Diablo Blanco Club, Rite of First Claim Page 2

  Retreat definitely seemed the wiser choice at this point in the evening. There would be plenty of time to determine if David would fit her needs. Lyssa smiled up at him and conceded softly, “I’ll leave you to your admirers.” She eased her hand free of his arm and headed for the bar.

  If he protested, she didn’t hear or see it. She smiled at the surprised looks on Vance’s and Ben’s faces as she moved toward them.

  “Lys!” Ben rose from the stool he’d occupied at the bar to envelop her in a warm hug. “Darlin’, what are you doing here?”

  Vance leaned over the teak counter and kissed her cheek as she took the seat Ben had vacated. “Decided to finally check out a Select-a-Sub Night?” Vance teased with a grin.

  “I thought I’d see what all the fuss is about,” Lyssa hedged. There was no way she was going to give away her true purpose behind accepting Mike’s annual invitation.

  Ben picked up her wrist and ran his finger over the white band. “More than just see?”

  Lyssa ignored the glint of concern in his gaze and asked a question of her own. “What’s the significance of the colors?”

  Ben looked at her, his gray eyes measuring as if she were one of his patients before he answered. “Red means a sub has recently left a master and is actively searching for another. Black indicates a sub who is mourning the death of a master, usually within the last three years, and is just returning to the search. And yellow is a sub currently being tested but who is still unsure of the master she is interested in.”

  “And white?” Lyssa fiddled with the bangle.

  “White means you’re a virgin, baby.” Vance grinned as he set a highball glass filled with ginger ale in front of her and a rocks glass of Scotch in front of Ben. He leaned over the bar and settled a soft, slow kiss on his lover’s lips.

  Lyssa groaned both at the appellation assigned by her wrist jewelry and the sexy look the two men exchanged. Watching them always stirred feelings of envy. The trust, affection, and commitment the pair shared made her wish she could find the same things for herself, despite the terrible luck with men she’d encountered in the past. Childhood lessons resurfaced to taunt her.

  The devotion between these men had made it easier for her to approach them when she was unable to suppress her interest in spankings and bondage play. Neither man was attracted to her sexually. They only had eyes for each other, which made being with them safe. No need to worry about losing what was left of her heart to either or both of them. Not like with Mike.

  Over the last three years, she’d negotiated a few scenes with them. Too bad the heat their lessons stirred never brought her to culmination. If she’d been able to respond to another man—any man—in the last four years, her baby project would probably have never been necessary. Another reason to damn Mike and the way he made her feel. Of all the men she’d fallen for, why did he have to be the only one she couldn’t get out of her system?

  She was sure Ben and Vance would have something to say about her plans for the evening if she let them know there was more to tonight than finding a temporary dominant to end four years of celibacy.

  “Why am I getting stuck with the virgin label when I’ve been coming here off and on for the last three years?” Lyssa asked as she raised her soda to her lips.

  “Because you’ve never had a dom officially claim you,” Ben stated, sipping his drink and watching Vance move off to help another customer.

  “You’re so wet and ready, Lys. Tell me no if you don’t want this.” Mike’s hand smoothed over her breasts, his lips soft against her cheek.

  “Please,” she begged, her voice hoarse with need.

  “Please what?” In the dark of the closet, she couldn’t see the deep brown of his eyes, but she knew he watched her. She could almost feel the burn of his gaze on her face.

  “I need you. Please,” she sobbed, arching as close as her bound hands would allow.

  A frisson of heat coursed through her. She tried to ignore the desire, heavy and hot, filling her lower body, making her shift on her seat and scan the room again. A secret part of her had hoped Mike would be present. That he’d approach her, reclaim her, and take control as he had that night. Another part, though, reminded her of the days of quiet following their encounter before he left the country for several weeks after their siblings’ wedding. Not to mention the humiliation of being left waiting at a restaurant with only a last-minute “I’m sorry. I’ve got a job” phone call as he was getting on a plane.

