THAT NO GOOD, GRIMY, FULL of himself, jerk.
I shove my foot into my Converse and repeat with the other foot. Saturday night, after being pushed in a cab by one of Satan’s goons, I went back to my dorm room and debated how I was going to tell my best friend she was about to be barred from joining the sisterhood of the she-devils. Why did I have to go all Professor BDSM last night and act like I knew anything about sex clubs? I barely finished reading the Shades of Whatever series, let alone have any knowledge of what goes on in them. And I don’t think those books had anything to do with sex clubs in the first place! Gah!
I grab for my jacket, taking a quick glimpse in the mirror. Today, I feel more myself dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a worn Stone Temple Pilots t-shirt that hangs over my shoulder, exposing my black tank top strap.
I’d love to deny it, but when I got home, I did exactly as he instructed and ripped off that dumb dress and threw it down the hall for whoever lent it to Christine to claim. If she knew what was good for her, she would leave it there too. Not that I cared what that asshole said about me in it. I partially agreed with him. I looked like a fool. Dressed up like a doll in something that was far from the person I was. As I laid in bed debating how to fix the shit storm I got myself into, my thoughts kept going back to him. Every time I tried to sleep, his eyes would haunt me. I can still feel the heat from where his large palm touched my back. See the way his expression turned to stone when I stood up to him. I smile at the way I struck a nerve. Good.
But then I remember the hurtful way he spoke to me. The way he described me. In all its truthful, sad glory. I wanted to take a good swing at him for being so hateful and rude. But he was just speaking the truth. That’s exactly who I was. Plain. Boring. My auburn hair sits flat, unlike that blonde she-devil that has bounce for days. I don’t wear makeup ’cause it most likely wouldn’t help, and I don’t bother too much with my wardrobe because let’s be real, I’m a stick. My mom was a stick. And her mother…
I wasn’t bred to have those curves guys want. If I were honest, my shirt is hanging off my shoulder, not by style, but by inconvenience of my thin shoulder bone.
The way he spoke down to me still didn’t hurt any less. Or the way he looked at me, as if I’m so hard on the eyes, he couldn’t take another second of me in his presence. Not to mention he was a jerk and I didn’t get the contract. I tossed and turned all night. Christine’s going to hate me. She wanted this so bad, and I’m taking it from her.
I could google a contract. Make one up. I could just fess up and say I lied and beg them not to take it out on my best friend who wants nothing more than to join the blood-suckers. Or…I could go back. And as I jammed my arms through my worn pleather jacket, I knew I was going to regret any option I settled on.
I look at the time, and guilt washes over me as I watch the clock hit three in the afternoon. For my plan to work, I have to ditch my Monday afternoon Human Ethics class. I message my professor, telling him I’m not feeling well and I’ll do what it takes to make up the time. If I enter the club during the day, I’ll hopefully hit the cleaning crew, then I can pretend to be one of them and get my ass into Damien’s office.
I was smart enough to watch his bodyguard type in the code for the elevator, and I had to roll my eyes at the triple sixes. How cocky can one person be? I wonder if he saw through my lies when I told him he was nothing to call home about. He was far from unattractive. His height was domineering at way over six feet, and there was no hiding how fit he was by the muscular outline of his button-down dress shirt. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and those eyes…their color was indescribable. One may call them hazel, but it doesn’t do them justice. Amber would be the best way to describe them. The way they seared into me. In my dream last night, they looked at me with need. Lust. His strong hands didn’t shy away like they had in his office. They touched me in places that have yet to be sought.
I shake off the crazy. I do not need to be daydreaming about the son of Satan and his asshole ways. I need to get in his office and get that contract without getting caught. My friendship with the only friend I have at the moment depends on it.
I take a cab downtown and walk the five blocks to the unincorporated bar district. The club is located on the outskirts of town but isn’t difficult to find. Without a sign, it’s hard to locate again, but then I recognize the alley I got thrown out of.
