HARD-PRESSED
Club Hard, 1
Queenie Black Copyright © 2019
Chapter One
Rose
Club Hard
Private Members Only
I desperately wanted to run back down the steps, leap into my car, and drive home, but if I did, nothing would change, and I’d go back to dividing my time between working out, Candy Crush Saga, and the occasional night out with my friends. I might miss out on learning something about myself, something that could make a difference in my sex life. Worse, I might miss a chance at love.
I stayed, my feet rooted to the floor, but the insides of my hands were so damp, my finger slipped on the brass bell, setting off a short, discordant jangling. I winced as I rang it again properly this time. That certainly wouldn’t endear me to anyone.
Shifting from foot to foot, trying to keep the blood circulating in my toes, I looked around. Behind me, the gravel drive snaked away to a discreet carpark, and trees and shrubs created shadows within shadows. Autumn had finally reached London and in this exclusive part of it, crisp, clean air and earthy leaf mulch replaced the smell of fast food and exhaust.
I shifted again, starting to get irritated. If you were going to demand a woman wear nothing but a skirt that barely covered her butt, and a top that was little more than a bit of elastic bandage—on me it was ridiculous, if I sneezed, I’d pop out over the top—then you should damn well open the door promptly. Now, despite wearing my warmest coat over the absurd ensemble, there was a distinct draught zipping under my hem and freezing my exposed butt cheeks.
I lifted my finger to stab the bell again, and the door swung open.
Bloody hell. A real butler. I was no stranger to mansions with staff. Working as a bodyguard meant I saw the inside of a lot of wealthy homes, but so far, a liveried butler was a new one to me.
“Can I help you?”
I cleared my throat, wondering if there was any etiquette for addressing a butler, aware that my finger was still lurking in the vicinity of his eye. “Umm, I’m, ah, it’s Ms. Dainty. To see Mr. Dufort. I’m expected.”
He waved me through into a large marble-floored hall with a fire burning at one side. A wide, elegant staircase at the back curved away to the upper floors.
“I’ll inform Mr. Dufort that you’re here, if you’d like to take a seat.” He indicated a collection of sofas and easy chairs huddled as if for warmth around the fireplace. I made a beeline for the heat.
“May I take your coat?”
I crossed my arms tightly. No way was I exposing my scantily clad self. “Ah, thanks, but I’m a bit cold.”
“I see my guest has arrived, Henry.”
I turned away from the fire to see Lucien Dufort crossing the hall toward me. The floor seemed to drop a few inches and I had to grab the back of a chair to steady myself as his delicious, rich chocolate voice with its faint French accent wound around me, setting my heart hammering.
A tall, elegant man, he moved toward me with predatory intent, covering the floor in loose, confident strides, but it was his eyes that held my gaze, dark eyes, sharp with intelligence and power. He wasn’t a handsome man. His narrow-bladed Gallic nose, inherited from his mother, was slightly overlarge for that, but his lips were sensual, and the mix of tenderness and lust in his expression as he looked at me sent electric tingles charging down my spine.
“Rose, welcome to Club Hard.” He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his tongue flickering into the little hollow between my two smallest fingers, mimicking the act of sex. Normally, that would be an instant turn-off, but when Lucien did it, everything inside me melted. I tugged my hand free and shoved it into my coat pocket. This was bad. We hadn’t even started yet and my hormones were doing a happy dance.
“Your coat, ma petite.”
I undid the buttons reluctantly and he stripped it off my shoulders, giving it to Henry before indicating my feet. “Barefoot, please.”
I obeyed, steadying myself with one hand on Lucien’s forearm. I could have rested it there all day, enjoying the feel of thick bone and the flex of hard muscles, but I quickly unzipped my boots and gave them to Henry, who took them as solemnly as if I was handing him the crown jewels for safekeeping. He disappeared, taking my things with him, and I stood shivering, waiting for Lucien to say or do something. I shouldn’t have felt vulnerable. I fought with this amount of flesh on display, so it shouldn’t have bothered me, yet insecurity and apprehension crept hand-in-hand up my spine. “Lucien?”
