The Club: Jax

By Jenna Elliot

Her name was Audrey. Tough as nails, gorgeous, but she didn't get to the highest level in my South Beach sex club by being eager to please. She's also a troublemaker, a hot-as-hell, world-class domme-in-the-making. She could be one of Command Performance's stars.

But not until she truly submits to me, first. Right now, she still wants to make me angry, make me care, but I shut down that painful part of me a long time ago.

She won't give up, and I won't give in. I own her beautiful body, but I need a way to slip inside her head, find out what made her so defensive. Unlock her secrets. I need to rock her world, right down to her caged spirit, and set her free.

I need to do whatever it takes to turn her into that world-class domme. She's an asset to the club. That's the lie I tell myself.

Jenna Elliot has been writing since she was a baby gator at the University of Florida. What started as sweet romances soon turned into steamy new adult novels. When she's not writing--or researching --Jenna enjoys spending time with her adopted Basset Hound and cat, Sherlock and Watson, cooking new recipes from Pinterest, and binge watching Netflix. Her life goals include being a contestant on a game show, writing a book (check!), and conquering her resting bitch face.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Mar 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781611946031

Book preview

Other ImaJinn Books

by Jenna Elliot

The Club Series

The Club: Ethan

The Club: Ace

The Club: Jax

The Club: Jax

by

Jenna Elliot

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

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Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-603-1

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-588-1

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2015 by Jenna Elliot

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

man (manipulated) © Captblack76 | Dreamstime.com

background (manipulated) © Derek Audette | Dreamstime.com

:Ecjm:01:

Dedication

To Mags, my partner in crime since Ms. Shelby’s reading circle in 2nd grade. For investing in my new-found obsession with Taylor Swift. For teaching me how to correctly make slutty brownies. You are my person.

Author Note

Hotness Warning

This book is not intended for readers under the age of 18 due to its steamy hot sex scenes, its blazing hot alpha males, and its otherwise sexy content. This series is written in three parts, one for each level of Command Performance, the club. If you haven’t read about Ace and Emme or Ethan and Mia, go get them now! And keep up with any of my new releases by finding me on twitter @itsjennaelliot or visiting my website jennaelliot.com XOXO

1

Jax

ALL YOU HAVE to do is sit on my desk and act like you want me to fuck you. Is that so damn difficult? I glance up from the papers and realize I have to work to keep my tone low, calm, authoritative.

Audrey, the exquisite woman currently posed naked on my desk, doesn’t flinch. She stares boldly at me from beneath her spiky, short blue-black hair. May I speak freely, sir?

Usually I’d say no. But Audrey has recently become my problem, and I have no clue what’s up with her. I don’t want to know. But I’m not someone who likes to fail. And right now I’m failing with this woman in a big way.

Allowing Ace, one of my partners, to dump her sweet ass on me was my first mistake. My second was thinking I could use the same tactics I use to train every other wannabe domme.

Trouble is, Audrey isn’t a wannabe. I’ve seen her on Command Performance’s South Beach stage in action, wearing skintight leather, heels, and a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude that demands obedience.

Even when she’s instructed to obey two doms, she ends up turning the tables and dominating them. Control comes as naturally as breathing to Audrey. She’s clever, sexy as hell, and accustomed to bending others to her will.

But she’s never come up against anyone like me. This is far from my first rodeo. I’ve been training doms and dommes, male and female alike, for a very long time. She’s strong like glass, but tap her from the wrong direction, and she’ll shatter, snap into a thousand sharp shards. Then she’ll submit.

But she’s making this way harder than it has to be. I place the papers in my desk drawer, fold my arms across my chest. Spit it out, Audrey.

I’m tired of this shit. I’m not a fucking actress, she snaps back. This is so not working for me. I’m trying to complete the exercise, but I’m failing. Unfortunately not for the first time, either.

At least she’s up-front about the problem. You aren’t worth a damn as a sub.

No shit. That’s because I’m a domme.

But not yet world class. If I’m the right mentor for her, I need to make her understand what’s lacking. I draw in a breath and release it slowly. You volunteered for this program.

I’ll get through. Somehow.

You’re not supposed to ‘get through’ the exercise. You’re supposed to want to please me.

Don’t you think I know that?

You’re supposed to enjoy it.

She screws up her face, a lovely face with delicate features, bright eyes and a pouty mouth just made to wrap around dick. Because it’s so fascinating watching you turn a page over every five minutes? Because just looking at you ignore me is making me hot? Sure, I’m having the fucking time of my life.

