Vampire Master: Vampire Queen Series: Club Atlantis, Page 2

  While the DJ was piling them onto the dance floor, he was also boosting the vibe in the public play space. Ella had seen every emotion happen here. Tears and laughter, as well as revelations, from small epiphanies to life-changing ones. Sometimes someone experienced a total breakdown of who they thought they were. Or laid a new foundation for someone they’d never thought they could be. People could fall in love here or in lust, only for the moment or forever.

  Usually when she wandered through this section, she would take her time, absorbing all those different possibilities. But now that she was here, her steps quickened, taking her toward the session happening in the back corner.

  If she was being honest with herself, it had been her destination all along. Though when it came to Wolf, she didn’t always believe in being honest. Comforting lies kept her from making a fool of herself.

  Most of her intense crushes landed on people out of her reach. In this case, that was the world’s biggest understatement. Compared to those earlier obsessions, Wolf was another solar system.

  Yet here she was.

  People had sunk to the floor around him in a semi-circle, just outside the marked boundary of the session space. The marking was something the staff Doms had suggested a while ago. Now the more popular scenes didn’t result in lookers-on pressing too close, disrupting the connection between the top and bottom, or causing safety issues if the Dom was throwing a whip or doing anything that needed more elbow room. This corner was also set up with an elevated dais, which helped reinforce that barrier.

  She eased herself into a small opening close to the wall. Wolf had a naked female submissive restrained on a black wooden frame. The silver of the chains clipped to her cuffs gleamed like her perspiring henna-colored skin.

  She was in her forties, and her stretch marks said she’d had children. She was wide-hipped, with a large, heart-shaped backside and full breasts. Selena and Mario were tattooed on one shoulder, surrounded by a spray of flowers. Her children, Ella deduced. Her long dark hair had been bound up in a strap and pinned to the cross, holding it out of the way and increasing her immobility.

  It was rare to see Wolf with a woman. Initially, Ella had thought men were his dedicated preference. However, the first time she’d seen him do a public scene with a female, his absorption and sexual interest had been no less intense. There’d been a different tone to the pause and transition moments, though. Softer. Once or twice he’d paced away, taken a seat to stare at her as he sipped from a bottle of water. Something about the straight set of his body, a tension in his shoulders, had made Ella wonder if women were more difficult for him, more emotionally draining.

  In addition to regular sessions like this, he did BDSM therapy. Not just for their members, but for guests from other clubs, since his reputation had gotten around. Those sessions were always private room scenes.

  She would have dearly loved to watch one, and not merely because of the professional interest. He was so contained on the public floor, yet there was an energy behind his gaze that hinted of a storm of limitless magnitude. The kind that came with thunder and lightning which split the heavens, and brought torrential rains. Rains that could put out the fires that roared through the heart, leaving loss and never-ending pain in their wake. Was she being fanciful, or could he really do that for others? Would she want him to do it for her?

  She’d only have to ask. She could book his time like anyone else, and receive a hefty employee discount.

  Yet she didn’t ask. It wasn’t what that obsessive side of her wanted, and she was smart enough to contain it, mostly. Taking only a bite didn't do anything but increase the craving for something she likely couldn't have.

  In a futile attempt to prove she had some self-control, she’d made herself look at the female sub first. When she did glance his way, she forced herself to do a slow drift, rather than snapping her gaze to him like a rubber band fired from a pointed finger. Her reward was absorbing his impact in a gradual way, a slow fill of her lower extremities with the sweetness of building desire.

  No offense to the entity who had created him, but whoever had released Wolf to walk among mortals had been freaking insane to let him go.

  Six foot five. Skin like charred bronze. Eyes like silver lightning. A stern mouth that went with the prominent sloped cheekbones and set jaw. His shoulders were broad. Tonight, Wolf wore metallic coated black denim jeans over laced boots, no shirt, exposing a lot of gleaming brown muscle. He was a giant, a sharply sculpted one, every shape chiseled. One part ancient warrior king, one part sensual demon lord, comprised of black smoke and fire.

