Author: Roni Loren
“Hello?” she called, hurriedly cleaning the moisture from her face.
The man closed the distance between them in a few long strides. “Well, hi there, darlin’. What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
Brynn gave Grant a once-over. Plaid shirt rolled up his muscular forearms, well-worn jeans and boots, stubble that was a few hours past a five-o’clock shadow—all matching up perfectly with that lazy drawl of his. If she hadn’t learned last night that he owned the place, she would’ve taken him for a cowboy who had wandered off a nearby pasture.
She cleared her throat, which had clogged with her tears. “Um, I just needed to get away for a minute.”
He stepped closer and into a patch of moonlight. His dark eyebrows dipped low as he took in her appearance. “Is something wrong?”
She sniffed and shook her head. “Um, I’m fine. Just needed a break. I don’t think the whole submissive thing is going to work for me after all.”
“Brynn, I had the pleasure of watching you with your master and Jace last night. Had you not told me about the fear you’re dealing with, I would’ve never guessed. You take to the role like it’s second nature.” The side of his mouth lifted a tick. “Are you sure it’s the sub part of the equation you’re struggling with?”
She shifted uncomfortably, his penetrating stare scattering her nerves. No question which side of the power exchange fence he played on. “Things didn’t go well with Reid.”
His tone turned deadly calm. “Did he break a rule with you? Push you too far? If he did, it’s important for you to tell me. I have no tolerance for that kind of thing here.”
She bit her lip. “No, nothing like that. He knows what I’ve been through and would never physically hurt me. We just… clash.”
“Ah,” he said, some of the tension in his stance easing. “He must be quite a master if he’s gotten under your skin this quick. Most doms don’t even crack the surface of a sub’s defenses until well into a relationship.”
She gritted her teeth at his knowing nod. “I’m not going back to his cabin.”
His eyes crinkled around the corners. “Fair enough. We can always get you another room. But I hope you aren’t going to skip the Bacchanal tonight. We only do it once a year—it’d be a shame for you to miss it.”
“I still plan on checking it out. Aren’t you going?” She glanced down at his outfit.
He chuckled. “I have to monitor the party to make sure everything goes all right. If I participate, it usually isn’t until late into the night, and by then, costumes aren’t exactly needed.”
Her cheeks heated. “I imagine not.”
He reached for her hand. “Come on. You’ll walk over to the party site with me. They already have the food laid out. Your master’s loss is my gain.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Indulge me, Brynn. My mama taught me to make sure guests are satisfied. The club has clearly failed in meeting the expectations you had for your stay here, so at least give me the pleasure of putting a good meal in your belly. Our chef Collette makes food so good, I’ve seen even the scariest doms get on their knees to beg her for seconds.”
She knew he’d just given her a command, not a request, but suddenly she didn’t want to be alone in the dark anymore. Wallowing would solve nothing. Plus, his easy charm made him hard to resist. He was like one of those drinks with the umbrellas—all that sugar disguising the true power swirling in the depths. Not until halfway through the beverage would you realize it was too late, that you’d already been knocked off balance.
She smirked as he led her back up the path. “I figured the owner of this kind of place would have a harem of beautiful slaves to hand-feed him dinner.”
“Only on Sundays. Can’t let myself get too spoiled, ya know?”
A snort escaped. “Right. Wouldn’t want that.”
They took a turn off the main walkway toward the east side of the property, the full moon lighting their surroundings with a silvery glow. Beyond the cabins and expansive vineyards, there was nothing but open land and the low swell of hills along the horizon. Breathtaking and so different from the flat Dallas landscape.
“How far from the city are we?” she asked.
“About an hour west of Fort Worth.”
“Huh. Didn’t feel like that long on the way out.”
“That’s ’cause Robbie drives a limo like Satan’s on his tail,” he said, gently taking her elbow and guiding her to another turn.
The music that’d been drifting on the breeze grew louder and a few hundred yards in front of them the sky filled with an orange glow. “Looks like the party started without us.”
“Ah, don’t worry. The night is young.”
Her heartbeat increased tempo every step they got closer to the revelry—both in anticipation of seeing her sister and in nervousness about her hair-trigger panic attacks. And God help her when Reid got free and made it down here. She was going to have a seriously irate lawyer on her hands. Hopefully, she could talk to Kels before she had to deal with that.
The Bacchanal was set up in a large corner of an open pasture. The few trees that dotted the area had been strung with white twinkle lights, and large tiki torches had been placed strategically around the perimeter of the party to provide additional illumination. Some people were already dancing to the rhythmic beat of the music and some were sitting at the small tables that had been placed at the far end of the space, but most were around the long buffet tables that ran along the fence flanking the right side of the field.
A girl with fiery red hair long enough to cover her bared breasts greeted them with a smile. “Welcome, Master and Lady.”
“Thank you, Holly,” Grant said, giving the woman a soft, but chaste kiss on the mouth. “Don’t you look tempting, tonight.”
Holly dipped her head in thanks, then turned to Brynn to place a head wreath made of grapevines on her head. “Enjoy your evening.”
