dammit, but all that went to pieces the moment I laid eyes on his smug, cheating, two-timing, too-damn-handsome face. I couldn’t help it. I poked the bear, and now the bear is going to have his way with me.

  In public, for the whole room to see.

  I brace myself. I don’t know exactly what kind of show Dax is planning, but I’m guessing it won’t be a group hug situation. I’m on my hands and knees here, my body resting on the padded bench with my ass in the air.

  Thank God the club is anonymous.

  Dax leans over and secures restraints around my wrists and ankles, locking me in place.

  “Comfortable?” he asks, an edge in his voice.

  “Just peachy,” I reply through gritted teeth.

  “Good.” He trails one hand absently over my head, from my hair all the way down my shoulders and back before resting his palm possessively on my ass.

  Fuck.

  That one touch sparks through me, electric with promise. I try to hide my shiver, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m turned on.

  I wait for him to address the crowd, to explain exactly what he’s going to do, but Dax doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even look at the roomful of people all watching us; his focus is only on me as he slowly pulls up my dress, baring my ass. I’m wearing a skimpy thong, and now my cheeks are naked for the whole room to see.

  I’ve never felt so exposed.

  Dax’s fingertips trail lightly over my ass.

  “You’ve been disobedient,” he says. His voice is soft, but laced with steel.

  I’ve never heard him sound like this.

  “You talked back to me. You disrespected me in front of a guest. A friend.” He is saying this quietly so the audience doesn’t hear, but I get the message loud and clear.

  I flush with nerves. He’s really pissed. Maybe I didn’t think this through.

  “In this club, I don’t tolerate rebellion. Ordinarily, I would simply fire you,” Dax strokes my ass again, another firm, possessive rub. “But you’ve volunteered for a more... appropriate punishment. So, I thank you for that, Ms. Kendell. You’ve made my job easier.”

  He leans in and brushes my hair back from my face. Turning to face the crowd, he says, “She’s been a very naughty girl, and you know what happens to naughty girls? They are punished.”

  He stands, and reaches for something. A moment later, blackness engulfs me.

  I panic, until I realize he’s just blindfolding me. The fabric is soft against my skin. I brace myself. As much as I want to know what’s about to happen, I’m relieved not to see the people staring at me.

  I try to calm myself down. He’s just on some power kick, I tell myself. He’ll spank you a little, and then be done. It might even be a good thing -- make him think he’s got the upper hand.

  I shift a little, trying to get comfortable in this position. It’s weird not being able to see anything -- and thrilling too. I don’t know where Dax is or what he’s about to do or say; all I can do is wait here in the darkness, my pulse kicking faster with every passing second.

  Finally, when I’m just about losing my mind with impatience and curiosity, I feel a light tap on my ass. “Ten strokes should do nicely,” Dax murmurs.

  “One.”

  The impact is sharp and sudden, and makes me gasp in shock.

  Two. Three.

  I clench my jaw against the sting. His hand strikes my flesh with sharp determination, but as the pain of each strike fades, I realize, it’s just surface.

  I can take this, no problem.

  Four. Five. Six.

  He doesn’t let up, bringing his palm down hard in a new spot each time.

  Seven. Eight. Nine.

  Dammit, now it really is hurting. Tears begin to sting my eyes, and then he rains down the final blow and it’s over.

  Blissful peace.

  I gulp a breath of air, my ass stinging like hell.

  “Good girl,” I hear Dax’s murmur, and then his hand is on me again, but this time, it’s soothing, smoothing gently over my tender flesh, chasing the last of the pain away with a warm caress.

  Mmmmm.

  I arch into his hand without thinking. My heart is still racing, but somehow, everything feels more intense. The spanking brought all my senses screaming to life, and now I feel everything more vividly: the cool air against my skin, the hard platform beneath my hands and knees, and the delicious slow stroke of Dax’s masterful hand, rubbing over my ass, and yes, dipping between my thighs.

  I swallow back a moan as his fingertips trail lightly over my pussy. My thong panties are soaked through, blocking my entrance from his probing fingers, but he scratches lightly across the fabric, sending shudders of sensation through me.

  More.

  “Don’t worry,” Dax’s voice murmurs low, as if he can read my mind. My body. “That was just the warm-up.”

  What?

  I barely have time to register the words before his teasing touch is gone. Suddenly, a stinging sensation cracks across my ass cheek.

  I yelp out loud.

  “What the hell?”

  “Silence!” Dax roars.

  I bite back my protest. Another sharp blow hits me on the other side. I grip onto the handles, blinking back tears. It’s a crop of some kind: leather, and the pain is more intense where Dax strikes it against my bare skin.

  But then, just as suddenly, the pain is gone. And the crop is nudging between my legs, rubbing up against my clit, just right.

  I moan.

  The crop flicks lightly against my swollen nub, and then snaps, harder.

  Fuck!

  It’s pleasure and pain. Sharp and sweet, all in one.

  My body feels like a live-wire, a tangle of nerves all lit up and neon bright.