You’re supposed to enjoy pleasing me. Oldest trick in the book, and I will not let her piss me off. Not show it anyway. And I want you to sit there.

I’m fucking sitting. My pussy is displayed for your viewing pleasure, just like you ordered.

True. She’s naked, sitting on my desk with her thighs spread, her back arched to tip up her small and smoking-hot breasts. She’s lean, fit, and tanned with an ornately-designed tattoo that wraps around her curves from breast to hip.

But Audrey isn’t perfect. You’re not wet. Your nipples aren’t erect.

I already told you, I’m not turned on. She blasts that at me as if I’m to blame.

I know better. But she’s not the first difficult trainee I’ve come across during my tenure. Failing is your own fault.

Excuse me? she sputters, and her chest rises and falls majestically on a sharp breath. This is a time suck. You expect me to enjoy playing a goddamn statue?

Twenty minutes ago she reported to my office, the Eagle’s Nest, as club members call it, those who even know about it, anyway. I told her to strip and sit on my desk. The stripping part comes easy for her. Sitting there, not so much.

While modesty is not her issue, energy is. She’s taut, tense, like oil on a hot frying pan.

I might as well expect a live wire to hold still.

So I have to think outside the box, something at which I excel—that and fucking. I’m terrific at both; just don’t ask me to feel anything. I shut down that painful part of me so tight it hasn’t been an issue in a very, very long time.

A solution works itself from my brain to my vocal cords. Instead of getting all riled up at my wasting your time, try using your imagination.

What the fuck does that mean? She swears automatically, but I see curiosity, too.

I touch her knee. Her skin is warm, firm, and I want to slide my hand up to her pussy. I don’t. She wouldn’t welcome my touch. And I never go where I’m not welcome. When I put my hand on your knee, what’s your first thought?

To shrug it off. Maybe slap it away.

Damn. That’s honest. She’s even more screwed up than I suspected. As fucked up as me? That would be tough. I’m honest, too. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

For the first time, I think maybe Ace has given me an interesting project. Suddenly, I’m curious to see what I can get this mouthy woman to do.

Audrey, think about what will happen if I move my hand down your calf. Will your skin please me?

I don’t want to please you. That’s the whole fucking problem. She looks so troubled that I have the urge to seal my lips to hers. Her next words are defiant, but she whispers in a silky soft tone, I want you to kneel at my feet. I want you to wait for my touch.

There’s something in her voice . . . a plaintive hint that makes me think she’s uncomfortable with what she is. How she craves control.

Which is magnificent.

But somewhere deep inside this exquisitely-feminine and authoritative woman might be another even stronger feminine side—one that can enjoy not just wielding control but yielding.

Audrey’s defensive, hard edges intrigue me. I don’t know why, but I want to know what’s causing them. Suddenly, I’m on fire with the challenge of unlocking the layers and finding out what really makes her tick.

I sigh to show her we are in this together. I get where she’s coming from.

Audrey, I know you’re only submitting to this training to be certified as a level three domme.

True.

But if you’re determined to fight me every step of the way, this won’t work.

I’m not fighting you. She lets her eyes flutter shut for the briefest instant, then fixes me with eyes a troubled green. I’m fighting myself.

Good, she’s self-reflective. Now I drive home my point. There’s the door. Feel free to leave.

I’m not a quitter. She shakes her head.

We put our rules at Command Performance in place for good reasons. We know what makes the best dommes. You have world-class potential. You know that, don’t you?

She nods.

But to be one of the best, you have to feel the needs of a sub, the desires of a sub. Only then can you be a true master.

And if I can’t?

Then we both fail. That’s the reality. But I’m not letting that happen because I don’t fail. I don’t admit that I understand her problem. We’re kindred souls. Feeling is hard for me, too. But the difference between us is that I get what others feel; it’s my own feelings I shut down.

Unless I miss my guess, Audrey is the opposite. She feels so much that she can’t get out of her own head long enough to think about what I want. It’s a perspective thing. A self-defense thing. And I am fascinated in a way I can’t remember being in a very long time.

I snap shut the report I’ve been reading. And look straight into her eyes, wishing I could read her soul.

If I could see all the way in, she’d feel naked, more naked than the simple baring of skin. Yet, she holds my gaze, and there’s feminine power behind her look, a searing dominant spirit that matches my own, that challenges me.

