Sexiest Billionaire

What in the actual fuck…?

Jaxon Mills froze. The woman who’d just pushed through the frosted-glass door that separated the reception area of the Quarter from the main dungeon resembled his biggest investor’s only daughter.

He shook his head. It couldn’t be her.

As far as he knew, Willow Henderson was tucked away at an expensive New York college earning a master’s degree in social work. She sure as hell couldn’t be standing in the middle of one of New Orleans’s most exclusive BDSM clubs.

But holy hell, the resemblance between the two was startling, at least on the surface.

Both were tall and slender. Each time he’d seen her, Willow’s hair had been in a messy bun. She dressed in soft, comfortable jeans, often with artistic rips in the fabric, and tank tops beneath long-sleeved men’s shirts.

She was very different from the woman who paused to watch a submissive receiving a flogging on a nearby Saint Andrew’s cross.

He lowered his sparkling water to the table as he swept his gaze over the look-alike. Her blonde hair was lit by fiery highlights and danced around her shoulders in feminine waves. She wore a black leather crop top with sexy cap sleeves that left her midriff bare. Her asymmetrical skirt was short enough to slam his imagination into dangerous territory. He pictured himself lifting the hem as she grabbed her ankles and took a deep breath before he caressed her then used his bare hand to paint her buttocks a tantalizing shade of pink. It would be even better if she was panting and screaming his name.

The woman took a step forward, perhaps to get a better view of the scene. He glanced around to see if she was with anyone. Prospective members of the Quarter were required to attend with a sponsor on their first three visits. Since she appeared to be alone, it meant she’d been here a number of times.

When the flogging ended, she turned toward the bar area. Aviana, the club’s owner and respected businesswoman, had been persuaded to add one about a year ago when it was pointed out that she could open at lunchtime for members who wished to have a discreet place for business meetings. Serving lunch had been another stroke of genius—and financial gain.

Since most clubs of this nature didn’t serve alcohol, it had taken her some time to establish a policy. Members or guests who imbibed at all had their hand marked with an X, which forbade play for the rest of the evening. And she had a strict two-drink rule for everyone.

The bar area was glassed in, making it much quieter than the dungeon. Jax appreciated having the opportunity to relax with a sub after a scene, providing them both a gradual transition from intensity back to the real world. At times, he’d used the space to negotiate with a new sub. On a couple of occasions, he’d even stopped by to relax after an evening out.

Aviana had decorated with a Louisiana flair. A picture of a tiger representing LSU hung from the wall, alongside an autographed New Orleans Saints football jersey, and neon signs from the thriving local brewery.

Tonight, he’d chosen his table with care. He had an excellent view of Aviana’s throne, a number of the Saint Andrew’s crosses, along with a few of the spanking benches. And of course, her. Captivated, curious, he stretched out his legs and watched her approach.

When she entered, she paused to scan the long, polished bar and the people seated there. A couple was snuggled together with their foreheads touching. Two stools were occupied by Doms without subs.

Obviously having made a decision, she walked toward the back of the space so she could sit alone, at the end of the bar, with an empty, inviting chair next to her.

About three feet away from him, she saw him and jerked to a stop, eyes wide. For a moment, their gazes locked.

Fuck it to hell. Shock, hot and white, pulsed through him.

The sexy temptress—with the parted, enticing mouth—was his friend’s daughter. Did Brian have any idea that his only child was more than a thousand miles from school and that she liked to get her ass spanked by men she might not know?

Willow blinked, severing their connection. Instead of saying anything, she squared her shoulders and continued past him.

Jesus. What the living hell was wrong with him? He was lusting after her.

Now that Jax knew who she was, he was torn between pretending he hadn’t seen her and paddling her ass himself.

If he were smart, he’d pay his bill, collect his play bag from the coat check, then go home where he could masturbate to some fantasy woman and forget he’d ever seen Willow. But he wasn’t sure he could walk away, despite the risks.

The Quarter had a strict code of conduct. Movie stars, musicians, politicians, and business tycoons needed a place free from scrutiny, which made privacy Aviana’s main priority. Many people opted to use a scene name, and unless there was an agreement between all parties, no one could acknowledge they knew one another outside the club. No doubt that was one of Willow’s reasons for joining.

