A Little Band of Red (The Red Series Book 1) Page 2

  “Umm, thanks, I think. But seriously, what happens when you join a club?”

  “Well,” India eased closer, her soft floral scent wafting around PJ as she too leaned in over the book. “They have this intro program where you go along, meet the Masters, watch demonstrations and generally see if it feels right. If it does, you can play, if not, you can leave. It’s all very civilized and consensual. They want you to experience it before you commit.”

  “Commit—to what?” God she sounded naïve, but PJ honestly had no idea what India was talking about. Committing to her had been giving her heart to Sam, planning a future, considering him in every decision she made.

  “Commit to the lifestyle, PJ, commit to a Dom and learn how to please him.”

  “And what about you, what do you get out of it?”

  India’s sigh was laced with so much sultriness that PJ felt her cheeks blush.

  “It’s simple really. I want to belong to someone. I want to feel owned and cherished. I want to surrender my body into a man’s care and know that I’m safe, but mostly I want to discover who I am, what I’m truly capable of.” Indy too was slowly turning an embarrassed shade of pink and her hands were trembling. “Christ, I sound all deep and meaningful, I’m not usually. I’ve just been waiting so long for this.”

  PJ was speechless, totally caught up in India’s spell. She honestly couldn’t imagine belonging to someone on that level, the trust she’d have to have. Maybe it was just too soon after Sam’s betrayal, because the thought of giving her heart or body to any man was terrifying, and yet ….

  “Oh, you’re thinking about it, I can tell. Would you go? I mean you’ve got the book, you must be interested.”

  Was she? Was that why she’d spent half an hour reading the notice board in the sex shop where she’d bought her new vibrator, her mind racing between one fantasy and the next as she mentally answered all the ads, agreeing to some requests whilst vehemently refusing others?

  “Think about it, PJ, it’s only for five weeks.”

  “I honestly know nothing. I don’t even know if I’m submissive and I hate pain, so that,” PJ turned to the next page, flashing the glossy photo of a woman bound in rope, spread eagled on a cross, her ass and back, bright red and raised with welts, “is my worst nightmare, although he’s pretty hot.” Standing beside the woman was a man, wearing tight black jeans, and the cruelest smile PJ had ever seen. There was a harshness to him, his eyes cold as he gazed down at the woman yet his confidence was alluring. A man like that wouldn’t leave her waiting, wondering what he was thinking, she’d never have to try to interpret his cryptic comments or empty compliments. A man like that, PJ could trust and as she’d recently found out, without trust, there was nothing.

  Chapter 2

  “Ahhh, please, Master …”

  Luke Monroe cracked the flogger, the heavy black strands hitting the woman chained in front of him, square across the shoulder blades. Her whole body bowed, her legs trembling violently, right down to the six-inch heels she wore. It was all Luke could focus on, the wicked little spikes digging into the thick Persian rug, red and pink, such a striking combination and strangely fitting. In the muted light of the dungeon, she too was painted in the soft hues, her back and thighs a riot of stripes yet Luke couldn’t see the beauty in it tonight.

  She was gasping, clearly begging for more and she could take it, her need for pain rivaled his own, which was rare, but as the flogger fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a loud thud, he knew their scene was over.

  “Please, Master, I’ll be good … do anything, I can take it.”

  “Did I say you could speak?” Luke took a step back, his gaze sweeping around the room, taking in every little detail from the candles burning gently in the wall sconces to the heavy chains dangling from the ceiling.

  How many nights had he stood in this exact spot with a willing sub, bound and begging for his mercy? He honestly couldn’t count. There were so many nameless, faceless women, so much pleasure and so much pain, but right now he felt nothing except an ungodly sense of dread.

  With slow methodical steps he paced round the room, his heart pounding, his head spinning. What the fuck was happening?

  Why now after all these years was he questioning the decisions he’d made, the things he’d chosen to sacrifice in order to fulfill his desires? He’d known back then when he’d first recognized his need to dominate, to evoke fear and give pain that he was never going to have a normal relationship, although God knows he’d tried, pushing his partners to their limits, then a little bit further. It was a fucking risky game when you were a sadist.

  “Forgive me, Master.”

  Lana’s plea floated around Luke like a sickly sweet scent. He swallowed, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable pressure building in his chest. “Enough, we’re done here tonight.”

  Her lips parted, her brows drawing tight in confusion. Clearly she hadn’t gotten what she required out of their time together, but then, neither had he. Lana was simply one more woman in a long line that had knelt before him, attempting to manipulate her way into his life. But she never would because the one thing that drew him to her was the one thing that ultimately pushed him away. The desperation, adoration, whatever it was he saw in the big blue eyes staring up at him now, left him cold.

  Fifteen years in a court of law had taught Luke a thing or two about body language; how to read it and understand it on a subconscious level. The helpless little moans she was making and the way she fluttered her lashes were a complete contrast to the slow undulation of her hips, her peaked nipples. She was so aroused by pain, the perfect masochist yet she played the innocent.

  Why?