I have no problem getting inside. The way I’m dressed, I fit right in with the cleaning staff. I walk back to the private elevator and enter in the code, which it accepts. My brows rise in surprise when I turn the doorknob to his office and it opens without resistance. I was prepared to jimmy it but turning the knob and gaining entry is a plus. I enter his office, and the smell of him surrounds me. It pains me to admit it, but the scent is so strong and enticing, I want to capture some of it and take it home with me. It’s a shame the owner of the alluring scent is a jerk. I brush it off and make my way straight to his desk. He has to keep them in here. I start with the middle drawer, and nothing.
“Dammit.”
I try the side drawers, all with the same conclusion. Pulling a bobby pin from my ponytail, I kneel, placing my face close to the lock. I stick the pin inside and use another pin to wiggle the side of the—
“It’s a new desk. Meant to withstand a measly hairpin.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, my whole body jumps, and I bash my head into the desk. “Crap!” I yelp, dropping my pins as I grab for my poor nose.
I look over, and holy mother Mary and baby Jesus in a manger. My mouth parts as air whooshes from my lungs. He’s soaking wet—from a shower or sweat, I’m not sure. The room starts to feel too small, and my skin starts to feel too hot as I take in his slicked back hair, the shirt clinging to his skin, and the shorts sculpting to his…fuck. The devil should always steer clear of Prada and definitely work in basketball shorts. I gulp and jerk my gaze up, the bruise surely forming on my face almost forgotten. When I meet his eyes, my hands start to tremble. I’m in real trouble.
“You have five seconds to explain yourself. Then I’m calling security.”
I stand up, throwing the loose strands of hair behind my ear. I’m not really sure what to say, so I blurt out the first thing I can think of. “I told you. I need that contract.”
“And I told you no.” His voice echoes through the room. Nope. No hiding his anger. I’ll admit, he has me rattled. My knees are shaking, and my palms begin to sweat. His deep frown and dark eyes are eating me whole as they stare me down giving me more than enough reason to be a little freaked out, but if I show him he intimidates me, it’ll only make matters worse. So, I inhale a large breath and lift my chin.
“Well, I don’t accept your answer.”
Stupid, stupid girl, I silently curse myself.
It’s as if watching a match light, setting the fire blazing in his eyes. He takes the towel from his hand and tosses it to the side of the room. One step, two steps, three…shit. I think he’s going to try to strangle me. Four steps, five… Yep, he’s going to strangle me. I take a retreating step and trip backward into his office chair.
“So brave you are.” The words move from his lips, but I can’t take my eyes off his. They have mine locked, fearing his every move. And with each step, my pulse picks up. He oozes sex. Power. Domination. “You think you can just come into my club, break into my office?”
“Well, technically the door wasn’t locked—”
“And just take from me?” His voice raises just enough to send a heatwave of goose bumps down my spine. There’s no time to react when my feet leave the ground as I’m lifted. His rough grip digging into my hips confirm he’s less than happy with me. I’m positive he’s about to toss me through the glass window when he whips us around, sits in his chair, and throws me over his lap. “You know what happens to little foul-mouthed girls who think it’s okay to talk that way to me? To disobey me?”
I squirm under his tight hold. “What are you doing! Let me go!” I yell, trying to climb off his lap. His thighs are hard as stone, and I can smell sweat mingling with the cologne I remember from last night. “Seriously, Psycho Satan, let me go, or I’ll scream.”
“Oh, I hope you do. I enjoy a screamer. But I enjoy a stern disciplining even more.” Before I can decipher his meaning, he yanks down my loose-fitting jeans, and in one swift move, slaps me hard across my butt cheek. The immediate sting has my teeth clenching.
“YOU—”
Again.
And again.
And again. I attempt to fight under his hold until I find myself pleading “Please, stop.” My voice is hoarse. He does as I ask, but his hand still touches me, caresses me, soothes the place where he marked me. His touch is gentle. Calming. An unfamiliar feeling of wanting more blooms in my belly. My hips squirm in a slow grind over his lap without my consent. Each slide of his hand across the stinging of my flesh shoots bolts of electricity straight to my groin, and there’s no mistaking the hardness jabbing into my stomach, spiraling the intensity of…need? Want? Something…more…
“Please,” I whisper again, sounding less upset and more…God, I’m not sure. My skin is on fire. I’m confused at the tightness in my lower belly. The way I’m squeezing my thighs together. “Damien,” I say his name, a plea to make me understand.
