Declan’s voice lowered until it was soft, his gaze finding hers, warm and tender. “I need you to understand something, Charlotte. Your relationship with him was not good. It was some kind of fucked up, even by kink standards. Safe, sane, and consensual should be the rules for any relationship. You had no understanding between you of limitations and acceptable behavior. I am a demanding jerk. You and I both know that. But I am not so egotistical as to get my rocks off on something I would only enjoy. If there’s something you don’t like, then all you have to do is tell me. We’ll talk about it. And we will find a way to work around it.”

***

After Charlotte had set her demons free, he drew her into his chest. He stroked her hair, unable to keep his hands from her. With a sigh of contentment, she turned and put her head against his heart, and within minutes she fell asleep. For Declan, sleep didn’t come as easily. Instead, the words she relayed crashed down and tormented him.

A dog collar? A fucking dog collar? Griffin had marched her in to PetSmart and made her pick out her own. Wide black leather with lots of chrome and spikes and a matching chrome leash. Adding insult to injury, he had refused a bag when the cashier offered it. Instead, he had subjected Charlotte to public submission and humiliation by fastening it around her neck right there and then clipping the leash to it. He had led her out the door like a damned dog.

It was obvious her previous owner thought the collar was a reflection of himself, which was both arrogant and idiotic. A collar should represent care of his submissive, how in touch he was with her, and it should fit the woman wearing it. It should be a piece that fit her personality. It should be made especially for her. A gift to make her feel special, not like an animal to be caged and kept and punished.

Declan came to the realization he needed to make Charlotte feel loved, cherished, and protected.

Chapter Fourteen

Six weeks before Christmas, Declan waited patiently in the back room of Owen’s tattoo shop. He thought about the style of collar he wanted for Charlotte. He wanted something she could wear out in public. Something that reflected her personality. It had to be understated yet vibrant. Not some random piece of jewelry chosen on a whim.

It was perfect timing. Declan hadn’t felt as though Charlotte was ready for this step, or that he could take it with her until he could get to the bottom of her fears. Her past demons would be dealt with tonight, and then he could focus solely on Charlotte. Griffin would no longer be a threat.

When Owen had called him informing him he’d located Griffin, he’d been careful to arrange things precisely. Declan hadn’t explained to Charlotte why he’d been so adamant with his expectations for the week. He could hardly tell her that he needed the week to take care of that asshole who’d put his hands on her. Declan didn’t want to take any chances that Griffin would be lying in wait for her. He had her phone number, so he was almost certain to know where she lived as well. Declan hadn’t wanted her to go anywhere except to work and home, his home. It was easy enough to convince her. Her sister was driving her mad, and she needed some space away from the berserk bride.

The door opened. “Declan, you’re all set. Here’s the address of the club. Everything’s all-set. Lila double-checked the appointment time. He’s there every Friday at seven.”

Declan nodded. “Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

“You really should keep your hands clean on this. If you’re found out, you’ll be risking everything.”

Declan’s lips tightened. “I need my point made. I need him to know whom he’s dealing with. I want him to fear me. He needs to know I can destroy him if he ever so much as breathes Charlotte’s name again.”

Owen smiled ruefully. “I see your point. I have to admit if some motherfucker messed with Lila like that; I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“You understand me then.”

Owen nodded. “Yeah, I get it. I don’t like that you have to do it on your own, but I get why you have to. I’m just concerned it will come back to bite you in the ass.”

“I’ve got it covered. I’ve made certain no one in our circle can tie me to what I am about to do.”

“All right. So nothing new from the Wicked ‘Switch’ of the East?”

“Not after her little stunt the other day. But knowing Katherine, I don’t expect the calm to last.”

***

Later that night, the stream of people entering Halo ebbed and flowed. Declan wasn’t into the whole dungeon scene per se, but he could see how it could draw one in. The main room wasn’t a large one, and yet so much seemed to happen there—the tumult of people, the punishments, the creativity, the spectacle. The “B” film version of cold damp, slimed walls and rats scurrying with their nails clicking on damp cobblestones couldn’t have been further from the truth. No, Lila’s club oozed sumptuousness. The main room was dark, warm, and womb-like. The tangy smell of leather emanated from the furniture, heightening the senses. All the pieces were massive leather except for two enormous thrones, which elsewhere may have looked kitsch but here reigned with suitable aplomb.

Declan scanned the scene unfolding as he made his way back to the private rooms. An occupied grope box, the submissive’s Mistress inviting people all around to poke and prod her naughty plaything. With gusto, people pushed fingers and entire hands through all the holes. The St. Andrews Cross was no less an object of interest. A rather burly male adorned the heavy wooden frame with his hands and legs locked by ropes woven through “O” rings. The man’s naked backside faced the audience while he awaited his punishment. A violet wand tormented a blonde on the suspension swing. Heavy silver weights hung like Christmas decorations from her nipple and clit rings. Her Master wielded the electric wand as deftly as a magician; violet electric lines danced over her pale skin. Declan stopped, momentarily caught up in their spell. The electric lines both caressed and tortured her with their exacting demand of self.

Pulling himself out of the mesmerizing scene, he found the door where Lila said he could observe Griffin’s punishment. Lila was going to mete out his punishment herself, and when she was done with him, Declan could say his peace. Lila took orders from no one except for Owen, so Declan’s specific desires were, of course, mere suggestions. Owen had said being with Lila was akin to whiplash. Owen had never considered himself in a submissive role, but Lila had changed all that. He allowed her to beat him, but only for pleasure and not for punishment. He had informed her in exacting terms that they could continue to play together as long as she understood the rules were flexible and she could only be his Mistress when he said she could.

Declan smiled at that thought, knocked lightly on the door, and it opened slowly. Inside, the room smelled like sweat. It was a cold room with one light overhead and a rough-hewn wooden table in its center. Thick leather straps, the kind that cut into flesh, bound Griffin to its unforgiving surface. A ball gag rested in his mouth, and his legs were spread open and secured to a titanium spreader bar, which rendered him immobile. A hulk of a man had the skin of Griffin’s forehead pulled taught as he pressed the tattoo needle into his flesh.

“Good evening,” Lila spoke warmly to Declan. “Our Mr. Cohen is just putting the finishing touches on the tattoo for poor Mr. Griffin here.”

“It is a rather nice evening. I knew you provided excellent entertainment here, but I had no idea of your meticulous attention to detail until just now.” Declan moved closer to the table, inspecting the tattooist’s handiwork.