  When had it all just become a game? Luke had never seen it that way. Yes, he had rules, strict ones that he never wavered from, but it had been the only way to satisfy the two opposing sides of his life. The high court lawyer who battled for the underdog, the brother who had cared for his siblings when their mother hadn’t and the sadist with very few boundaries. The people in his life who truly mattered to him would never understand, so he hadn’t told them. Nobody really knew who he was and now he was paying the ultimate price for that decision. He was thirty-seven and single. There’d been so many women in his life, all of them coming to him, pleading for the one commitment he could never give them because his private life and his professional one, above all else, had to remain separate.

  Moving closer, Luke took in the soft rise and fall of her breasts, the erratic pulse of the veins just under the surface of her flushed skin. She was crying, and normally he liked that, yet somehow tonight it made him uneasy. With a gentle sweep of his finger, he wiped away a tear, leaving a thick trail of mascara behind. What he wouldn’t give to see those tears on a fresh face, one not painted like a canvas. Were her eyes actually blue, her hair blonde? Was her name even Lana?

  Fuck, he couldn’t do this anymore.

  “Lower your eyes.” She cringed, his abrupt tone once again reminding her who was in control.

  “Did I do something … wrong, Master, did I displease you?”

  Very carefully Luke captured her face between his hands, his forehead coming to rest against hers a moment later. “No, you didn’t. You’re beautiful when you submit and when you scream, but I can’t give you what you want this evening.”

  “I could come home with you, I could—”

  “No, you know I don’t do that.” He felt her tremble, heard the sharp intake of breath. She was going to beg any minute now like she always did when she couldn’t manipulate the outcome of a scene. He’d witnessed it a hundred times before.

  “But …”

  Before she could continue, Luke pressed his palm over her mouth, hard enough to feel her fight. That too was an act—it was all a fucking act. Quickly he released her wrists, untying the rope that he’d meticulously bound around her forearms. Her perfect olive skin was marked, chaffed by the thick hessian, but it wouldn’t be for long. Leading her to the couch tucked ne
atly in the corner, he left her, returning with a bottle of water and a blanket. As soon as he sat down she was all over him, literally climbing onto his lap, and it needed to stop.

  “Lana, Darling, I’m not the Master for you, you know that. I can’t give you what you need. I’m not …” Luke’s mind went blank as the previous decade of his life just up and vanished, leaving him feeling alone and empty. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman, at least not one that he felt anything more than a contractual obligation to. Even now, his touch felt clinical as he stroked her hair, carefully brushing it off her face. How many times had he had this exact same conversation? A beautiful willing sub begging to be his, pleading for a chance to be more than just a passing infatuation. How many more before he finally acknowledged what was going on in his head or more importantly, in his heart?

  For the first time ever, Luke needed something more. The one thing he’d denied himself all these years, he now yearned for with a fierceness that ached, but he was never going to find it in the club. Fourteen years in the scene was about thirteen too long. He’d seen it all, and for a while it had been like living a dream. He’d become so detached from the reality of what he was doing, so detached from life. He’d watched his work colleagues meet their partners, fall in love, fall back out and he’d been smug, knowing that would never happen to him. In Luke’s black and white world, he’d drawn a line right down the center. He never spoke of work at the club and he never took the club home, no matter how gorgeous it was, but it wasn’t gorgeous anymore. It was tired and it was fake, just like him.

  “… I’m—not looking for a submissive right now.”

  “Don’t you want something more than this? Don’t you want someone who’s yours?”

  God, he did, more than anything, but not her or any other woman like her. He was such a fucking hypocrite, because he wanted someone pure and innocent.

  “No, Lana. I don’t.”

  “Everyone does in the end, Master. No one wants to be alone.”

  After gathering her up in his arms, Luke stood, holding her tight before he set her back on her feet. She wobbled for a moment, her breasts pressing hard against his chest as he waited for her little performance to end. Her hands were all over his shirt, her fingers delving under his waistcoat. He could stop her with a word; instead he caught her wrists, keeping her still while he wrapped the blanket tightly around her before he led her from the room. By the time they returned to the main club she’d stopped crying, but the damage had been done.

  The last six months had been such a struggle for Luke as he dragged himself through the motions week in, week out. Friday night socializing after work, smiling at all the women who threw themselves at him. He knew what they saw, he wasn’t blind. Six foot three and well built; he was the perfect cliché with his Nordic heritage, chiselled jaw, high cheekbones, blue eyes and light brown hair. Luke had played the part, charming all the wives and flirting with the female board members. That too was a farce, designed to keep all the players in line. Saturday night at the club was the same, as he acted out the lie that had become his private life over and over again. Somehow, the world he’d so cleverly crafted had become an absolute nightmare.

  “Ah, just the man I was hoping to see.” Gabriel Knight, the owner of Bond Street appeared, drink in one hand, a piece of paper in the other. “Do you have a minute, Luke?”

  The vice like grip around his fingers tightened as Luke stopped, turning to his friend. “Give me five. Lana and I need to have a chat.”

  Gabriel raised a brow, taking in the woman standing between them. “Take your time. I’ll be in my office.”

  Finding a quiet corner, Luke took a seat. One flick of his wrist and Lana was kneeling before him; eyes lowered, legs spread, once against immersed in her role.

