Layla bit her lip. “Then you’ll have to fake it, A, because the consequences of me lying to Murphy and trying to slide you under their noses as a real Domme?” She shuddered. “Not only will Murphy be mad at me for weeks, it could jeopardize his job. If they think I, a lowly sub, can manipulate him into letting anyone into the club, then they won’t trust his judgment. In the bar, or with club business, or with club members.” Her eyes shimmered with tears. “So you see the position I’m in.”
Guilt sideswiped her. She’d never intended to put Layla at risk. “Okay. I’ll do it. If you tell me what to do. What are my options?”
“No chance you’ll pick up a female sub just out of curiosity?”
Ainsley shook her head. Not something on her sexual wish list.
Layla glanced around. “More members will show up, but if you insist on a man, you’re screwed.”
“Please don’t use that phrase in this context, okay?”
“There’s only one guy I know who…um…isn’t a submissive but…um…a switch.”
“Meaning he likes men and women?”
“Bennett?” Layla snorted. “God no. He worships women with a single-minded intensity that’s slightly scary. He’s highly sought after here. And he’s very, very picky.”
“So why is he a switch?” Since Layla took such a long time to answer, Ainsley suspected her friend’s response would be a total lie.
“Sometimes he just wants pain.” Layla rattled the ice in her glass distractedly before meeting Ainsley’s gaze. “An experienced Dom is the safest way to get it.”
“Oh.” Not the answer she’d expected. She scanned the guys lounging at the bar. Which one was Bennett? Her gaze passed over the buff blond owner, lingered on the tall, dark and handsome guy in the business suit. Probably not him. The enormous man with the buzz cut was either military or law enforcement, so scratch him too. Ditto for the dark-haired, sinful-looking cowboy with the strip now stare and the hard-set mouth. The stocky guy who looked away when their eyes accidentally met?
Bingo. Had to be him.
“I’ve gotta get my collar on. Do you want me to introduce you to Bennett now?”
“Give me ten minutes to freshen up and—”
“Psych yourself up?” Layla inserted.
“Yes.”
“Remember two things. Be confident, not bitchy. Use that eye contact thing we talked about. And have fun! You’re living every sub’s dream, A, getting to dominate Bennett. Embrace it.” She slid off the barstool and scampered to Murphy’s side.
Ainsley couldn’t look away when Murphy hooked the thin leather collar around Layla’s neck. Layla kept her eyes lowered, her head bowed.
A sharp sense of distaste arose. How could Layla, a confident, opinionated, educated woman, allow herself to be treated in such a subservient manner?
Ainsley wouldn’t have seen it if she’d slunk away in disgust. How lovingly Murphy’s big hands cradled Layla’s face. His insistent kiss. In that moment, when Murphy whispered in Layla’s ear and brought forth Layla’s beaming smile, Ainsley felt…jealous at their obvious connection.
Then she felt ridiculous and marched to the bathroom.
After pacing for five of the ten minutes, freshening her make-up for a couple more, Ainsley stilled. Breathed. Adjusted her scratchy wig. She looked outlandish, but that was the point. No one would ever believe uptight Ainsley Hamilton had the balls to wear this flashy garb.
She raised her chin a notch and practiced a cool-eyed stare. Time to earn a ball-buster reputation.
Revved up and ready, she exited the bathroom—just as Layla led Mr. Brooding Hot Cowboy to their table.
Her stomach cartwheeled.
When he aimed his deeply dimpled smile at her, she stumbled in her three-inch heels, straight into his strong arms.
“Whoa there. You all right?”
Ainsley glared at the floor as if it were responsible for her misstep. Then she looked up into the bluest eyes this side of heaven.
Holy Mother of God. He was striking. She could not wait to tell this man exactly what to do to her. Her gaze slid to his lips. She had an idea or fifty on how he could use his too-pretty mouth.
Layla interrupted Ainsley’s contemplation of his oral skills. “I’ll leave you two to make your own introductions.”
She hoisted herself onto the barstool and thrust out her hand. “An—Angel.”
The dark-haired devil clasped her fingers, lowered his head and kissed her knuckles. “A pleasure, Angel. I’m Bennett. Would you care for another drink?”
“No. Thank you.”
She looked at him.
He looked back at her.
Awkward.
“Before we get down to business, can I just say that you have the prettiest skin?” He wasn’t content with that verbal caress. He dragged a rough-edged fingertip from the inside of her wrist beneath the bracelet to the bend in her elbow and back down.
Goose bumps danced up that limb, fanning out across her shoulder. Bennett scored points for his seductive touch but lost them when she noticed his smirk.
“So let’s set the parameters for tonight’s play.”
“Is this a negotiation?”
His teasing eyes turned shrewd. “Talkin’ about expectations is a club rule, in every club I’ve ever been in.” His gaze lingered on her gold bracelet. “Haven’t you found that to be true?”
“Of course I know to discuss the play rules.” The lie warmed her cheeks.
His expression didn’t change.
He kept watching her. “Stop staring at me,” she said crossly.
He lowered his eyes with a murmured, “Sorry.”
When another bout of silence stretched, she knew if she didn’t get a handle on this situation now, she never would. “Can I ask you something, Bennett?”
“Anything you wish.”
“Why the dual role of submissive and dominant?”
“For variety, I suppose. How about you? Why the dominant role?”
“It’s a power thing.”
“Hmm.”
She didn’t like his half-cocky hmm. “What?”
“If that’s the case, I find it odd you’re a Domme.” Bennett raised those compelling blue eyes to hers. The heat and intensity packed a punch so potent she nearly toppled off the barstool.
Way out of your element, Ainsley.
“See, the true power in a dominant and submissive relationship lies with the submissive. Because the sub cedes all control, it’s up to the Dom to make sure all the sub’s needs are being met. To give the sub what she—or he—wants.”