His growl echoes in my ears, and I’m no longer in his lap. His arms hug me as he stands, fusing me to him. Using his free hand, he swipes everything off the surface of his desk to the floor, and my butt lands on top. He grabs my ponytail, locking my hair around his fingers. With a tight squeeze, he forces my head back. Our eyes lock, and without invitation, his mouth is on mine. His tongue slides inside, not allowing me any vocal time to object even if I chose to. I’m stone-still, my brain having trouble catching up. I’m being kissed. No, I’m being mauled by a man way out of my league. I seem to have lost my mind, just as he has, because a moan, unfamiliar to me, travels up my throat, and I kiss him back. His tongue tastes like coffee and mint, and it makes me want to taste more of him. My palms reach out, sliding up his hard chest.
His free hand drags my jeans farther down my hips. “Dammit, what in God’s name are you wearing?” he demands, pulling my worn jeans hard enough for the zipper to tear. His strength and determination win over, and my pants fall to my ankles. He kicks them off and presses himself in between my thighs. “Why do you wear such plain clothing?” His fingers begin to tug at the seam of my panties. There’s immediate panic at where he’s about to explore and my heart begins to pound. It’s been forever since anyone but myself has ventured there, and I quickly begin to pull away.
“Damien,” I plead, but he doesn’t let up. If anything, his fingers become more determined, working their way past the thin barrier. “Damien,” I say again, with a little more force. My palms push against his chest as he finds my entrance. The tips of my fingers curl at his intrusion. My lips part just as he ends our kiss and pulls away, placing his mouth on my neck.
“A girl as innocent as yourself shouldn’t be here. Especially in the hands of a man like me.” He grazes along my flesh with his teeth. I want to tell him he’s right. Push him away and run. At the same time, I want to beg and cry for him to continue until I explode into a million pieces. He begins to use force as he slips one thick finger through my wet folds. With each thrust, his hold on my ponytail tightens. As if he wants to cause me just as much pain as he does pleasure. The feeling is almost euphoric. My eyes squeeze shut, and when I open them, I find him staring at me, his amber irises gone, obsidian in their wake.
“Is this what you wanted?” he continues, stroking me. “Is this what you think happens here?” He adds two fingers this time when entering me. “Were you hoping to get caught so I could teach you a lesson?”
He’s trying to work me up. Prove me wrong. I become disobedient under his spell. I attempt to wiggle out of his grip, but he only spreads my thighs wider, planting himself harder against me. His two fingers become three, and his slow pumps become quick, powerful jabs. Raising my hands, I reach for his hair, grasping tightly. His hair is thick and still wet between the clutches of my fingers.
“You enjoy giving pain as much as receiving. I’ll take note.” His words anger me even more. I want to pull his hair out, but my restraint on him is slowly becoming less trying to hurt him and more of a tool to help hold on to whatever is happening with my body. A feeling of tightness creeps up my stomach. My skin all too quickly becomes overly sensitive, and with each push, shove, dominating thrust, he takes me to such an unfamiliar place. A few more seconds pass and my walls squeeze around his fingers as my own hold his hair for dear life.
All too quickly the moment of pure bliss wanes. Damien releases me, and I almost tip off the desk. Immediately, he steps away from me, putting ample space between us. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” His voice is gravelly and deep. He moves to the window and runs his hands through his hair, refusing to look at me.
“It’s…okay.” Okay? That was the best you had? And really, is it? I have no idea. I’m so confused. He just spanked me, for crying out loud. Was it horrible? Yes. It hurt like hell. Did I totally hate it? I’m afraid to even answer that. The way he coddled my bruising skin once he was done felt overly intimate. Yet, he’s a complete stranger. And then what I just allowed to happen…Oh God. My cheeks heat as shame washes over me at the way I so easily allowed him to touch me. A man who’s probably with a new woman every single night. If not more than one. Embarrassed and now feeling the cool breeze against my bare thighs, I jump off the desk and slip my ruined jeans up my legs while willing a hole to swallow me alive.
“I need you to leave.” He doesn’t spare a glance at me, but his voice is telling. He’s back to being mad. I’m not sure he was ever not mad, but now, he’s possibly even angrier.
