Training Sasha (Club Zodiac Book 1) Read online

  He spun around to face away from her, and she realized she was meant to put the dress on while he wasn’t looking. She managed to shrug into it and tug it down. No panties. No bra. Who the fuck cared.

  As she shoved the blanket to the floor, she stood.

  He must have sensed her signal because he was once again facing her, closing her suitcase, picking it up, taking her hand. He led her to the front door, stopping to grab her purse on the way.

  And then she was outside. The sun was warm against her arms. Why would she notice something like that?

  She followed him, barefoot. Again, who cared? He helped her into the passenger side of his sports car, stowed her suitcase in the trunk, and jogged around the hood to the driver’s side. And then they were gone, pulling away from Lincoln’s home.

  She’d been there for one full day. A lifetime.

  She closed her eyes, startled when he touched her arm again moments later. “You’re home, honey.”

  Already? She opened her eyes to find someone standing outside her door. Whoever it was opened it. “Oh, Sasha.” The voice was familiar. Her gaze rose to see Rayne standing there, her expression pained. She bit her lip. “Let’s get you inside.”

  Sasha let Rayne help her from the car. Rayne grabbed her things from the backseat and then shut the door. Carter never exited the car. In fact, the moment Rayne shut the door, he peeled away from the curb.

  The next several hours passed in a flurry of movement around her that seemed to occur without her participation. A slideshow of events filtered into her mind like photographs, seemingly blinding her with the flash.

  She didn’t remember entering her apartment or climbing into bed, but she knew Rayne had pulled her through the motions. She’d even suggested Sasha take a bath first.

  Sasha had shaken her head adamantly, not quite cognizant of her reasons.

  Rayne gave her a pill and a glass of water.

  Sasha dozed.

  When she woke up, the sun was high in the sky, its rays filtering across the room through the closed blinds. She was alone, but movement in the rest of her apartment told her someone was in the kitchen or living room.

  Her body hurt, and she tried to take stock of what muscles didn’t want to participate. She stretched out her legs, wincing at the pull of skin on her thighs. She fought back her tears as she remembered she was coated in her own blood and dry come. Lincoln’s come. Proof that she had not imagined what had happened to her.

  “Sasha?” Rayne stood in the doorway, her brow furrowed in concern. She held a steaming mug. “I brought you some tea. Can you sit up? You need fluids.”

  She winced again as she pushed her body to sitting and leaned against the headboard.

  The scent of herbal tea soothed her as it hit her nose. She took a sip and then another, her strength returning slowly.

  Rayne sat on the edge of the bed, a hand on Sasha’s thigh. “You want to talk about it?”

  Lincoln sat at his kitchen table, head bowed, hands clasped on the table, all feeling gone from his existence. He deserved whatever his partners flung at him and more.

  Things had not gone even close to his plan this morning. He’d meant to tell her they weren’t compatible. Point out that she wasn’t the kind of submissive he needed. That he wasn’t the kind of Dom who could fulfill her. Instead, he’d gotten tongue-tied and then… He couldn’t even bring himself to think about what he’d done next.

  Rowen was pacing. He hadn’t spoken a single word since Carter let him in. Or if he had, Lincoln hadn’t heard him.

  Lincoln vaguely realized that Carter had taken Sasha home and then returned in less than half an hour. He’d silently handed Lincoln jeans and a T-shirt. His expression—the few times Lincoln had dared look at his face—was tight, his lips pursed, his brows furrowed. He was disappointed.

  He’d dragged Lincoln to the kitchen table and handed him a cup of coffee. The untouched mug still sat in front of him.

  Suddenly Rowen stopped pacing across the table from Lincoln, threw his hands in the air, and screamed, “You fucked her. I asked you not to fuck her. You promised you wouldn’t fuck her. And you fucked her.”

  Lincoln’s head dipped lower, his chin practically touching his chest. There was nothing he could say. Rowen was right.

  Rowen started again. “I asked you to do one thing. One goddamn thing, and you couldn’t manage to keep your fucking dick in your pants. Not even for one fucking day?”

