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"Nathan thinks you're really a submissive, and —"

  "Nathan thinks what? Are you insane, Estelle?" Neeve interrupted her friend, but Estelle took no notice of her outrage. She put a hand on Neeve's arm as though to reassure her, and then pulled her into an unexpected hug. Some of the fight went out of Neeve. Estelle may be deluded, but she loved her dearly, and she didn't want to lose her over this.

  "Let me finish, Neeve." Estelle let her go, and Neeve wrapped her arms around herself.

  "Fine, do enlighten me. This ought to be good. But I warn you, if you think you can sign me up to any damn class in submission training, then you've got another think coming."

  Estelle smiled and pursed her lips in a way that made Neeve's skin itch. She knew that look. Her friend was up to something.

  "Tell me, what do you think of Grisha?"

  "Grisha, who?"Neeve tried her best to feign nonchalance, and she was sure she failed miserably. The mere mention of his name made her breasts ache and her lower abdomen clench, as tingles spread from her core. She was glad her crossed arms hid her body's reaction. She could almost smell his intoxicating scent in the air, much as it still clung to the tuxedo jacket she had yet to have cleaned and delivered back to him. And she was not going to analyze why two weeks after their meeting, she still hadn't done so. Instead she ran her hands over the jacket at least once a day and lost sleep every night due to the incredibly erotic dreams, starring none other than the black Russian.

  Estelle just looked at her, and Neeve gave in.

  "Ok, what do you want me to say? He's hot as hell, and I want to jump his bones? Sure I do, but that's never gonna happen, is it? He'll want me jumping through his hoops, and I can't do that. I'm not a fucking sub."

  "Has he said that?" Estelle asked. If her grin got any wider she would split her face in half. "Grisha has a way of making your fantasies come true, Neeve. He would never push you into something you weren't ready for, you know."

  "You would say that. If he's so wonderful, then why didn't you have him?"

  "She did." Nathan's deep growl made Neeve jump and look at Estelle nervously, but her friend wasn't paying any attention to her. She'd dropped to her knees and looked at the floor, and Neeve rolled her eyes.

  "I wasn't expecting you yet, Sir?" Estelle said.

  "I decided to surprise you." Nathan stepped toward his wife and smiled down on her. He cupped her chin to make her look at him, and the look of tenderness that passed between the two of them, made Neeve feel as though she was intruding on a very private moment.

  "Where's Janus? he asked.

  "Asleep, Sir."

  "Is that so, my sub?" Nathan's smile deepened. "In that case, get up my sweet and prepare the play room."

  Estelle scrambled to do his bidding with such a look of eager anticipation; Neeve had to suppress a groan.

  "I take that as my cue to leave, then."

  Estelle blew her a kiss, and Neeve made to leave, but Nathan stood in her way like a man-made mountain. She tried to stare him down, but he simply looked at her, until she dropped her gaze to the kitchen floor.

  "Estelle is right. You would be in good hands with Grisha." Her head jerked up at that quietly uttered statement to see him smile. "I'm not convinced you would be good for him, but he seems quite determined."

  "Have you been discussing me?" The words came out sharper than she intended them to, and she hastily lowered her eyes again, when she saw him frown.

  "After your little stunt at the ceremony, you bet we did. If it was up to me I would have you banned from Club Ink, and my family." He put his hand up when she would have interrupted him, and Neeve swallowed the angry retort instead. Who did he think he was? Ban her from Estelle and little Janus? He had no right, damn him.

  "However, I'm not the ogre you think me to be. I love my wife, and I want to see her happy. She worries over you, and I do not like it. So, for everyone's sakes I would suggest you sort that pretty little head of yours out." He gestured to her wrist, and Neeve fought the urge to hide it behind her back.

  "Grisha can help you with that. Take him up on his invitation, and you may well surprise yourself." He turned to leave the room, and Neeve released the breath she'd been holding with a quiet whoosh. Nathan chuckled.

  "See yourself out, won't you? I need to see to my sub."