I reconsider. Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong.

That’s what I’ve been saying—

Quiet. I need to think. Her spirit rocks me. The last thing I want to do is break it. But I need a way to slip inside her tough shell. I need to rock her world, right down to her caged spirit, and set her free.

Close your eyes, please. She immediately complies. My hand is still on her knee. I’m going to move my thumb back and forth over your flesh. Only my thumb. I make my tone deep, hypnotizing, non-threatening.

I move my thumb slowly, sensually over her skin, just above her knee, and watch her carefully, searching for the tiniest reaction. Nothing. Her expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t so much as flinch. She appears untouched, still, holding her breath. And that gives me another insane idea.

I want you to breathe when I move my thumb, but only when I move it.

At first, my rhythm is awkward. I don’t want to exactly match her normal breathing pattern. Nor do I want the tempo to be uncomfortable. What I want is her focused on my thumb, attuned to it in a way that’s essential, but non-threatening.

I give this a minute, maybe two. And ever so slowly, she begins to follow my lead.

I’m careful not to break the rhythm as I speak melodically. I’m going to slide my hand up and down your calf. Keep breathing with my movements.

She follows my instructions. I test her by making her wait a few extra seconds for breath, then giving her three quick strokes in succession which makes her pant.

Good job. You’re doing beautifully. I caress her calf, her ankle. And her breathing keeps the rhythm, even though I didn’t warn her of a pause this time. But when I put my other hand on her other leg, she loses the pattern.

Focus. I stand between her open thighs, smooth both my hands up and down her calves. And listen to her breathe. The hushed sound filters through the quiet between us. Makes me follow the sound, too.

I sense the moment she catches the rhythm and slide my hands to her ankles, her feet. I keep my movements mostly steady, changing the pattern only to make sure she stays focused on following my lead.

It’s so intimate, this connection of my touch to her breathing. She feels it, too. I can tell by the flare of her nostrils, the tension in the cords of her slender neck.

Audrey, I’m going to stop touching you, and when I do, you hold your breath until I touch you again.

I let go of her feet. And I wait. I want her to think about when I’ll touch her again. And where.

I wait ten seconds, and then I place my fingers on her high cheekbones and thread my hands through her spiky hair. She breathes and jerks a bit.

Excellent, I say, pleased that she reacts to my touch.

I massage her scalp slowly, and she takes long, deep breaths. I rub her earlobes in quick strokes, and she pants. And I notice she’s leaning back, putting more weight on her arms, arching her back and lifting her breasts, as if asking for attention.

I ignore the signal that’s likely unconscious. I don’t want just her body craving my touch; I want her to not only feel it, but fucking know it. Awareness is key here. I have to get past conscious awareness to create a new level of understanding.

She’s not there yet, so I slip my hands over her shoulders and ignore her tempting breasts. Ignore her open thighs that beckon like a lighthouse calling a sailor to home port. I slide my hands up and down her back all the way to her tight ass—which I don’t touch either.

Her nipples start to pebble. Yes. A small victory.

As the defiant tension in her eases to be replaced by an awakening sexual tension, I know I’m on the verge of a breakthrough.

But Audrey isn’t the only one awakening here. My dick is so hard I’m gritting my teeth. This tension between touch and breath makes my dick go pissed-off rigid because it doesn’t like to be ignored. But I am a master of pain. I ignore my hellish need and once more take my hands from her soft skin.

I tread silently, wedge myself between her thighs. She holds her breath, waiting on me. Very good.

I’m going to place my hands on your breasts, I say, but I don’t touch her. I let the tension grow. Make her wait. For me.

And when I finally slip my fingers over her skin, she sucks in a big breath that pushes her breasts more firmly into my hands. My palms tingle, a current that shoots straight to my dick.

I still my hands. Audrey holds her breath. And now there is little contact. I move my thumbs, and again she breathes, her breasts filling my hands.

Her nipples are now rock hard. I’d be smiling in fucking triumph except my balls are on fire, so tight, so hard.

Dammit, she’s killing me. And I’ve barely begun.

2

Audrey

EVERY TIME JAX moves his fingers, I breathe in, my lungs inflate, and my breasts fill his cupped hands. Having him touch me as I breathe is so sensual. Erotic. Fantastic.

Unexpected.

