Page 52 of Renegade
Chapter Fourteen
Walker
“Damn.” I can feel my jaw drop as Gemma walks out of the bathroom dressed for the club. After lunch, we went shopping at a place calledBayside Stripper Wear for something for her to wear, and although Gemma laughed so hard that beer came out of her nose when I told her the name, the store had just what we were looking for.
The amazing thing about being with Gemma is that even after an intensely physical night together like last night, we can slide right back into being best friends. I sat outside the dressing room door while she kept me entertained with a hilarious running commentary on each outfit and the stripper names she thought up to go with them. But while she’d modeled half a dozen ridiculous outfits for me, she refused to show me the one she ultimately decided to buy.
It’s a sexy-as-hell, body-hugging black dress that barely (and I mean barely) covers her ass, revealing legs that go on for fucking ever before ending in a pair of strappy black stiletto heels. An off-the-shoulder neckline reveals her creamy white skin that looks alabaster against the black dress. But it’s more than the dress. I stare at her, trying to figure out why she looks different. Her eyes, for one thing. They’re bigger and wider and greener, somehow. And she’s done something to her hair. Normally straight, tonight it’s a sexy tumble of waves, and it reminds me of how she looks just after I’ve made her come.
“Is it okay?” She pulls at the bottom of her dress nervously.
“It’s more than okay. You’re going to give every guy in the place blue balls looking like that.” Including me. Whatever it is we’ve had over the last week is over. I knew it last night as Gemma lay curled in my arms after what was, hands down, the best night of sex in my life. Hell, the best night of my life, period. Knowing it is one thing. Accepting it is another, and it’s going to take some time. Maybe a lifetime. Gemma is part of the fabric of my soul, the beautiful part that makes me stronger and better.
But last night was our last. The party at the club goes late—it doesn’t even start until ten—and her flight back to Charleston, and Declan, leaves at eleven tomorrow morning. It’s time for me to concede defeat. Gemma has taken everything I’ve dished out. I’ve spanked her, restrained her, collared her, gagged her, made her beg to come and beg to stop coming. But the more I’ve pushed her, the more she’s taken—and the more we’ve both wanted. I’m starting to think maybe she really is submissive. And maybe I’m dominant. I never knew how heady—how intimate—it could be to take someone to the edge where power and vulnerability meet. The more she needs, the more I want to be needed, and the more trust she gives to me, the more I want to deserve that trust.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she says with a small smile, walking over to me and brushing a piece of lint off the shoulder of my tuxedo jacket. The domestic gesture makes my heart yearn for something I never even knew I wanted, but that suddenly seems as necessary as air. I’ve never thought about having someone permanent in my life—someone who would brush the lint off my jacket and tell me to take out the trash, someone I’d make love to night after night and sit across from at the breakfast table every morning. I’ve dated tons of girls, and I’ve fucked even more of them. I like girls. I like spending time with them. However, there’s never been a single one I couldn’t walk away from without a backward glance, much less imagine spending a lifetime with. I never wanted to make them smile; I never wanted to do things for them to make their life easier. I never was impatient to tell them what was going on in my life, or hear about theirs.
But then, I’ve never felt like I do with Gemma, like forever wouldn’t be enough time to be with her. It’s different with her. I want to make her moan with pleasure and shake with laughter. I like taking care of her, even though she doesn’t need it. Time with her is easy. I never find myself wanting to hang out with other people, or needing space. All I want is her. Every day. For the rest of my life.
Fuck. I’m in love with her.
She’s still talking like I haven’t just had the epiphany of a lifetime.
“I already like this place. I love that the guys have to wear tuxes. Why shouldn’t the women get a little eye candy, too?” Her nails dig into my arm. “Maybe there’s even a female fantasy room, where guys in shirtless tuxedos vacuum and wash dishes.”
“And put the toilet seat down and ask for directions?”
“Exactly!”
Her eyes are dancing, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to kiss her face off. But I’ve got to start getting used to the idea that Gemma isn’t mine. And she never will be.
“I’m ready, if you can put my phone and lipstick in your pocket. I don’t have an evening bag.”
“Sure. There’s just one thing your outfit is missing.” I dig through the bag filled with all the toys Cooper has told me I’m supposed to bring with me. I pull out the black collar and fasten it around her neck, noticing the way her breath catches while I buckle it.
“Now you look perfect,” I say, taking a step back to admire her fully. Fuck. She looked beautiful before. Now she looks breathtakingly exquisite. The collar accentuates the exposed white column of her throat, and I have the overwhelming desire to bite it. Her lips are parted, her eyes are dilated, and her breathing has become a little more labored. I guide her to the elevator with my hand on the small of her back. I only have twelve more hours with her—hell yeah, I’m going to take every chance I get to touch her.
“Want to grab something to eat on the way?” I ask as we take the elevator down to the lobby.
She looks at me, a what-the-hell expression on her face. “I can’t eat!”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Nervous?”
“Yeah.” It comes out as an exhalation, and I know the effort it takes Gemma to admit that, even to me. I wrap my arm around her bare shoulder, hugging her to my side as I rub her arm reassuringly. “You’ve got no reason to be. You’ve been able to handle everything so far. You’re a natural. You’re going to do fine tonight. And you’re going to impress the hell out of Declan when you get back to Charleston.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah…”
The Dominion is nicer than I expected—clean and sophisticated, with a fun, slightly edgy party vibe. The first level consists mostly of a dance club with a full bar, a DJ cranking out dance tunes, a huge dance floor, and go-go dancers in cages strategically placed around the room. In the back, there’s something they call the PG-13 play space—a large area with a stage where clothed couples are playing with floggers and other impact toys, and a guy is giving a presentation on rope work. I also see a large wooden cross that I recognize from my research as a St. Andrew’s cross. It looks much bigger in person. I take a deep breath. Gemma isn’t the only one who’s nervous.
“How are we going to find this guy, Valor?” Gemma asks me as we take in the huge crowd on the dance floor.
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll just ask around.”
However, that doesn’t get us anywhere. We ask the bartender about him when we order a couple of courage-bolstering shots of whiskey, but he’s never heard of Valor. We move to the dance floor, and after a few dances, Gemma asks the DJ to play a song, casually asking him if he knows a guy named Valor who works at the club, but he just shakes his head. We try another bartender before heading back to the play area, hoping to somehow find the guy Liam seemed to be directing us to. It’s starting to look like we might be on another wild goose chase. I wonder if Valor even works here.
“I was wondering where the kinky area was. Looks like we found it,” Gemma says as we watch a guy take a flogger to a girl’s jean-clad ass. She shudders slightly. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“You’ll have to let me know later,” I say wickedly, winking at her. “Unless you want to go up there now?”
