Teach Me / Getting Dirty

CHAPTER FOUR

DORIAN MAINTAINED A penthouse in a quietly moneyed neighborhood that seemed far too settled for a man with his predilections. He was so kinky Erika had imagined he would live somewhere desperately cutting edge within walking distance of his club, but instead his penthouse reflected the old money he came from and the fortune or two he’d made himself. His place sprawled across the top of a luxury building that seemed a lot like a five-star hotel, which, once Erika thought about it—once she was capable of thought, that was—made sense for a man like him.

Edgy, yes, but also pedigreed.

He had taken her out of the club with a swiftness that left her off balance. But then, everything he’d done since she’d seen him on that dais left her reeling. He’d reached down and taken her hand in that hallway, pulling her to her feet as if she weighed less than a euro cent coin. And as far as she could tell, he’d been utterly unaware of the way the touch of his hand against hers…stormed through her.

His dark eyes had swept over her, through her, seeing everything with that same uncompromising gaze. Seeing things Erika couldn’t have articulated if her life depended on it. But oh, could she feel it.

He’d pulled her around until she was in front of him, then kept her there with a hand on the nape of her neck as he guided her back to the club proper. It was louder than before, or she was more sensitive to the sounds. The crack of leather against flesh. Moans and screams blending in with the pumping, seductive music.

Erika felt drunk. Wildly intoxicated, spinning and strange, when she was actually far more sober than she usually was in a club. Maybe that was why she did…nothing. She simply let him guide her, shivering a little because he was either really good at it or she was remarkably attuned to every little press of his strong fingers. Both, probably.

She was vaguely aware of him saying something to someone when they left that little hallway, but she didn’t think anything of it. She didn’t think, really. There was a riot inside her and his hand heavy on her neck, and she was still lit up from what had happened—and what hadn’t happened—between them. He led her through the crowds, past the bar and into a different foyer from the cavernous one she’d entered before. This one was all dark stone and dim lights, and all the things she’d surrendered earlier were waiting for her.

“Put on your shoes,” Dorian ordered her in an undertone, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel the words.

It didn’t occur to her to disobey. Or even to discuss it with him.

Everything seemed dreamlike, or feverish. Or again, so deeply intoxicating that strands seemed to wrap around each other outside time. What she remembered was not how she bent and slipped her feet into her shoes, but instead that moment when she’d glanced up in the middle of it to find Dorian staring down at her. His face had been set in the same stern lines, but an odd gleam in his eyes made her wonder what tenderness looked like on a man like him.

And more, what she could do to earn it.

His hand settled on the nape of her neck again, and that was what she remembered most of all. The heat and the heaviness. The separation between his thumb and his fingers, and the way his middle finger rested on her pulse as if he was monitoring every last beat of her heart.

She had the strangest thought, as she simply allowed him to guide her out into the Berlin night, that she’d never felt quite so safe in all her life.

Though that thought didn’t make sense. Because whatever she was, it certainly wasn’t safe. Not with Dorian.

Surely she knew that now.

There was a car ride through the sprawling city outside her window, alive and kicking no matter the hour. The brash, almost punk-rock east gave way to the plump wealth of the west, the history of Berlin—torn apart and sewn back together—rolling out before her. It wasn’t until they arrived at his building, and he led her across a too-bright lobby into an elevator that required he release her to use his key, that she gathered her wits about her enough to remember that she had her own hotel room.

She realized that wasn’t accidental. He’d let go of her, ergo, she could suddenly think straight.

Erika stood across from him as the lift soared upward, knowing she needed to open her mouth. She needed to say something—anything—to break this spell.

But she didn’t.

She told herself it was natural. She was curious, that was all. She wanted to see how a man like Dorian lived. Was it whips and chains in a red room? Or a medieval dungeon in the lounge?

By that measure, the expansive apartment that appeared when the elevator doors lid soundlessly open was a disappointment. If a person wasn’t looking for iron spikes and spanking benches, it was exquisite.

Erika followed him into the great room, blinking as Dorian switched on lights. Then he moved farther into the apartment, seeming to pay her absolutely no mind as she looked around the loft-like space, with dark wood walls and concrete floors. She hugged herself as she stood there, taking in his aesthetic of clean, modern pieces mixed in with the odd, sumptuous rug that would not have been out of place in a sultan’s palace. There was astonishing, confronting art on an otherwise bare wall. Across the room, another wall was taken up with bookshelves that somehow managed to look clean and spare despite the tremendous number of books they held. So many books it seemed possible he actually read them, and wasn’t using them as a design element.

She didn’t know why it was so hard to imagine Dorian simply sitting down and reading in one of the deep, wide leather chairs or sofas that made up different sitting areas in the great room. He seemed too powerful to ever really be at rest. As if he had to be in constant motion, or standing over her the way he had in that hallway—or back in that ballroom in Athens, for that matter—or he would sputter out into darkness.

Erika didn’t realize she was staring intently at his books, looking for clues to mysteries she wasn’t sure she could name, until he walked back into the room.

