Bound

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“WHAT does one wear to a bondage sex club?”

Knox looked up at Amery sharply. “Ronin didn’t instruct you on what to wear?”

“I haven’t heard from him. So I was surprised he told you to bring me to the penthouse first.” She paused. “Is that part of the scene? The rope master or whatever he’s called specifies clothing?”

He nodded. “Especially if you’re being displayed.”

Displayed. That word twisted the knots in her stomach tighter. Amery almost bailed on this adventure right then.

But she knew she had to go.

She wandered to the window. Twilight sent a pinkish orange glow across the Denver skyline. “What time are we supposed to be there?”

“In an hour.”

“Doesn’t exactly give me any time to shop.” Wasn’t as though Amery could call up Emmylou and ask to borrow fetish wear. Or Chaz either, for that matter, but if she had to lay odds on who owned leather and rubber clothing, she’d pick Chaz.

“I have a suggestion,” Knox said.

“Me going naked is not an option.”

Knox let loose a big booming laugh. “Ronin would have the head of anyone who saw you naked without his permission—including mine.”

Again she fought the urge to bristle at the word permission.

“I think the reason he wanted you here is that there are women’s club clothes in storage on the fifth floor.”

Amery asked, “Whose clothes?” even when she knew the answer.

“They belong to Ronin,” Knox said diplomatically. His gaze moved over her clinically. “You’re the right size.”

“So Ronin has a type?” she snapped. “Average-height strawberry blondes of Nordic descent with small breasts and pasty white skin?” And no backbone. “Is that what Naomi looks like?”

Knox stared at her as if she’d crossed a line.

“What?”

“You’re wrong. Naomi is nothing like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, first off, she’s Japanese.”

Why hadn’t Ronin told her that?

Because Ronin doesn’t tell you much.

“Do you want to wear the clothes or not?” he asked.

“It’s not like I have a choice.” She headed to the elevator. “Let’s go.”

Knox curled his hand around her biceps, stopping her. “The storage room is off-limits. I’ll grab a few things and bring them to you.”

She bit back her sarcastic comment about actually being allowed to choose her own clothing and returned to pacing in front of the window.

What should she expect at this club? Would she see members getting whipped and spanked? Would there be lewd sex acts? What qualified as lewd in a sex club anyway?

And where did bondage master Ronin fit in? If she was disgusted or scared by what she witnessed, would she ever speak to him again?

Or maybe you’re more worried it won’t disgust you at all.

But what woman wouldn’t freak the fuck out if her lover brought out a coil of rope and demanded, “On your knees, hands behind you”?

Amery rested her head against the glass. She was so confused about all of this. Would tonight clear it up or further muddy the waters?

The elevator doors opened. Knox approached her, holding out half a dozen hangers enshrined in plastic dry cleaners bags.

“I brought a variety. You are a guest tonight, so that will create some interest. But I’d suggest understated clothing if you don’t want to stand out.” He offered her that same slight bow she was used to from Ronin and left the room.

Amery stripped to her bra and panties in Ronin’s bedroom. She snagged the black leather miniskirt from the first bag. She hated that it fit her like a dream. Had Ronin seen Naomi in this skirt? Had he slid his hands beneath the hem and cupped Naomi’s ass?

Stop it.

But the image wouldn’t go away, now that she had a better idea what Naomi looked like—probably exotic in that Japanese geisha way—so she nixed the skirt.

The second dress was one piece; not leather, not rubber, but somewhere in between. Composed of funky cutouts that left her midriff exposed and a sweetheart neckline, it might’ve been okay except for the rings on either side of the neck that were probably meant for a leash.

Definitely the no pile for that one.

The next number was hot pink rubber. Amery couldn’t figure out how the hell to get it on, so it hit the discard pile.

The last item was a pair of leather pants. She worried she’d have to grease her legs to squeeze her thighs into them, but they molded to her contours as if they were made for her. Glancing at her ass in the mirror, she grinned. Her butt looked fantastic.

The shirt selection left a lot to be desired—either see-through or midriff. She eyed her lacy black bra. Although it wasn’t any more revealing than a swimsuit top, she couldn’t waltz into this club wearing leather pants and her bra.

