His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(42)
Author: Shayla Black

Wow. It sounded complicated to Bailey, but she had enough to worry about in her own life without tangling her brain up in the bride-to-be’s.

At the end of the latest hall, Callie stopped before another door and pushed it open as if it weighed a ton. As she held it, Bailey slipped under her arm and into an open area. The space was dark and loud—and obviously public.

“Are we seriously in Club Dominion?” she shouted over what sounded suspiciously like people striking flesh, followed by moaning.

Callie nodded. “Where did you think we were?”

“At your house or . . .”

Over the din of the music, Callie laughed. “No. The house isn’t nearly as secure as this place. Besides, Sean and Thorpe wanted to keep an eye on you and Joaquin. There’s no place better for observation than here.” Reaching back, she grabbed Bailey’s hand. “Look down so your face is hidden.”

Bailey didn’t question that suggestion. She jerked her gaze down and followed as the other woman led her along a shadowed walkway. Then they headed through a flap that swung back and forth on a hinge. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a bar. People stood behind it, drinking mostly water bottles or cans of soda. The slaps of leather and the sounds of both pleasure and pain sounded louder now. The reality clicked with Bailey then.

“Holy cow . . .”

Callie spun her away from the bar and the crowd of people beyond, putting them at their backs. “You okay?”

Define “okay.” Bailey’s heart pounded. Joaquin had brought her to a BDSM club where people . . . did whatever it was they did to spice up their sex lives? Oh, shit. He had. They were surrounded by sex. God, she could even smell it in the air.

“Any particular wine you like?”

“Um . . .” Her brain wouldn’t work. Bailey desperately wanted to turn around and see what she’d always been wretchedly curious about. “Anything white.”

“Sure.” She sounded amused.

Vaguely, Bailey heard Callie uncork a bottle, followed by the clinking of a glass and the splash of liquid. Instead of paying attention, she kept trying to peek over her shoulder at everyone and everything behind her. Surely, no one here would be a crazy foot soldier for LOSS. She had no ties to Dominion or to Dallas. Why would anyone think to look for her here? It made her feel brave enough to turn to get a better look.

A big man wearing all leather had a woman in a G-string folded over his lap. He landed slow whacks of his palm onto her bright-red butt. After each, she bit her lip, then her lips moved as she apparently counted. Beyond those two, a vaguely familiar man toyed with a gorgeous woman’s nipples, then clamped them with dangling jewels that were almost as gaudy as the wedding ring on her finger. A forty-something woman dressed in wickedly tall thigh-high boots dragged two young men around by leashes. Bailey stared, not sure she even blinked.

“Is this all new for you?” Callie murmured, handing her a glass.

A million replies raced through her head, but she could only wrap her brain around one. “Yeah.”

The other woman laughed. “I thought so. We’ve got a few minutes left. Want to observe from somewhere you can’t be seen?”

Bailey bit her lip. She shouldn’t. She didn’t need more curiosity about BDSM or sex right now. She didn’t need to wonder why Joaquin had brought her here. She especially didn’t need that pang of desire cramping low in her belly.

“Please.” She sipped at her wine, not really aware of the taste, other than the fact that it landed light and fruity on her tongue.

“You got it. We just can’t be too late. I’ll risk five minutes, though. It’s worth the spanking.”

Bailey looked at the man smacking the woman’s ass, then back to Callie. “You like that?”

She gave a secretive smile. “Given by the right man in the right way, it’s an incredible pleasure.”

Frowning, Bailey looked at the heiress. She supposed it made sense. Callie had lived here for four years. She was in love with Thorpe, a man who gave even someone with Bailey’s limited knowledge an obvious Dom vibe. She supposed Sean must have a similar bent because, while seemingly quieter on the outside, he’d also given off an air of authority.

Kind of like Joaquin.

Bailey almost dropped her wine.

At the last minute, Callie shoved a hand under the stemless glass for the save. “Something wrong?”

She didn’t even know how to answer, couldn’t even manage a shake of her head.

Callie led her up some stairs and unlocked a door, and they entered another masculine domain with a sofa, a few chairs, and a huge observation window overlooking the entire main floor of the . . . What did one call a place like this?