  Neeve hurried to comply, but not before she caught a glimpse of Estelle, naked and on her knees in the room that was normally locked from view. Her face lit up when Nathan walked in and shrugged out of his shirt. He unbuttoned his jeans, and Estelle licked her lips. Even from the distance Neeve could see the rapid rise and fall of her friend's chest and the unmistakable sheen of arousal coloring her skin.

  "Now, greet me properly, my sweet."

  Neeve left the house with the image of Estelle's lips wrapped around her husband's cock, and a vague sense of yearning in her gut.

  ****

  Three days later Neeve clutched the now dry-cleaned tuxedo jacket to her as though it was a plastic wrapped shield of armor. The flimsy protective cover stuck to the bare skin of her arm it was draped over, and still, she could swear Grisha's scent remained. It was as though the blasted man had imprinted himself onto her. She shook her head at her fancy imaginings. They hadn't even kissed for heaven's sake, and she acted like a love-sick teenager. Lord only knew what state she would be in if he actually gave her the fucking she craved.

  Neeve resisted the urge to fan herself at the sinfully erotic images playing themselves out in her mind at the mere thought. It was all Estelle's fault, damn her. A phone call reminding her to check her e-mail had forever burned the images in that video link into her brain. She'd known of course that Neeve's natural curiosity would get the better off her, and true to form, she couldn't resist the temptation.

  As appalled as she had been at the images in front of her, she had sat transfixed, seeing Grisha in action. Utterly focused on the gagged and bound sub's needs, he had taken the unknown woman to the edge time and time again. By the time he released her from her bonds she had collapsed into his arms. Neeve's heart had given a suspicious little bump in her chest witnessing the tender way in which he'd taken care of her until the sub had had herself back under control. In fact she'd replayed that part over and over, not quite daring to believe what she was seeing. It had also left her confused as hell. The woman had come, several times in fact, yet Grisha hadn't once sought his own release, despite the obvious and huge erection threatening to burst out of his jeans.

  What she witnessed didn't add up with her preconceived notions, and the more links she'd clicked on, the more confused she'd become. Estelle hadn't pulled her punches. The websites she'd pointed Neeve to were as informative as they were arousing, until Neeve had to take matters into her own hands to seek a rather unfulfilling release.

  As she stood outside Club Ink Neeve had to concede that maybe, there was more to this whole lark than she had anticipated. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone. She'd had a hard enough time admitting it to herself. The mark on her wrist mocked her, and she could hear Grisha's voice in her head.

  I leave marks that fade, never scar. Marks that tease, and arouse … Marks that will proclaim I own you … Think on that, sweetheart, next time you stare into the flame.

  How he had known those words would stop her, she had no idea. But those words had gotten her through the anniversary weekend of her parent's death. Every time she reached for the comforting warmth, the need to lose the pain impossible to resist, his voice had called her back from the brink. For the first time in years, her body was not aching from self-inflicted burns. She'd faced her demons, and she'd come out the other side. No, this time her body burned from sexual frustration. And damn him, she'd tried to pick up a guy and just have mindless sex, but it had been useless. How come the mere thought of Grisha had her thong soaked through, yet any other man left her as dry as the Sahara?

  Neeve took a deep breath and treated the blond beefcake of a man leaning against the wall outside the non-descr
ipt entrance to Club Ink to her best stare. He'd watched her approach through hooded eyes, a lazy smile playing round his lips, yet despite his relaxed stance, Neeve got the distinct impression of danger. He looked ready to pounce, and sure enough he straightened up as she stepped closer.

  Light amber eyes assessed her, and Neeve swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. Was it a condition of employment that every male member of Club Ink was at least six foot three, drop dead gorgeous, and built like the proverbial outhouse?

  And why the hell did they all seem to have an obsession with sniffing her? It was not as though she smelled. She had a shower before she left! Neeve suppressed a groan and waited for the visual sniff inspection to be over. When he seemed satisfied, he stepped back with a smile.

  "And who would you be, little one?" His insolent grin widened at her sharp intake of breath. Little one? Condescending, much?

  "I'm no one's little one, thank you, and if you've quite finished sniffing me like a dog in heat, I would appreciate you letting me in. I have an invite."

