Damn him. His words, flat and emotionless, took her aback, even though they shouldn’t have. “Look, Jax.” Willow exhaled her irritation. “There’s no reason for you to behave this way.”

“Which way?”

“As if…” You own me. He sat close to her. Too close for her comfort. A little more distance would make it easier for her to think. She desperately needed that, because right now, she wanted to be across his lap, fighting to get away as he paddled her. And of course, he was so much bigger and stronger than she was that she could struggle all she wanted, and he’d be able to subdue her.

Scandalized by her own thoughts, she wiggled back in her seat. Instantly she regretted it. The friction heightened her arousal.

“You’re the daughter of one of my best friends.”

Pampered and protected. Unspoken, those words hung between them.

“He wouldn’t be pleased.”

Jax was right. Her daddy would be appalled if he knew she was here. He didn’t want any man touching her, which was part of the reason she fled Houston after finishing her undergrad work. Brian Henderson wasn’t just protective—he was obsessive about her safety. “Club rules prevent you from telling him. Your membership could be revoked.”

“I could lose a friendship,” he countered. “And that relationship is far more important to me. There are other clubs.”

He was as arrogant as he was impossible.

She drew back her shoulders. “I’m here to have a good evening, and that’s what I plan to do. Quite frankly, you can fuck off. Tell him, or not. I don’t care.” It was a calculated bluff. She cared. A lot. Her family’s tight bonds might be constricting at times, but their love meant more to her than anything. She dreaded being called into her father’s home office. “Enjoy your evening.” Another lie. After the way he’d ruined her night, she hoped his sucked.

She slid from the barstool.

“Wait.” Jax’s word was as forceful as any pair of handcuffs, and the command in it rooted her to the spot.

“Sit back down.” The words were friendly but lethal, and she understood how he enthralled audiences.

An internal battle waged in her, obedience to a Dominant who turned her on, and instinctive urge to flee from an asshole who’d threatened her.

“Please.”

Anything but an irresistible entreaty.

Willow wrapped her arms around her midriff.

“I want to talk.”

“I have news for you, Mr. Bigshot Internet Star. Communication is a two-way street. I know thousands of people hang on your every word and worship your advice like gospel, but I’m not one of them.” She was already so far in that she decided to go for broke. “In fact, I find you and your approach offensive.”

“Do you?”

Damn his dark soul, he grinned.

Those might have been the wrong words. Rather than offended, he seemed challenged and invigorated.

“Please sit,” he repeated.

The bartender meandered closer, putting away wineglasses, then leaning back to adjust the club-issued garter he wore around his biceps.

“No more threats?”

“I never threatened you, Willow.”

God. The way he said her name—breaking it into two syllables and trailing off in a whisper of seduction that shot rockets through her. He wasn’t just dominant—he was dangerous. “You’d have to promise to zip your mouth shut and listen to me too.” She marveled at her defiance of a man wielding so much power over her life.

“Agreed.” He extended his hand.

She stared at it. The one time they’d touched, she carried his psychic impression for days. This time, she was smarter. She ignored him and lifted herself back onto the stool.

He lifted one eyebrow in a mock salute.

Once she was as comfortable as she could be with him crowding her space, she reached for her drink.

He flicked a glance at her hand. “Nonalcoholic?”

“Yes.”

“So you did come here to scene?”

“Nothing gets by you, does it, Sherlock Holmes.”

He signaled for the bartender and ordered a club soda. “Look. Can we have a truce?”

Not with the way nerves zapped through her veins.

“You’re a sub.”

It was a statement more than a question. She’d had these discussions with numerous men, and none of them had disturbed her as much as he did. “I’m more of a bottom.” She swirled her straw around the inside of her glass.

Surprising her, he waited for her to continue. Aware that her words might someday be used against her—after all, he’d already warned her that club rules were less important than his friendship with her dad—she proceeded with care. “I’m into kink, but not on a full-time basis.”

She paused while the bartender delivered Jax’s drink. Her body language must have changed since the man wasn’t watching them as intently as he had before. After ensuring they didn’t need anything else, he walked off.

Jax ignored his drink in favor of studying her. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to be in a submissive partnership, but I like…” How the hell was she supposed to admit this to one of her dad’s friends? “I like going out, and I crave impact play.” She took a drink that she didn’t want while she finished her thought. “It sets me free.”

“Impact by itself? Or clamps? A Wartenberg wheel?”