  She’d looked at prime male specimens before, but Club Atlantis attracted all body types. Different ages and sizes engaged in the artful give and take of Domination and submission. When done right, it erased physical boundaries and took them into far more spiritual and emotional areas. That was why she knew it wasn’t merely his physical side that held her attention.

  When she gazed at him, she saw the endless darkness surrounding that building ledge, far up in the clouds. She couldn’t see what was in it, but it was waiting. Pulling at her to leap. When he pushed her, he would be pushing her into the abyss of himself.

  Time to get a grip. No matter how strong the pull she felt toward him, they had a nonexistent relationship, really. He never invited her to do a session with him, though he occasionally accepted Ella’s assistance to help him clean up after a scene, or provide backup aftercare. Whatever his thing was, she wasn’t it. Which hurt, but that was okay. In their world, the only appropriate response to courteous rejection was gracious acceptance. Even when a childish temper tantrum or cathartic cry would be far preferable.

  He was aware of everyone, grasping details that made anyone in his sphere feel exceptionally noticed. Which meant his notice of her wasn’t exceptional at all.

  But what should be and what was, weren’t always on the same page in her mind. When his gaze flickered in her direction now, marking her, her arms tightened against herself. She had them folded against her upper torso, her fingers wrapped over her hip bones as she leaned against the wall. A protective posture, or perhaps self-restraint, so she didn’t fling herself at his feet.

  He turned his attention back to his submissive, putting his hand on the woman. Her spine was curved, every vulnerable vertebra visible. Her backside was stained red, handprints blotched beneath the sharp stripes of a switch.

  He could be extreme, or he could handle a newbie. He evaluated what every sub needed and took them to their limits to give them the experience they’d hoped for, with a thrilling, sometimes terrifying, glimpse of even deeper possibilities. A reevaluation of those limits, or a reinforcement of why they were there.

  The woman let out a cry as he dug his fingers into the switch marks. He pushed his knee between her legs, rubbed, a move that made his body flex from back to hip and buttock. “You going to come for me?”

  “It hurts,” she gasped. “So much…”

  “Yeah, it does. You’re still going to come for me. Pain doesn’t exceed obedience. Does it?” He had a deep voice with a rasping edge. Another erotic rough texture to tease the senses.

  She shook her head, but she was shaking, tears running down her face. “Lift your left foot,” he said. As he slid his other arm around her waist, holding her securely, he kept moving her against his knee. The coated jeans would provide friction to aroused tissues.

  She raised her foot, trembling. He’d changed out the switch for a riding crop and teased the looped end across her sole. He rolled it in his hand, flick, flick, trail. Flick.

  Slap!

  The sting of the blow wrenched a cry from her throat and had the crowd flinching, even as they remained wide-eyed, leaning forward.

  “Work yourself against me as I tickle your feet, mamacita,” he crooned.

  She shuddered, but twitched her hips on him. He moved the hand on her waist up to cup her breast, enjoy a squeezing massage of the curve. His grip showed flesh like rising bread dough b
etween his fingers, and he tugged her nipple between his knuckles. He continued to move his leg back and forth, manipulating her on it as that crop kept falling, as he kept fondling her breasts. His coordination and rhythm were almost inhuman.

  With every strike, her cries kept rising, short, clipped wails, pleas. “Please…no more…no más…” Then the words gave way to screams of pleasure, as the orgasm overtook the pain, his will demanding compliance from hers.

  Ella was quivering, using the embrace of her wrapped arms and tight fingers to stay together and not shatter with the woman. Rapt attention held the crowd around Wolf and the sub, the Doms projecting an additional level of critical attention, learning from his technique.