  That should have been her first hint that she’d been right all along and that, like all the other men she’d cared about, he’d decided to move on to greener pastures. Which she’d verified herself a few days later, after her conscience had browbeaten her into calling him. When a woman had answered the phone—Lyssa refused to recall any of that conversation.

  Shaking off the uncomfortable thoughts, Lyssa focused on Ben’s comment. She asked, “Claim me?”

  His gray gaze held hers, making her aware of how close her secret was to being revealed. “There are a few ways a master can stake his claim on a sub.”

  A tingle of foreboding traveled through her. She’d long considered the masquerade invitations Mike sent her annually nothing more than a fancy booty call. She’d returned the first one to him in shreds, as well as the two subsequent ones she’d received. She had been “claimed.” The man had simply changed his mind about keeping her.

  Even as she thought it, Lyssa could practically taste the bitterness of disappointment on her tongue. If Mike had wanted to keep her… Again she forced away the reminder and focused on the conversation.

  “I’m familiar with the concepts of consideration and training collars,” Lyssa admitted, her gaze roving over the crowd, searching for the man she’d singled out as the ideal candidate to assist her with her goal.

  Ben’s breath whispered past her ear as he leaned forward, “Dayton hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Startled out of her search, Lyssa swung back around to face him. “What?”

  His grin and knowing look assured her that her game hadn’t been as subtle as she’d hoped. The stroke of his fingertips over her red velvet skirt heated her cheeks.

  “I assume the Christmas elf costume is for his benefit. Even the wig is a nice touch.” Ben tugged a long, auburn curl. “Kringle has been tied up in knots for the last three months, ever since Miss Jeffries took over for Nadine when she retired.”

  “Are you saying he’s involved with someone?” Lyssa fought the worry snaking through her. If Dayton was involved with another woman, there was no way…

  Vance arrived, answering her question before Ben could. “Nah, our favorite Santa has been hovering over Elfina but hasn’t made a move yet. Give him time though. I don’t see the big guy denying himself a piece of that Elf for very long,” he predicted.

  Lyssa ignored the tingle tickling the back of her neck at the thought of Mike viewing her as a prize to be claimed, similar to Vance’s observation about Dayton and his assistant.

  “By the way, Lonnie looks good in the cheerleader outfit you made.”

  She focused on the distraction Vance provided and turned in the direction he motioned. Ben looked as well. Across the room, a blonde woman was dressed in a dark blue, sleeveless, military-style top with gold-fringed epaulettes on the shoulders. A double row of gold buttons with gold chains dangling between them marched down the front of the jacket. The flirty white skirt of the costume barely reached the top of her thighs as she knelt beside her mistress. White, knee-high boots decorated with gold pom-poms on the front zipper pulls finished off the outfit.

  “It’s a majorette’s uniform,” Lyssa corrected.

  “Lonnie sure seems to like it.” Ben chuckled. “Must be all the chains.”

  “She does love her nipple chains,” Vance agreed.

  “That’s why I built a pair into the inside of the bodice.” Her grin widened at both men’s raised eyebrows. “Any of the chains on the front can be used to tug on the nipple chain insi
de. See the three on the front of the skirt’s yoke?”

  Vance tilted his head in thought. “You didn’t?”

  “Dina said she’d begun using a clit ring, so—”

  “You built one into the skirt? Interesting idea, Lyssa.” Ben’s shoulder nudged hers. His free hand slipped down to pat her knee as he nodded toward the door. “Your target has arrived, madam.”

  With a simple shift on the bar stool, Lyssa faced the foyer entrance. The first thing she spotted was the distinctive silver hair on Dayton Kringle’s head. He had the appropriate nickname of the Santa Claus of San Diablo because of both his last name and his toy business, but he was only a few months younger than Mike. It took a decided effort to squash the temptation to dart out the door behind him. Lyssa cursed the sudden unease clouding her mind with doubts. Damn it, I need to get past this obsession with Mike. She shook off the urge to turn away and forced herself to watch Dayton move through the crowd.