And she didn’t hear him come back in. She knew he was there without having to hear his foot against the floor and without having to glance over her shoulder. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, like his hand had settled there again. She felt that now-familiar heat bloom in her all over again, coiling low in her belly and into her pussy. Only then did she look up.

Dorian stood in the opening where one room bled into the next, with massive windows all around so she could see the sparkle of Berlin out there in the dark.

“It’s late,” he said shortly. “I suggest you get some rest in one of the guest suites. They’re all located on this floor. I’ll call your brother in the morning.”

He might as well have slapped her back into awareness. Or doused her in ice-cold water.

Either way, Erika’s fingers curled into fists again and she suddenly felt much less fuzzy.

“Or, you know, you could also not call him.”

Dorian gave the impression of sighing and shaking his head without actually moving at all. Impressive for a man doing such a terrific impression of a stone wall. “That was a statement of fact, Erika. Not an invitation to negotiate.”

“All right, then.” She held his gaze, even though there was that part of her, quivering and soft inside, that wanted to lean further into all those things they’d only brushed against in the club. The part of her that wished she’d crawled before him the way he’d requested she do, exposed for all to see. She fought off a telling shiver. “You go right ahead and call Conrad. I’ll call your grandfather. He’s always had a soft spot for me.”

Dorian stared back at her. Erika felt the tension in the room surge toward an almost unbearable breaking point. But she refused to break. She refused.

Meanwhile, Dorian looked as arrogant as he did…astounded.

“You little shit,” he said in a kind of awe that she chose to interpret as affectionate. Or close enough. “Are you threatening to tattle on me?”

“I assumed that’s what we were doing here.” Erika was pleased she managed to sound, if not as calm as he did, far calmer than she felt. “If you’re going to tattle on me, why wouldn’t I return the favor?”

He tilted his head slightly to one side, his dark eyes focusing on her so intensely she thought she might bruise. But that wasn’t half as scary as the way he did nothing but…breathe. One breath, then another. She watched him visibly relax. Gaining his control, then slamming it back into place, she realized as she watched.

It was the hottest thing she thought she’d ever seen. No yelling. No insults. No other reactions—just Dorian handling himself.

She wondered what it would be like to be handled by him.

Her knees went rubbery. And far worse—or perhaps worse was not the right word here—it made her pussy clench, then ache.

“You are an inventive, insolent girl,” he said quietly enough after a moment.

It was not a compliment. And it took her a beat to understand what that note in his voice was, tangled up with the darkness in the disapproval.

She could swear that was disappointment.

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs at that, and there was something almost dizzying that tore her up, then settled in her stomach like regret.

Erika tried to ignore it. “So you keep telling me.”

“You are reckless. Immature and impetuous. And in so far over your head it’s a wonder you haven’t drowned yet.” He said those things calmly. As if he was making a grocery list, when she could see that particular intensity in his gaze that indicated otherwise. It was too controlled to be temper, but it lashed at her all the same. “You come into my club, you claim you’re there to play, but you can’t handle even the lightest conversation. That’s breathtakingly foolish.”

“I thought that was what exhibition nights are for.”

“What if it hadn’t been me?” he demanded. “What if it had been some other dominant who hasn’t known you all your life?”

“Then I imagine I’d be coming my brains out right now,” Erika shot back. “Instead of being lectured to death by my older brother’s irritating friend. You don’t know me at all, Dorian. You know Conrad. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m not the little girl he thinks I am.”

“Then I invite you to stop acting like one.”

His voice was rougher then. Much darker in a way that made her breasts feel full again, with that sharp pinch in each that meant her nipples were already hard.

Why did everything Dorian do get to her like this? When he clearly thought so little of her?

“I don’t know what makes you think you get to tell me what to do.” Erika eyed him, then dug into her story, because she had no intention whatsoever of telling him the truth. Not now. “Everyone knows that Walfreiheit is the best BDSM club in Berlin. Maybe in the world. How was I supposed to know that Conrad’s school friend would be there the night I got in, flinging a whip around, and then up for a spot of bullying?”

“Oh, little girl,” Dorian said with a dark amusement that licked over her, then knotted up inside her. “I haven’t begun to bully you.”

“You’re the one who keeps threatening me with my brother. Do you run back to him and tell him every last thing that you do? Or do you only feel you need to report on me? I’m all grown-up, Dorian, and Conrad lost his right to comment on what I do with my life when he kicked me out of my own family.”

This time he really did roll his eyes. “Your mother seems to have cushioned that blow nicely.”

“And look at that. One more thing that’s entirely my business and not yours. At all.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Dorian told her. In that calm way that made her want to scream, though she didn’t. “Do you? Standing in my home and hurling accusations at me at three in the morning is not a particularly smart way to convince me of your maturity, Erika.”

“I don’t have to convince you of anything, Dorian. You’re not my friend. You’re not my brother. And when I tried to do the BDSM thing like anyone else might have in that club—”

“You safe worded out.”

