Kelly Jamieson: TamingTara

She changed into a shiny black latex halter dress that stopped at mid thigh and over-the knee black stiletto boots. The outfit felt a little…ridiculous. So not her. Hey, she was trying to explore a different side of herself. Maybe dressing the part would help. But she covered her clothes with a bland beige trench coat in case she ran into Grandpa or Sasha on her way out.

Le Château wasn’t the kind of party place her sister frequented. In fact, if either Sasha or Grandpa knew Tara went there, they would die. Grandpa would literally have a heart attack. He was driving her crazy, but she didn’t want that to actually happen. Although, even though she wasn’t sure if Le Château was the kind of place for her, she had to admit that the idea of her grandfather finding out she was doing just one more thing to defy him added a slight edge of excitement to the whole deal.

She brought her new toy along with her and her tummy jumped at the thought of using it. Hopefully there would be some nice submissive men at the club tonight who’d want to feel a little pain.

Le Château sat on the outskirts of town, a former residence that had now been converted into a club. The mansion did resemble a castle with a round turret on one corner and still looked just like a private residence with no signs or anything to indicate it was otherwise. She parked in the lot behind the house and entered through the rear door, showing her membership card.

Inside, the heart-quickening beat of Orbital vibrated through her body. She wasn’t yet a regular there—this was only her third time, in fact.

She knew her desires were different. She knew she needed more than she was getting from the few relationships she’d had. Like Hugh. Dating hadn’t worked out so well, but she wasn’t prepared to be celibate either. Sex was important. Necessary. But sometimes not all that satisfying. So she’d hoped by joining Le Château and trying some different things, she might find what she was looking for, might find what she needed—even though she wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

She wandered across the red-and gold-lit room to the bar and requested a drink—green tea and apple juice. No alcohol here at Le Château. She surveyed the play stations, almost all of them in use already, other club members sitting on couches grouped in corners. The dim red and gold lights created shadows and deep corners of intimacy. She caught the eye of an attractive man across the room—a familiar face. Adam. She pushed herself away from the bar and strolled over to where he reclined in a chair.

“Hi, Adam.”

“Hi, Cara.”

She didn’t want to use her real name. Santa Barbara wasn’t that big, and in the business world the last thing she needed was word of her new kinky pastimes getting out and damaging the company. She knew she was taking a risk by doing this, which added somewhat to the thrill of it, but everyone else at the club was in the same position—using a fake name, keeping their real identity a secret. A lot of the men there had wives at home who had no idea what they were doing, and probably some of the women too. In fact, there were some extremely high-profile members of the business community who liked to frequent the club. Discretion was important and the club made privacy a priority. That’s what she liked about it.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” she said.

“I am. Jason. And…” Adam studied her. “We both need to be punished.”

She lifted a brow. “Really? And now what do you both need to be punished for?”

He paused, then said, “Last week I let him fuck me. Up the ass.”

She shook her head. “Shame on you. Did you like it?”

“I did.” He bowed his head

She held up her flogger, dragged the tails across her palm. “You’re right. You do need to be punished.” The two men seemed to be in denial over their mutual attraction to each other.

“In the red room. Eleven o’clock,” she said. She fondled the handle of her flogger, the ball on the end smooth in her palm.

“We’ll be there.”

She returned to the bar and picked up her drink.

Two submissive men who needed to be punished. What more could she ask for?

Her stomach clenched a little at the thought. The idea of laying a flogging on the bare asses of two pretty boys was…well, she wasn’t sure if she could exactly describe the emotion it aroused in her. Excitement certainly, but along with that came a little trepidation, a little uncertainty. Even a little envy that they were getting all the attention.

She lifted her drink to her mouth, her gaze drifting across the room, various groups and couples in an assortment of clothing—leather, PVC and some that were barely there, studded harnesses, chains and collars.

Her eyes stopped on a tall, broad figure, dark-haired, his back to her. He wore black leather pants that showed off an exceptional ass and a black vest, no shirt. There were times when the fetish wear of some men in the club just made her want to roll her eyes or laugh. It was hard for some guys to pull off wearing shiny PVC pants, shorts or harnesses. And the ones who showed up in police uniform costumes just made her want to giggle. But this guy looked at ease in his black leather and the shoulders and arms revealed by the vest were ripped—bulging biceps, satiny olive skin.

Then he turned and Tara choked on her green tea. Oh. Dear. God.

It was Joe Scaletta.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joe stared across the main room at Le Château. That could not be Tara Lockhart leaning against the bar over there, so fucking hot in a shiny black dress that looked like it had been laminated to her curves and heels that could seriously injure a man. Her honey-blonde hair had been scraped up into a tight, high ponytail. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted as she met his gaze.

Oh yeah, that was her.

Busted, sweetheart. Joe’s pulse leaped and he couldn’t restrain the smile curving his lips. Tara Lockhart, secret Dominatrix.

Huh? That wasn’t the impression he’d gotten of her earlier. Sure, she was strong. Intelligent. Confident. Bossy. But that flicker he’d seen in her eyes, the way she’d hesitated when he’d greeted her, made him question her domination. Somehow it didn’t ring true.

He crossed the room toward her as if drawn by a magnet. No way was he going to do her any favors by pretending not to recognize her or disappearing. He was going to have his fun with this and the anticipation of it sizzled through his veins.

Like arousal.

He stopped in front of her and stared down at her, not saying a word.

“Hi,” she finally said weakly, her eyes dropping briefly.

“Well. Tara. Imagine my surprise seeing you here.”

She swallowed but lifted her chin. “Likewise.”

He looked her over, up, down, then raised his gaze back to her face. “Very nice.”

She pressed her lips together. No thanks for the compliment. He wanted to laugh.

“I had no idea you were into the lifestyle.”

“I’m not.”

“Ah.” He lifted a brow. “Just…exploring?”

“No. Well.” She sucked her top lip in briefly. “I’m uh…checking this place out.”

“Ah. Finding yourself.”

“I’m not finding myself! I know exactly who I am.” Irritation tightened her voice.

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Don’t patronize me! What the hell are you doing here? If my grandpa knew…”

He lifted a brow. “Does he know you’re here?”

She blinked. “No.”

“Then we’re on even ground,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes briefly. He could almost hear the curse words he was sure she wanted to spit out. “I guess we are,” she finally said.

“So.” He trailed a finger over her bare shoulder and down the satiny skin of her arm. “Top or bottom?”