  His broad shoulders stretched the seams of his white tuxedo jacket, and the black trousers emphasized his muscular thighs. His deep blue eyes scanned the guests mingling in the lounge before he looked toward the dining area on the opposite side of the room.

  Lyssa smoothed her sweaty palms down her skirt and hoped he wasn’t searching for anyone in particular. She swallowed the last of her soda, set the glass on the bar, and slipped off the bar stool. “Wish me luck.”

  “Luck,” both men offered in unison.

  She refused to allow the unease she spotted in Ben’s gaze to infect her as she moved away. It had only taken one night with Mike for her to conceive four years ago. This time it would be intentional. She wanted a baby, and tonight was just the first step. By Christmas she hoped she’d be happily puking up breakfast and looking for stretch marks.

  Chapter Two

  Hot water washed over Mike Halsey’s shoulders, cleansing his skin but doing little to erode the psychological filth coating his mind. The grit and sand were long gone, left behind in the shower of a hotel in Dubai. Even with the blood scrubbed away, he could still feel it smeared across his hands, splattered over his face. He shoved the thoughts aside. The transatlantic flight and layovers factored into his tiredness, but the images imprinting themselves against his closed eyelids exhausted him. He knew the instant his head hit the pillow, rest wouldn’t come.

  He reached for the faucet and twisted the water off before he tugged the towel from the rod and scraped it over his skin. The hypocrisy he encountered through the lens of his camera turned his stomach. People donning masks to hide the darkest sides of their nature. The flashy, charming smiles that twisted so easily into sneers.

  Mike shook off the irritation and annoyance burning through him. He was home now. What he’d seen, photographed, and witnessed on this last mission made it all that much easier to settle into semiretirement, despite the protests of his agent, Max Landry. Protests Max continued to spew every time he called Mike to try to coax him to take an assignment outside the United States. Protests echoed by Mayor, his superior in the covert agency that had recruited him over a decade ago.

  Mike grimaced at the thought of the secrets he’d kept from Max, not to mention his own family, who thought he had been away visiting a friend on the East Coast. Someday he’d have the freedom to tell Bryce and his father the truth about what he really did on his travels, but he’d given his word. Mike wasn’t about to break that promise. Not yet. Not after keeping it for nearly twelve years.

  He felt a wry smirk tug at his lips at how unlikely his family would be to believe him if he did tell them he’d spent nearly a dozen years working as a spy. That the weeks he was out of contact were because his talents as a photojournalist were needed to uncover and document the illegal activities of drug and gun smugglers around the world. The missed birthday parties, holidays, and canceled dinners that caused his family to give him grief about being unreliable were all a result of the international organization he worked for.

  “Yeah, pull the other one, pal.” Mike snorted.

  Determined to think of something other than the assignment he’d left in the Middle East and the annoying demands of his agent, Mike stepped out of the bathroom. Towel wrapped around his waist, he padded into his bedroom. The jangle of his cell phone echoed off the high ceiling of the warehouse apartment. He scooped the phone from the nightstand and flipped it open. “Halsey.”

  “How soon are you going to get here?”

  “David?” The distinctive deep voice could only belong to David Henderson. “What do you mean ‘get here’? Get where?”

  The chuckle vibrated through the phone. “Well, my man, I’m talking about the masquerade at the Club.”

  “I haven’t been to a Midnight Masquerade in—”

  “Three years,” David finished for him. “I would suggest you change whatever plans you made for tonight. Unless you want Kringle to mark your lady?”

  “What?” Even as he responded, Mike moved toward the walk-in closet. “Why is Lyssa at the Club?”

  “You send her an invitation every year.”

  “And she tears it up and mails it back to me every year,” Mike returned. He found his tuxedo stuffed in the back, still wrapped in the cleaner’s bag. He stepped back into the bedroom and stripped off the towel. His heart rate increased, and the heat in his balls stirred, animating his cock at the thought of publicly reclaiming his woman.

  “Well, it seems like she’s decided to use the invite this time. And she’s looking for a master, my friend. Has the white bracelet and is dressed like a cherry red Christmas elf, leaving no one in doubt as to whom she’s selected for the job.”