  The menacing growl rumbling from the man's broad chest made her clutch Grisha's jacket a bit tighter, even as her female senses drooled just a little.

  "A dog in heat?" He pinned her in place with those amazing eyes of his, which seemed to change to a glowing yellow for an instant, before they bled back to amber. Again Neeve was reminded of a predator's stance as the man circled her slowly. She turned with him, mindful to not turn her back. At least that's what she remembered from the self-defense classes she'd attended. They'd had a rather unusual session on what to do when presented with a dangerous animal.

  Keep them in your line of vision, but do not look at them directly. Act submissive.

  She almost laughed out loud at that. Act submissive. Acting she could do, however it didn't mean she believed Nathan's preposterous claims, regardless of how her heart rate increased at the thought of submitting to Grisha.

  A gust of warm air behind her, as the door to Club Ink opened, alerted her to the fact that they were not on their own anymore.

  "Jordayn, what would appear to be the problem?" Ink's unmistakable deep voice held a hint of annoyance and right now was music to her ears. She really didn't like the look of this Jordayn.

  He stopped pacing.

  "This little human called me a dog." He snarled the words, and Ink laughed. Neeve spun around in amazement, and Jordayn grumbled something under his breath, something she couldn't quite catch. Ink clearly did, though, because his amusement fled as quickly as it had appeared.

  "Watch it, fleabag. Neeve here is under Grisha's protection and by proxy under my protection, too. Show her the respect she deserves."

  "Yes, boss." Jordayn bowed his head and flashed Neeve a smile. "She's not collared. How was I supposed to know?"

  Neeve's fingers itched to wipe that smile off his face. Ink put his hand on her arm as though he knew what she was thinking and moved her behind him. He, too, seemed to be growling low in his throat, and Neeve took a step back away from all the male posturing happening right in front of her. Jordayn spread his legs and crouched slightly. Had he been a dog, no doubt his fur would have stood on end.

  "Since when are uncollared subs fair game in this club?" Ink's low growl rolled over Neeve, and she backed away further, right into a hard, extremely warm, male chest.

  Trikus came out of nowhere and drew her into the entrance of the club. His bulk stopped her from seeing past him. From the amount of growling going on out there, you'd have been forgiven for thinking a pack of dogs had taken up residence outside the club. Or perhaps something else entirely… Neeve had heard the ridiculous rumors circulating about Club Ink of course, but that's all they were. Had they been true, Estelle would have told her.

  Shifters just didn't exist. This was a kink club. No doubt some folks here liked to dress up in animal costumes, and that's how those rumors had started. And the fact that Trikus's eyes seemed to glow for an instant, before he averted his head, was just a trick of the light.

  Something or someone hit the metal entrance door hard, and Trikus whistled under his breath. He winked at Neeve. "You're here five minutes, and you've caused trouble already. I almost pity Grisha."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Neeve's curt question was left unanswered, as Ink entered, his expression murderous. Neeve straightened her shoulders and wished she was anywhere but here. Ink pissed like this could not be good. She knew that much.

  "Trikus." He bellowed the name with whip-like precision, and Trikus snapped to attention. "Jordayn needs another training session it seems. If you can't get your cousin to understand the simplest rules, he will be out on his furry ass."

  "Yes, boss, I'll sort it. It won't happen again."

  "Make sure it doesn't. If your kind weren't such good security detail…" Ink didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The threat came through loud and clear, and once again Neeve got the distinct impression that she was missing something here.

  When Ink turned his attention on her she wanted the ground to swallow her up. He raised one eyebrow looking at the jacket she was still clutching to herself like a lifeline.

  "I … I—" Neeve cleared her throat to get her voice to work. Being under Ink's close scrutiny proved disconcerting to say the least. As were the images on the row of TV screens she'd spotted to one side. It seemed Club Ink had private rooms. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she pressed her thighs together to relieve the sudden throbbing in her pussy. What the hell was wrong with her anyway? She ought to be appalled at those images playing themselves out in front of her, not turned on.

  "I came to return Grisha's jacket. Is he here?" Neeve tried again. Her voice was a breathy porn star imitation of its usual cadence, but at least she managed to form the words this time.

