Leather & Lace

Chapter 2-2

Jake was talking to Boomer, sitting on his other side, and they seemed to be arguing over something trivial. Boomer’s head whipped around to stare at Ian with a look of disbelief on his face, and Devon smirked at his question. “You topped Savannah McCall? What the f**k? How come I didn’t know this?”

Ian shrugged his shoulders, but the smile on his face told their explosives and demolition expert the rumor was true. The Boss-man had had a D/s relationship, brief as it was, with the thirty-year-old supermodel, who was still hot enough to grace the current cover of Sports Illustrated’s annual swimsuit edition. “Before your time, Baby Boomer. She was still a struggling model when I met her many years ago.”

“Holy s**t, and damn! As usual, I bow to your greatness.”

Although they had all served on the same team for several years, Ben “Boomer” Michaelson ended up staying in the Navy for another two after the others retired. He’d only rejoined them a few months ago following a close call with an RPG, which almost cost him his left leg and landed him in the hospital for three months. Even though he now sported an artificial knee, the doctors had been fortunate to be able to save the limb, but it'd been touch and go there for a while. After recovering, he was ready to switch to a career that had a lower percentage of people trying to kill him with projectiles.

Boomer was the youngest of the group at thirty, so, sometimes, to bust his a*s, they called him “Baby Boomer.” But they only resorted to that when they wanted to rile him up since you didn't want to piss off the guy carrying the explosives too often. Boomer came from a long family line of military men, and his father had been a SEAL before him.

Devon looked up as his brother stood from his stool. “Going somewhere, Boss-man?” Even though they co-owned their businesses fifty-fifty, Devon referred to his older brother as the head of the company since Ian had outranked him in the Navy and been their team leader.

Ian gave one of his usual grunts as he threw some money on the bar. “Yeah, I want to run back to the office and handle a few things before heading to the club. Are you going later?”

Devon glanced at the brunette's reflection in the mirror again before answering. “Not sure yet.”

Ian took a quick look over his shoulder toward the booths behind him and then turned back to Devon with a knowing smirk on his face. “Uh-huh.”

Devon chuckled as his brother clapped him on the shoulder. Telling the others he would see them later, Ian headed to the door, giving Jenn a peck on the cheek as he passed her. Through the mirror, Devon noticed the current object of his l**t was frowning again as she watched Ian kiss his niece on his way out. He groaned to himself as he realized she was most likely thinking they were a bunch of perverts, hitting on a pretty teenager who was young enough to have been fathered by any one of them. Well, maybe not Boomer since the guy would have been around ten or eleven at the time of conception, but without asking him, Devon couldn’t be sure.

Yes, a lot of people would call him a deviant—huh? Devon the deviant . . . now that was pretty funny—if they knew about the kinks he and his friends enjoyed. And yes, in the past, Devon had been with a lot of nineteen-year-old girls, but he had been in his teens and early twenties back then. That pretty much ended when twenty-seven-year-old Ian introduced him to the b**m lifestyle at the age of twenty-four.

For the first few years of Devon's Navy career, he was stationed on the west coast, while Ian was based in Virginia. They only ended up in the same place after Devon graduated from Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, otherwise known as BUD/s, and was assigned to Ian's SEAL Team Four. A few weeks after their reunion, his brother brought him to a private s*x club for the first time. The club was about thirty minutes from the base, and a few of the guys were frequent visitors whenever the team was on U.S. soil and off duty. Ian had been in the lifestyle for a few years and recognized his brother could benefit from the control which came with being a Dom. Despite the five-and-a-half years since their eighteen-year-old brother, John, had died, Devon had still been struggling with his grief.

He took to the lifestyle like a SEAL to water and spent his first few years learning from Ian and other Doms, as well as several experienced submissives who took pleasure in teaching a new Dom to be . . . well, a Dom. Ian always stressed it was the best way to become a good, responsible Dominant. In fact, the motto of the b**m community was “safe, sane, and consensual.” An inexperienced Dom playing with an inexperienced submissive was a recipe for disaster, and the chances of the submissive being hurt, physically or psychologically, increased dramatically. The last thing Devon or any respectable Dom wanted was to hurt an innocent submissive beyond what they needed.

As he got older, he continued to lean toward experienced subs, which meant he didn't often play with women under the age of twenty-five. It didn't mean there weren't older newbies, but it was more likely the submissives had done some experimenting by that age and were familiar with the dynamics of b**m. The more experienced subs were aware not to confuse playtime with being something more than what it was. He’d seen it happen over the years to other Doms with subs new to b**m. No matter how many times it was explained to them that just because a Dom played with a sub a few times, it didn't mean they were in a traditional “boyfriend-girlfriend” relationship, and he’d witnessed many a new, young sub get their heart broken as a result.

That all said and done, it didn't mean Devon didn't like to educate a newer sub from time to time, but he made sure he observed the woman at the club over several weeks before approaching her to negotiate a scene. He could make sure she wasn't the type to cling and get too attached to him. Attachments were not his thing. One or two scenes were all he would do with a sub before moving on to the next one. He did have a few favorites, who he hooked up with more than others, but he was careful to wait several weeks or months between scenes with the same sub. Lucky for him, there were plenty of unattached subs at The Covenant for him to choose from.