At the very least, striding over to her and turning her over his knee would guarantee a suspension of membership privileges. There was a chance he’d be expelled. Since visiting the club on his rare trips to Louisiana provided a much-needed break from the grind of running his digital-media conglomerate, Jax valued his membership. So for the moment, he waited and watched, bouncing his leg with customary impatience.

She wriggled onto a barstool, exaggerating her movements—he was sure—to capture attention.

Stefan, one of the Doms at the bar—a man who was devouring his trust fund, sleeping all day, partying all night, and discarding a relationship a week—glanced toward Willow.

Jax mentally repeated the club’s rules.

Willow was at least twenty-one, capable of making her own decisions. She was also free to allow a Dom to tie her up, blindfold her, flog her.

What she did was none of his business.

Still watching her, Stefan grabbed a cane from the top of the bar and tapped it against his open palm, as if in deep thought. Then he slid off his chair.

Jax snapped his back teeth together. No one was touching Willow. No one but him.

Fuck the club rules.

* * * * *

Shit.

The bartender slid a napkin in front of Willow. She snatched it close and shredded the edges.

“What will it be?”

Hemlock. “Something virgin.” Like she wished she wasn’t.

“Piña colada?”

“That sounds perfect.” She tried to smile, but her facial muscles seemed frozen. “Thanks.”

When she’d first started coming to the Quarter a little more than a year ago, she’d been wary, expecting to see someone who knew her father. The Quarter had a lot of members who moved in his circles, but as the months passed, she relaxed. She was comfortable flying down from grad school during breaks, and she’d become adept at navigating the intricacies of getting her needs met in a place far from home. Attending a club in New York would be easier, but after the disaster with Lawrence, she was on a break from romantic relationships. Traveling to New Orleans helped make that easier.

She risked another glance at Jaxon Mills. He was staring at her. Of all people here, why, oh why did she have to come face-to-face with the cockiest damn billionaire on the planet?

Even though he was across the room, he unnerved her, and she tore the napkin in half.

Since the moment she saw the digital marketing entrepreneur, she’d disliked him. Four years ago, Willow and her father had been among a dozen or so people who crowded into Jax’s office while he recorded a video. In her naivete, she’d thought he’d be dressed in a business suit. Instead, a black T-shirt swaddled him, tight enough to show off his honed abs. Confidence and energy ignited his dark-green eyes. He spoke with rapid-fire speed, sharing strategies about how to connect on social media and build an empire like his. His presentation had been passionate and engaging, but then he’d told viewers to stop whining if they weren’t enjoying the success they wanted and ordered them to get off their fucking asses and make something happen.

Shock made her drop her purse. Once the camera stopped rolling, he stood, shook hands, and high-fived another successful Jaxon Media presentation. His staff offered accolades, and he drank them in as his due, everyone bowing before the king. Who the hell behaved like that?

From her mother, Willow had inherited a different worldview, where everyone was better off working together and being supportive. Motivation was crucial. She’d been taught to offer support or lend a helping hand. But beating people up? Everything in Willow despised his self-important approach.

After his crew filed out, her father introduced them, and she forced a polite nod. Jax turned his massive focus on her. He sought her hand, and when she reluctantly accepted, electricity arced through her. The physical awareness of his power had been unwelcome and left a memorable impression on her. He repeated her name, rolling it around on his tongue, seeming to taste the syllables. Willow had never forgotten the way the he’d seared her senses.

She had the exact same reaction when he’d looked at her a few seconds ago.

Even though her appearance was dramatically different, his pupils had dilated. He recognized her. Despite the Quarter’s rules, the way he leaned forward told her he intended to do something about it.

Her pulse had skidded.

Not only was the arrogant bastard at her favorite club—he was a freaking Dom. As much as she wanted to pretend that didn’t matter, her submissive instincts stirred. On an elemental level, she was compelled to respond to him. What would it be like to be claimed by a man with that level of confidence? And it wasn’t false bravado. A million people a day, maybe more, hung on his words, even when they were harsh. If he was as competent with a paddle as he was with a microphone…

Willow shook away the inane fantasy.