He cupped my chin, his palm warm and sure, his thumb stroking my cheekbone in a gesture I found calming. “Tonight, you will address me as Monsieur, or Sir.” His words sank deep inside me, reaching a place I wasn’t aware existed. A place I didn’t want to believe existed. I stepped back, dislodging his hand.
Lucien’s cheek creased in amusement. “So, ma belle perle, the challenge begins. Are you ready?”
No, of course, I’m not ready. Instead, I said, “Bring it on.”
Lucien’s sharp gaze zeroed in on my hands which were clasped tightly at my waist to hide their faint tremor, and I was reminded that nothing escaped this man’s notice. Thankfully, all he said was, “Follow me.”
He led me out of the hall and through an oak-paneled reception area, nodding briefly at the man behind the desk. Then we were in a short corridor where I noted the doors were marked with locker room and toilet symbols. A man wearing a uniform that identified him as housekeeping staff exited what looked like a broom closet. I nodded at him, but he missed it, his gaze fixed on Lucien’s
back. The hairs on my neck prickled. Man, if ever someone’s look needed to be classified as poisonous, it was his.
At the end of the corridor, Lucien pushed a large, carved wooden door open and indicated I should precede him. I stepped through and stopped short, my mild apprehension segueing into deeper anxiety.
The room, which seemed to extend along the whole of the back of the building, was filled with the sound of edgy music. The throb of it vibrated through the soles of my bare feet and the air was heavy with groans, mixed with the slaps and thuds of impact toys. Cleaning products provided a base note for polish, leather, and sex and combined, the scents created a visceral reaction in me that made my nipples perk up.
Roped-off play areas and other sections, some very public, some giving the illusion of privacy, were full of mysterious equipment that sent shivers of wary anticipation up my spine. In one of them, a Dom in leather trousers secured his naked sub to an X- shaped cross.
Chr ... criminy. Ingrained habit made me swallow back the swear words even when I was only thinking them. My boss, the owner of Eagle Protection Services, was particular that we shouldn’t swear. He didn’t want us offending any of the princesses, did he? But man, that room filled me with a strange mix of feelings. I took a step back and came up against Lucien’s hard frame. He drew me more closely into his body, circling my waist with one arm, and his heat and sheer physical presence grounded me.
“Easy, chérie, you’ve seen this before. Calm down.”
I tried, gulping in breaths laden with his spicy cologne. He was right, I had seen this sort of thing before. In the nine months I’d protected Lucien, I’d caught some glimpses of him sceneing with subs. I’d also done enough internet research to fill in most of the gaps in my knowledge. None of it prepared me for the reality, the raw, primal sexuality of it.
“Evening, Lucien.” A Domme sauntered past, leading her female sub on a chain.
Stop being a wimp. I straightened my spine and Lucien gave my arms a quick squeeze that felt like approval.
Just to my left, a gleaming oval bar hummed with customers, and subs carried trays of drinks, flitting to and from seating areas like hummingbirds. Against one wall, a full buffet table provided a hub where people chatted and helped themselves to food. A Domme fed morsels from her plate to the male sub kneeling at her feet.
At the end of the corridor, Lucien pushed a large, carved wooden door open and indicated I should precede him. I stepped through and stopped short, my mild apprehension segueing into deeper anxiety.
The room, which seemed to extend along the whole of the back of the building, was filled with the sound of edgy music. The throb of it vibrated through the soles of my bare feet and the air was heavy with groans, mixed with the slaps and thuds of impact toys. Cleaning products provided a base note for polish, leather, and sex and combined, the scents created a visceral reaction in me that made my nipples perk up.
Roped-off play areas and other sections, some very public, some giving the illusion of privacy, were full of mysterious equipment that sent shivers of wary anticipation up my spine. In one of them, a Dom in leather trousers secured his naked sub to an X- shaped cross.
Chr ... criminy. Ingrained habit made me swallow back the swear words even when I was only thinking them. My boss, the owner of Eagle Protection Services, was particular that we shouldn’t swear. He didn’t want us offending any of the princesses, did he? But man, that room filled me with a strange mix of feelings. I took a step back and came up against Lucien’s hard frame. He drew me more closely into his body, circling my waist with one arm, and his heat and sheer physical presence grounded me.