The Covenant was an elite and private b**m club Devon owned with Ian and their cousin, Mitch. After Devon and his brother left the SEALs a little over three years ago, they settled in Tampa and started their private security and protection business, Trident Security. When Mitch approached them about starting the club, they found a large piece of property with four warehouses. The government had seized it after they discovered it was being used to run an illegal d**g operation disguised as an import-export company. It was on the outskirts of Tampa, far enough from any neighbors, and was perfect for their plans, so when the place went to auction, they bought it for much less than the property was worth.

The fenced-in property, complete with an armed guard at the gate, was surrounded by wooded areas and afforded them the privacy needed for the club as well as for Trident. With the government connections they'd made over the years, Devon and Ian's team did some contracted work for various alphabet agencies. They needed an office where no one would pay attention to their comings and goings, as well as the occasional visit from federal agents. The first building on the lot housed The Covenant. From the outside, it was a blue metal and cement warehouse. On the inside, however, it was a fetish lover's dream.

The other three buildings, identical to the first on the outside, were separated from the club by a second fence. The first contained the offices and war-room where Trident was run from. Toward the back of the building was a garage, along with weapons, ammunition, and equipment vaults. On the second floor, there were six spare bedrooms and bathrooms in addition to a rec room where the team could crash and watch the big screen TV or play darts and a game of pool. A small kitchenette completed the amenities.

The next structure contained storage areas on the second floor, and on the first, an indoor shooting range, a gym and training room, and a panic-security room in case of an emergency. The room was similar to an old nuclear bomb shelter, except it was above ground with reinforced concrete and steel walls and had been an unexpected find after they purchased the property. The last building housed Ian and Devon's apartments, although, like the other buildings, the outer façade gave no indication of what was inside. When the renovations were completed, both had been more than pleased with the results.

Taking another sip of his cola, Devon returned to studying the brunette. Having been with many attractive women over the years—more than he dared to count—he wouldn't characterize her as a gorgeous woman but more of a pretty girl next door. She was undeniably a woman who would get a second and third glance from most men. He wasn't a hundred percent sure due to the distance between them, but he thought her eyes were hazel. Her silky brown hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and he wondered what she would do if he walked over and removed the band holding it in place, allowing the soft strands to fall around her face. His fingers itched to find out.

She hadn't been wearing glasses when she’d first sat down but had put them on before she began typing away on her computer. The glasses gave her a naughty librarian look he loved to see on a woman, and he felt the semi-erection he’d been sporting since he first noticed her swell a little more. Letting his eyes roam, he took in the heart shape of her face, her high cheekbones, and those plump, pink lips which would look fantastic wrapped around his c**k.

Shit! If he kept this up, he’d be hard as granite, and he hadn't even moved his gaze past her neck. Well, at least he hadn't in the last minute or two, and yup, now that the thought came to mind, he was staring at her chest. She was wearing a V-neck, short-sleeved T-shirt, which gave him a tiny hint of her cleavage, and from his vast experience with the female body, he would guess she was a 36-C cup. Not too large or too small, just the way he liked them. He wondered if her b*a was the same fire-engine red color as her shirt, and the thought made his mouth water. Swallowing hard, he watched as she leaned back and stretched her arms over her head in an obvious attempt to work out the knots which had to be in her back and shoulders after typing so long. The movement thrust her chest out a bit, and . . . okay, it was official. He was now painfully erect. He shifted to ease the pressure and knew if he had any hope of walking out of there sometime this afternoon without his d**k leading the way, he had to stop staring at her.

He may not have met her yet, but he'd bet his prized 1966 Mustang convertible she was a submissive. The question was, did she know it? He doubted it. After catching her eye earlier, he’d waited a few seconds before raising his eyebrow in a look that would've had most submissives questioning whether their words or actions were about to get them in trouble. He was delighted to see how fast her gaze had fallen to the floor before it crept back up to his face as if she couldn't resist the urge to look at him. If Jenn hadn't interrupted his view of the woman, he would’ve given into the temptation to go over and introduce himself, something he hadn't done outside of the club in a long time.

Over the years, he learned most of the women he’d met outside of the b**m community were either turned off by his kinks or only thought they understood what was involved with pleasure-pain before attempting to experience it for themselves. Devon had a few brief encounters in the past when the woman he was with began to panic when faced with his demands and attempts to push her out of her comfort zone. At that point, he would halt the scene without complaint and wait to see if she wanted to continue. If she didn't, he would ensure the woman was all right and back in the right frame of mind before he wished her well and walked out the door. He would never force his lifestyle on anyone—again, safe, sane, and consensual.

Most people didn't realize that a certain amount of pain could be morphed into intense pleasure with the right mix of trust and arousal. Without the proper mix, though, any D/s encounter was doomed to fail. That was why he found it so much easier to leave his hook-ups to the submissives at the club. But, damn, he wished he met his little librarian at the club because he could definitely get into her, no pun intended . . . or maybe it was.

“Oh, my God! Really?”

Devon turned around at his niece's sudden loud exclamation. Jenn was standing next to the brunette, and her voice lowered again, but it was still obvious she was enthusiastic about something. He strained to hear what she was saying without success and wondered what all the excitement was about. Whatever it was, both women were now smiling and chatting as Jenn took the empty seat in the booth.

Damn, he wished he was Jenn right now.