  Ink studied her for the longest time, and Neeve tried not to fidget. He made her nervous. The shadows were so deep in this part of the club she couldn't see her feet, and only half his face was turned into the light. You'd think they would have better lighting. Then again, maybe that was a blessing in disguise. A quick look over her shoulder proved the point. A long bar was situated at the opposite side to the club entrance, the open air space separating them, interspersed with secluded booths, and various play stations. The one closest to the entrance had a naked sub tied to a spanking bench whilst her Domme fucked her ass with a strap-on dildo. Judging by the moans the sub was making she was enjoying the experience, but Neeve suppressed a wince and hastily looked away.

  Yes, low lighting was probably a very good thing indeed.

  "Grisha is busy at the moment." Ink smiled when her eyes darted to the CCTV screens involuntarily. She let out a breath of relief when she didn't spot the tall Russian in any of the scenes taking place. Of course he could be on the floor anywhere in the club doing God only knew what. Neeve frowned at the thought, and Ink chuckled.

  "You have a very expressive face, Neeve. He's not busy in that sense. He's preparing for a fire play demonstration on stage. I'm going to have to join him, so Trikus here will be your escort, to make sure you stay out of trouble."

  "I don't need an escort. I'm not staying, and I'm not trouble, damn it. I'm merely here to return his jacket, that's all."

  Ink smiled again and leant down to cup her chin. Trikus moved behind her, and sandwiched between the two of them she had nowhere to go. Ink's fingers dug in just enough to hurt and to focus her sole attention on him.

  "I know you're trouble, girl. I also know that you could have simply sent that jacket back by messenger if that was your only aim. Do not assume you're talking to one of the boys you're used to wrapping ‘round your little finger. In this club you will obey my rules, or Trikus will paddle that insolent ass of yours, no matter what Grisha says. Heaven knows what he sees in you."

  He leant closer still and inhaled. The action made Neeve's stomach flip flop wildly, and the smile he gave her when he straightened up send a shiver down her spine.

  "I meant what I said out there. Yo
u're under my protection, and now Trikus's until Grisha can deal with you. So, be a good little girl, sign the agreement that Trikus will give you, and do as you're told. No one will touch a sub under my protection." He slid his hand down to her throat and squeezed. For one awful second Neeve couldn't breathe, until he relaxed his hand and smiled again. "Remember that when you're thinking of getting bratty. Who will protect you from me?"

  Chapter Four

  "Ink, Sir?" Cherie's hesitant voice was music to Neeve's ears right now, and she watched in amazement as his whole demeanor changed. He released his hold on her, and Neeve gulped in a much needed breath of air. She hadn't dared breathe under Ink's scrutiny. Trikus's hands slid round her waist, and she leant into him, grateful for the support, as her knees felt like jelly. Why ever had she thought setting foot in the lion's den would be a good idea? She couldn't do this.

  "Yes, baby girl?" Inks face softened as he said the words, addressing Cherie. The unexpected endearment rolled off his tongue like a caress, and Cherie lit up. It was the only way to describe it. Even with her head bowed in submission you couldn't miss the huge smile lighting up her face. The curvy and heavily tattooed brunette sank to her knees, and put her hands on Ink's thighs.

  "You seem tense, Sir. Can I help you relax?" Neeve resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Something about the connection these two shared, evident in the way Ink crouched down and framed her face in his large hands, stopped the smart comment she normally would have made. He guided Cherie to her feet and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  "Not now, baby girl. I have to be on stage to help Grisha." Cherie pouted, and Ink tapped her ass twice. Rather than the harsh punishment Neeve would have expected him to deliver, this was an almost playful swat, and Cherie giggled.

  "Don't push your luck, sub." Ink growled the words, but he smiled at Cherie, and she stood on tiptoes and whispered something to him. His smile deepened, and he then looked toward Neeve. His eyes narrowed, and he laughed.

  "You may be right, baby girl. Time will tell I guess. I need to go. Help Trikus to keep her out of trouble, will you?" He kissed Cherie, and she melted into his long frame. By the time he released her she was breathing heavily, and Ink had to adjust his trousers before he strode away.