“Easy, chérie, you’ve seen this before. Calm down.”
I tried, gulping in breaths laden with his spicy cologne. He was right, I had seen this sort of thing before. In the nine months I’d protected Lucien, I’d caught some glimpses of him sceneing with subs. I’d also done enough internet research to fill in most of the gaps in my knowledge. None of it prepared me for the reality, the raw, primal sexuality of it.
“Evening, Lucien.” A Domme sauntered past, leading her female sub on a chain.
Stop being a wimp. I straightened my spine and Lucien gave my arms a quick squeeze that felt like approval.
Just to my left, a gleaming oval bar hummed with customers, and subs carried trays of drinks, flitting to and from seating areas like hummingbirds. Against one wall, a full buffet table provided a hub where people chatted and helped themselves to food. A Domme fed morsels from her plate to the male sub kneeling at her feet.
At the bar, Lucien indicated a stool. “Sit.”
I obeyed, muttering, “Woof,” under my breath.
“Did you say something?”
I shook my head, taken aback by how his expression had
chilled, but at the same time, amazed at how it set off a quiver deep in my core. I placed my hand on my abdomen to still it.
“What can I get you, Lucien?”
I huffed a silent breath of relief as Lucien turned his attention to the bartender. A second later, when I saw who the bartender was, I did a double-take.
“Your brother?” I whisper-yelled at Lucien.
He shrugged. “Why not?”
Why not? Because his brother, or to be precise, his half-brother, was a freakin’ Lord, an Earl of somewhere or other. Their father had been a very naughty young man and had ended up marrying the English girl who he’d gotten into trouble rather than the French one, even though both women had been from the same sort of upper social class. He’d acknowledged both boys though, and Lucien had grown up with all the advantages of being a Lord’s son and none of the disadvantages, such as crumbling estates and heritage, to worry about. As young men fresh out of university, the brothers had gone into business together and now had a very successful line of seriously elite kink clubs and a huge chain of less-contentious spa and gyms.
I stared at this aristocratic barman who was also Lucien’s brother, trying to dig his name out of my memory while a whole lot of thoughts went whizzing through my head. I’d have had to be dead not to notice his air of authority and his good looks. Other than the nose and eye color, he and Lucien were very similar. Calthorpe! That was it. George Julian Humphrey Calthorpe. The file on Lucien, which we had all seen when we took him on as a client, contained some basic information on his brother too.
Calthorpe smiled at me and said, “There’s no need to feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I shot back, unhappy at being seen in any way vulnerable, “I’m just wondering if I should curtsy.”
His expression darkened at my sass, all his previous warmth disappearing, and I sucked in a breath at the sudden chill.
Ignoring me now, which felt distinctly better, Calthorpe addressed his next comment to Lucien. “New subbie? I’ve not seen her around before but she looks familiar.” His gaze assessed me, lingering over my body. When it reached my face, I met his stare head-on with a frown to let him know I didn’t approve of his blatant appraisal. Instead of being intimidated, amusement lightened his expression and he said, “Looks like she needs some training.”
“When you last saw her, she was my bodyguard.”
“That’s where I know her from.” His gaze sharpened on me again. “Not your normal type, is she?”
I should have felt irritation at the way he was discussing me. Instead, a sliver of hurt wormed its way into my heart. Not your normal type... Okay, so I didn’t fit Lucien’s usual mold. I didn’t need anyone to rub that in. Firstly, it was rude and secondly, it was obvious. The truth was that compared to all the subs, usually Disney- princess types, I’d ever seen Lucien with, I was more like Mrs. Shrek, except without the green. A bit harsh maybe, but a girl had to recognize her limitations, and at six-feet tall and ripped—yes, I did actually have the whole eight pack happening—I didn’t look the part. I was fit and I worked as a bodyguard, and in my spare time, I did MMA. That tended to mean kicking the shit out of opponents, not watching other people do it, and it meant I did intimidating, rather than pretty or sexy. In fact, I didn’t really do sex at all anymore. Finding a man who wasn’t scared to date a woman who could whoop his ass one-handed was difficult and usually not worth the effort. Sex was overrated, in my opinion. It was boring and messy, and to put it bluntly, the juice just wasn’t worth the squeeze.