  Carter interrupted. “Calm down. We don’t know the details here.”

  Rowen exploded. “Don’t tell me to calm down. Fuck.” He turned around and slammed his fist through the drywall. “Fuck,” he screamed again.

  Lincoln doubted the man could even feel pain. He knew he wouldn’t if he were in Rowen’s shoes.

  “Talk to us, Lincoln,” Carter said, his voice significantly less violent. He had always been the most level-headed out of the three of them. It was ironic since he was their bouncer and he exuded force and strength. Outwardly he was a beast, but he was not hot-headed, and it made him perfect for the role he played in the club.

  Lincoln lifted his hands and ran them through his hair. He needed to stop being a pansy and own up to his mistakes. “I fucked up.”

  “You think?” Rowen shouted. “She’s my fucking sister, asshole.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Lincoln straightened his spine. “It’s like a goddamn mantra constantly running through my head. It has been for years. I. Fucked. Up.”

  Rowen flinched. “Years? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Carter turned his attention to Rowen. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t know Lincoln has been hot for Sasha from the moment he met her.”

  Rowen flinched. His eyes went large.

  Lincoln jerked his gaze to Carter. He knew that?

  Carter continued, still staring at Rowen. “Sasha too. That woman can’t even pull together complete sentences in his presence. Five years, Rowen. She’s lusted after him for so long I don’t know how it hasn’t come to a head before now.”

  “Sasha?” Rowen stepped back a pace as if someone shoved him in the chest.

  “Yes, Sasha. Jesus, you’re blind. Both of you.” Carter jerked his gaze to Lincoln. “I can’t even imagine how she would have reacted to the opportunity to spend unlimited time trying to convince Lincoln to claim her.” Carter continued to stare at Lincoln, even though his words were spoken to Rowen.

  “My sister,” Rowen deadpanned. “You’re saying my sister would throw herself at Lincoln because she’s had some kind of crush on him?”

  “That’s what I’m suggesting,” Carter said, switching his gaze to Rowen. “Although now might be a good time for you to recognize she’s a grown woman, not a girl with a crush. There were two grown adults in this house. They have to take equal responsibility for whatever happened between them. Nobody forced her to take this risk.”

  Rowen flinched again, shaking his head. “No. Not buying it. Lincoln knew better. He should have been professional. I don’t care if she draped her naked body over him and begged, he should have kept his dick in his pants.”

  Lincoln winced. Rowen had no idea how accurate his description was. But that didn’t change the facts. He finally spoke. “Rowen’s right. I fucked up. I’m an asshole. I knew better. I take full responsibility. She was under my domination. I have no excuses. It was my job to guide her. I never should have let my personal feelings get in the way. I never should have taken on her training in the first place. I knew better.”

  “You knew better?” Rowen grabbed the back of the chair in front of him. “You knew this might happen, and you brought her to your home anyway?”

  Lincoln nodded.

  Rowen shoved off the chair, stepping back again. “What the absolute fuck? Have I fallen into another dimension?”

  Carter squared off with Lincoln, ignoring Rowen. “I’ll admit I could see the writing on the wall. I was hoping the two of you would stop dancing around each other
and work something out. I thought if you spent some time together, you might actually be able to break down whatever wall was between you and forge a relationship. What happened?”

  Lincoln’s eyes went wider as he stared up at Carter. “You knew this might happen? Why would you do that? Why didn’t you stop me?”

  “Because she’s in love with you. I thought it was obvious. I thought you realized that. The woman hasn’t dated a single man in her entire life because the first man she fell for at seventeen stole her heart. How the hell am I the only one who noticed this?” His gaze darted back and forth between his partners.

  Rowen’s face was pale, his mouth hanging open. He didn’t blink.

  Lincoln exploded, shoving from the table so hard his chair fell over backward and slid across the floor to crash into the kitchen island. “Why didn’t you say something? You know I’m not right for her. Why would you encourage her to foolishly pursue me?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Why the hell can’t you be right for her? You’ve been equally as enamored with her as she has with you. You follow her around a room with your eyes as if she hangs the fucking moon. You watch over her like you own her already. Like you’re her Dom. Why would you think you’re not right for her?”

