“Your plaything is a little nervous.” She smiles at Jude. “Just the way I like them. Sure you don’t want help?”
Jude smiles back but for a split second I swear his jaw clenches with irritation. “Not today.”
“Very well, then.” She eyes me again but this time her gaze is full of interest—in me. “Payment.” She holds an open hand out to Jude.
He hands over a wad of cash. “Everything we discussed.”
“And the cleaning deposit for if you make a mess?”
I gulp imagining what kind of messes get left behind.
“It’s there.”
She walks to an intricate iron door, pulls out a set of keys, and unlocks it. “Have at it, then.”
Jude’s hand falls to the small of my back and he pushes me forward. Logically, I understand we are only here for research purposes. The club has a zero photography policy not only to ensure the protection of its clients, but also to maintain an air of exclusivity. One of Jude’s clients wants this particular room replicated, which is why Jude asked me to come along and pretend we’re a couple interested in joining the club. I’m certain the cash he handed over allows us private access more than our lie of membership interest.
Yet, even though I know all of those things, there’s something about the possessiveness in Jude’s posture that sends a thrill down my spine as we pass Mistress and enter the room. The door shuts with a resounding click at my back, one that seems to reverberate through the total silence.
Jude doesn’t drop his hand, and the warmth of his palm sends heat throughout my body. I wonder what it would feel like to have his touch everywhere. He’s always so certain, moving with purpose and confidence, there’s no doubt in my mind he would be an amazing lover.
A shiver runs up my spine, my pulse beats loudly to my own ears, and heat floods my cheeks as I imagine the fun we could have in this room. Sexy, naked, delicious fun. I don’t dare look at him. My control is teetering on a vulnerable ledge, and after last night I’m not certain which way it should fall. The more I discover about Jude Lawrence, the more I want him, but is that really a good idea? My legs press together, the ache between them begging for some kind of release even though it’s momentarily out of the question. I am not throwing myself at Jude in a sex club, even if it is empty and all ours for the next twenty minutes.
I scramble for something clever to say, a joke, or really anything at all to break the building tension. My eyes land on a bench resembling the one we picked up the other night. “Oh!” I skip over to it with more enthusiasm than necessary, just to put some space between us. “This is the same as the one you bought from the creepy guy.” I pat the leather then yank my hand back when I realize the amount of naked skin and bodily fluids that’s probably touched it.
Jude’s chuckle wraps around me like a warm blanket. “Yes, same builder.”
I turn my back to the bench, my gaze following Jude as he walks around. “So thorough.”
He purses his lips and nods, pausing to meet my gaze only a second. “You have no idea.”
Uncertain whether he intends his words to be full of innuendo and promise—God, I hope they are—I busy myself with inspecting the room. Not that he needs my help re-creating it for his client, but it gives me something to think about other than the room’s intent.
Jude stops at the wall where there’s an apparatus affixed with different hooks, wooden beams, and leather straps. He lifts his gaze, notices me staring, and I swear his eyes melt into a different shade of brown. Darker. Deeper. “Would you . . ?” His brows lift.
“Uh,” I manage to squeak.
My eloquent answer brings a smile to his lips. “Unless you’re scared I’ll tie you up and leave you here.” The lightness to his tone settles my unease.
I roll my eyes and strut over. “You better not.” I examine the crossed bars of wood and metal and rope. It’s rather confusing. I hope he knows what he’s doing. Maybe I should be worried, but I’m not. No, I’m excited. I love the idea of being at Jude’s mercy. I force an exasperated sigh through my lips, playing off the desire thrumming through my veins. “Where do you want me?”
“Oh, Rachel, I thought you’d never ask.” He grins but there’s a deviousness to his smile that makes me hope for more.
I lean my back against the wall and lift my hands, palms up for him to take. “Tie me up, Captain.” My voice is breathless, almost comically so.
His booming laughter shakes his chest, his head tipping back as a smile so free and uninhibited takes over his face. God, he’s beautiful. He shakes his head, taking one of my hands in his. “I think it’s supposed to be Master. Captains are for sailing and rugby.” His fingers encircle one of my wrists, and lift it high to fasten over my head. He has to take a step forward to reach the desired height, his chest brushing against my breasts. His next breath hits the shell of my ear.
“Rugby?” I whisper. Not sure why, other than with him so close it seems appropriate. “What are you, British?”
He chuckles. God, I love making him smile. Being responsible for his joy. “Possibly. Maybe I should do one of those ancestry DNA tests.” He reaches back up to adjust the buckle at my wrist.
“You should.” I gulp as his chin turns toward me. We’re practically cheek to cheek, and if he turns a little more his lips would be on mine. “But I’m not calling you Master.”
His brows lift,
