Trusting Her Doms [Pleasure, Texas 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 3

  She hadn’t made it five feet inside the house before he’d yelled for her to come stand “front and center,” ready to hear his “decision.” Trouble was the last thing she wanted after a hard day at the market. It was better to listen to whatever shit he was spewing than to ignore him and set him off into a rampage. His rampages ended in one of two ways. He’d either shout at her mother and her until he’d finally pass out, or he’d end up using his fists on her mother, taking out all his anger on a woman who couldn’t protect herself.

  He hadn’t hit Carly since she’d returned home, but she had no doubt he would eventually. She hoped that she’d gotten too strong for him to take. Unless, of course, she got in between him and her mother. Then it was no holds barred and he’d come at her with anything he could get his hands on. Broken beer bottle, knife, fists, and even his teeth if he had to.

  “I just started working there and you know how much I make an hour. I can’t pay you half the rent on this place. Not until I get more time in at the market.” She’d go to hell before she gave him any of the money she’d saved. Thankfully, he didn’t know about it.

  He took a drag on his beer, then a toke on his foul-smelling ciggy. “I don’t care what you have to do to get the money. If you don’t, you’d better plan on sleeping in your car. You’ve got to pull your weight around here.”

  Pull her weight? He worked less than twenty hours a week compared to her forty-plus and she wasn’t pulling her weight? Even then, because of his seniority at the meat packing plant and because his boss was one of his drinking buddies, he still made more money than she did. Where was the justice in that?

  “That doesn’t give me enough time.” She hated giving into him, but one glance at her mother told her she couldn’t count on any help from her. As usual. “I can get it to you by the end of the week.”

  He spit, his wad hitting the frayed carpet at her feet. She closed her eyes and fought back the urge to scream. She’d be the one to clean that up.

  Wasn’t it good enough that she cleaned the house and did all the laundry? Her mother had asthma which Carly attributed to inhaling his secondhand smoke for decades. And even if her father’s smoking hadn’t caused it, it damn sure made it worse. That meant her mother tired easily and had a rough time cleaning the house. Carly did as much as she could to help out every night after work. She’d cleaned her fingers to the bone, but it barely made a difference in the appearance of the place. Burn holes from his cigarettes as well as booze stains—and other stains she didn’t care to identify—had ruined what little furniture they had. She’d moved a small pallet into what had once been a fair-size closet to call her bedroom. Her clothes remained in the suitcases she’d lugged home from college.

  Sometimes she wished she was back at college, living in a safe, clean dorm room. Unlike the other students, she’d never gotten involved in partying or drinking. She’d seen enough of that in her lifetime.

  He cackled, then took another swig. “Okay. I’m in a good mood, so I’ll let you do that. But from now on, you hand over the money as soon as you’re paid. Got it?”

  “Fine.” She started past him, then froze when he grabbed her arm.

  “Fine what?”

  The urge to yank her arm away was as strong as the urge to tell him to fuck off. One look at her mother’s pleading eyes, however, made her decision. “Fine, sir.”

  “You’d better believe it. I’m your father and don’t you forget it. Now get moving and make dinner.”

  As much as she would’ve liked to, she’d never be able to forget she was his daughter. He turned her loose, and she hurried toward the kitchen.

  She’d used her imagination all her life as an escape from the awful reality of her home life. Most of the time, she’d dreamt of getting away, of having her own life with a home that was filled with love. She wanted someone to love her as much as she loved him, with children running around, their laughter filling their home with a happiness she’d never known.

  But once she’d noticed Hank and Ron, her dreams had changed, bringing two men into her life as well as letting her burgeoning sexuality come to the forefront. She still wanted kids and a home, but with them in it.

  Her imagination centered on Hank and Ron as she pushed the casserole she’d made from the items she’d brought home from the market into the oven. Most of the food she bought had just expired or was in a dented can that Little John couldn’t sell, but he didn’t mind charging her a premium price for them. Still, it was cheaper than buying the food right off the shelves.

  She closed the oven, then stepped away from the hot air. It wasn’t the type of heat she wanted to feel.

  Damn, but Hank and Ron were better looking than she’d remembered. She’d never been one of those girls to crush on boys, but the men of Lazy Creek Ranch had given her some wild fantasies over the years. They weren’t what society might consider handsome, especially Hank with his slightly hawkish nose, but they had a quality about them that exuded power, sexuality, and raw magnetism. When they walked into a room, both men and women paid homage to their natural charisma. Add their cowboy attire and down-home way of talking and they were perfect.

  Had she imagined seeing interest in their eyes? Would Ron have given her his card if he didn’t like what he saw? Or did they still see her as that young high school girl?

  She knew they often went to the Club at Pleasure Ranch, and were Doms who helped the Casing men enforce the rules in exchange for their membership. That was, as far as she was concerned, the only thing wrong with them.

  Doms were men who liked bullying women. Why else would they tie women up and whip them? And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about how that whip would feel against her skin. As long as it was one of them wielding it.

  She pulled the long, stale loaf of Italian bread out of its package, started cutting it into slices, then spread as little butter over the slices as she could. Growing up with her father meant learning how to make food stretch as much as possible.

