The Club: Ace Read online

  “How long did it take you to figure all this out, Jason? How long were you fucking Kate while you were psychoanalyzing yourself? Or do you want to plead the Fifth?”

  He frowns, realizes he’s between a rock and a hard place, and I have my answer. However long he was involved with Kate, he obviously didn’t end it when I threw him out.

  “You know what? It doesn’t matter anyway,” I say. I won’t believe anything he tells me, and I don’t have the energy for him. I had fun tonight. A fifty on a scale of one to ten. And he’s dragging me back to reality like he threw me overboard with an anchor around my neck. “Jason, you should go.”

  He jumps up so fast, the chair tips over and lands on its side with a clatter.

  “Emme, say something, or do something. Scream at me. Hit me if you want,” he pleads. “Whatever it takes to make you feel better. I deserve it.”

  Of course he deserves it. But I can only stare incredulously. This isn’t about me feeling better. He feels guilty, so he wants me to abuse him so he can feel better. What an ass. I have to bite my lip to keep my mouth shut. He won’t ease his conscience at my expense.

  He steps forward and wraps his arms around me. “Don’t be like this. She was a mistake. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

  For a second, I’m sucked in to his familiar warmth, to his scent, to the comfort he offers. And I have regrets, too. Yes, we were whirlwind. Yes, we went from zero to sixty, but we shared so much. I remember how he loved to talk. About his family. His work. His car. His clothes. His plans for our future. But when he was having doubts, he didn’t share them with me. He went to Kate. I thought I knew him so well. I thought I was his everything.

  “Don’t,” I say, trying to pull away.

  He only holds me tighter, and rests his cheek on the top of my head. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you here.”

  “But I love you.” His voice is shaky. “You love me, too.”

  “That was then, this is now.” I’m practically vibrating inside, but harden myself. I’m not taking him back just because he’s saying everything I want to hear.

  “We can get past this.”

  “How? How can I trust you, Jason? Every time you walk out the door, I’ll wonder if another Kate is pursuing you. What you’ll do if you have a few beers at some work function. I can’t be with you twenty-four seven. I can’t monitor your emails and texts. I wouldn’t even if I could. That’s not the kind of life I want. I don’t know how to get past something like this.”

  He exhales heavily. “You aren’t making this easy.”

  “Why should I?”

  He lifts his head up and stares into my eyes. “Haven’t you ever made a mistake? Can’t you forgive me?”

  I’m starting to cave. I’m starting to hear my mother’s voice in my head explaining that when you love someone, sometimes you have to put aside your feelings and let it be about the person you love. You have to support them when they need to be supported, and sometimes it’s not easy.

  I know she was talking about my dad, and us kids, too, but I think what she said would apply to this situation.

  But I don’t want to feel like there’s something I need to do. He hasn’t proven himself worthy of that sort of devotion. He hurt me.

  “I don’t know. It’s late, and I’m tired.” I finally summon the energy to pull away. And he lets me go.

  I march straight to the door and open it. “I listened. Now you need to leave.”

  He considers me for a long moment, the debate all over his face. Should he try to muscle me some more, or retreat from this battle so he can reposition himself to win the war?

  His expression softens, and he nods. Then he covers the distance between us and takes my hand, gives it a final squeeze.

  “Think about us, Emme. I’ll be back. I’m going to prove myself because I want you. If you don’t believe anything else I said tonight, believe that, okay?”

  He stares at me as if he never meant anything more, as if his life depends on me believing what he says. Then he presses a kiss to the top of my head and leaves without another word. He just vanishes into the dark of my hallway, and I hear his footsteps fade into the late-night quiet.

  I kick the door shut behind him. No, it’s not okay. My body aches from happy-place sex and my heart aches from shattered dreams. And I’ve got stargazer lilies wilting on my table. No, it’s not okay because I’m not okay.