“Not without what I came for,” I spit out, trying to button my jeans, but failing at the ripped seam. I’m just as guilty for allowing what happened between us, but I’m certainly not taking that spanking session for nothing. He turns at my reply. His eyes warm my blood as they penetrate me. “I told you I need that contract. I’ll do anything to get it. Which means I’m not leaving until you hand it over.”
He stares at me for some time. Maybe I’ve broken through his thick skull. A few more seconds. God, please just give me the stupid contract and pretend this day never happened. He begins to move, and I flinch, my body tensing. He goes to the bookshelf at the far end of the room, unlatches a hidden compartment, and pulls out a stack of papers.
Yes, yes, yes, yes…
Turning back, he tosses the thick stack onto the desk. “This what you want?”
Yes! “Thank you.” I step forward to grab it, but his arm reaches out, his warm fingers wrapping around my wrist.
“Not so fast.”
“What, why?”
“I told you before, nothing is free.”
Oh crap. “You mean that spanking shit you just pulled wasn’t payment?”
He ignores my comment. “You want the contract? Well, I want something from you.” I’m not feeling very good about where this is headed. “You’ll sign that contract, offering yourself to me for one night. If you fulfill your contract to me, I’ll let you walk out of here with it.”
Uh, whoa. Hold the phone. “Um, just one minute. I told you before, I’m not some sort of escort.”
“And I’m not looking for one.”
“Then what the hell? I’m not going to be your sex slave for a night. Just because I allowed”—I wave my hands around as if I’m free falling from a mountain—“whatever just happened to happen, doesn’t mean it’s happening ever again.” His eyebrows rise in disbelief. Yes, I would. Ugh. My body’s still tremoring from what just happened. “Listen. I get it. You don’t like me, and I don’t like you. I’m sure you actually have no interest in keeping me hostage for a whole night, you’re just trying to scare me into leaving. But you don’t understand. I…I lied.” His eyebrows rise once again. I go on. “I may have told a little fib to make myself look cooler to a bunch of Barbie wannabes.”
Damien steps forward, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “Explain yourself.”
Sounds a lot easier said than done. “I lied and said I was familiar with sex clubs. Sex. All of this.” I wave my arms around again. “But I’m not.”
“Clearly.”
I dart my narrowed eyes at him, hoping he feels the hatred in them. “I’m not here to prove anything to you, Damien. I just need that contract. They say if I come back with one, proving I’ve got what it takes to come in here and get one, they’ll allow my best friend to pledge.”
“This means nothing to me. Why do I care about your friend? Do you want to pledge?”
“Fuck no! But my best friend sure does. And they kinda have me by the lady balls if I don’t. They’ll ban her, and she’ll hate me.”
“If she’s your friend, she’d understand,” he says with a bored shrug.
“Well, she’s my only friend. And I can’t risk that.” I wish I were a better bluffer, but there’s no hiding the sadness in my tone. Christine will hate me. And I can’t risk losing the only person who’s truly stood by me. I shrug, brushing off any emotions etched on my face. “Either way, can you just give it to me? There’s really no need for me to come back here. Hand it over, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Dropping his arms, he steps back into my personal space. “Take it or leave it. My offer won’t change. It’s up to you how much this friendship is worth. But I’m a busy man. Give me an answer. Now.” He intrudes further into my personal space, forcing me to take a few steps back. When he stops, he leans into me, and I stiffen, unsure of his next move. Reaching over me, he grabs for the doorknob. “What’s it gonna be, Ms. Jensen?”
I want to tell him to shove his contract up his ass, storm out of here, and take my chances on Christine not hating me. Possibly prepare myself for becoming a loner for the next four years of college. I’m trying to build the mental picture of eating alone every day, but Damien’s cologne, once again, seeps into my nostrils, jarring my concentration on planning my future life of solitude.
“I think you should…” His arm brushes against my shoulder as he opens the door. “Should…uh…” God, what was I going to say?
“Should what, Jensen?” Jesus, the way he says my name… My skin breaks out into goose bumps.
“Only one night. That’s it. Then you hand over the contract.”
Damien steps aside from the door. “Be here tomorrow by nine o’clock. Don’t be a second late.”
Did I just make a deal with the devil?