Bad Boy Dom Read online

  Bad Boy Dom

  By

  Holly S. Roberts

  §

  A Club El Diablo Book

  Published by H.S. Roberts

  [email protected]

  http://clubeldiablo.blogspot.com

  Bad Boy Dom

  El Diablo: Book VI

  Printing History

  First Edition: February 2013

  All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. ALL characters are derived from the author’s imagination.

  Chapter One

  Kris…

  Check-in went off without a hitch. It felt good to know I wasn’t blackballed for life. I hadn’t spoken to Damian, the exclusive El Diablo Hotel’s owner, for more than a year. He sent a short note during my stay at Foundations, a posh rehab for rich celebrities. That note gave me enough courage to walk past the imposing doorman and request a suite.

  The well-trained petite blonde behind the check-in counter didn’t lift an eyebrow when I handed her my identification. My visit was a spur of the moment “I-need-to-unwind-and-write-a-new-song” decision. My cock was also in need of finely-tuned pussy, and I was hopeful my warm welcome at the hotel would carry over to the private BDSM club upstairs.

  Once the valet safely tucked me and my extensive gear safely in the room, I thanked him with a large tip. There were two bedrooms, a small kitchen, dining room, and comfortable living area along with two full bathrooms. The one off the master bedroom came complete with a sunken tub and a separate shower. In the early days of my career, I’d stayed in bedbug-infested motels while eating sandwiches out of a cooler. Now, with more money than I knew what to do with, I could appreciate how far I’d come. And I’m not talking just about how far I’d come since those cheap motels ten years ago, but how far I’d come in the last two years since ending my private drug-induced hell

  I paced the living area waiting for my fate. It was a relief when I heard the firm knock at the door.

  I pulled back the heavy, ornate wooden door and let it swing open.

  Damian’s intense brown eyes drilled into mine. I knew he was searching for signs of addiction. I let him look, knowing there were none to be found. His breath slowly expelled and the corners of his mouth lifted. He had the devil’s smile to match his name.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said, in that strong resonant voice I’d missed so much.

  “Then I’m hoping you’ll let me stay.”

  Without answering, his smile broadened. I couldn’t hold back my relief and finally allowed my stiff shoulders to relax. Strong arms came around me and, for just a moment, I held back tears. Through all the years I’d known Damian, his willingness to throw the he-man persona out the window was one of his best characteristics. I absorbed his strength.

  He slowly pulled back with a last hardy slap on my back. “Yes, you can stay but let’s talk.”

  I knew this was coming and didn’t mind. One of the things I’d learned the hard way was the relief I felt when apologizing for my past misdeeds. It was the best medicine I could give myself.

  “Would you like a drink?” I said as I walked to the fully-stocked bar to grab water for myself.

  Damian missed nothing. “I’ll take the same.”

  “It doesn’t bother me if you have a beer.”

  “No, water is fine.”

  Damian settled into a chair, and I sat on the couch, kiddy-corner from him.

  “You look good.” His crooked smile was back.

  “I feel good.”

  “I followed the gossip column on your last tour.”

  I laughed loudly. “For some reason, it’s hard to picture you reading the rag mags.”

  “My wife keeps a few around so it’s much easier than having to buy one for myself or, God forbid, send an employee to get me one.”

  “I heard you married. I’m happy for you.”

  “I’m happy for me but it’s you I want to know about. I haven’t heard from you in almost two years.”

  There was no censure in his voice but I needed to explain.

  “The first year was me getting my shit together,” I said. “And this past year has been reestablishing myself, getting my band’s shit together, and touring. It took me this long to get up the nerve to come see you.”

  “It shouldn’t have. That’s why I sent you the letter in rehab.”

  “I owe you an apology.” My eyes zeroed into his steady, blameless gaze.

  Damian’s head shook back and forth. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do, and I need you to hear me out. This is long overdue, Damian.”

  He didn’t say anything, just waited for me to speak.

  “I have no one to blame but myself. I had a good childhood with decent parents who did everything right. The drugs and alcohol were my fault, no one else’s. The lousy people I surrounded myself with were my fault. I’m not a weakling or some broken asshole whining about how I got shafted by the world, because I didn’t. I partied not to run from anything or forget any pain, but because I could. I thought I was strong and could control the drugs. But no one is that strong and before I knew what happened, the drugs had complete and utter control of my life. I’m sorry for putting you in the position of throwing me out of the club. I’m sorry for what I did to the sub you stopped me from seriously hurting. I expected her to press charges. At the very least, she could have filed a lawsuit. Of all the things I’ve done, that is the one I can’t atone for, but I’m sorry.”

  Damian didn’t speak for a few moments. I knew he was letting my words sink in. His control was one of the things that attracted submissives and even dominants to his flame.

  “Seeing you fall further and further was hard,” he said. “I don’t want to do it again. Do you need me to have housekeeping remove the alcohol from your room?”