  Dax moves the crop, trailing it over my back, then swiping at my bare thighs, my ass, my legs. Each tiny sting just seems to wind me tighter, the pain spiking through me and fueling the electric throbbing between my thighs, intensifying as it builds up in my wet, aching core.Dax pauses, and my body revs.

  I can’t believe it, but I want more. I want to see how far he’ll push me -- how good my body can feel. I’m already overwhelmed with unfamiliar sensations, but I’m still curious about what lies just beyond the edge.

  Dax resumes my punishment.

  Every stroke gets harder. And every moment, I get more turned on.

  By the time Dax unsnaps my restraints, I’m finding it hard to remember why I was mad at him in the first place. My whole body is aching for his touch, and I’m so turned on I can barely stand. I don’t protest as he takes my hand and drags me on weak legs down the hallway.

  “In here,” he growls, opening a door and practically carrying me inside.

  It’s dark. One of the playroom suites, lit only by dim lamps flickering sexy candlelight. In the middle of the room is a huge four-poster bed. But we don’t make it that far.

  Dax reaches for me. He pushes me back against the wall, kissing me hard and fast as his hands yank my dress up and move to push my thighs wider.

  God, it feels so good. But even through the haze of lust I manage to cling on to the one thing that got me into this mess in the first place.

  The sight of him with that woman. Together.

  I pull back.

  “No.” I take a breath, fighting to keep it together. “You can’t do this, touch me like this. I know what you’re hiding.”

  Dax stops dead. His eyes flash dark. “And what’s that?” His voice is threatening, but I can’t back down.

  “I saw you with her.”

  He frowns. “With who?”

  Is he kidding? “That woman,” I exclaim, furious. “You were playing happy families, earlier today. With her -- and your son.”

  Dax stares at me, open-mouthed. Then he bursts out laughing.

  I blink, confused. “What’s so funny?”

  “You think...? Me and her...?” he’s shaking his head now.

  I frown. This isn’t what I expected him to say. I was prepared for sweet talk and denial, not... laughter?

  Dax pulls himself together. “Is this why you’ve been spitting daggers at me all night?” he grins.

  “Can you blame me?” I fire back, crossing my arms over my chest. “You hook up with me, then go home to her. Is that how you operate? Using the club as your personal meat-market? Does she even know what you get up to here, or is she in the dark, too?”

  “She has a name.” Dax takes hold of my arms. “It’s Maria.”

  I feel a twist of pain in my chest. “I don’t need to know that.” I look away, surprised to feel so hurt.

  “Yes, you do,” Dax says patiently. “Because Maria is an old friend of mine. We’re not together, and we never have been.”

  I look back. He seems sincere -- but cheating assholes are usually good liars. I narrow my eyes. “You sure looked friendly.”

  “Because we go way back. She’s like a sister to me,” he adds, smiling affectionately. “And her son, Luca, he’s my god-son. We spend a lot of time together. His father isn’t in the picture, so I do what I can to be there for the kid. For both of them.”

  I pause, trying to figure if he’s still lying. But Dax’s expression is open and honest.

  He’s telling the truth.

  Whoops.

  My anger dissolves. I can’t believe how wrong I was.

  “So you’re not cheating on her with me?” I ask again, watching him through narrowed eyes for any hint of duplicity.

  Dax’s mouth quirks in a smile. “Technically, this wouldn’t be cheating. I haven’t fucked you yet,” he adds, casually.

  His words shoot through me like fire.

  Yet.

  “Just answer the question,” I demand.

  “You want a simple answer?” Dax stalks towards me again, pinning me back against the wall. “No. I’m not cheating, and I’m not with anyone else. In fact, there’s nothing stopping me from ripping those damp panties off your sweet ass, bending you over the bed, and giving you the hard fuck you deserve, except that you don’t want me to.”

  He’s wrong. I do want him. And without my anger holding me back, suddenly there’s nothing keeping this heat from flooding my body.

  “Or do you?” Dax breathes, his stare fixed on me.

  I flush, hating that I’m so transparent.

  “Say it,” he demands. His hand slides between my thighs, stroking my clit through my dress. God, he knows just how to handle me. The right pressure, agonizingly sweet.

  I arch up against his hand, hungry for more.

  “Yes,” I admit. “I want it.”

  Dax’s breath is hot on my cheek. He rubs again, and my body shudders in response. After the spanking, I’m hyper-sensitive, strung out on the edge. Just a little more--

  Dax steps away. His hands drop.

  “Unlike you, I’m a professional,” he says shortly. “I don’t let my desires interrupt my work.”

  What the hell?

  I stare at him blankly, trying to process his words, realizing they’re the same words I threw at him the last time we were together.

  Dax smirks. “Finish your shift,” he says. “Then go home. We’ll have dinner tomorrow night. Seven PM.”

  “I can’t. I already have dinner plans. A college group--”

  “Eight then.” Dax cuts me off with a warning look. “No later. Come to my place. I take it you already know the address,” he adds.

  I nod, still shaking.

  “Good. I expect an explanation, Miss Kendell.” He gives me a warning look. “Tomorrow, you better be prepared to tell me everything. I don’t care if I have to fuck the answers out of you, I’ll get them one way or another.”

