“That stunning bit is exactly my type,” he said, nodding his chin.

They all followed the direction of his gaze to a lovely woman whose smooth caramel shoulders were bared above the black satin corset and tight black pencil skirt that showed off her curves. Her dark, curling hair was piled high on her head, and with her back to them, Summer could see the vertical line of heavy Tibetan script tattooed down the back of her neck and disappearing beneath the edge of her corset.

“I don’t think so, cousin,” Jamie said.

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“No way, Duff. That’s Layla,” Rosie said. “She’s a Domme.”

“So she thinks,” he said.

“You’d be in trouble with her,” Finn told him cheerfully. “Pure Top, and a wicked sadist, too. Never seen her bottom.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Duff responded, narrowing his gaze in Layla’s direction.

Summer watched as Layla turned around and her gaze met Duff’s. She stopped what she was doing and stood there for several moments, blinking. Then her features went hard as she crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, her green eyes blazing from across the room, and Duff grinned.

“Challenge accepted,” he murmured.

Mick shook his head. “That won’t be a challenge—it’ll be a fucking battle.”

“What is she, some raving bitch? I don’t see that in her at all. Oh, she’s hard enough on the outside, and I like it. But bitch? No.”

“She’s a sweetheart,” Allie put in. “But being a female Dominant, some of the male Doms give her a pretty hard time. She’s got her defenses up. Anyway, more than one good Dom has tried to get her to bottom for them, and it hasn’t happened yet.”

Summer nodded her agreement. “I like Layla—I’ve talked to her in the women’s changing room a few times, but as sweet as she can be she has plenty of salt, too. I don’t think I’d try it if I were you, Duff.”

His grin spread, and from the corner of her eye Summer swore she saw Layla flinch. “Luckily you’re not me, sweet Summer Grace. And lucky for Layla, too.”

Jamie groaned. “Okay. But it’s your funeral, cousin. Just don’t come crying to me when she hands you your toys and tells you to go home.”

“Ha! Not likely.”

Mick shook his head once more. “All right, kids, I’ve had enough of your charming company. Now I need to take my girl and test out my new jute rope on her.” He slipped an arm around Allie’s waist and they got up.

Allie bent to give Rosie and Summer a quick hug, a happy smile on her lips. “I’ll see you two later?”

“Of course,” Rosie said. “Anyway, you have a tattoo appointment with me at Midnight Ink on Sunday.”

Allie beamed. “I wouldn’t forget—I’m so excited!”

“Tattoos later—right now my rope is calling,” Mick said, and Allie took his offered hand.

“We’re out, too,” Finn said, pulling the tiny Rosie to her feet then throwing her over his shoulder. Rosie yelped and pounded on his back.

“Like a flea, my beautiful girl,” Finn said, smacking her ass. “Apparently my girl here needs a little lesson in humility. ’Night, all.”

As he carried her off Summer could hear her muttering, “Goddamn it, Finn. You and your fucking caveman act.”

“Which you love,” he said, smacking her ass again.

Rosie giggled as he carried her away.

“You’ll be fine on your own?” Jamie asked his cousin.

“Sure I will be,” Duff answered, his eye still on the beautiful Creole woman across the room, who was ignoring his glances, bent over her own toy bag.

“I’ll order the coffin, just to make sure I’m prepared,” Jamie said.

Duff chuckled. “You do that, cousin.”

Jamie offered his hand to Summer, helping her to her feet, and immediately her stomach fluttered with anticipation.

They hadn’t gone far when he yanked her into his side and whispered in her ear, “Time to see how much heat you can take, sweetheart.”

“Wh . . . what?” she stammered.

“Hot wax, sugar. And it will be very hot. Extra hot for my extra-hot girl.”

He kept his arm around her and his hand gripped her waist, his fingers digging in, making her feel owned. Making her head sink into subspace even as they maneuvered their way through the crowded club. And as her mind sank, her limbs going warm and loose, the people faded away and the world narrowed into a pinpoint bubble where only she and Jamie existed—them and the throbbing beat of the music, which was some dark, edgy metal with a hard drum line that reverberated in her belly, in the blood pounding through her veins. It was perfect for the mood Jamie had already set with those few frightening words—frightening in the best way possible.

He guided her into one of the hallways off the main play space, where she knew some of the club’s theme rooms were. He paused in front of the open doorway to the medical room, and Summer shuddered as she looked in on the old dentist’s chair, the padded table with the shining chrome stirrups, the white walls that seemed more intimidating than the sleek black and red walls found elsewhere at The Bastille.

“Hmm, fascinating, isn’t it?” Jamie murmured. When she instinctively started to pull out of his grasp, to back away, he only held on tighter. Leaning in, he whispered, “Scary as hell, this room, huh, sweetheart?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“You have nothing to worry about. I’m not taking you in there. But . . . never mind that first part—you still have plenty to worry about.”

“Fuck, Jamie.”

He only chuckled in answer as he led her past the dreaded medical room to the one next door, and they stepped inside. The walls were painted a deep red, which seemed oddly comforting and threatening all at the same time. There was a long table padded in red vinyl in the center of the room, and a heavily carved wooden table—probably an old Spanish piece—against one wall. A few red leather chairs and a double-wide lounge chair piled with pillows filled the space, and dim lamps glowed with a golden light from sconces on the walls.

Jamie left her in the middle of the room to set his toy bag on the wooden table. When he came back to her, he took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. As he’d had her do before, she focused on aligning her breath with his and he smiled in approval. And as that sense of utter connection kicked in, he moved in closer, until his forehead met hers. She breathed him in, exhaled, and felt her limbs go even weaker with exhilaration, anticipation. Love.

“Hey, baby,” he said quietly, “you ready?”

“Yes. I’m ready.”

“You love me?”

She smiled. “Oh, yes.”

“Love you, too, my sugar girl.”

When he kissed her, she sighed against his mouth as he opened hers with his soft, sleek tongue. He tasted of man and desire, and her body melted into his. He held her face more firmly, controlling the direction of the kiss, his fingers squeezing just hard enough to hurt. She loved it—every tiny signal of his authority over her. She loved that he could make her concerns and all the minutiae of the day disappear. And she loved the sensation of his lips on hers—so soft and sweet yet utterly commanding at the same time. How did he even manage that? But it had been that way with him from the very start.

Jamie.

Love you so much.

He let her go and stepped back. “Perfect that you’re wearing what I told you to. Such a pretty dress. But let’s not ruin it. Strip.”

“Oh. I . . .”

He took one step toward her and pressed his fingers into the tender space below her collarbone, into the pressure point there. “Do it now, love,” he said quietly.

She nodded, swallowed, realizing in some distant way that being a little afraid of him was a huge turn-on. Not knowing exactly what to expect, how much the hot wax would hurt, was a huge turn-on. The fact that all of this was happening with the man she loved was maybe the biggest turn-on of all.