GrandSlam Read online

  The question was, was the next date going to be Marie’s last with Peter? Would she carry on seeing him while she was having an altogether kinkier time with me? I had no right to demand she stopped seeing Peter, but a huge part of me wanted to—most especially the Dominant part. Because I wasn’t into sharing, not my woman at least. Borrowing someone else’s was different. Had been necessary for a while. Thank God for Kev’s generosity and Elle’s insatiable nature.

  *

  Saturday came around all too soon, and it seemed my brain was determined to make me suffer for the entire day. I’d woken much earlier than I needed to—my only plans were to tidy the apartment and get some laundry done, maybe go for a run—and couldn’t get back to sleep. I tossed and turned for a good half an hour before admitting defeat. By seven thirty I was running on the beach, trying not to think about Marie going out on a date with another man. Of course, the more I tried not to think about it, the more the thoughts whirled through my mind until I was clenching my fists so hard they ached. I ran much farther and harder than I’d intended to and as a result I felt wiped out by the time I got home again. So much so that I nearly ignored the landline phone ringing.

  The trilling was insistent, not to mention annoying, so with a heavy sigh I dragged myself over and picked up the handset without looking at the caller display.

  “Hello,” I said in a bored tone. If it was a telemarketer, I would not be held responsible for my actions. They’d driven me insane back home, and would continue to do so wherever I was.

  “That’s no way to greet your best friend now, is it?”

  “Hey, Kev. I’m sorry, mate, I’m just not having the greatest day.”

  “What? Surely it’s only about,” there was a pause as he worked out the time difference, “nine thirty in the morning there. How can you possibly be having a shitty day already?”

  Had it been anyone else, I’d have lied through my teeth. But Kevin had been my friend through thick and thin. Besides, he was the only one I could talk to about the kinky stuff. So I told him everything that had happened since we last spoke, right down to the amazing head from Marie and the fact I was quietly fuming about her date that evening.

  “Seems I’ve rung you at exactly the right time then, mate.”

  “Why’s that? Are you on the next flight out, ready to go out on the town and get me bladdered?”

  “Hmm, my news is good, but not quite that good. I’m pretty sure it will take your mind off the delectable Marie though.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Good, because I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get this information. Through the most discreet channels, you understand. My friend, I have found the answer to your problems. Possibly. It could make everything a whole lot worse, actually, but I’ve done what you asked.”

  “Can you please get on with it?”

  “All right, all right. There’s no need to bite my bloody head off. Stroppy bastard. Anyway, what I’ve phoned for, my good friend, is to let you know that I’ve found an elite BDSM club in your area. And when I say elite, I really and truly mean it. It’s so exclusive—and discreet—that I wouldn’t be surprised if you met the president in there. I’ve spoken to the owners and you’re on their list now, so they’ll let you in whenever you decide to go. You’ll have to sign a confidentiality clause on your first visit, of course.”

  I shuddered at the mental image of the President of the United States dressed in BDSM gear, or even in civvies, spending time in a kink club.

  “Excellent. About the club, I mean. Not the president. Ugh. Thanks for that image.”

  “Ha, sorry! Ergh, now I’ve got a picture in my head. Bloody hell, that is not nice. Not nice at all. Anyway, the club is called Haven of Debauchery, and it’s…”

  He gave me the address, told me all the details I needed to know about dress code, where to leave my credit card details, whether I needed someone with me or if I could go in alone and so on. I thought the name was fantastic; it sounded exactly like what I needed, particularly to distract me from thoughts of Marie and Peter at the Kodak Theater. Thoughts of what Marie and Peter might get up to after they’d been to the Kodak Theater.

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  I resolved to visit the club that very night for the sake of my sanity. Since Marie had spun a web around my thoughts my grip had been tenuous, but still, I fancied keeping a hold of it. Needed to if I was going to get my head into the right place not just to show her a good time, but also to take on Rufus Lampani in a friendly next week in preparation for the US Open.