  Ella glimpsed one or two people who looked a little uncertain, newbies unsure about the sub’s pleas for no more. Ella knew the woman could safeword and end the scene whenever she wished, but even if she didn’t, Wolf was closely monitoring her. If he thought she was too lost in subspace to protect herself, he would act upon that even faster than she could safeword. But Ella made a note to search out those couple of folks after this was over and talk it out with them, be sure they understood. Every staff member was trained to help with education and awareness, and look for the cues of members and guests who needed it.

  See? She could stay professional and tuned into her job, even if ninety percent of the rest of her was engrossed by the scene happening before her—or rather, the Master orchestrating it.

  Wolf’s stern mouth had curved as the woman lost herself to the orgasm. He took her all the way down that slide, until she was at the bottom, slowing down, hips jerking, body shuddering. Now she was talking again, mumbling. “Thank you, Dios, thank you…”

  She was panting, her hands fisted around the chains, the fine hairs on her nape soaked.

  Ella slipped across the session boundary. He hadn’t asked for her help, but the staff stayed alert to when a Dom needed more hands, particularly at the end of a strenuous session.

  She knelt, reaching out and accepting the crop Wolf handed her without looking, as if he’d expected her to be there. “Water,” he said.

  She rose to put the crop in the open bag of tools he had left a few feet away. Then she withdrew a bottle of water from a small fridge concealed by a curtain.

  He’d released the woman’s hands, and eased her down to the floor, her legs too weak to hold her. Wolf dropped to one knee and braced her against it as he chafed her wrists. When Ella handed him the water, he fed it to the sub himself, one hand holding the bottle, the other cupping her face. His attention was on her and her alone. It was painful and glorious to watch. Glorious because that absolute attention was a drug to any submissive. Painful because Ella craved it like air.

  “Small sips,” Wolf told the woman. She nodded dazedly, her hands cupping his around the bottle. Then, without looking at her, he said, “Thank you, Ella. Stay here.”

  He didn’t say why, but a Dom didn’t need to do so. She’d knelt when he’d squatted, because she’d had two options—move back to a respectful distance, or assume a position where she wasn’t standing over him, but could still remain close.

  No brainer there.

  She gazed at his wide back, the long valley of his spine that led to the rise of his taut buttocks covered by the jeans. The back center loop of the jeans stretched against his belt, and she could see the twin depressions marking his pelvic bones. Her eyes returned to the dip of his shaved head as he bent attentively over his charge. The dark bronze skin gleamed under the club lighting. He had no visible tattoos, which was strange for anyone these days, especially in their world. She’d never seen him fully naked, though when he was aroused, there was no doubt he was mouthwateringly equipped.

  She imagined trailing her fingers along the curve of his smooth skull, down to his nape, following the track of his spine. Resting her fingers on his waistband, she’d hook them there to hold onto him as she knelt. She thought of putting her mouth on all the places she imagined her fingers touching. What would he taste like? She knew his scent, a mix of spice and damp rain in the forest.

  Wolf rose, lifting the woman as if she weighed nothing. He navigated the two steps of the dais with a sure stride, but he moved slowly, head bent over his charge, still talking to her. It gave the clustered people time to ease out of the way.

  Kevin was already sitting on a couch close by, waiting on him. The alpha submissive handled most of Wolf’s aftercare for him. A fireman in his daily life, he projected the steady confidence that made him excel at both roles. He had red hair and freckles, and rich brown eyes that transformed ordinary features into exceptionally appealing ones.

  Many staff Doms chose to delegate aftercare to a trusted sub or fellow Dom. If someone paying for a session confused the emotional intensity of a D/s scene with an invitation for a continued relationship, the incredible intimacy of aftercare could exacerbate that misunderstanding. Handing it over to someone else was a firm demarcation line and grounding step, helping the sub to pull her or himself together, and keep things in perspective.

  Wolf put her in Kevin’s arms, kissed the woman’s hand, touched her face, and then pivoted, striding back toward the platform. His expression while looking upon the submissive had been stern but caring. When he turned away, Ella saw his expression return to its usual unreadable mien.