  Her imagination took over again. Although she’d never been inside the club, she figured she knew enough. She’d heard plenty of secondhand information to get a good idea.

  What would it be like to go through those doors? Her hands worked without her mind as the fantasy took over.

  “Hey, sweet thang. I’m glad you came.” Hank slid his arm around her waist.

  The tingle she got whenever his hazel eyes looked into hers sizzled through her. He could turn her on with only a touch and a smile. “Didn’t you think I’d show?”

  She let out a yelp as Ron eased behind her, pulling her away from his friend. His strong arms snaked around her to cup her breasts. It was a possessive hold and one she wouldn’t break.

  “Did you come to play?” His whisper was sultry, seductive.

  “Maybe.”

  “Good. I can’t wait to tie you up.”

  She blinked the fantasy away as she wrapped the buttered bread in foil, then popped it into the oven along with the casserole. Was it strange that she had those kinds of fantasies? Especially since becoming a submissive meant letting men boss her around? At least, that’s what she thought it meant.

  Part of her disliked that her daydreams had taken a turn that way. And yet, another part of her, the side even Suzie didn’t know about, yearned to take a walk on that wild side.

  Her fantasies started taking over again, unwilling to be pushed away.

  “You’re going to play with us tonight.”

  Was it a question Hank asked? Or a command? She shivered and hoped it was a command.

  “What do you want me to do?” It was a loaded question, one that handed the decision to them to make.

  “I want you to strip naked, then sit on top of a table.” Ron pinched her nipples, eliciting a delicious kind of pain. “Then I’m going to pull up a chair and feast on you.”

  She let out a breath, echoing the sigh in her fantasy.

  “Do it, baby. Now.”

  Hank’s tone was firm, brooking no
argument. She trembled as Ron took hold of the awful John’s Food Market apron and tore it away.

  “Don’t ever put that ugly thing back on.”

  She nodded, finding it amazing that she was eager to comply.

  “Take your clothes off, baby.”

  She’d had other men, boyfriends, call her baby and had hated it. Coming from Hank, the word sounded like a tender term of endearment.

  Could she do it? Could she let herself be that vulnerable? After all the crap men had thrown at her, could she dare to try again? Should she dare to be hurt again?

  When she didn’t do as he’d ordered fast enough, Hank took her by the neck and tugged her face close to his. She could smell the mint on his breath, a welcome relief from the alcohol she’d expected to smell. The heat thickened between them.

  “Do you want me to do it for you?”

  Alarm as well as a rush of sinful delight swept into her.

  She didn’t have the chance to decide. Taking one good hold on her shirt and her bra strap, he ripped the material away, exposing her breasts.

  Ron put his hands back over her breasts, then squeezed. He nibbled on her neck, then whispered in her ear again. “Darlin’, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

  She didn’t want it to, but she couldn’t stop the flood between her legs. If they’d taken her jeans from her, they would’ve seen how her panties stuck to her.

  It was as though Hank understood her thoughts. “Get out of those jeans. Now.”

  She hurried to do his bidding, yanking her jeans down along with her panties in one swift move. Surprising her, Ron turned her around, grabbed hold of her butt cheeks, then fell to the floor behind her.

  Hank took her by the chin, then leaned forward.

  They licked her, one brushing his tongue over her lips while the other spread her butt cheeks and slicked his tongue around her dark hole.

  She cried out as another wash of her juices fled her body.

  Hank smiled, then found her hand and brought it down to cover his crotch. He was erect, his cock pushing at his jeans. “You’re our woman, our submissive. You’ll do what we tell you to do. Got it?”

  She opened her mouth to answer…

  “Carly? Are you all right?”

  She jerked back to reality and found herself holding the rest of the loaf as she slid her palm up and down its length. Dropping it to the counter, she whirled around. “Yeah, Mom?”

  Her mother held out her cell phone. “Your phone is ringing. Or should I say playing?”

  Carly could see the beautiful woman her mother had once been in the soft smile she reserved for her only child. “Thanks. Everything’s in the oven, but could you watch the time while I take this call?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  Carly slipped out the back door and into the backyard. Her mother hadn’t taken the laundry off the clothesline yet, leaving yet another chore for her to finish. But she didn’t mind. She’d do anything for her mother.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. This is Paul Casing. Is this Carly?”

  Her stomach did a quick flip. Oh, lord.

  “Yes, this is Carly.” Had Ron called him?

  “Hey, listen, I’ll get right to the reason I’m calling. Ron Callows said you might be interested in a waitress position here at the Club at Pleasure Ranch. Is that right?”

  “Oh. Um, I don’t know. I mean, maybe.” She sounded like an idiot, but what else could she say? She hadn’t made up her mind yet.

  “Okay. Well, if you think you’re interested, we can set up an interview for tomorrow. I need to get that position filled as fast as I can.”

  She didn’t answer, again stymied by her indecision. Her gaze shifted to the window. One glance at her father tossing his empty beer bottle at her mother made up her mind.

  “Carly? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” She cleared her throat and hoped she wasn’t blowing her chance before she even got an interview. “I hope I’m not jumping ahead, but I kind of need to know. Can you tell me how much the job pays?”