  Kevin and I chatted for a while longer, bringing each other up to speed on life in general, then rang off. I felt a little better knowing that I had somewhere to go that evening, somewhere that would be full of people like me, who understood me and my kinks, and wouldn’t go gossiping to anyone that they’d seen me there. I knew that Kevin would never have recommended the place if he thought there was any chance that I’d be outed by one of its other patrons.

  A tiny, probing thought on the fringes of my mind lingered for a while, then forced itself front and center. I wish Marie was coming to the club with me.

  I sighed, knowing it wasn’t going to happen. Not that evening, anyway. Hopefully another time. The thought cheered me and I reassured myself with the notion that I would go and check out the club by myself to start with—fortunately they allowed single males—and then return another time with Marie on my arm. Looking completely fabulous in an outfit I’d bought for her that would make me the envy of every other red-blooded male—and probably lots of females too—in the place.

  Images of Marie in a skintight black dress—not leather, it was so cliché—with a high front and a very low back, matched with black stilettos, swum through my head. The outfit would be so clingy that it wouldn’t really hide her breasts at all, and I’d be able to stroke her back as she walked by my side, maybe even dip my hand beneath the material and give her luscious arse a squeeze every now and again.

  My cock was rock hard in no time and aching. For her. I had an idea—I needed a shower and figured that since I’d been naked in the shower the first time I’d ever laid eyes on Marie, it would be a kinky idea to have a repeat. Only this time she wouldn’t really be there—except in my imagination—and instead of continuing to adhere to propriety, I’d wank myself silly with thoughts of her.

  That decided, I almost tripped over my own feet in my eagerness to get into the bathroom. I pushed the button on the shower, took off my shoes, then stripped, dropping my clothes where I stood. By the time I was naked, tendrils of steam were winding their way through the air. I hopped into the cubicle quickly, pulling the door closed behind me.

  I washed my hair and body in no time at all, which left me to enjoy myself. As the hot water pounded down onto my run-weary muscles, I squirted another blob of shower gel into my palm, then closed my fingers around my shaft, slicking the gloopy liquid up and down. A groan escaped my lips—I was imagining it was Marie’s hand touching me, stroking me, teasing me to orgasm.

  Closing my eyes, I let my imagination take control.

  Her delicious body is pressed up against mine, her gorgeous breasts flattened into my back. Her hand is curled around my cock, gripping tight and pumping up and down, slowly at first, then faster as I rock my hips to spur her on. Her other hand cups my balls, rolling and gently tugging them, scratching her nails lightly against my sac as she wanks me off. As her pace increases on my cock, I feel my balls tighten, draw up against my body as my climax approaches. I press my hands on the walls of the shower to steady myself, look down and watch her hands work me, pleasure me, make me come… A few more strokes, a gentle prod of my arsehole and I am undone. I call her name as jets of spunk fly out of me, coating the floor of the shower.

  “Oh, oh, oh, Marie!” I realized I’d spoken the words aloud, my orgasm pulling me from my daydream and making me desperately wish it had been real. At that moment, I wanted her hands on me, her lips, more than anything. God
, what had she done to me? I was behaving like a man obsessed.

  *

  That evening, I dressed in my smartest black trousers and teamed them with a black shirt. That was about as “Dommy” as it got for me—I didn’t wear leather or PVC or things with studs and chains. It just wasn’t me, I didn’t feel comfortable in that kind of gear. But I’d been told in the past that I looked plenty dominant enough when I was all in black, so that was fine. As long as it was obvious which side of the fence I was on when it came to Domination and submission, I was happy.

  I drove to the car park I’d been told belonged to Haven of Debauchery. It was off the road and secure, manned 24/7, so I knew that there was no chance of someone happening to see my car parked outside a BDSM club. They really did think of everything here. In London, Kevin’s car would have picked me up at my flat and dropped me off, but in L.A. I had to fend for myself, which was fine. I could cope.