  With that devilish promise, he leaves.

  Oh. My. God.

  I sink back against the wall, reeling from his proposition. 8 PM. His place. The truth.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DAX

  I walk out before I break my own rules and take her right there up against the door.

  How does this girl get under my skin so much? I came in to work determined to fire her, but hearing her moans of pleasure as I gave her the spanking she deserved changed everything.

  I want those moans to myself. I want to ride her, feel her stubborn body break under my hands and pounding cock.

  But first, I want the damn truth.

  I finish up the night with my mind half on work, and half planning my date with Kate tomorrow. Entertaining her is the least of my concerns; all that matters to me is that for the first time, we’ll have total privacy at my place.

  No office doors to swing open; no phone calls or business to attend to.

  Just me, and her, and as little clothing as possible. I meant what I said, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to get the answers I need. Like what she’s doing following me out of work, coming to my home, spying on me with Maria and Luca.

  This girl might be a mystery, with a mouth on her made for arguments and sin, but I’m not fucking around anymore. This cat and mouse game has gone on long enough, and I won’t tolerate another day in the dark.

  Not with everything at stake here.

  *

  I wake up the next morning restless as all hell. I go for a run to get the itch out of my system, but when I get back to my loft, I find someone leaving something at the door.

  “Hey, wait!” I yell, remembering the anonymous notes.

  The guy turns. It’s one of Nikolai’s security guys; I recognize him from his trip to the club. This one is squat and bulky with a scar on his cheek.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand.

  “Delivery,” he replies in a thick Greek accent. He holds out a box.

  I pause, suspicious.

  “Nikolai says he looks forward to doing business with you.”

  The goon waits for me to take it, and when I don’t, he shrugs, and puts it on the ground. Then he strolls back to his van and drives away.

  I watch him go. What’s Nikolai up tonow? I made it clear, I don’t want him investing in the club.

  I carry the box inside and open it. There’s a note -- but it looks nothing like the anonymous letters that have been sent before. This one is on thick cream card with an elaborate letterhead. Dimas Developments. The handwriting is thick and scrawled, and unmistakably Nikolai’s.

  Good seeing you, son. I’ll be in touch.

  It’s like he didn’t listen to a single word I said.

  I check the rest of the contents, my anger growing. Champagne, court-side tickets for the Knicks, caviar... It’s a luxurious gift-basket.

  Since when does Nikolai send out gift-baskets? The man I used to know was more likely to send a pack of goons to beat you bloody into a deal than gift-wrap fine chocolates.

  I check the card again, noting the new company name and the swank design. In a split-second, I decide. I’m not waiting around for him to make his next move. If there’s a problem here, I’m solving it.

  Today.

  *

  I head out in my Lamborghini. The miles disappear under the tires as the smooth ride takes me out of the city, on the highway to my old neighborhood. Here, the glitter of skyscrapers is soon replaced with grimy neighborhoods, packed housing and abandoned lots; graffiti and broken windows.

  The distance is more than miles. This is the place I grew up in, the streets I used to know by heart. I would have sworn once that I’d stay here until the day I died, just like all the other kids who grew up here and were buried out on the hill, local boys until their last breath.

  Until I made it out, and never looked back.

  I pass a group of kids hanging outside the bodega on the corner: playing dice and hustling God knows what else. Ten years ago, that was me and Jimmy, running with a bad crowd, thinking fifty bucks in our pockets on a Friday night made us rich -- even if it was all gone again come Monday morning. It was easy to believe this was all there was in the world, when college loans were out of reach and even the honest paying jobs were hard to come by. Without the factories or union jobs left this side of town, it was a choice between the unemployment office or other, less legal means of getting by.

  Like with Nikolai.

  I cut a right at the stoplights, heading towards his gym. Back when I was a boy, this place was the heart of the neighborhood, and it looks like nothing’s changed. The big old warehouse sits in the middle of the block, no sign out front, but everybody knows the spot.

  I was fourteen when I started running errands for him, and eighteen by the time I found the strength to walk away. I wish I could say the years in between were tough, or harsh, but the truth is, I found more family in the walls of this gym than I’d ever known before.

  Nikolai may be a ruthless son of a bitch, but he took care of his own. My mom was too busy working three jobs to keep track of me. It was Nikolai who made sure I stayed in school, taught me how to keep books, how to stack odds and split the take. Soon, I was running his table better than guys twice my age; he got a real kick out of it too. “The kid will be running this whole joint one day,” he’d laugh, when I cleaned up on a sly bet.

  But the numbers were only half his game. It was the rest -- the intimidation, the extortion, the beatings and the drugs -- I couldn’t face. That wasn’t the life I wanted. Nikolai may be king here in the neighborhood, but that wasn’t the kind of man I wanted to be.

  I wanted out.

  I park and stroll towards the entrance. On a Sunday afternoon, the place is buzzing. Kids training at the punchbags, and a couple of fighters in the boxing ring too. Old photos on the wall show prize fights and champions, and up in the back office, I know Nikolai will be holding court, checking the take from last night’s fight and weighing up his new contenders.

 

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