  9

  Emme

  I AM NOT IN the mood for chaos today. I know it the minute I step foot inside my parents’ house and hear all the noise. Talking. Laughter. Squealing kids. A ton of people are here as usual, because Sunday dinners are mandatory.

  Mom starts cooking as soon as she and Dad get home from church. Anyone and everyone drops by. My dad always says family dinners are an ethnic thing, but I think my parents just like chaos. It unnerves them when the house gets too quiet.

  Hellos. Kisses. Hugs. More hellos. Finally, I find myself at the stove with my mom.

  “I opened at work this morning,” I explain, planting the seeds to eat and run.

  I am not feeling the chaos today. I still haven’t recovered from Friday night . . . technically Saturday morning. I didn’t hear from Jason yesterday, which is good. Nor have I been able to stop thinking about Ace, which is also good. Distractions work for me right now. Some more sleep would, too.

  But I won’t get any peace at my place, because if I don’t at least make an appearance here, my phone will start blowing up with calls and texts. I’m all about the path of least resistance today.

  “Are you hungry, honey?” she asks.

  “Starving.”

  That makes her happy, I can tell. But then she tips her face up and starts taking a closer look.

  “Are you feeling okay? You look tired.”

  “I’m working two jobs, Mom. I am tired.”

  Not the whole truth, but close. Her gaze lingers a little longer, narrows as if she doesn’t believe me.

  Okay, I’d rather be home, curled up on my couch, dozing and reading for fun, a novelty after completing my MBA in accounting. But I keep that to myself. Judging by the platters and casserole dishes cluttering every free surface of the counter, she’s been cooking her butt off. I spot pot roast, which is my absolute favorite, so a little gratitude is in order here.

  “I’ve been on a dead run all week.” Also true.

  “The internship going okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, great. Couldn’t be better. I won’t be surprised if they offer me a place to work out my year.”

  First, I have to pass the board, then I can become a candidate for licensing with the State of Florida, which means working full-time in a firm in an apprenticeship of sorts.

  A candidate at work. A candidate at the club. Seems like my whole life is about proving myself right now.

  I help myself to wine in a decanter on the counter. I need something to take the edge off if I’m going to make it through this meal.

  “You like your co-workers?” Mom’s apparently determined to get me talking.

  I sip. I nod. “Everyone’s been really great. Of course, I’m just grunt labor at the moment.”

  “But not for long. As soon—”

  “No, please.” I shake my head to put the brakes on this conversation. “I can’t go there right now.”

  I’m trying not to think about if I passed the Certified Public Accounting exam, all four sections of the boards.

  “But—”

  “Remember, I told you, you’ll be the first to know when I know.”

  Now she scowls.

  “They haven’t released the results yet, Mom. You think I haven’t been checking my email?”

  “They won’t send a snail mail?”

  “They will, but email’s usually quicker. If the hard copy results come first, you’ll know before I do.”

  I never changed my address. The dorm became an apartment with roommates, then
finally my own place . . . It’s just been easier to keep everything important coming here. And it’s not as if I’m not visiting all the time anyway. I don’t have a washer and dryer, and I loathe the laundromat.

  I’m usually so good about compartmentalizing my life. But after the whole nightmare with Jason, even two jobs couldn’t distract me from fixating on my love life, my career, my suddenly-unforeseeable future. Hence my visits to Command Performance.

  Ace was such a pleasant distraction from Jason. And from the fact that if I bombed the exam I may have to take it, or portions of it, again.

  I seriously can’t dwell on that. Not after working my butt off for so many years, nose buried in books to keep my scholarships and get a career that’ll allow me to comfortably support myself.

  I deserve some downtime now. I’ve earned it. I deserve to have fun. Period.

  “Let me fix you a plate,” my mom says, and knowingly heads for the pot roast.

  “I hear there’s been a Bigfoot sighting,” my big brother Kevin shouts in a voice that stops every conversation in the kitchen. “I sure as hell won’t believe it until I see—”

  “Children present, thank you,” my mom says, prompting him to watch his mouth.