  It wasn’t until I headed inside and walked down a black-and-silver-painted corridor that I began to waver. Back home, I’d always either entered Kevin’s club with someone on my arm or knew for sure that there was someone in the club—lots of someones, usually—who I knew. Here, I didn’t have anyone with me and I didn’t know a damn soul.

  I would never have admitted it to anyone else—not even Kevin—but I was daunted. A little scared, even. Would I enjoy myself, get involved with what was going on, or was I destined to be a wallflower?

  I steeled myself. Wallflower, my arse. I’d never been the shy and retiring type and I wasn’t about to start now. Hell, would I have retained my number one seed as long as I had if I wasn’t confident and self-assured? Bollocks, of course I wouldn’t. Wimpy guys didn’t win Grand Slams, Olympic medals or wipe the floor with every Wimbledon hopeful for two years in a row.

  I could do this.

  After speaking to a stern-looking woman in a booth, paying my fee and signing the necessary forms, I made my way into the main room, which held a dance floor surrounded by raised seating areas and had a large bar at one end. At the back of the room was a series of doorways, which I knew from experience led to the playrooms—and the toilets, presumably.

  Suddenly I felt better. I may be on a different continent with a different culture, different nuances, but underneath all that we were the same. Particularly between these four walls. Everyone here either liked being dominant or being dominated. There were bound to be switches, of course, and people who just wanted to play at spanking and being spanked—and all the other methods of pain that an imaginative person could think of—but we all came under one umbrella. We all enjoyed kink of one type or another. I was amongst like-minded people. I felt more like myself than I had since I’d stepped off that plane at LAX.

  I got myself a drink from the bar—a Coke, I never drank alcohol in these places or when I was playingwith someone—then began to wander about the room, taking in the people and what they were up to, exchanging polite nods with men and lascivious smiles with women. One of the women reminded me of Marie, and I couldn’t help but think how she would feel about visiting somewhere like this. It seemed like a good club, so I’d definitely be bringing her there in the near future, and I could hardly wait to see her reaction. Would she be shocked, turned-on? One thing was for sure, worldly as she seemed on the outside, she would most definitely not be blasé.

  The music was so loud and I was so engrossed in checking the place out and popping my head into the various playrooms to see what was going on that I didn’t hear my mobile phone ring, nor feel it vibrate against my leg. In fact, it wasn’t until I went to the toilet, happy to leave the thud of the bass, that I thought to check my phone. It was habit more than anything—I didn’t expect anyone to be contacting me on a Saturday night. Even my party-animal best friend would be asleep by now, being eight hours in front and all.

  After washing my hands, I pulled the device out of my pocket, pushed the button to illuminate the screen and frowned. I’d had two missed calls from Marie. It was weird—we had each other’s numbers in our phones for professional reasons—for a psychologist to contact her client and vice versa, but we’d never called each other before. Not that it mattered—why the hell was she phoning me now? She was meant to be on her date with Peter. I headed out of the gents’ and back into the black-and-silver corridor, then out into the night. People were standing around smoking and some, like me, were on their mobiles. Or at least I was about to be on my mobile anyway.

  I unlocked the screen and went into my calls list, tapping on the latest missed call from Marie and pressing the button to return it, all the while wondering why the hell she was phoning me from the Kodak Theater.

  It seemed like an age before she answered.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Travis?” I said, clutching my phone to my ear as an enormous fire truck hurtled past the cab I was riding in.

  “Marie, Jesus, what’s up? Are you all right?”

  I could hear concern in his voice. Felt bad for worrying him. The sound of the siren had been unfortunate. “I’m fine, on my way home. In a taxi.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Another silence.

  “Peter stayed on at the theater to go to an after-show party.”

  “What, and he didn’t take you?”