  Flames climbed up Lincoln’s face. His head pounded behind his eyes. “I’m a fucking sadist, you asshole. Did you forget that detail?” He was shouting so loud the neighbors could hear.

  Carter rolled his eyes. “So? Who cares? Doesn’t mean you can’t have a relationship with someone.”

  Lincoln flinched again. “Sasha? Have you met her? She’s the poster girl for innocence and sweetness. She’s not a masochist. She probably wouldn’t even be able to tolerate a gentle pat on the ass while wearing jeans.” Except she has…

  “Oh, come on, Lincoln,” Carter broke in. “No one is that averse to play.”

  “At least I know you didn’t beat her to the breaking point,” Rowen mumbled.

  Lincoln shot him a glare. “Don’t be a fucking moron. I wouldn’t hurt her if my life depended on it. Give me a break.”

  “Except somehow you did,” Rowen pointed out.

  Carter lifted both palms out toward his friends to stop them. “Cut it out. Both of you.”

  Rowen was right. Lincoln could shoot himself. He’d hurt her in the worst possible way. Far worse than if he’d taken a cat o’ nines to her entire body and splayed it open.

  Carter lowered his hands. “This is Sasha we’re talking about. I don’t care how freaking inexperienced she is or how conservatively she dresses, she’s been around the club for ten years. Even though she doesn’t have a membership and hasn’t spent many hours in the actual playroom, doesn’t mean she isn’t super clear what happens inside.”

  “Just because she isn’t judgmental of others doesn’t mean she has the capability to practice the lifestyle herself, and you know it,” Lincoln shot back, lying to both himself and his friends.

  Carter cocked his head to one side. “Except she’s made it clear that she is interested. Over and over again. What’s the deal with you? Why would you dictate how Sasha needs to live? Are you suddenly ashamed of the lifestyle?”

  Lincoln’s body stiffened. “What? Fuck no. Obviously not. I own the damn club. But, I don’t own her. So, I’m selfish. I don’t want someone else to fucking own her either.” He blurted all that without thinking. With no filter.

  Rowen gasped.

  Carter groaned in frustration. “So claim her yourself, Lincoln. Why do you feel the need to martyr yourself in this way?”

  Lincoln’s blood was boiling. He shouted, “She’s not a fucking masochist. Are you listening to me?”

  “So? Who cares? What difference does it make? She doesn’t have to be a masochist for you to make a life with her. It’s not a requirement. She doesn’t even have to be submissive. All that matters is that you negotiate what works between you two. Nothing else.”

  Lincoln spun around and paced away, trying to figure out how to get Carter to see reason. “I can’t just turn off who I am and ignore it to set up house with a pretty girl, no matter how badly I’d like to. It would bite me in the ass eventually. It wouldn’t be fair to her. I would climb out of my skin from denying who I am, and eventually she would resent me if I didn’t resent her first.”

  “Who said you have to have one or the other?” Carter asked, his eyes wide in shock. “My God. You know better. The majority of our members don’t live twenty-four seven lifestyles. They come in, play, get what they need, and leave.

  “Even married couples go their separate ways inside the club. How many masochists do we have on our roll who get what they need from you while their partners either watch or participate in something else at the same time? Dozens, I’d bet. Just because someone is a masochist doesn’t mean their partner is a sadist. They negotiate. Work it out. You know it isn’t sexual. You’ve pointed that out so many times it’s beaten into people’s heads.”

  Lincoln understood what Carter was saying, but he still would argue the table didn’t spin the other way. “That’s not the same thing.”

  “Why not?” Carter asked.

  At least Rowen had stopped shouting or interrupting. He seemed resigned to listen to the volley, taking it all in.

  “I’m the sadist in this equation. I have an inherent need to dominate submissives in the darkest of arrangements. I would never ask Sasha to try submitting to something like that, let alone watch me do it to someone else.”