  “Lana, I want you to look at me and listen. I can help you find a Dom, one who can give you everything you need.” The tears were instant, but for the first time, she didn’t beg.

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Alright then, I’ll have a word with Master Gabriel, find out who’s unattached. Now is there anything else you need, anything you want?”

  “Just you.”

  Fuck.

  Ten minutes later Luke entered the relative safety of Gabriel’s office, shutting the heavy oak door firmly behind him.

  “You look like you need to hit something, which is ironic really, considering.”

  Ignoring the maelstrom of emotions racing around his head, Luke smiled. “You’re a funny bastard, you know that?”

  “It’s been said a time or two before.” Gabriel stood up, his broad shoulders flexing under his suit as he rounded his desk, taking a seat on the edge. “I need you to run the beginner’s program next week. Dalton’s still away and Lulu’s on night shift.”

  “No.” The response was out before Luke could stop it. He was as surprised as Gabe.

  “What?”

  There was simply no point denying it any longer. He was done. “I need to take a break, step away for a bit.”

  Gabriel was silent, his whole demeanour stiffening as Luke watched him, waiting for his response.

  “And do what? You’re a sadist, Luke. That’s not going to stop just because you don’t come to the club twice a week. People like you and I need this or things get nasty.”

  “I know that, damn it, but …” But what?

  “Leaving isn’t the answer and you know it. You need to connect with someone, you need to make it real.”

  There was that word again, thrown at him from a different angle, however the result was the same. “None of this is real, you of all people must see that.”

  Gabriel flinched. “Luke, listen to me. You and I have been here since the start. I know what you’re going through, I’ve been there too, but it’s not as simple as flicking a switch and walking away. You can’t turn this off. What are you going to do when you need someone, put an ad in the personal column? Call an escort?”

  That was just insulting. Luke had never stooped that low and he never would. When he opened his mouth to retaliate, he caught the glimmer of humour in Gabe’s eyes. “Prick.”

  “Probably, but you know I’m right. Look, step away for a few weeks if you need to, think things through. You just haven’t met the right person yet, that’s all.”

  That wasn’t all, but Luke didn’t even know where to begin with all the other shit churning through his head. He wasn’t sure if he was even capable of having a relationship. He’d become so emotionally void and shut off. Did he still know how to care for somebody? The only thing he was certain of, was that the woman who came into his life would become the center of it, and that would be a dangerous thing if she wasn’t ready or able to handle him, because Gabriel was right, his needs were never going to change. He might be able to hide them for a while, satisfy himself with other pleasures, but eventually the desires that had driven him all his life, would do so again.

  “What about—”

  “She’s not here, Gabe, not in the scene. I don’t want to be with someone I’ve seen ten other men fuck.” That got a look and a laugh.

  “So let me get this straight. You’re looking for a masochistic virgin who’s never been in a club, but can take a damn good flogging?”

  Hearing Gabriel say it out loud just fucked Luke off. He already knew he was asking for the impossible. “Maybe not a virgin. That would just be wrong.”

  Chapter 3

  PJ’s first week in the warehouse involved men, lots and lots of men. By the end of it the damp proofing was complete and the interior walls had been insulated, ready for lining. The rotten beams had been replaced so if she watched her step, she could walk from one side of the vast space to the other without falling through the floor, yet none of that mattered. They had their first building inspection on Monday for the five steel girders which hadn’t arrived yet and a moisture test in the basement that they were most likely going to fail. Rodger’s crew were working around the clo
ck and so was she. There hadn’t been a day when she’d spent less than eighteen hours on site, answering emails, answering Rodger, Simon, Trevor … Phil.

  The one person she hadn’t answered was Sam, his emails had started on Monday asking where she was. PJ had deleted them. She couldn’t explain the feelings that his simple query had evoked, her emotions were still too raw and battered to be pinned down to a few words.

  On Tuesday when he’d sent her a two-page apology begging her to forgive him, to think of all they’d had between them, she’d burst into tears in front of at least twelve men. Work had progressed steadily after that, all of them treading around her like she was some sort of oestrogen-fuelled bomb, primed to explode at any minute. When the crying finally stopped, she’d attempted to answer him, but what could she say? In the blink of an eye, her whole world had changed. As much as it broke her heart all over again, she wouldn’t allow Sam to be part of it. When she hit delete the second time, for some reason, it hurt less.

  On Thursday, she’d been officially fired. Derrick’s email had been scathing, but the girders had arrived, so on the whole it had been a good day, and she’d also received a text from a friend. Miss India Ross had a lot to answer for. She’d been in PJ’s life less than a week, and already she’d planted a deviant seed of curiosity.

  Now as PJ stood under the twenty foot chains that hung from the ceiling of what was going to become her lounge, she couldn’t stop thinking about cuffs and clamps and—

  “PJ, did you hear any of that?”

  Rodger was pacing, clipboard in one hand, cell phone in the other.

  “Sorry, I was away with …” a half-naked man and a coil of rope, “… the fairies.”

  “We’ve got no bloody time for fairies. I need the floor plan for the kitchen—”