Owned by Fate (Serve #1)(4)

“—or you think I’m waiting for someone to show me the ropes. Pun intended. Maybe you’re hoping I read that oh-so-popular novel and I’m here to hogtie my very own billionaire.”

He feigned ignorance. “What book?”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “If you are indeed a regular in this”—she waved her hands around—“scene, then I’m sure you’re familiar with it. I’m dropping it now. Any further discussion on the subject would indicate that I’m curious, which I most certainly am not.”

Her glasses slipped down her nose, and she pushed them back up. He squashed the sudden urge to throw them across the room and punish her smart mouth with his own harder one.

“I’m not being critical, but I refuse to facilitate a discussion wherein you try to convince me pleasure through pain is the ultimate high. That’s where this is headed, isn’t it?”

“For someone who has never tried it, you seem terribly confident it’s not.”

“A person doesn’t necessarily need to encounter pain to know they don’t desire it. For example, without having been hit by a semi-truck before, I’m pretty sure it would suck.”

Jonah hid his smile by taking a pull from his scotch, watching her over the rim of his glass before he lowered it. “What if I told you it’s only about pain for some? For others, it’s an entirely different experience.”

He watched her process that, liking the fact that she wasn’t disregarding his words outright. She was listening, weighing, deciding whether or not she agreed. It was refreshing. So often, he found people were unwilling to consider any point of view save their own.

Again, he felt a sting in his chest at the reminder of others’ unwillingness to trust a word that came out of his mouth, simply because he owned Serve. If anything, the precautions Serve’s management took with each and every individual allowed upstairs should speak for itself, but people refused to trust what they didn’t understand.

She spoke then, interrupting his dark thoughts. “If that’s true, that people have different experiences, then tell me. What else is there?”

For some reason, his answer seemed infinitely important. As if it could make or break the connection developing between him and this woman, whose name he still didn’t know. The people who frequented his club knew what they wanted and didn’t usually require an explanation about what to expect, so he didn’t have much practice putting it into words. He had managers who dealt with beginners. His first experience in a BDSM club had been at age twenty-one and completely by accident. While on shore leave in Germany during his stint with the Navy, he’d stumbled half wasted into an underground club, and his life had been irrevocably changed by a half-crazed dominatrix named Velda. He was fairly certain she hadn’t sat him down and given him a syllabus.

“What else is there?” Jonah tossed back the last of his drink, relishing the burn in his chest. “Trust, communication, honesty. Risk, sensation, surrender. Power.” His gaze dropped unbidden to her lips again. “It’s about permission to explore desires you might not even be aware of yet.” When she licked that plump flesh again, his hand resting on the bar curled into a tight fist. “And sometimes it’s just rough, dirty, no-holds-barred f*cking.”

Her chest had begun to rise and fall with effort, eyes glazed over, looking slightly lost. She swayed toward him just a little, and without hesitation, his body moved closer as if magnetized. One of his knees slid along the outside of her thigh, nudging up the hem of her skirt ever so slightly. That snapped her out of wherever she’d gone. His proximity seemed to alarm her, but he didn’t move away completely. She pulled the edges of her collar tighter, and that uneasy movement sent a jolt of irritation through him. Not with her—with himself. He’d clearly gone one step too far.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t come here for any of those things.”

“Right. And I’m not in the business of strong-arming or coercing customers, so please stop fidgeting like I make you nervous.”

“Nerv—” Something akin to recognition dawned on her face. “Wait, what kind of business are you in?”

“You’re sitting in it.”

“You own Serve?”

He gave a single nod and stood. “What is your name?”

The barest hesitation. “Caroline.”

Jesus, he f*cking loved that name. It demanded discipline. His discipline. “Caroline, you seem like the type of person who appreciates honesty. Is that accurate?”

She nodded warily. Smart girl.

“Good. I’d like you and your precious skepticism to come upstairs with me. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. You have my word on that.” He signaled the bartender. “But I can’t sit here anymore, and I don’t like the idea of leaving you here. In fact, since we’re being honest, I hate it.”

That gave her pause. “Why can’t you sit here any longer?”

Jonah leaned in close, watched her lips part to suck in a quick breath. Fucking beautiful. Take the risk. The payoff could be glorious. “If I sit across from you much longer, I’m going to pull you astride my lap and kiss your superbly formed mouth until you soak straight through my pants.” He pulled back just enough to watch redness suffuse her cheeks. “It wouldn’t take long, sweetheart. I can do amazing things with my tongue.”