  Kevin doesn’t seem to hear. He’s too busy staring at me. With a dramatic gasp, he slaps his hands over his mouth in the most ridiculous display of surprise ever.

  “Holy sh—moly.” He course-corrects in mid-curse. “Bigfoot exists. The rumors are true.”

  “Loser,” I say. “I was just here on Wednesday. I can’t help it you’re never he—”

  The breath is crushed from my lungs as he catches me in a hug. I fight to keep my wine glass steady.

  “Bigfoot,” he chants, lifting me off my feet.

  Even my mother smiles. Kevin is a sizeable guy, not quite Ace-sized, but still the biggest of my brothers. I have four. There are also three girls in the family. The perfect balance of estrogen to testosterone, according to my dad, who expects his boys to protect the virtue of his girls. Remembering level two at the club, maybe not so much . . .

  Kevin sets me back on my feet. “Have you heard yet?”

  “No, sir,” my mother says sharply. “We’re not asking. She’ll tell us when she hears.”

  “Oh, trying not to think about it?” he asks.

  “Not very successfully.”

  He only gives a disgusted snort as if I’m the one being ridiculous, then grabs a roll from a nearby breadbasket. He pops it whole in his mouth and spares me from any more of his sage comments while he chews.

  My mother rescues me with a plate of pot roast, surrounded by steamy potatoes, carrots, and onions, drowned in thick gravy. I’m drooling before she even says, “Here you go, honey. Go sit and eat before it gets cold.”

  I thank her and beeline for the small table in the breakfast nook, which will minimize the traffic and thus the need to interact with family.

  I’m not even three potatoes in when my sister Jessica shows up and tosses an envelope onto the table in front of me. I recognize it instantly as the RSVP card to her wedding. I would know since I helped her address one hundred and thirty-five of the suckers. Maid of honor’s job and all that . . .

  “Who’s that from?” I ask. Must be something significant.

  She stares down at me and doesn’t blink. “RSVP for two from Jason. You didn’t tell me you were still bringing him.”

  My turn to blink. “What?”

  “Jason.” She stretches out the name in case I didn’t catch it the first time. “RSVP for two. I assume he’s coming with you, because I certainly didn’t send him this invite.”

  The instant I see the neat handwriting, I know what’s happened. Jason found my keepsake invitation. I must have left it in his car after he picked me up from Jessica’s. I never even realized I’d left it. No real wonder given the way our relationship blew up shortly thereafter.

  “Jason’s back in the picture?” Kevin asks, making a beeline straight for us. He is not smiling anymore.

  That’s a negative about big families; I’m not going to lie. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, is off limits.

  “No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “Well, no. He’s not. But he says he wants to be.”

  Suddenly, I’d rather be discussing my board results.

  Jessica plunks herself down into the chair next to me and demands, “You saw him and didn’t say anything? When?”

  “The other night.” I give a lame shrug. “No biggie.”

  “Oh, honey,” my mom says, as if she just figured out the real reason I look like shit. “Are you okay?”

  Oh, great. We’re back to square one again with this conversation.

  “I’m fine,” I grind out, dropping the fork onto the plate. Appetite gone.

  “You’re not taking that loser back, are you?” Kevin demands. “I’ll be weighing in if you are.”

  “What did he say?” Jessica wants to know. “Does he think he’s still welcome to my wedding after . . .” She can’t even say it aloud and lets her voice trail off.

  If I had a gun right now, I’d shoot myself. “All I know is that he felt the need to explain himself and apologize.”

  Kevin explodes. “About fucking time.”

  “Your mouth, Kevin!” My mom is louder than he is.

  And when the sound of her voice fades, it’s so quiet I can hear my breath. Everyone in the kitchen and dining room is staring at me, then my dad strolls in.

  There’s not too much that’ll get him out of his well-worn recliner in front of his big television when he’s not working. But he can sense family drama from a mile away, even when the sound of it isn’t blasting through the house. And he wouldn’t dream of being anywhere except in the thick of things.