  “Only if it makes you feel better. I don’t touch it at all. I’ve replaced two members of my band because they couldn’t take the new rules. The first year was the hardest and I’ll always be an addict. But now, I control it and not the other way around.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he said somberly, and then he smiled. “My wife owns your latest album and she dances to it with Abigail, our daughter. Hopefully when you meet Lydia she won’t drool as much as the baby.”

  I couldn’t help but grin.

  “I’m sure if she does you’ll jerk her chain and make her behave.”

  Damian’s laugh was loud and full. “Dinner tonight at my place, and then the club, if it’s something you want to do.”

  “Yes, it is. Thank you, Damian. I’m glad I came. I’m working on some new material and I need a sexual outlet when I’m in creativity mode. Do you think subs will be willing to play with me?”

  “You’ll have your pick. Dixie never spoke about what happened. She moved to New York to dance classical ballet. She’s quite good. Lydia and I saw her perform six months ago.”

  “I never knew she danced.” I felt a stab of guilt. Dixie had trusted me with her body, and I’d come close to damaging her in ways that might have stolen her life’s dream. I was overwhelmed again by gratitude to Damian for saving us both. If I had hurt her, I don’t think I could have ever forgiven myself. I wasn’t sure I’d forgiven myself now as it was.

  “I want you to take things slow in the club. I’ll be there if you need help. You had the makings of a good dom. I know you can still be one, if that’s what you want. But this time you will know what your subs do outside the club. The connection is important and it’s not all about the great sex.”

  “I’m willing to learn again.”

  “Good, I’ll see you tonight.” Damian stood and turned to the door. “I see you brought your g
uitars.”

  “I don’t travel without them.”

  “Would you mind bringing one to dinner? We won’t make you sing for your supper, but Lydia will be turned on if you play and I’ll reap the benefits.”

  “I’m working on a ballad that might do the job.”

  Again Damian laughed full out. “Nothing personal but Lydia would prefer something hard, foul-mouthed, and sexy.”

  “Then I’ll save the ballad for Abigail.”

  “That’ll work.”

  The door closed and I leaned back against the cool wood. I took a deep breath and then slowly let it out.

  I reached for my favorite guitar case and took out the 1970 Gibson Citation. She was a sweet thing, and I needed to feel her vibrate. Her rhythmic pulse went straight to my cock. The evening couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Two

  Angela…

  “I’ve learned nothing, Mistress.” I spoke quietly while her soft hand ran through my hair.

  “You’ve come so far, Angela. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, and your beauty shines from within.”

  “Beauty has never been my gift,” I said, shaking my head. “More like a curse.”

  “The beauty you hold inside is a gift. I see it every day. You work hard, you’re loyal, and I don’t trust my daughter with just anyone.”

  I couldn’t help my giggle and the shake of my shoulders.

  “You know she’s going to be a hellion.”

  “Yes, and her daddy’s pride and joy,” Lydia grinned. “She has him twisted around all ten of her chubby little fingers. You and I will keep her grounded while Raul and Damian spoil her rotten.”

  “Thank you for taking care of me today, Mistress.”

  “Are you working at the club tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “You need to keep busy but your entire life is not work.”

  “But Mistress—” I couldn’t keep the fear from my voice — “I only have you, Abigail, and the club.”

  A sharp tug on my hair brought my head to the side so I looked directly into her eyes.

  “You have so much more to give, little bird, but you’re too afraid to fly. When you do, your wings will be glorious.” Her lips met mine in a soft kiss.

  She always knew what I needed and I had no doubt she loved me. It wasn’t a sexual love or all-consuming passion like she had for her husband. But I never took the fact she cherished me for granted. I just wanted more. I wasn’t really bi-sexual, though I joined other subs while playing with my Mistress’s choice selection of doms. She carefully vetted anyone who worked with me, and preferred to provide the pain I needed to keep me grounded.

  I felt her body shift and I sat up. She reached for her special concoction to massage into my back, ass, and upper legs. I would admire the fine lines left behind from her absolute precision with a whip once I was back in my room. I loved the look and the bite that lasted for a day or two after she worked a session with me. I had no problem acknowledging my need for controlled pain and a safe person to play with. I was toxic to myself and made the wrong decisions in relationships over and over. I wanted to be strong. I wanted so bad to feel in control, but it was always just out of my reach.

  Mistress made sure I knew I would always be part of her family, but I dreamed of a family of my own someday. I wanted love from a man like the Mistress’s husband, Damian. As horrible as it sounded, I fantasized about him loving me the way he loved her. I knew he would never look at me twice if she wasn’t my mistress, and I had no illusions that he would want me. But I could dream, even if my dreams were just a tiny bit wicked.

  The darkness had passed with each stroke of the whip, and I was able to shower in my suite and prepared myself for work with eagerness. I shaved and took special care of my body in case Mistress found someone for me to play with when my shift was over. She usually let me rest after a session— especially after a session followed by work— but a girl could hope. And I did.