“Come on,” Grant said, putting his palm against the small of her back and leading her to the food area. “If you plan to enjoy the festivities, you need to make sure you’re properly fueled and hydrated.”
“Sounds like a sporting event.”
He glanced down at her, his eyes glinting. “Oh, darling, this is way more vigorous than any sport.”
She forced a smile, but her heart had taken up residence in her throat.
When they reached the food line, Grant handed her a plate and let her go in front of him. Lavish displays of fruit, cheese, and roasted meats filled the tables along with bowls of a creamy orange punch and huge decanters of some aubergine-colored liquid. Half-dressed male and female attendants stood on the other side of the table filling glasses for guests. She pointed at the drinks and looked back at Grant. “What are these?”
“Ambrosia and fresh grape juice.”
An Adonis-like man clad in only a swath of material low-slung around his hips ladled some of the ambrosia into a cup for her. She thanked him, then smiled at Grant. “Bacchus may strike y’all down for having his festival with no wine.”
He chuckled. “Rules are rules, but we are honoring the harvest. I even have vats of grapes wheeled out later so people can experience crushing them. Wine will be made on these grounds—we just won’t be the ones drinking it.”
As attendants randomly piled food on her plate, she kept her eyes on everyone around her, scanning faces like she was looking through a line-up book at a police station. Every young blond woman caught her attention. She was seeing Kelsey everywhere and nowhere.
When they reached the end of the buffet, Grant guided her to one of the tables at the edge of the party and excused himself to go make his rounds. She was relieved to be rid of him and put all her focus on watching every partygoer who arrived. She saw a few familiar faces—two politicians, one of the more popular Dallas Cowboy football players, the weather girl from one of the local TV networks. But no Kelsey. And thankfully, no Reid or Jace.
As the minutes passed, the number of attendees grew incrementally and soon workers were folding up the tables to make space for all the dancing. She gave up her perch and was quickly sucked into the crowd. Bodies pressed around her and the air grew thicker—the shift in mood palpable. Fun-loving to down and dirty before she had the chance to catch her breath.
The music increased in volume, and the beat slowed to a more sensual rhythm—one that required writhing instead of bouncing. Men and women brushed along all sides of her body, the crowd dancing as one. She squared her shoulders, determined to keep at the edges of the group so she had an escape route, but the effort was useless. Like a buoy in a churning ocean, her position was controlled by the tide around her instead of her own volition. Soon, she was so deep in the swarm that she’d lost a sense of where she was in the field.
Then, clothes began to come off.
All around her, people were shedding their colored togas and moving from dancing to kissing, touching. The man in front of her poured a cup of the dark grape juice over his lover’s breasts and lapped it up as it dripped down her nude body. Brynn’s blood began to rush in her ears—the collective body heat and the press of the crowd testing her hold on her panic switch.
She moved through the crowd, desperate to find the edge of the mass again, needing air. A sea of faces and voices swirled around her, disorienting her as to which direction was the quickest way out. Her breath started coming in short gasps. Shit. Not now. Please.
“Ooh, look, we have a shy one,” a man said next to her. “Have you lost your master, pretty girl?”
She whipped her head around to meet his amused brown eyes.
“Don’t be bashful, sweetie,” the woman with him offered. She slid her fingers along Brynn’s arm and teasingly tugged the one strap holding her toga up. “Join the fun.”
“Hey!” Brynn said, batting her hand away.
Before she realized what was happening, the man hooked a finger in the loop on Brynn’s collar and brought his mouth down on hers in an ambrosia-laced kiss. She fought to pull away but her strength was no match for his. Smooth hands glided over the thin material covering her breasts and she realized the woman had joined in.
Fear ripped through her, and her knee jerked upward, landing squarely in the man’s crotch. He doubled over, wincing and cursing. “What the hell?”
“Texas!” Brynn stepped back but only ran into more people, more exploring hands. Flashes of her rapist’s hands on her pressed against her mind, threatening to unhinge her. She turned frantically in the other direction and shoved her way through the horde using her safe word like a machete in the jungle. “Move! Please. Texas, Texas, Texas!”
Thankfully, the crowd begin to ease back to let her through. She just needed air. Space. By the time she reached a break in the mass of people, her mind was buzzing with terror. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she forced herself to walk at a calm pace until she was outside the ring of firelight. Then, when cloaked in darkness again, she bolted toward a nearby tree and collapsed onto the bench beneath it.
She leaned forward, her eyes squeezed shut, and tried to breathe past the invisible band that seemed to be tightening around her chest. God, when will this go away? Not everyone is out to hurt you. You’re acting like a fucking lunatic. Stop!
“Not your kind of a party, huh?”
She jolted upright, and a hand clamped over her mouth from behind.
“Shh. Don’t want to disturb anyone’s good time.”
She screamed beneath the grip and attempted to jerk out of his grasp, but the muffled struggle was just a whisper compared to the thumping music coming from the party.
“Better calm down and listen. I have what you want. And she’s safe, for now. But if you don’t cooperate, I guarantee she won’t stay that way.”