  “Who says Sasha has to participate?”

  “It’s who I am,” Lincoln reminded them. “I’ve known for years I would never have a permanent woman in my life. There’s no way to mesh my need to wield a whip with my sexual desires on the side. That sort of sub doesn’t exist.”

  Carter chuckled. “Dude, your head is so far up your ass you can’t see straight.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Hear me out. Jesus. Under your premise, your perfect woman needs you to whip and crop her body into subspace with no sexual overtures and then turn around afterward and flip a switch to become a sweet, doting sexual submissive.”

  “Finally he gets it.” Lincoln sighed. “You see? There isn’t such a thing. So give it up.”

  “Lincoln, you’re dumber than a fucking rock. I’m sorry, but I don’t know how else to say it. The woman who warms your bed doesn’t need to also be strapped to your cross. They are mutually exclusive. In fact, even if she did exist, it would never work because you would feel the need to dominate other masochists too. So lose the ridiculous obsession with fitting one woman into that tidy package. You’re right. She doesn’t exist.”

  Rowen suddenly broke in. “He’s right, dude. You’re being a complete imbecile. There’s no reason you can’t have both. And—goddamn I hope I don’t regret saying this—even with Sasha. So what that she’s not a masochist? Who cares if she’s even submissive? You do your thing at the club. She does whatever thing interests her in or out of the club, and then you go home to each other.”

  Lincoln blinked. Both men were starting to make sense. Still… “I can’t ask that of her.”

  Rowen groaned. “How do you know? Have you tried?”

  Lincoln shook his head. “Of course not.” Hell, he hadn’t even told her why he’d sent her away, let alone gave her a choice.

  “You think that’s fair?” Rowen asked. “You think she doesn’t get a say in what she’s willing to tolerate? She’s not fragile. You’ve said so yourself. She’s not even uneducated in the key points of the lifestyle. At the very least, she’s probably flexible enough to be game for a lot of things vanilla women wouldn’t entertain”—he held up a hand—“though please spare me the details.”

  Lincoln swallowed. No way he’d ever discuss his relationship with Sasha with her brother.

  Rowen took a deep breath. “All I’m suggesting is that you let her decide. Give her the choice. You’re a total asshole with a double standard if you think you’re so high and mighty that you’d
turn her away and let her slip out of your fingers because you were too busy being all macho with your chest pumped out to even give her the option to turn you down.

  “Perhaps you need to attend some of the BDSM 101 seminars we offer. They might help you with your negotiation skills. Get yourself over the notion that you need to protect my sister from the world. If I can get over it, surely you can too.” Rowen planted his feet wide, hands on his hips, brow furrowed.

  No one said another word.

  Lincoln stared at Rowen for a long time. Finally, he took a breath. “I really fucked up.”

  “I see that. Maybe you should fix it,” Rowen suggested.

  “I’m in love with her,” Lincoln added.

  “I know, brother. Maybe you should tell her that instead of me.” His expression softened, and then he winced as he flexed his fingers.

  Lincoln glanced at the hole in his kitchen wall behind Rowen. “You broke my wall.”

  “You broke my sister.”

  Lincoln nodded and then he rushed from the room to go find his shoes. He ignored the two men still standing in his kitchen as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

  “Lincoln,” Rowen called after him.

  Lincoln turned around to face his best friend, his hand on the doorframe. “Yeah?”

  “You better fucking do right by my sister.”

  Lincoln swallowed the lump in his throat. What if it was too late?

  “Just make her happy,” Rowen added.

  “She hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

  “It’s called negotiation. You really should look into those classes.” Rowen shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

  Lincoln rolled his eyes. He started to push off the doorframe when Rowen took a step toward him.

  “One last thing: If she does accept your sorry ass, promise me you won’t play with her at the club when I’m on the floor. My level of acceptance doesn’t reach that far.”

  Lincoln smirked. “Done.” He shuddered as he headed for his car. What Rowen didn’t know was that Lincoln would never expose an inch of Sasha’s skin to anyone, especially not her brother.