  “Sure. You’re starting out, right? I mean, you’ve never had a job like this before, have you?”

  “Only if you count manning the counter at a fast-food place while I was in college.” What kind of skills did she need anyway to take people’s drink orders?

  “That’s not really the same. So, since you’d just be starting out, then you’d have to come in at the base rate of twenty dollars an hour. Would that be enough to start?”

  Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew big, catching her mother’s attention. When her mother mouthed the question asking who she was talking to, she had to wave her off. All her focus was on the conversation.

  “Of course, a large part of what our waitresses earn is in tips. Generally, I’d say that they make anywhere from fifty to a few hundred dollars a night, depending on whether it’s a slow night or not.”

  A few hundred? Plus twenty dollars an hour? How could a club out in the middle of nowhere Texas bring in that kind of money to pay their help? Yet the real question hit her. What would she have to do to earn that money? And could she do it?

  “Damn it, girl. Bring my dinner to me.” Her father’s shout drifted through the open window.

  She gripped her cell phone until her hands hurt. For her sake and her mother’s, she had to earn more money to get them away from her father. “What time tomorrow would you like me to be there?”

  Chapter Three

  Carly stood outside the Club at Pleasure Ranch and realized she’d made a huge mistake. How could she even think about going inside knowing what they’d expect from her? Was any job worth demeaning herself no matter how much it paid?

  But if she was so reticent about what the job entailed, why was she so excited? She had no intention of allowing her fantasies to come alive. Or did she?

  She’d started having misgivings a moment after she’d driven up to the ornate wrought iron gate with large script-style PR at the arched top. After punching the button and getting someone to open the gate, she’d taken her time driving toward the magnificent house and the separate building that housed the Club at Pleasure Ranch.

  That was over fifteen minutes ago. She bit at her lower lip as she leaned against her old car, aptly nicknamed Faith, short for Old Faithful. Even after two hundred thousand miles it kept on going. The older Civic had never broken down, which was a testament not only to Carly’s loving care, but to the reliability of the Honda brand.

  Several cars were parked in the lot behind the club so she knew it was open. Plus, the sign had boasted hours of noon to four in the morning so she couldn’t use that as an excuse to leave. A large water trough sat several yards from the back of the club and she wondered why they’d water horses or cattle so close to the place.

  Did she need an excuse to leave? Wasn’t having pride enough of a reason?

  Yeah. It is.

  That and a good dose of anxiety.

  She’d started to slide back behind the wheel when her attention was caught by the woman exiting the club through the rear entrance.

  “Are you Carly?”

  Damn. Caught. “Uh, yes.” Her hands slid off the door handle.

  “You’re here to interview for the waitress job, right?” The woman was beautiful with long black hair and bluer-than-blue eyes that were accented with freckles running over the bridge of her nose. She wore faded jeans and a T-shirt and went barefoot. Yet as casually dressed as she was, Carly was sure she’d looked amazing in anything she put on.

  “Hi. I’m Georgia Fox.”

  Carly had heard about the newest addition to the town. Georgia was an ex-cop from Atlanta who’d come to Pleasure Ranch after meeting Paul and Destin Casing in Atlanta. They’d been in town on a business trip and she’d pulled them over in a routine traffic stop. She’d made the town’s gossip mill go ballistic when a killer had followed her to Pleasure and had taken her hostage until the men had finally found
her and had shot the man.

  She studied Georgia and could easily see her as a policewoman. But why would a strong, assertive woman like that end up working—as well as “playing”—at the club?

  Carly lifted a hand in greeting. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Georgia waved her over. “You’re going to be late, and believe me, Paul hates it when people are late. Especially if they work for him.” She looked surprised when Carly didn’t move toward her. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Could you please tell Paul for me? And tell him thanks for the interview.”

  “But why?”

  She didn’t want to insult Georgia, so she chose her words carefully. “I don’t think this is the right place for me to work.”

  Georgia narrowed her eyes. “You work at John’s Food Market, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” That was hard to admit to herself, let alone someone else. “I do. As a cashier.”

  “Then you must like it a lot.”

  “Uh. No.” She didn’t know anyone who liked working at the market, including Little John.

  “Then it must pay really well.”

  She snorted. “Again. No.”

  “Then I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you want a better paying, fun job like this one?”

  Because I have an ounce of dignity in my bones.

  Instead, she answered the politically correct way. “Like I said, it’s just not for me.”

  “You think it’s beneath you, is that it?”

  Carly hated that Georgia was challenging her, but she still didn’t want to insult her. “Not beneath me. It’s just that I’ve heard what waitresses have to do and I don’t think I can do that.”

  A soft smile covered her beautiful face. “So you don’t think you can take drink orders and carry them from the bar to their table? Would you have a problem with that?”

  The woman was doing her best to convince her. Maybe she shouldn’t worry so much about insulting her after all. “Of course, I can do that. No problem. It’s wearing the revealing the uniform that I’ll have a problem with. It’s doing whatever a man tells me to do that I’ll have a problem with. I have more self-esteem than to do that.”