Deciding to be brave, she straightened her back in time to see a man headed her direction. He tapped a cane against his calf as he walked, and his gaze was fixed on her. Thank God. She could forget about Jaxon Mills and get on with her night.

“Good evening.” The stranger extended his hand. “May I join you?”

“That would be—”

“No. You may not. The young lady is with me.”

The atmosphere snapped around her, and she turned her head. Not that she needed to. His voice was unmistakable, as was his threatening tone. Jax. Of course.

Scowling, the Dom pivoted to face the taller and much more muscled Jax. In the years since she’d seen him, he’d gotten leaner. He wore his trademark black T-shirt and black boots, but tonight he’d switched out jeans for tailored black trousers.

Apparently he was not friends with a razor, and his hair was longer than she remembered. Willow twisted her fingers together to fight off the ridiculous urge to run them through his thick locks, maybe muss them to make him seem less formidable.

“She appears to be alone,” the Dom said.

“Ask her.” Jax shrugged.

Willow exhaled. They were having a ridiculous territorial battle, as if she was some sort of prize.

The bartender placed her drink on the remnants of the napkin. “Everything okay?”

She nodded a silent lie. Nothing about Jax was okay.

“The club code word is red,” he reminded her. “Use it and I’ll send both of these men home.” The bartender directed his gaze at the Dom then at Jax. “I’ll be right here.” He folded his arms and remained in place.

“What’s it going to be?” Jax asked, voice easy, apparently confident of her response.

He loved being the center of attention. And in the end, he would win. All he had to do was call her dad. Then the wrath of hell would descend. Worse, if he told her mother, the gentle Andrea would collapse in a pile of disappointment. After all, Willow was their only child. For the first ten years of their marriage, Brian and Andrea had tried to have children. She’d spent agonizing years not conceiving, and when she finally did, she endured two miscarriages. To say they’d do anything to protect Willow from the world was an understatement. She sighed. With a smile so fake her teeth ached, she turned toward Stefan. “I’m with him.”

“Good night, Stefan.” Using his impressive frame, Jax nudged the other man aside to take possession of the seat next to her.

“Sorry to have interrupted.” With a firm scowl in place, Stefan nodded.

“Give my regards to Leah.”

“Fuck you, Mills.”

It took several seconds for Stefan to walk off. Then the bartender gave her another pointed look. “I’m here until eleven if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” She appreciated knowing the club’s staff and monitors paid attention to every interaction, no matter how important the member.

He rapped a knuckle on the bar top before leaving to pour a beer requested by another customer.

All of a sudden, she was alone with Jax. “Who’s Leah?”

“His girlfriend.”

“Oh my God.” She pulled her straw from the piña colada and stabbed it back in. “I didn’t know. I hate cheaters.” After being the one duped, it was especially painful. She’d never be a participant in hurting another woman.

“I figured it might make a difference to you.”

It did. She supposed she should be grateful to Jax for saving her from making a mistake. “Is his girlfriend a submissive?”

Jax lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He sat close enough that she inhaled his scent. Power spiced with arrogance. Jaxon Mills was a man who took what he wanted.

“Are you?” His approving gaze lingered on her.

“Am I…what?”

“Submissive?”

Even though she didn’t want to have a reaction other than disdain for him, her traitorous heart rapped out a dangerous sexual tattoo. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“No?”

“Look, Jax…” Desperate for a distraction, she took a big drink of the nonalcoholic piña colada. The freezing cold gave her an instant headache at the back of her skull. “You think you’re being a hero, but I don’t need someone to cockblock for me. Thanks.“ If only he knew how ridiculous that idea was. For her BDSM had nothing to do with sex. She loved impact play. There was a lick of pain, followed by a rush of pleasure. Enough of it vanquished all other thoughts from her mind, sweeping away her worries and helping her lock away stress for days. Scening was better than a hot bath or a kick-ass cocktail. It was as meditative as it was restorative. And she wasn’t about to let Jax stand in her way. “Go find someone to play with, Jax.”

