He didn’t understand it, but he latched on to it like a man starving.

The whip coiled and snapped, hissing and then landing, the welt rising on her skin. She rose up on tiptoe, her body straining even as she arched her back, waiting, wanting another lash.

The muscles in her slender arms rippled, and her fingers splayed out, stretching and then curling into her fists again. Faster, she moved in time with the lashes, dancing an erotic rhythm that held the room in her thrall. Race to release. Micah watched in fascination as he worked her into a heated frenzy.

The last lash fell just as a cry of sweet ecstasy burst from deep inside her. The sound was primal and beautiful, and it instilled an ache in his gut that extended to his balls. He was painfully erect, his cock bulging against the zipper of his jeans. He wanted nothing more than to shove his pants down and bury his cock between her ass cheeks. He wanted her ass, her pussy, her mouth. He wanted this woman.

No longer able to keep from touching her, he ran his fingers over the thin welts crisscrossing her back. She moaned softly, leaning into his caress. He smoothed his palms up her back and then under her arms and down her sides.

Wanting to look into her eyes, to see her again, he walked around her, letting his hand trail over her skin until his fingers rested on her belly and he stood over her.

“Look at me,” he said huskily.

He lifted his hand to her chin, tilted it up so her gaze met his.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Her lips curved upward in a tremulous smile, and he traced the fullness of her bottom lip with his thumb.

He dropped his head to hers, their mouths touching. He paused, taking it slower this time, wanting to savor her sweetness.

“I want you. I want you so much it’s killing me.”

His voice was hoarse and needy, but he didn’t care. He only knew if he didn’t have this woman, he’d go crazy.

He reached up to untie her hands, and when they were free, she faltered, her knees buckling. He caught her to him, her body melting into his. She felt so damn good, and his zipper was trying to brand a permanent tattoo on his dick.

Wanting to feel the silk of her hair, he dragged his hand through it, enjoying the sensation of it sliding through his fingers.

“Will you come home with me?” he murmured.

His lips were just centimeters from hers. Her breath blew over his face, and he inhaled.

She stared back at him, desire warming her eyes.

He tucked a long strand of her hair behind her ear, and his thumb snagged on the mask. He wanted to see her, wanted to know more about this woman he was determined to possess tonight.

She uttered a sharp protest and raised her hands to grip his, all the while shaking her head in mute denial. She tried to turn away, but the mask slipped and caught in her hair.

A strangled sound erupted from her throat and she hastily backed away, but not before he saw her features.

Shock hit him square in the balls.

He was going to be sick.

Angel. David’s sister.

Dear God, what had he done?

She stared back at him, frozen, her eyes wide and almost frightened. The beautiful naked woman standing in front of him was quickly replaced by images of Angelina at sixteen. Innocent, with a dazzling, flirtatious smile, the kind that a kid wore when she thought the world was hers on a silver platter. He couldn’t conjure an image of her older. She was stuck as that sixteen-year-old kid. How old was she now anyway?

David’s sister. Goddamn it.

Fury quickly replaced his utter disbelief. “Angelina, what the fuck?”

Micah grabbed Angelina’s shoulders and pulled her close to him to shield her from view, but that was damn near impossible with a room full of people and her bare-assed naked.

He yanked his head around, looking for something—anything—to cover her with.

“Where are your goddamn clothes?”

“Micah, stop,” she protested.

The shock of hearing her speak momentarily halted him. The slightly accented speech reminded him so damn much of David. Her voice was huskier than it was when she was younger. Sexier. Fuck!

He shook his head and resumed his search, his gaze lighting on a discarded sheet from one of the beds. It would do.

Dragging her with him, he strode over to snatch the sheet from the floor. He draped it over her shoulders and then wrapped it completely around her, holding the ends as he looked for an escape route.

“Micah, stop! What are you doing?”

There was a spark of anger in her brown eyes, but he ignored that. She could be pissed all she wanted, but he was getting her the hell out of here.

Now that she was at least covered, he herded her along the edge of the room toward the door. They entered the hallway that led to the stairs, and he all but dragged her down the staircase and into the hall leading to the front entrance.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

There was trust in her tone, and it pissed him off more than finding her here. He’d just flogged her, seen her naked, lusted over ... touched her. For God’s sake. This never should have happened. He hated himself, but he was angrier with her. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t even know places like this existed.

“Out of here,” he said gruffly. “Not another word until I get you home. I swear, Angelina, I don’t know what the hell you thought you were doing, but it ends right here, right now.”

One of Damon’s burly security men stepped in front of the door and folded his beefy arms over his chest as he stared belligerently at Micah.

“Goddamn it, Mav, get out of the way,” Micah swore.

“Micah, what the fuck are you doing?”

Micah turned around to see his good friend and the owner of The House, Damon Roche, striding down the hall from his office. He sighed, irritated with the interruption. He kept a firm grip on Angelina’s arm while he waited for Damon to say his piece.

“Well?” Damon asked when he stopped a few feet away. His eyes were narrowed, the classic Damon annoyed expression, but he didn’t say anything further. He merely pinned Micah with an expectant stare and waited.

“Well fucking what?”

Damon made a move toward Angelina, and Micah pulled her back. The sheet slid down over her shoulders, but she held the ends tightly around her breasts. Her hair was pulled around and hung down one side, and Micah could see the marks—his marks—on her back, and the knot grew bigger in his gut.

He yanked the sheet back up, covering the bare expanse of her skin as if that would somehow erase what had happened just minutes before.

“You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?” Damon demanded. “Jesus Christ, Micah, have you lost your mind? Let her go. Now.”

Micah scowled at the challenge in Damon’s voice. Mav took a step forward and reached for Angelina. It didn’t matter that Damon and Mav were obviously trying to protect Angelina.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.”

May looked to Damon for guidance, and Damon held his hand up to stay his security man.

“You can’t come in here, grab one of my club members—hell, you can’t pull this shit here with anyone, member or not—and drag her out of here against her will. What’s come over you, Micah?”

Micah glanced at Angelina and wondered why the hell she was being so quiet. She hadn’t said much more than a few words. He couldn’t even conjure guilt over the notion that she was unwilling. She sure as hell hadn’t been unwilling when she’d given him that sultry invitation with those deep brown eyes. Christ, she’d had him whip her. He wanted to puke.

“This is a private matter between me and Angelina,” Micah said.

“I’m not letting you leave here with her,” Damon said calmly.

Angelina put her hand on Damon’s arm. It looked small and dainty in comparison, and all Micah could think was that those hands had been tied together while he marked her naked body.