On a whim she opened Ronin’s closet. She flipped through the dozen white dress shirts until she found one in the back that looked smaller than the rest. She slipped it on and Ronin’s scent washed over her. She closed her eyes against the pang of longing. How could she miss him so deeply when at the same time she felt she didn’t know him?

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror. The shirt was too big. Grabbing the ends, she tied a knot at her waist. Her black bra peeking through was a little trashy, but a better choice than a rubber dress with her ass cheeks hanging out.

Amery wandered out of Ronin’s room and Knox looked up from his cell phone. “That’ll work.”

“Good. So we what . . . just go? You’re driving us?”

Knox shook his head. “Ronin is sending a car. It’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

“Oh. Okay.” She headed for the bar and made herself a dirty girl lemonade—vanilla vodka, Chambord, triple sec, sour mix, and Diet Sprite. She looked at Knox when he perched on a barstool. “Can I get you something?”

“No. I don’t drink on club nights. I’d take ice for my water, though.”

Amery dropped cubes in a glass and slid it in front of him. “Maybe you’d better fill me in on sex club etiquette.”

“You’re a guest, so rule one is observation only. In scenes where there are whips or paddles and you hear the submissive saying no, understand that’s part of the game. There are members who like getting pain and others who like giving it. Do not intervene.”

She sipped her drink. “Is Ronin one of the types who like to give pain?”

“Not directly. He has several bondage suspensions that end up being painful enough to be called punishment.”

“Bondage suspensions,” she repeated. “As in hanging a person from the ceiling by a rope?”

“By a series of ropes.”

“You’ll tell me to direct my questions to Ronin, but what is he like in his public persona as rope master Ronin when people are watching his every move? Especially since he has the strict ‘no observation’ rule in the dojo?”

Knox looked uncomfortable. “Ronin is a fucking master with ropes. He’s artistic and sensual, unlike some other so-called rope experts, who’ve turned shibari and kinbaku into weird performance art. He’s in high demand as a teacher. So the nights he schedules a demo at the club, it’s usually packed.”

She wanted to ask if Ronin had sex with his models, or if he had sex with certain people at the club because . . . hello, it was a kinky sex club. Why would he be a member if he didn’t want the free sex benefits? “Are you a master with ropes too?”

“I’m better than average because Ronin has mentored me. I don’t teach but I do practice. My area of expertise in the club is different than his.”

“What is your area of expertise?”

Hard blue eyes hooked hers. “Pain. Some members want it and they come to me to dish it out.”

Yikes.

“Ronin asked me to ask you if you’ll make time for him after the demonstration ends.”

“Make time where? At the club?” In front of everyone?

“Either at the club or here, since you’re leaving your things here.”

“Can we see how it goes first?”

Knox frowned.

“I’m afraid to say yes because . . . what if I can’t handle what I see? Not only Ronin’s part, but the rest of the club stuff?”

He studied her for a few moments. “Think of it this way. These members’ choices are not your choices. What you see them doing is no reflection on you, or the type of sex you’re comfortable with. As you’re walking through, realize it is an exclusive club. You may never get to see anything like it again. And more likely than not, you’ll end up aroused by what you see. That’s the hardest part for most people to handle.” He looked at his phone. “We need to get downstairs.”

Amery upended her drink. “Do I need to bring a purse or money or my certificate of clean health or anything?”

Knox grinned. “Nope. Just an open mind.”

THE driver parked in an underground garage and accompanied them into the building. He and Knox exchanged pleasantries about the packed house for the night, but it meant nothing to her.

The elevator stopped on an unmarked floor. She squinted at the panel. None of the buttons had numbers. The elevator doors opened to a small reception area. The guy behind the desk looked like a Broncos defensive lineman—an armed lineman.

He nodded at Knox and handed Amery a clipboard. “Privacy form. Read it. Sign it. Believe it. Understand if the privacy rules are violated, we will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law. And yes, we have ways of knowing exactly who violates the contract and when. And yes, our legal team has dealt with such matters expediently and with the harshest penalties the legal system allows. Do I make myself clear, Ms. Hardwick?”