  “It’s fine. I didn’t want to go. He bumped into his cousin. They hadn’t caught up for over a year and it seemed he had a small part in the film we’d just seen. They were thrilled to run into each other and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

  “And he didn’t want you on his arm?” Travis spoke in a low, irritated voice. “He just let you go? Alone?”

  “Well, actually I excused myself. Pleaded a headache. The film was okay, subtitled, but I really couldn’t cope with an evening analyzing it.” It had been appalling but I wouldn’t say so, just in case it got back to Peter. The thought had been sweet and it had been amazing to go to the place all those Oscar types had been to in their dazzling glory. But it wasn’t really for me.

  “So do you have a headache?”

  “No.” Heartache, groin ache, aching everywhere for you.

  Travis didn’t reply. I tried to listen, to see if I could guess if he was at home or out. But wherever he was, it was pretty quiet. No TV, no traffic, no music or voices.

  “Why did you call me, Marie?”

  Ah, the prize question. What could I do but be truthful? “I was thinking of you. Of the other day in my office. I haven’t seen you since then.”

  “There was a reason for that.”

  “There was?” I crossed my legs, fiddled with the hem on my dress, tugging it down from where it had ridden up my thighs.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to tell me?” I asked.

  “Do you want to know?”

  I thought for a moment. What if he’d changed his mind about exploring a budding side of my sexuality with me? Decided that I wasn’t so beautiful after all and he had no intention of treating me to his mouth the way I had him?

  The thought was too horrible to contemplate. But equally I had to know. Then, if my worst fears were realized, I could at least face my pain head-on. “Yes, I want to know.”

  He answered quickly, as though the words were already spilling as I spoke. “Because you fucked me up, Marie.”

  Shit. “I did?”

  “Yeah, going out with Peter. Bloody hell, I know I shouldn’t feel jealous, have no right to. But the thought of him, you, it just makes me feel sick to my stomach.”

  “But—”

  “I couldn’t see you, talk to you, because I would have insisted that you cancel the date, and I have no sodding right to do that because you’re not mine. What we have is nothing more than playing and learning.”

  “Playing and learning,” I repeated, my mouth going dry.

  “Yes, we’re two consenting, desirous adults enjoying a bit of kink, exploring some of your new desires and satisfying mine. I have no claim on you.�
�

  I could imagine the frown that would be etched between his eyebrows. The hard set of his jaw and the tight line of his lips. I hated to think that I had made him feel so conflicted, so “fucked up”.

  “So how about I don’t date Peter anymore?” I asked, the words coming easily. It was no sacrifice. He was a nice guy but there was no real spark. When he slipped his palm into the hollow of my back as we walked down the theater aisle, I didn’t get the I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-fuck-you-’til-I-pass-out feeling I got whenever I was just in the same room as Travis.

  “That would suit me very well,” Travis said. “But like I said, I have no hold on you, that decision is yours.”

  “Then the decision is made.” It felt as though a weight had been lifted from me. Peter and I had made no firm arrangements to get together again, just that we’d catch up at the academy on Monday. I would just gently put him off if he asked me out again.

  “That makes me feel much better,” Travis said.

  “I want to make you feel more than better. I want to make you feel good, great.”

  He chuckled. “Oh babe, you don’t have to do any more than smile at me to make me feel like I’m king of the world.”

  His words ballooned in my chest. Fuck. The guy just fired Cupid’s arrows straight at me without warning. I made him feel like the king of the world. In that case, when he held me, kissed me, he made me feel like his queen.

  “So shall we get together? Now?” he asked.

  “Where are you?”

  “Somewhere I think you’d like. Somewhere that would be good for us.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Purposefully. I want it to be a surprise. Pass the phone to the driver.”

  I did as he asked. Heard the low rumble of Travis’ voice and the deep, “About twenty from here,” response of the cab driver.

  I put the phone back to my ear.

  “It’ll take you twenty minutes to get to me,” Travis said. “What are you wearing?”