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to do that, princess.”

Damn him. His words, flat and emotionless, took her breath, even though she should have expected them. “Look…” Willow shoved away her drink. “There’s no reason for you to behave this way.”

“Which way?”

“As if…” You own me. He sat close to her. Too close for her comfort. A little more distance would make it easier for her to think. She desperately needed that, because right now, she wanted to be across his lap, pretending to be fighting to get away as he paddled her. And of course, he was so much bigger and stronger. She could struggle all she wanted, and he’d be able to subdue her.

Scandalized by her own thoughts, she inched back in her seat. Instantly she regretted it. The friction shot arousal through her.

“You’re the daughter of my biggest investor. A man who’s a trusted adviser. Someone I consider a friend.”

Pampered and protected. Unspoken, those words hung between them.

When she was at college in Houston, he’d assigned men to watch over her. He’d refused to use the term bodyguards, but that was exactly who they were. Once she’d realized he was having her followed, they’d had the biggest argument ever. Without telling her father, she’d applied for a scholarship to graduate school in New York and found a part-time job working in a crisis center so she didn’t have to touch her trust fund. Even though her mother had cried for days, Willow had remained resolute. She loved her parents dearly, but she needed to escape Houston and find her own place in the world. “Club rules prevent you from telling him. Your membership could be revoked.”

“I respect confidentiality. I would never betray that.”

“Fabulous.” Willow waved a dismissive hand. “I’m here to have a nice evening, and that’s what I plan to do. Quite frankly, you’ve done your noble deed, and you can feel good about that.” She slid from the barstool. “I hope you enjoy your evening.” Another lie. “No. That’s not true. After the way you ruined my night, I hope yours sucks.”

“Wait.” Jax’s word was as forceful as any pair of handcuffs, and the command in it rooted her to the spot.

“Sit back down.” The words were lethal. More than ever, she understood how he enthralled audiences.

An internal battle waged in her—obedience to a Dominant who turned her on, and an instinctive urge to flee from an asshole who made her tremble.

“Please.”

Anything but an irresistible entreaty. Willow wrapped her arms around her midriff.

“I want to talk.”

“I have news for you, Mr. Bigshot Internet Star. Communication is a two-way street. I know thousands of people hang on your every word and worship your advice like gospel, but I’m not one of them.” She was already so far in that she decided to go for broke. “In fact, I find you and your approach offensive.”

“Do you?”

Damn his dark soul, he grinned.

Those might have been the wrong words. Rather than offended, he seemed challenged and invigorated.

“Please sit,” he repeated.

The bartender meandered closer, putting away wineglasses, then leaning back to adjust the gold garter he wore around his biceps.

“No more threats?”

“I never threatened you, Willow.”

God. The way he said her name—breaking it into two syllables and trailing off in a whisper of seduction that shot rockets through her. He wasn’t just dominant. He was dangerous. “You’d have to promise to zip your mouth shut and listen to me too.” She marveled at her defiance of a man wielding so much power over her life.

“Agreed.” He extended his hand.

She stared at it. The one time they’d touched, she carried his psychic impression for days. This time, she was smarter. She ignored him and lifted herself back onto the stool.

He lifted one eyebrow in a mock salute.

Once she was as comfortable as she could be with him crowding her space, she reached for her drink.

He flicked a glance at her hand, looking for the X, she guessed.

“You came here to scene,” he said.

“Nothing gets by you, does it, Sherlock Holmes.”

He signaled for the bartender and ordered a club soda. “Look. Can we have a truce?”

Not with the way nerves zapped through her veins.

“You’re a sub.”

It was a statement more than a question. She’d had these discussions with numerous men, and none of them had disturbed her as much as he did. “I’m more of a bottom.” She swirled her straw around the inside of her glass.

Surprising her, he waited for her to continue. Aware that her words might someday be used against her, she proceeded with care. “I’m into kink, but not on a full-time basis.”

She paused while the bartender delivered Jax’s drink. Her body language must have changed since the man wasn’t watching them as intently as he had before. After ensuring they didn’t need anything else, he walked off.