Lucien was the only man who’d tempted me in the last two or three years, but he came with a hell of a lot of kink.
Could I live with that or, more to the point, could he live without it?
That was the question I was here to find the answer to. “Rose.”
Lucien’s voice broke in on my thoughts. I scowled. I hate
people calling me Rose.
“Call me Ro,” I said automatically and then when I focused on Lucien and saw his expression, quickly added, “Sir.”
“Well recovered, ma perle, but you know the rules. Where should a sub’s attention be at all times?”
“When you last saw her, she was my bodyguard.”
“That’s where I know her from.” His gaze sharpened on me again. “Not your normal type, is she?”
I should have felt irritation at the way he was discussing me. Instead, a sliver of hurt wormed its way into my heart. Not your normal type... Okay, so I didn’t fit Lucien’s usual mold. I didn’t need anyone to rub that in. Firstly, it was rude and secondly, it was obvious. The truth was that compared to all the subs, usually Disney- princess types, I’d ever seen Lucien with, I was more like Mrs. Shrek, except without the green. A bit harsh maybe, but a girl had to recognize her limitations, and at six-feet tall and ripped—yes, I did actually have the whole eight pack happening—I didn’t look the part. I was fit and I worked as a bodyguard, and in my spare time, I did MMA. That tended to mean kicking the shit out of opponents, not watching other people do it, and it meant I did intimidating, rather than pretty or sexy. In fact, I didn’t really do sex at all anymore. Finding a man who wasn’t scared to date a woman who could whoop his ass one-handed was difficult and usually not worth the effort. Sex was overrated, in my opinion. It was boring and messy, and to put it bluntly, the juice just wasn’t worth the squeeze.
Lucien was the only man who’d tempted me in the last two or three years, but he came with a hell of a lot of kink.
Could I live with that or, more to the point, could he live without it?
That was the question I was here to find the answer to. “Rose.”
Lucien’s voice broke in on my thoughts. I scowled. I hate
people calling me Rose.
“Call me Ro,” I said automatically and then when I focused on Lucien and saw his expression, quickly added, “Sir.”
“Well recovered, ma perle, but you know the rules. Where should a sub’s attention be at all times?”
I swore my core did this involuntary clenching thing at his stern look, and my nipples bunched. It took me by surprise and I hated it and liked it at the same time. It was nice to know I wasn’t dead sexually from the neck down. On the other hand, if this kinky lark was turning me on, that meant Lucien might be right. He believed I was submissive and that was what tonight was all about. Him proving I was, and me proving I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be submissive, because I reckoned being submissive made me fundamentally weak and I couldn’t afford to be weak. So having my body come alive and proving me wrong wasn’t part of the plan.
Okay, I was confused, so what? No one ever said it was simple.
“Rose, where should your attention be?”
His annoyed tone drew me back with a start and I tried to focus on answering his question. “Umm, on my Dom?”
“And who is that, Rose?”
I glared at his repeated use of my full name.
“Lose the look.” Lucien’s silky tone held a clear warning and when I cast a quick glance at his face, his brows were drawn together. Yup, I’d managed to seriously piss him off. I didn’t like the feeling of letting him down, so I forced my facial muscles into something less confrontational.
“That’s better, now answer my question.”
I scrabbled around in what was left of my brain and said, “You?”
“I like the question mark on the end,” Calthorpe said with a grin. “She sounds as if she isn’t sure.”
“No worries, Cal, she’ll be very sure by the time the evening ends.” There was a delicious threat in his words that made me do a little wriggle on the barstool. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to find a bit of relief from the growing ache.
“Uh-uh.” Lucien shook his head at me. “Spread those thighs. You need to be fully accessible to your Master at all times.”
I looked around to check if anyone was watching and damn if Lucien didn’t read my thoughts. He caught my chin. “It doesn’t matter if anyone else is watching. I should be your only concern right now. I’m getting tired of your inattention and disobedience. Continue like this and there will be a punishment before the evening is over.”