  “Red elf?” Mike tamped down the irritation that tried to rise inside him. Ripping the plastic bag away, he tossed the jacket, pants, shirt, and cummerbund of his tuxedo onto the silk duvet.

  “Yup. Red dress, red heels, even a sexy red wig. Makes her look hot. Not that she doesn’t look smokin’ when she has her own hair down,” David assured him.

  “Down, boy. The lady is mine.” The warning was clear in his voice.

  “Just trying to compliment your good taste.”

  “Don’t. How long has she been there?” Mike glanced at the clock. It was half past ten. Depending on traffic and lights, he’d probably make it to the Club by eleven, leaving an hour before the masquerade concluded and masters paired off with their selected submissives.

  “Just got here. And the bartender and his doctor friend have been chatting her up since she arrived.”

  “Keep them occupied. I’ll be there in a bit.”

  “Better make it quick. Kringle just walked in and is already taking notice. As are a few others in the room.” Reluctant honesty filled the other man’s voice as he admitted, “I wouldn’t mind getting a taste of her myself.”

  “Back off, Henderson; she’s already been claimed. And I don’t share.”

  David’s rumble of laughter was full of humor, but Mike was sure he heard a hint of disappointment there as well. “That’s mean, man, that’s just—”

  Mike cut the other man’s protest off as he snapped the cell phone closed and tossed it onto the bed.

  Hands on his hips, Mike stared down at the formal wear covering his bed.

  Soft skin, heated kisses, the wet sounds of two bodies coming together in the dark, cramped confines of a supply closet.

  “Say it, Lys.” His voice was harsh, guttural with the need flooding his body and his determination to stay in control of both the flow of years of pent-up desire and the woman bound and waiting for him.

  “Please.” Her voice cracked as she moaned, pushing toward him, desperation in her tone. The way her body arched into his touch, rubbing against the sweat-dampened skin of his chest, the scent of her arousal filling the darkened room heightened his excitement and fed the dominant within him.

  “Not good enough, baby,” he taunted. His teeth nipped her lips. In the pitch-blackness of the room, he could barely make out the glitter of her eyes, but he wasn’t about to dispel
the magic surrounding them by turning on a light.

  “Oh God, Mike, please! I need it!” Her words caught on a sob.

  “Say it, Lys. Tell me what you want. Who you want.” He knew his voice was cold, harsh, but he needed the words. Had to hear her finally say it. Admit to what she wanted. What she’d denied for eight years but he’d always known.

  “You, Mike. I want you to fuck me.” The anger and bitterness in her admission turned the words from a plea to a demand. Shifting the power from him to her.

  But not for long.

  Mike shook his head at the memory. If there was one thing he’d learned in the last four years, it was never to underestimate a Lawrence woman. And never to anticipate what Lyssa Lawrence would do in any given situation. If she’d finally reached the point of acknowledging her interest in the Dominant/submissive lifestyle, he wasn’t about to let another man step into the role he’d been awaiting since the day they’d met. There was no damned way he was allowing another dom to poach the woman he’d claimed four years earlier.

  “But Kringle?” He shook his head at the idea. “He’s younger than I am.” And considering how vocal she’d always been about the six years separating them, he doubted Lyssa would seriously want a man still younger.

  If Lyssa thought for one second she could walk away from him, she had a few lessons to learn. This time—a growl of exasperation rolled in his throat—a quick shag in the supply closet or against the wall in the foyer of her home wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy him.

  Not nearly enough.

  A grin twitched the corners of his mouth. “There’s no walking away this time. No hiding. No denying her master.”

  Mike reached for the tuxedo trousers and began to dress.

  * * *

  Lyssa watched the slow crawl of the clock’s hands as they inched toward midnight. She sipped another glass of ginger ale and allowed her gaze to meet and hold Dayton Kringle’s. The deep blue of his eyes sent a zing of interest through her chest, but the heat fizzled before it could go below her belly button.