Willow shivered. Not because she was scared, but because the idea of the pinwheel of tiny metal spikes pricking into her skin intrigued her.

“Ice? Heat? Other sensations?”

With other tops, she’d negotiated implements, discussed her pain tolerance, agreed on safe words. No one else had asked about torturing her in other ways. “I don’t know.” She stared into her drink.

“Tell me what things you have explored.”

“I’ve told you everything I’m going to.” She brought her chin up. If she didn’t shut up this moment, she might confess that she suddenly wanted him to rub a piece of ice over her clit. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“I have a couple of clubs that I enjoy. One in Houston. Another in Boston, but this is my favorite. I had a meeting…nearby.”

Breath rushed from her lungs. His slight hesitation omitted a ton of information, details that her mind filled in. She glanced at his right hand. As she expected he wore a gold ring. Though he wasn’t close enough to make out all the details, emeralds winked in the overhead light. Her heart plummeted. It told her enough. Like her father, Jax was a member of the Titans, one of the oldest secret societies in the United States. The organization had thousands of members, a who’s who list of people from all over the world. The annual dues were astronomical. Despite that, the wait list to join was years long. The Titans, officially known as the Zeta Society, owned an estate on the banks of the Mississippi River. As a child, she’d gone there a couple of times with her family, but never during the yearly meeting as nonmembers were banned from attending.

The Zetas did a fair amount of charity work, and they’d saved a magnificent historical home from demolition. Still, she chafed at the extreme waste of money that could be funneled into better purposes.

“So, you know.” It wasn’t a guess. It was a statement.

“Yes.”

“You sound disapproving.”

His membership explained a lot. How he’d gotten some big-name clients and achieved superstar success at such an early age. Titans helped other Titans.

Then she took a drink to escape the obvious. He would never have been admitted without merit. Only descendants of founding members received legacy admission to the group. He’d earned a seat at the table. “I’m studying for a degree in social work, Jax.” She chose her words with care, as he did, avoiding the mention of the Zetas. “I’d like to see people allot their resources differently.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “There’s only one way to do good in the world? Your way?”

She brought her chin up. “I don’t berate people.”

“Is that how you see it? You don’t think some people need a metaphoric kick in the ass?”

“Present company included?”

He lifted his glass in a toast to her.

“And no. I think with enough inspiration, people will move forward of their own volition.”

“Is that true?” His words held more interest than challenge, making her consider what she’d said.

“Or are individuals different? Do they respond to different stimuli?”

Her breath caught as he looked at her barely covered body.

“Pain. Sensation. Pleasure. All of them tied together in an inextricable knot so that you don’t know where one ends and the other begins?”

They were no longer talking about social consciousness.

“Is it possible that you’re right, but that my way works also?”

To his credit, he didn’t flaunt the fact that people thought he held the holy grail to success.

“I’m concerned with life balance more than you seem to be. You’re constantly talking about pushing, focusing on work to the exclusion of everything else. People need time to pause, to reflect. Think about positive things. Spend time with family and friends. Socialize. Connect. Laugh. Maybe ride a bike, but indulge in some fun. That’s what makes life worth living.”

“Maybe you should watch a little more and judge a little less.”

She blinked. She looked for the best in people and encouraged them to explore it. “That’s unkind.”

“Perhaps it’s true.”

Beneath his penetrating glare, she fidgeted.

“I presented a commencement address for a high school in a disadvantaged area last year. Look it up.”

She studied him through narrowed eyes, unwilling to acknowledge that maybe she didn’t know everything about him. The fact that he was still here rather than leaving her the hell alone to get her needs met was proof enough of his cocksure attitude.

“Do you play in the dungeon? Or do you prefer Rue Sensuelle?”

The Quarter was set up in a horseshoe shape. The main play room was a square, but beyond it was a more secluded, quieter area. Rue Sensuelle—or Kinky Avenue as most members called it—was located there. There were a number of different settings, separated by partitions. Each was furnished to appeal to a particular fetish. From what she’d heard, there was a schoolroom, a pair of stocks, and a Victorian chamber, complete with a brass bed. There was even supposed to be an examination table. The idea of being strapped to that terrified her.

He remained silent, waiting for her answer.

“I…” Why was this so difficult with him? “Prefer a Saint Andrew’s cross or a spanking bench.”

“Do you have a preference for either?”

“The Saint Andrew’s cross. It’s…” Emotionally safer. “Less personal, I suppose.”

“I’m guessing you like a flogging, then?”