Jax ignored his glass in favor of studying her. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to be in a submissive partnership, but I like…” How the hell was she supposed to admit this to one of her dad’s friends? “I like going out, and I crave impact play.” She took a drink that she didn’t want while she finished her thought. “It sets me free.”

“Impact by itself? Or sensation, such as clamps? Or a Wartenberg wheel?”

Willow shivered. Not because she was scared, but because the idea of the pinwheel of tiny metal spikes pricking into her skin intrigued her.

“Ice? Heat?”

With other tops, she’d negotiated implements, discussed her pain tolerance, agreed on safe words. No one else had asked about torturing her in other ways. “I don’t know.” She stared into her drink.

“Tell me what things you have explored.”

“I’ve told you everything I’m going to.” She brought her chin up. If she didn’t shut up this moment, she might confess she was fantasizing about him rubbing a piece of ice over her clit. “Why are you here?”

“I have a couple of clubs that I enjoy. The Retreat in Houston. Another in Boston, but this is my favorite. I had a meeting…nearby.”

Breath rushed from her lungs. His slight hesitation omitted a ton of information, specifics that her mind filled in. She glanced at his right hand. As she expected he wore a gold ring. Though he wasn’t close enough to make out all the details, emeralds winked in the overhead light, and she knew those were meant to be the eyes of an owl. Her heart plummeted.

Like her father, Jax was a member of the Titans, one of the oldest secret societies in the United States. The organization had thousands of members, a who’s-who list of people from all over the world. The annual dues were astronomical, and the wait list to join was years long. The Titans, officially known as the Zeta Society, owned an estate on the banks of the Mississippi River. As a child, she’d visited a couple of times with her mom and dad, but never during the yearly meeting as nonmembers were banned from attending.

The Zetas did a fair amount of charity work, and they’d saved a magnificent historical home from demolition. Still, she chafed at the extreme waste of money that could be funneled into better purposes.

“So, you know.” It wasn’t a guess. It was a statement.

“Yes.”

“You sound disapproving.”

His membership explained a lot. How he’d gotten some big-name clients and achieved superstar success at such an early age. Titans helped other Titans.

Then she took a drink to escape the obvious. He would never have been admitted to the society without merit. Only descendants of founding members received a legacy admission. He’d earned a seat at the table. “I’m studying for my master’s in social work, Jax.” She chose her words with care, as he did, avoiding the mention of the Zetas. “I’d like to see people allot their resources differently.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “There’s only one way to do good in the world? Your way?”

She brought her chin up. “I don’t berate people.”

“Is that how you see it? You don’t think some people need a metaphoric kick in the pants?”

Willow gave him a great big, fake smile. “Present company included?”

He lifted his glass in a toast to her.

“And no. I think if people have a compelling reason, passion, they will move forward of their own volition.”

“Is that true?” His words held more interest than challenge, making her consider what she’d said. “Or are individuals different?” he persisted. “Do we each respond to different stimuli?”

Her breath caught as he looked at her barely covered body.

“Pain. Sensation. Pleasure. All of them tied together in an inextricable knot so that you don’t know where one ends and the other begins?”

They were no longer talking about social consciousness.

“Is it possible that you’re right, but that my way works also?”

To his credit, he didn’t flaunt the fact that people thought he held the holy grail to success. Because she cared about helping people through their struggles, she answered him thoughtfully. “I’m concerned with life balance more than you seem to be. You’re constantly talking about pushing, focusing on work to the exclusion of everything else. People need time to pause, to reflect. Think about positive things. Spend time with family and friends. Socialize. Connect. Laugh. Maybe ride a bike, but indulge in some fun. That’s what makes life worth living.”

“Maybe you should watch more and judge less.”

She blinked. She looked for the best in people and encouraged them to explore it. “That’s unkind.”

“Perhaps it’s true.”

Beneath his penetrating glare, she fidgeted.

“I presented a commencement address for a high school in a disadvantaged area last year. Look it up.”

She studied him through narrowed eyes, unwilling to acknowledge that maybe she didn’t know everything about him. On the other hand, the fact that he was still here rather than leaving her the hell alone to get her needs met was proof enough of his cocksure attitude.