  “Hi, honeybunch.” He plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Good to see you. You hear anything yet from—”

  “No!”

  That deafening chorus stops him dead in his tracks. He slices a confused glance around the kitchen, then looks to me for an explanation.

  “They’re not bringing up my exam board results because I don’t want to think about them.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Doing a bang-up job, I see.”

  “Stellar,” I agree.

  He pats my shoulder, consoling, commiserating, and definitely unwilling to be deterred because he asks, “So, you haven’t heard yet?”

  “Louis, don’t,” my mother says, clearly annoyed.

  But my dad just winks at me, and heads over to the hutch that houses great-grandma LeBlanc’s china. He reaches on top and removes an envelope. This isn’t a decorative wedding RSVP, but a long, official-looking envelope that he holds up for everyone to see. The return address has bold letters that spell NASBA.

  National Association of State Boards of Accountancy.

  He waves the envelope and says in a singsong voice, “Look what I found in the mailbox yesterday.”

  10

  Ace

  I TAKE ONE LOOK at Emme, eyes bright and those freckles that make her seem as if she’s always about to laugh, and my dick gives a hard throb of appreciation.

  “You’re right on time,” I say. “Very good.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to our session all week,” she admits without any hesitation.

  Emme isn’t the only one. I couldn’t shake the memory of last week either. She’s so promising, that I gave a lot of thought to what tonight’s test should involve. I wanted something that utilizes her fresh-faced enthusiasm and pushes her to another level of passion.

  Thinking about tonight makes me even harder.

  I leave her standing there and head to the bar, where I pour a whiskey. I don’t turn back around until I’ve downed some.

  She’s standing there watching me, looking as if she’s ready to get started. Everything about her stokes me, from the lean lines of her body to the clothes she wears. She dresses with an effortless look that hints at all her curves withou
t being showy—even with the come-fuck-me heels.

  The flowy miniskirt directs my gaze to her long, bare legs. I suddenly see myself bending her over my desk, flipping up that flirty skirt and fucking her from behind.

  Another gulp of whiskey. “As soon as Audrey arrives, I’ll tell you my plan for the evening.”

  I watch the minute hand of the clock sweep to eight. If Audrey is one second late, I’ll dismiss her. I’m not in the mood for any shit tonight, especially from a babe who is clearly not cut out to be a sub. Which means she isn’t fit to be a domme. That role comes with a lot of responsibility, and if she can’t grasp what it’s like to give over control, then she’s not to be trusted in control. Period.

  I’m just itching for a reason to turn her over to Jax, anyway, so I can focus my full attention on little Ms. Emme of the definite potential.

  Before the second hand sweeps to eight oh one, a knock sounds on my office door. Damn it.

  “Come on in,” I say.

  Audrey appears, and I can tell by the closed expression on her face that we’re in for another ride tonight.

  “Good evening,” she says.

  I don’t bother to reply. Unlike Emme, who is so obviously eager, this trainee still needs a sales job on the necessity of submission. Obedience is more my speed. I decide right there to turn her over to Jax if she can’t hack tonight’s test. He claims there’s something in her that, while it makes her a huge pain in the ass, will also make her an exceptional domme. I’m not seeing past the pain in the ass part.

  “Strip,” I say.

  Both girls jump to obey. I lean back against the bar to watch the show. Emme starts flinging clothes, toeing off her heels then dropping her skirt. She slides the thong down her legs before bending over to grab the pile and nearly bumping her bare ass into Audrey.

  I drink to mask my smile and enjoy the sight of her bare bottom as she peels away the scarf and strips off her shirt. Her tits sway when she turns to stare at me, her nipples already tight peaks. I see goose bumps feather along her skin, and know she’s totally getting off on obeying my command. She stands at attention, awaiting my pleasure, and my balls are already so tight I want to lose clothes, too.