  The club was soothing. I never minded the moans and screams even when they were at their loudest. I understood how important the release was. I understood the need. I loved my job even though I knew it was Mistress protecting me from the outside world. She always protected me but sometimes she couldn’t shield me from myself. Tonight though, the slight discomfort of the material on my back and thighs kept me in the right headspace. Tomorrow, I would visit my therapist for my weekly appointment and then it would be the weekend. The play at the club picked up on the weekends and though I wasn’t scheduled to work, the intensity of my dedication to Mistress would get me through. Forget one day at a time, sometimes one hour at a time was more my speed.

  “Hey, Angela, can you work close to the bar tonight?”

  “No problem, Kevin. I’m yours for the shift.”

  “Don’t let Mistress Lydia hear you say that.”

  I laughed.

  “I won’t, but it’s only Thursday. Are you expecting a larger than normal crowd?”

  “Obviously you haven’t heard. Krispin Righteous is staying at the hotel and he’s expected to visit the club tonight.”

  “Krispin who?”

  “Righteous, with Blood Rights.”

  My expression must have conveyed the confusion I felt.

  “They’re one of the hottest rock bands in the country!” Friendly but disbelieving sarcasm dripped from the words.

  “The band sounds vaguely familiar,” I lied, trying to cover my ignorance, “but the name Krispin doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “If you’re lucky, Mistress will let Mr. Righteous ring your bell.”

  “I think I’ll stay away. I never do well with the famous ones.”

  “You could have your pick of the famous ones if you wanted.”

  “Yes, and it never ends well. Mistress does my choosing now, and she’s a lot better at it than I am.”

  Everyone thought a beautiful face and body were a gift from God. I learned early on that they attracted the greatest evil. I wasn’t looking forward to having Mr. Righteous in my sanctuary.

  Chapter Three

  Kris…

  Sleeping butterflies and daisies in your hair,

  Playing with the frogs while flying through the air.

  Sleep will come and go, with stars for Abigail,

  Hush the sweet sounds of wind beneath your sails,

  It’s time to count the sheep jumping here and there,

  Hush my sweet and beautiful Abigail.

  The final cord drifted away and my precious, drooling fan was fast asleep.

  “That was beautiful. Not to mention a miracle! She never falls asleep without a fight.” Lydia held her nine-month old bundle of joy, continuing to sway her arms back and forth. Abigail’s short red curls sprang out from her head in delightful disarray.

  “I bore young children to sleep. It’s a special gift.”

  “She already loves you, and to think she now has her very own song written by Krispin Righteous.”

  I laughed softly so I wouldn’t wake up the pocket-sized hellion princess. “By the time she’s old enough to realize I’m famous, I’ll be walking with a cane.”

  “Who cares, as long as I can buy your time each night for the next few years.”

  “I’ll record Abigail’s song at my next session and send you the digital file.”

  Damian walked over and removed the sleeping child from her mother’s arms, speaking softly.

  “That’s enough, Kris. I told you my wife would drool and I can put up with that, but making her panties wet is crossing one of my hard limits.”

  Shocked, I watched as Lydia placed a not-so-soft swat against her husband’s ass when he turned to walk away with Abigail.

  She turned back and focused her twinkling blue eyes on me.

  I fell in love all over again.

  “Does your husband let you play with others?” I said it jokingly but if she could play, I would plan on having one hell of a night.

  “Yes, actually I do play w
ith others but unfortunately you’re not my type.”

  I grabbed my chest theatrically. “My wounded heart has fallen into the pit of despair.”

  “Your bullshit knows no bounds.” She was no fool.

  I added more of a seductive timbre to my voice. “That, too. So tell me about your type.”

  “I don’t think so. A woman must have secrets or mean doms win every time.”

  This time my heart did clench but I lightened my tone, “I was a mean dom but I need a sub like you to keep me in line.”

  “I’m sure Damian will find you the perfect sub or two. He’s quite good at matchmaking.”

  Damian’s grin flashed at his wife as he walked back into the room.

  “I’m only a matchmaker by default.” His voice changed and hard eyes turned my way. “You’re not trying to pick up my wife, are you?”

  “I would, if I thought it was possible. She put me in my place but I think I’m ready to try my hand with a nice sweet sub. Could you suggest one without red hair?”

  “You’re a smart man. Red hair brings absolute chaos.”

  “That’s enough from both of you. I’m going to call Raul over for a shift with Redhead Junior and then I’ll change for the club. I’ll meet you in about thirty minutes, if that’ll work?”

  Damian winked at his wife and then turned to me.

  “We’re being dismissed but it’ll give us a chance to talk over the merits of club subs without my wife peeking over my shoulder. Let’s go.”

  “Do you mind if I leave my guitar here?”

  “Be my guest. I’ll have it delivered to your room in the morning.”

  Damian’s private elevator took us down a few flights. His home was the penthouse. I barely remembered my last elevator trip to the club because I was completely fucked up on coke and Jose Cuervo.

  I shook the bad memories away, thankful to my friend for not giving up on me. I cared little what most people thought of me, but Damian’s opinion mattered. I kept the crinkled, well-read letter he sent when I was in rehab as a reminder.