“Do you play in the dungeon? Or do you prefer Rue Sensuelle?”

He’d switched subjects so fast that it took her a minute to catch up. “I’m sorry?”

“When you scene, where do you like to play?”

The Quarter had two floors, and the first was set up in an interesting horseshoe shape. The dungeon area was a square, and beyond that was another play area for people who preferred a little more solitude. On the far side lay Rue Sensuelle—or Kinky Avenue as most members called it. There were a number of different settings, separated by partitions. Each was furnished to appeal to a particular fetish. From what she’d heard, there was a schoolroom, a pair of stocks, and a Victorian chamber, complete with a brass bed. There was even supposed to be an examination table. The idea of being strapped to that terrified her.

He remained silent, waiting for her answer.

“I…” Why was this so difficult with him? Willow had negotiated with a dozen different Doms. She didn’t have to answer. Yet she wanted to. “Typically in the main area. I like the Saint Andrew’s cross or a spanking bench.”

“Which is your preference?”

“The Saint Andrew’s cross. It’s”—emotionally safer—“less personal, I suppose.”

“I’m guessing you like a flogging, then?”

“Actually…”

He leaned toward her, ensnaring her in his massive focus. For that moment, no one existed but her. And that gave her the courage she needed. “I haven’t had a lot of bare-bottom spankings.” Her body temperature increased, and she knew scarlet had flooded her cheeks.

“You’d like one?”

“From you? No! I wasn’t asking.”

He grinned, and his features transformed. For a moment, he looked less hostile, more human. Inviting and approachable. Feminine instinct whispered that she needed to be extra cautious. A charming Jaxon Mills might prove devastating.

“Over the knee? Or tied to a spanking bench?”

Either. Both. What the hell was wrong with her?

“When you make an arrangement with a Dom, what do you tell him?”

She crossed her legs and took the opportunity to tighten her pelvic muscles. Even though she didn’t want to be, Willow was horny for this overbearing man.

“I’m waiting.”

“Of course, I let him know that my safe word is red, like the club’s. And I use yellow for slow. And absolutely no physical penetration.”

“That includes no ass play?”

She shook her head so fast that her hair swung around her face. “Not ever.”

“Is your hypothetical Dom allowed to touch your clit?”

His question sucked the air from her lungs. Her father’s friend was asking this? And worse, she was going to answer. “I’ve never said yes to that before.”

“But you’d be open to it?”

Am I? She glanced at his ridiculously big hand. His finger would be rough against her skin. She tried to speak, but no words emerged.

“Would he be allowed to wedge your panties between your legs and use the fabric to get you off?”

She grabbed her drink and gulped down enough that she coughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” A wry laugh wrapped around his words.

Willow slammed her glass back onto the napkin much harder than she’d intended to.

“Do you like to orgasm during a scene? Or do you just like to get lost?”

“Lost,” she replied. “I don’t think I’m able to.”

He leaned forward. “Can you clarify what you mean?”

What was it about him that invited her to reveal more than she wanted to? With other Doms, she’d drawn the line at penetration, and they’d agreed. No one had asked for more information. “Well, I mean… I never have. Orgasmed at a club.”

“Has anyone else used sensation play with you?”

Her nerves were shattered. Even though she didn’t intend to, she plucked the straw from the glass just so she had something to toy with. “No.”

“Is it something you want to try?”

“Maybe. I mean, we’re talking hypothetically, right? It would depend on a few things, such as whether the right Dom asked.” She was leading a dangerous dance. Flirting, considering. Despite the warnings bouncing around inside her head, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to make a mistake with him.

“What toys do you like?”

“Nothing too intense. Paddles are okay. Hairbrushes, wooden spoons.” With other Doms, they were inanimate objects, but when she spoke with him, she couldn’t help but imagine him holding the implements. Round and round, she twisted the straw.

“A devil’s tail?”

“I haven’t tried one.”

“You might like it. A tiny bite, maybe a bit more. Can be used with extreme precision and in tight, even intimate places. The red lines it leaves behind are rather appealing.”