  Everyone had their story for why they embraced a Dom or sub side, even those for whom it was simply a natural evolution of their sexual interests. But he had never revealed his motivations or how he’d reached this level of expertise. That he enjoyed his sessions, she had no doubt. But she’d not yet figured out the more complicated layers to it, except for her belief that men were easier for him.

  After he’d left the platform, Ella had stood up and moved to the rack holding sanitary cloths. When he returned, she was wiping down the play area, getting it ready for whoever used it next. She expected clean-up help was why he’d asked her to remain. As he watched her, he withdrew another bottle of water from the fridge and took a swallow.

  The audience viewing the session was dispersing. Sometimes he was approached afterwards with questions, but since he kept his attention fixed on Ella, he projected an unmistakable “not right now” vibe that the inquisitive respected.

  He remained silent, though. Her skin was tingling under his intent regard. When she finished and disposed of the wipes, he nodded.

  “Follow me.”

  She was surprised when he took her hand, guiding her down the two steps off the dais. But she wasn’t objecting. The few times he’d touched her, she’d noted a suppressed power to his grip. His fingers were warm and the right kind of smooth and strong.

  Regrettably, he released her after the functional touch and proceeded, her trailing him, until he reached a quiet corner with an unoccupied deep easy chair. He took a seat in it, but sat on the edge, and pointed between his spread knees. It meant he was curved over her as she sank down between his feet. A tremor ran through her as she wondered what this was. She kept her gaze on the floor, though she had the pleasure of it traveling over some tempting terrain before it landed there.

  “I want to see your face.”

  He wasn't typically much for caressing or casual gestures of intimacy. Most of his gestures were very purposed, like now, where he deliberately placed his hand against her face, his forefinger against her cheek bone, his thumb pressed beneath her chin so she had to lift it.

  “What were you thinking when you were kneeling behind me, Ella?”

  Well, shit. It was far easier for her to lie to herself than to a Dom. No way could she hold back while a Master like Wolf was staring right into her face.

  “Don't think of lying to me," he said in a casual, not-at-all-casual voice.

  And definitely not when he did that.

  She complied, but kept her gaze on the wall just beyond his right ear. He hadn’t told her to look him in the eye. In her peripheral vision, she was aware of him studying her so intently, it was like a touch on h
er face. She had to remind herself of the question.

  “I was thinking I'd like to be her," she said. "And I was thinking of touching you."

  "Touching me how?"

  "Touching your spine." She reached behind herself to run her finger up the mentioned area on her own body. The trail of her fingers on her lower back below the cincher caused gooseflesh, as if it was his hand touching her instead. She blamed his stare for that transference effect.

  It wasn't calculated, but the motion thrust her breasts out. His eyes rested there briefly, with enjoyment, then went back to her face.

  "And?"

  How did he know there was more? He could be guessing, but the best Doms excelled at tormenting a sub this way, pulling way more out of them than they wanted to say.

  "Um. Your head. I was thinking of touching your head, feeling the smoothness." She colored a little over that one. His expression remained unreadable. She fought not to squirm.

  "What have you done to earn such a privilege?"

  The answer to such a question was "Nothing,” since a few minutes cleaning his scene space hardly qualified for such a gift. However, other things surged forth, wanting her to offer a different answer. She even boldly looked him in the eye. Well, for a split second. It would have been undetectable by the human eye, but sometimes there were things about Wolf that seemed other than human.

  "I could earn it, sir."

  He leaned forward until there seemed to be less than a breath between them, though Ella couldn’t test that theory since she’d stopped breathing. Wolf curled his fingers around her wrist.

  He tugged on it, so she stood up on her knees and inched closer between his, her breasts brushing his bare chest. The thin fabric did nothing to lessen the jolt of sensation that sparked through her body and arrowed downward.

  She had to tip her head back to keep her face in his view, as ordered. Those piercing eyes and unsmiling mouth, his scent and heat, were so close, overwhelming her. It was almost a bittersweet relief when his gaze shifted downward.