“Yes.” Amery took the clipboard and sat on the lone chair in the room to read it. Nowhere on the form did it indicate who owned the business, but she did find the DBA listed as Twisted, so she knew the club had a name. The agreement prevented the signee from discussing the club, its location, its purpose with any persons who weren’t members or on an active guest list status. No exceptions. Members of the club adhered to strict anonymity outside the club—members violating that stipulation would be removed from club membership rolls and prosecuted for breach of contract. No exceptions.

As much as the legal side of this scared her, she signed her name anyway. This would be her only visit to the club and she intended to leave as soon as Ronin finished his demonstration. She passed the clipboard back. Then to her surprise their chauffeur notarized it. Handy.

Then the supersized desk clerk addressed Knox. “You or Master Black can ensure that she will not be unattended at any time?”

Knox said, “I’m here strictly in escort capacity tonight, and as Ronin’s fill-in.”

Fill-in? What was that?

The clerk handed Amery a lanyard with a plastic card affixed to the clip. It read GUEST. He tied a black ribbon around Knox’s biceps. Then he punched a code into a keypad and the chauffeur/notary guy/elevator operator opened the door for them.

Amery tried to act cool, but her heart raced as they stepped through the doorway.

Knox didn’t take her arm. In fact, he hung back to see which direction she’d go. She opted to go right.

The open area looked like a dance floor at any club downtown. High ceilings. No windows. Conversation areas on the outskirts of the floor. She tried not to gawk at the people dancing naked. Or the people with collars on with leashes attached. No one paid attention to her, although a few nodded at Knox.

Once they’d crossed the room, she asked, “Is Ronin already here?”

“Yes.”

“How long until the demonstration starts?”

“Half an hour. Is there something specific you’d like to see?”

“I don’t know what my options are.”

“I’ll give you an overview.”

She pointed at his armband. “What’s that for?”

“To let members know I’m not available tonight.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Is that unusual for you?”

“Very. Come on.”

Knox told her about the club, three levels with a fourth level reserved for private events. Amery didn’t ask what constituted an event.

People roamed the halls. Normal-looking people. Some wore fetish wear, but it didn’t seem as odd as she’d imagined.

Until they reached the next floor. Holy. Fuck. This area was set up like a big barn with stalls. The first four had stationary X’s, which Knox explained were St. Andrew’s crosses. In the first stall a naked woman was secured face-first to the cross. A man, cracking a whip, decorated her skin with welts across her backside from her calves to her shoulders.

Every time she cried out, Amery winced. In the far corner a woman on her knees, arms handcuffed behind her back, gave a blow job. A rough blow job since the guy was slamming his hips and fucking her face, while another guy stood behind them, his dick in his hand as he jacked off.

They continued down the hallway. Before they reached the next stall, she asked Knox, “The rules here are anyone can participate? Is there a hierarchy? Are the members singles or couples?”

“There are single submissives and single Dominants. A single submissive not paired with a Dominant is fair game, which is what submissives want. They negotiate what happens between them. It’s all consensual. Some members come here to swap partners. Some couples join to use the equipment and indulge in themed rooms. Others join because they’re exhibitionists or voyeurs. There are as many different reasons for belonging to the club as there are types of people who belong.”

Amery nodded. She couldn’t imagine dropping to her knees and giving her lover a blow job in public because he demanded it. In private? When Ronin commanded her to do something, it was sexy and thrilling because she knew she’d affected him deeply enough to earn that demand. Made it sweeter and hotter because it was just between them.

The next stall had chains dangling from the ceiling and O-rings embedded into the floor. She thought it was odd that it was unused until she saw the RESERVED sign.

When Knox said, “Are you ready to go upstairs?” in her ear, she jumped.

“Uh. Sure. I don’t suppose there’s a real bar around here?”

“’Fraid not. No alcohol on the premises.”

So all these people acting this obscene way were completely sober.

Don’t do that. Don’t judge them. Not your life, not your business.

But part of her worried about what Ronin might expect from her. Maybe the reason such a hot, sexy, intense guy like Ronin was still single at thirty-eight was that he had kinky tastes that most women couldn’t handle.

Very scary thought.

They stopped by the elevator and Knox stepped in front of her, blocking her from view.

She looked up at him. “What?”

“You need to lose the scowl.”

“I’m scowling?”