“But…”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I like the way those implements cover a wider area. There’s a”—she sought out a description that made sense, something that was complicated since she hadn’t thought it through herself—“I guess an oomph factor. The impact forces my body forward. It’s an instinctive reaction. And the way it hurts, and the marks…” Thinking about it left her needy. She had to scene tonight. Had to.

He nodded slowly, taking in her words. “Since you’ve mentioned the Saint Andrew’s cross, I’m also assuming you’re familiar with a flogger.”

“Yes. But heavier ones. The way the falls wrap around my sides…they cover so much area, you know. So many impact points, things happening all at the same time. It’s a lot to take in. Too much, even.”

“You like that.”

“Yeah.” She breathed out, wondering if he sensed her dreaminess.

“Anything else you want me to know?”

Dare she? “My favorite is a—”she cleared her throat—“an open hand.” His. Jaxon Mills was a commanding presence. At six-two, maybe six-three, he was taller than most men she knew. No doubt, he was capable of delivering what she wanted, maybe better than anyone else had. The question was, would he?

“So it’s the impact? Maybe the sound?”

She met his gaze. He understood her. “And the intimacy. There’s nothing between me and my Dom.”

“It’s your lucky night, Willow. I have a few paddles in my bag. And I’ve been told I have rather strong hands. And there’s nothing I’d like more than having you turned over my lap with your bottom bared.”

Jax plucked the straw from her nerveless fingers. The melty coconut liquid dribbled over the glossy bar surface as he returned it to the glass. “Now it’s my turn to tell you what I look for when I top a woman.”

He had demands of his own? The realization shouldn’t surprise her. Of course there had to be a catch. “Such as?”

“I want her naked. No clothes between us.”

“Which means a private room.” On the first floor, certain protocols had to be followed. Patrons had to wear panties, no matter how skimpy. And women’s nipples had to be covered in some way. Many people chose electrical tape or a sheer bra, even pasties. But upstairs, a place she’d never visited, the only rule was the enforcement of a safe word. She’d heard stories of things that happened in those rooms, and she assumed most were tall tales.

Willow had never been naked with a man. That she hadn’t already stopped Jax stunned her. What kind of spell did he have over her?

Unaware of what he was doing to her insides, he continued. “My rules…I agree to give my sub what she wants and honor her limits and safe word. But within her parameters, I set the pace.” His tone, which had been even, roughened. He captured her chin. “The bottom is not in charge.”

Lust rocketed through her. She cleared her throat, trying to convince herself this was an ordinary negotiation with an ordinary man.

He released his hold on her. Until then, she hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing.

Seizing any opportunity to dance away from the trouble—the inevitability—that she was steaming toward, she tried for a diversion. “I got distracted earlier. I asked why you visit clubs. I mean besides the obvious of telling people what to do.”

He gave a quick smile. Part of her enjoyed their verbal sparring.

“Like you, I find impact play rewarding. As you said, connection with others is important. Quality over quantity.” He kept her gaze ensnared. “Despite what you think you know, I believe focus is more important than actual hours worked. I can accomplish more in five hours than other people can in ten.”

He wasn’t bragging, and she knew it.

“I work out every morning. Sleep six to seven hours.” More quietly, sensually, so she had to strain to hear him, he added, “I like being in charge.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Pleasing a woman is its own reward. So very satisfying.”

“And you get to do it without any commitments or the complications that come with a relationship.”

“You said that. I didn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have a girlfriend or wife waiting for you at home?”

“No. In case I wasn’t clear, I don’t cheat.”

In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard of him being in a relationship. The way he spoke to her calmed her. Slowly, the rest of her resistance dissipated.

“Let’s be clear with each other, Willow. You want to indulge in some impact play and lose yourself. I’ll do my damnedest to please you. One more thing.” He paused for a moment. “If you want to get your needs met tonight, it will be with me and no other man. Am I clear?”

He captured her gaze. It would be smarter to go back to her hotel. Scening with a man as forceful as him would be madness. Already, he’d made an indelible claim on her, and she was far too smart to allow this to go any further.

Wasn’t she?