I parted my thighs a little to placate him, and he nodded encouragingly. “That’s better, but it’s not enough. Spread them further or you will be punished.”
Punishment? My lungs constricted, and I sucked in a panicked breath. Uh-oh. No. Quickly, I obeyed, spreading my thighs as widely as I could, hooking my ankles around the legs of the stool. My skirt rode up and, aware that I was flashing the world, I tried to smooth it down. It didn’t work, and the skirt kept rolling back up. Thank heavens I’d put on a thong, otherwise, there’d have been no end to what I was showing.
Lucien’s smile at my skirt quandary dropped. “What is that?”
Hot color flooded my face when I saw where he was looking, and I hid my embarrassment under sass, pulling a Duh! face. “A thong.”
Thankfully, he ignored my grimace. “Did I specify underwear?”
“No.”
“Then why are you wearing it?”
“I figured you must have forgotten to include it.”
The brief deepening of the lines that bracketed Lucien’s mouth hinted at amusement but his voice remained unyielding as he commanded, “Remove them now, Rose.”
I shook my head.
Lucien turned to Cal, who was following keenly from his place behind the bar. “Do you have a knife behind there?”
“Sure.” Cal handed over the small, plastic-handled serrated blade he’d been using to slice lemons.
Lucien flowed off his barstool in one graceful movement. “Stand up,” he instructed.
I hesitated, eyeing his knife.
“You have two seconds, Rose. If you don’t obey, you’ll lose the skirt as well as the thong.”
I obeyed, pleased that at least my own movements were graceful too. It seemed all those martial arts I did had extra benefits. I smoothed the skirt back down my thighs.
“Raise your skirt.”
“What?” I’d just lowered the damn thing and he wanted me to raise it?
Lucien sighed and turned to Cal. “She’s questioning me again.
What do you suggest?”
“Hmm, let’s see.” Cal rubbed his chin. “She’s had one warning already so I’d chalk up three, I think.”
Three? Three what? “Are you talking about spanking?” My voice squeaked embarrassingly.
“Your only acceptable response is, ‘Yes, Monsieur.’”
Uh-oh, I was meant to give instant obedience and here I was digging in my heels and being mouthy again. “Yes, Monsieur,” I said meekly and raised my skirt until it just uncovered my lower cheeks, which wasn’t very far since it was super-short anyway.
“I might have allowed that,” Lucien said, harshly, “but your disobedience means now you’re going to pull it right up until it’s around your waist.”
Keeping all my swear words tucked safely behind my teeth because I was in enough trouble already, I pulled the stupid thing up as high as he ordered, doing it sharply like tearing off a Band-Aid.
A satisfied look settled on Lucien’s face at my obedience and he shifted me out from the cover of the barstools with one large hand framing my hip, exposing my nearly naked butt to anyone who happened to be walking by. My face went scarlet and my insides clenched.
No way! I closed my eyes against the realization. How did I not know this about myself? I didn’t want to be turned on by being put on display, but dammit, I was.
“Eyes on me, chérie.”
Lucien’s voice had that deep Dom command to it and my eyes popped open before I could even think about it. He caught my gaze briefly and his look was so full of predatory intent and promise, it rocked me back on my heels and made me lightheaded. While I was recovering, he slid the blade under the elastic at my hip. The cold, blunt back of it dragged against my skin as the fabric gave. Shivers radiated out from where smooth metal touched me, hyper-sensitizing my skin.
“Now the other side.” When he’d cut both sides, he sent the knife spinning back across the bar to Cal who dropped it in the sink before moving on to serve another customer. The only thing holding my underwear up was the pressure from my thighs, which I’d clamped together, and the thin piece of fabric separating my cheeks, which I’d also clamped together.
Lucien made me the focus of his attention again. “Spread your thighs.”
When I didn’t move fast enough or spread them wide enough, he gave my thigh a little two-fingered warning tap of encouragement. “Wider.”
I obeyed reluctantly, and he slowly and deliberately tugged my panties loose, sliding the white lace between my cheeks and over the tender flesh between my legs. Shivers and sparks danced across my skin, raising goosebumps. I couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped.
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