“And looking disgusted, which doesn’t go over well here as you can imagine.”

Amery inhaled a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t think I can do this, Knox.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Any of this stuff. Maybe I am a prude. But I don’t ever see myself getting fucked on a pool table in front of a bunch of strangers. I’d be crying for real if I was tied up and being whipped. I’m not saying it’s dirty or bad or wrong, it just isn’t me.”

Knox looked confused. “Why did you think it had to be?”

“Ronin is a member. And doesn’t that mean . . . ?”

“You’re here to learn, Amery. Ronin has asked that you watch the demo and then talk to him about it. That’s the only thing you need to concern yourself with tonight.”

So Knox hadn’t denied Ronin participated in scenes like those—but he hadn’t confirmed it either.

“Come on,” Knox said. “The room has probably started filling up.”

The cavernous room had a stage on one end, complete with billowing curtains. A lone chair sat close to the stage, with other chairs in a semicircle behind it. People were spread out against the back wall for the best vantage point. Conversation was hushed. The vibe was different in here than the other scenes. No props decorated the stage.

Knox pointed to the chair. “You’ll be front and center.”

“But I don’t want to sit in the front. I’d rather be in the back so I’m not a distraction.” She paused. “Not that he’d be distracted by me, but why take the chance?”

“Because that’s how Ronin set it up and where he expects you to be.”

Feeling conspicuous, Amery sank into the chair. Knox stood beside her and scanned the crowd. When the lights dimmed he squeezed her shoulder and disappeared.

She awaited the dramatic flair that would announce Ronin’s entrance: smoke machines, swirling colored lights, epic music. Everything went dark except for the stage.

Here we go.

A woman wearing a white robe entered stage right. She didn’t drop to her knees. She stopped and kept her head bowed as she waited.

When Ronin moved across the stage, Amery could feel the energy crackling from him. He wore white gi pants and a white tunic that set off his coloring to perfection. Were his eyes warm like topaz? Or that molten color of blackstrap molasses that indicated his arousal?

Ronin dropped coils of rope at the woman’s feet. Then he swept her long brown hair aside and murmured in her ear.

Goose bumps cascaded down Amery’s skin. She knew exactly how it felt to have Ronin’s warm lips in that spot. How his deep voice seemed to burrow beneath her skin.

Then Ronin pulled the silk sash from the robe and folded it in half, using it to secure the woman’s hair. She kept her head bowed. Ronin slipped his fingers beneath the collar of the robe, pushing it off her shoulders. The satin material caught in the bends of her elbows before he straightened her arms and the robe pooled on the floor.

The woman was naked. Her thighs were a bit heavy, her arms thin. Her belly pouched out. She had several tattoos on her arms and a flower above her pendulous breasts. An enormous bright blue bird of some kind decorated the outside of her right thigh from her outer knee to her hip. Everything else about her was ordinary.

Why did Amery feel the need to scrutinize this woman’s body?

Because Ronin’s hands would be all over it. She had to convince herself this woman was nothing special. Just a random model plucked out of this club specifically for this purpose.

So why did the woman’s head fall back when Ronin spoke to her? That’s when Amery suspected this woman was no stranger to Ronin’s touch. She knew exactly what was coming.

A jealousy that she’d never experienced rocketed through her.

Then her lover was running his hands down the woman’s chest. Cupping the weight of her breasts in his palms and moving south to map the curves of her hips. He reached for the coil of rope and retreated to stand behind her.

The rope Ronin used was vivid blue. First he turned her so her back was to the audience, allowing everyone to see how expertly he immobilized her wrists after pinning her forearms together. Then he faced her forward.

Amery watched Ronin winding the rope, his fingers connecting with the woman’s skin on every pass. She felt the gentle scrape of his calluses. When he circled the next section of rope around the women’s midsection, Amery’s abdomen contracted as he wound it tighter. Then he crossed the ropes over the model’s breasts, compressing the flesh, and Amery felt the air leaving her lungs as he pulled the ropes almost to the point of pain.

All eyes were focused on the woman. Her body decorated with crisscrossing ropes and knots, her rapid breathing, sweat shining across her chest.

Just for an instant it wasn’t some nameless woman onstage. When she lifted her head, Amery saw her own face.