“Actually…” No. She couldn’t tell him, of all people…

He leaned toward her, ensnaring her in his massive focus. For that moment, no one existed but her. “I haven’t had a lot of bare-bottom spankings.” Her body temperature increased, and she knew scarlet had flooded her cheeks.

“You’d like one?”

“No! I wasn’t asking.”

He grinned, and his features transformed. For a moment, he looked less hostile, more human. Inviting and approachable. Feminine instinct whispered that she needed to be extra cautious. A charming Jaxon Harris might prove devastating.

“Over the knee? Or tied to a spanking bench?”

Either. Both. What the hell was wrong with her?

“When you make an arrangement with a Dom, what do you ask for?”

She crossed her legs, but instead of it being a prim motion, she took the opportunity to tighten her pelvic muscles. Even though she didn’t want to be, Willow was horny for him. “Of course, I let him know that my safe word is red, like the club’s. And I use yellow for slow. And no physical penetration.”

“No ass play?”

Vigorously, she shook her head.

“Is your hypothetical Dom allowed to touch your clit?”

Her father’s friend was asking this? And worse, she was considering answering. “I’ve never said yes to that before.”

“But you’d be open to it?”

Am I? She glanced at his ridiculously big hand. Would his finger be rough against her skin? She tried to speak, but no words emerged.

“Would he be allowed to wedge your panties between your legs and use the fabric to get you off?”

She grabbed her drink and gulped down enough that she coughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” A wry laugh wrapped around his words.

Willow slammed her glass back onto the napkin much harder than she’d intended to.

“Do you like to orgasm during a scene? Or do you just like to get lost?”

“Lost,” she replied. “I don’t think I can.”

He leaned forward. “Can?”

What was it about him that invited her to reveal more than she wanted to? With other Doms, she’d drawn the line at penetration, and they’d agreed. No one had asked for more information. “Well, I mean… I never have. Orgasmed.”

“Has anyone else used sensation play with you?”

She plucked the straw from the glass. “No.”

“Is it something you might be willing to try?”

“Maybe. I mean, hypothetically. If the right Dom asked.” She was leading a dangerous dance. Flirting, considering. Despite the warnings bouncing around inside her head, she couldn’t stop herself from making a mistake with him.

“What toys do you like?”

“Nothing too intense. Paddles are okay. Hairbrushes, wooden spoons.” With other Doms, they were inanimate objects, but when she spoke with him, she couldn’t help but imagine him holding the implement. She shook her head.

“A devil’s tail?”

“I haven’t tried one.”

“Flogger, obviously.”

“Yes.” Dare she? “My favorite is a…” She cleared her throat. “An open hand.”

“The way it sounds is part of it?”

She met his gaze. He understood.

“Lucky for you, I have a few paddles in my bag.” Jax took the straw from her. The melty coconut liquid dribbled over the glossy bar surface as he returned it to the glass. “I look for certain things when I top a woman.”

She shook her head, indicating she wasn’t interested, but her damn mouth betrayed her. “Such as?”

“I want her naked. No clothes between us.”

“Which means a private room.” On the second floor, a place she’d never visited. She’d rarely been naked with a man, and she couldn’t believe she was even considering it with him.

“I agree to what she wants, but within her parameters, I want her to be willing to let me set the pace.” His tone, which had been even, turned rough and uncompromising. “The bottom is not in charge.”

“Of course.” Willow nodded. She didn’t like this man, but lust had plowed into her. Seizing any attempt to slow down the inevitable, maybe stop her from making a decision that would lead to trouble, she asked, “What about you? Why do you come here? Or for that matter, any club?”

“I enjoy pleasing a woman. Like you, I find impact play rewarding. As you said, connection with others is important. Quality over quantity.” He considered her. “Despite what you think you know, I believe focus is more important than actual hours worked. I can accomplish more in five hours than other people can in ten.”

He wasn’t bragging.

“I work out every morning. Sleep six to seven hours.” More quietly, sensually, so she had to strain to hear him, he added, “I get off on pleasing a woman.”

“Without the complications of a relationship?”

“You said that. I didn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have a girlfriend or wife waiting for you at home?”

“No. In case I wasn’t clear, I don’t cheat.”

Her resistance unraveled.

“If you want to get your needs met tonight, it will be with me and no other man.”

Willow was lost in his intense eyes, and still, she hesitated. She was far too smart to go the second floor with him.

Wasn’t she?