But his voice changed. It took on that ruthlessly uncompromising quality she remembered from the club. And more, it had an instant effect on her. Her breathing changed. Her chest felt tight.

Suddenly she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his.

“I was momentarily overwhelmed.” She said it distinctly. Almost loftily, trying to convince herself as well as him. “I didn’t realize that using a safe word meant being dragged out of the club into the street. You should have made that clear.”

“Careful,” he advised her. “Or you might get what you’re asking for. And then what?”

“Then let me be more explicit,” Erika threw at him. She stood straighter, ignoring that pulling sensation in her breasts, her pussy. Her whole body. “I went to that club for a BDSM experience. Not an older-brother’s-best-friend-acting-like-a-dick experience, because I’ve already had that, thanks. So if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to leave, go back and tell them I was spirited away against my will.”

“Really.” There was even more of that amusement then, so dark and dangerous she could feel the edge against her skin like a blade. “And what will you do when you’re there?”

“Whatever I feel like doing.” She smirked at him and knew the moment she did it that it was a mistake. But she committed to it anyway, because she was nothing if not brazen when it was only going to get her in trouble. “You don’t get to decide how I behave, Dorian. You don’t get to decide a damn thing I do.”

“Erika.”

His voice was a crack, like that whip of his. Erika felt her breath go out of her in a rush. All he’d said was her name, but it hit her like a command. Like his hand wrapped against the nape of her neck, guiding her where he wanted her to go.

All she could do was stare back at him, mutely, entirely too aware of her pulse going wild and her breath sawing in and out of her lungs.

“You don’t need to go back to the club to have a BDSM experience,” he told her. “Lucky for you, I’m a BDSM experience all by myself.”

“Lucky me,” she said. Faintly. Because the floor appeared to be tilted beneath her feet and she knew that couldn’t be real. It only felt real. “But maybe I want…a different experience. Far away from you and your threats to involve Conrad.”

His mouth moved into a curve that was in no way a smile.

“Tonight you have two options. Me, or sleep.”

She hoped he couldn’t see the way she quivered deep inside, and stood straighter to hide it. “This is Berlin. There are clubs everywhere. I can—”

“Erika, hear me on this if nothing else. You will not get into any BDSM club in this city. Tonight or ever again. It will take one call.”

Her breath went a little ragged, but she believed him. She’d heard entirely too much about his reputation over the past two years to think he couldn’t do exactly what he said he would.

“Me,” he said again. He angled his head toward the hallway that stretched off behind her. “Or sleep. Choose now.”

She was choosing sleep, obviously. She would meekly shuffle off to a bedroom like the biddable girl she’d never been, count to a hundred or something, then leave. Or maybe she would just leave now, without the charade. Because there was no way she was taking the other option. No way in hell. That little scene in the club had been more than enough—it had been too much, thank you.

But…something deep inside her whispered. But what if…?

After all, she’d spent so long getting here. And she might find this—him—more overwhelming than she’d expected, but there was no denying the fact it turned her on. Just as he did. And he was supposed to be the best. Maybe here in the privacy of his home, he wouldn’t scare her the way he had in that hallway. Even if he did, there wouldn’t be a crowd of witnesses.

And she still couldn’t think of a better way to stick it to her obnoxious older brother.

Blah, blah, blah, that voice inside her commented. What matters is that you’re wet. And very, very hungry.

Maybe that was the real point of all of this. The things that had happened tonight had left her balanced precariously on the edge of a very high cliff, and despite everything, Erika…wanted to jump.

She met his gaze again and wasn’t at all surprised to find him watching her in that intent, edgily patient way of his.

He didn’t pressure her. He didn’t have to. He was a wall. All she had to do was walk toward that wall or away from it.

“Have you decided?” he asked, as if he’d offered her a glass of water.

She nodded. Jerkily.

“Use your words, please.”

Erika swallowed, but her throat stayed dry. Half of her screamed at her not to do this—to get the hell away from him—but the other half was far too curious. And much too focused on that need between her legs.

That and the dangerous gleam in his gaze that she could feel inside her.

“You,” she said. “I choose you.”

And this time, the smile that spread over his stern mouth washed over her like heat. Or maybe she was already regretting her choice—

“Excellent,” Dorian said, and she thought he sounded pleased. It amazed her how much she wanted to please him. He didn’t move farther into the room, and she could have sworn he loomed over her all the same. “Let’s start by addressing your disrespectful attitude, shall we? On your knees. Eyes on the floor.”

“But—”

“You will speak only when spoken to,” he said, his voice that calm force that made her feel giddy and terrified at once. “You will answer any question I ask, and, Erika, let me be very clear. I expect and require total honesty. On your knees. Now.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t sound particularly sharp or angry. If anything, he sounded even calmer than before.

And still, that power he wielded hit her like a blow. That was the only way she could describe the massive force that seemed to push her forward, almost against her will. She didn’t think it through and worry over it from every angle. She sank down on her knees and found her hands on her thighs again. And it was easier than she’d imagined to cast her eyes down toward the ground.