He heats me up with a form of foreplay I’ve never experienced. As I breathe in and my breasts plaster to his hands, I feel a warm connection. And when I breathe out and lose contact with his palms, I feel the loss straight to my clenching pussy.

Breathing to the rhythm of his touch is so intimate. And it feels so good I want to pull away. I’m not comfortable with someone else calling the shots with my body. I set my own pace. But I’m also intrigued, I’m not going to lie. I can’t let my mind wander but for more than a second or so. I have to focus, or I can’t follow his touch.

And my body is opening to him, like the petals of a flower to the sunshine after a spring storm.

Sitting still is no longer boring. And that’s a minor miracle for me.

Oh my God. Every part of me is focused on my nipples and breasts. Jax has me waiting for my next breath, a breath I long to take so I can once again press into the warmth of his hands.

Nice work. You are doing so well, he croons, and the sexy sound makes me want to press harder into his hands. But he’s keeping my breathing steady, and I’m ready to squirm.

I ache to command him to go faster. To give me more.

Contradictorily, I thrill to the way he’s teasing me. I don’t mind waiting. I anticipate his next touch, my next breath.

Oh my God.

I’m fucking enjoying this.

And I miss a breath. He chuckles and pinches my nipples. Just hard enough to sting. Pay attention.

And exactly how am I supposed to do that when he’s coaxing reactions from my body?

A flash of panic rushes me, sudden, icy. My impulse is to break away, punish him for making me uncomfortable.

For him being in control of what I’m feeling.

But for that shimmer of pleasure deep inside, I’d be up and out of here.

Concentrate, Jax says.

He waits. I hold my breath. Hold it some more. And just when I think I’ll have to suck in a breath without permission, he tweaks my nipples three times fast.

I pant, pant, pant.

Then the son of a bitch goes right back to his slow, steady rhythm. I’m past the panic again. And horny as hell. I want his fingers on my clit. His dick inside me.

But I only get the teasing heat of his palms as my lungs fill and my breasts graze his palms.

He’s taking me to a place I’ve never been . . . waiting for a man to give me pleasure. Who knew? I’ve failed at this training before. Every cell fights me to sit up and demand what I want, to take what I want.

The shifting balance of power unnerves me. I can’t lie. This feels so wrong. I always take what I want. I satisfy my needs. My partners . . . I use them. I’m not really ashamed to admit that because I use them well. Mutual satisfaction. Me in control and my partner being controlled.

I’m screwed up, I know.

I miss another cue. I expect him to tweak my nipples. Instead, he lowers a hand between my spread thighs purposefully. His fingers glide through all my sensitive places in the moisture of my arousal. He flicks a finger against my clit, and the suddenness practically lifts me off the desk. I gasp in a breath.

Yes. Hell, yes.

He flicks several more times. I breathe in and out rapidly. Yes, yes, yes.

He stops, and I hold my breath again. I am aching, needy.

Open your eyes, Audrey. Breathe normally.

But there’s nothing normal about any part of me as I stare into Jax’s silver eyes. His tiny smile makes me uneasy. He’s savoring this small triumph. He knows he got to me, knows that he shifted the power between us. That’s a triumph, too. I’m not transparent with my reactions, my emotions . . .

This club with its unique focus on providing sexual satisfaction to members gives me so much more than I ever bargained for when I first walked through the door.

What do you want right now, Audrey?

To cum, I answer quickly.

Wrong answer.

Dammit. How am I supposed to think clearly when he has me ready to jump him? He’s hard and ready. He wants me. And yet, he’s waiting for something from me.

Think, Audrey, that little voice inside me warns. Jax’s a dom. He wants me to give the right response.

And I know the answer. Of course, I know the answer. I’ve demanded it from my own subs. I’m supposed to say I want to please him.

Tell me how you feel. He narrows his gaze and gives me a second chance.

I know what I’m supposed to say, I admit. Or do you want me to be honest?

His stare drills through me like an intrusion, seeking everything I’m not saying. Always.

I feel horny.

Good horny?

Yes, I admit, not sure where he’s leading this conversation. It’s hard to think—

Good. His chiseled features split into the most arrogant grin, the kind of grin that has power all its own. The kind of arrogance that makes me itch to slap him.

What is it with this man’s ability to make me react?

He arches a brow, even more smug. Now you only get to breathe when I lick you.

In one fluid move, he’s poised over me, planting his mouth on my nipple and sucking me into his mouth with a hard pull.

Oh . . . My . . . God.

He flicks his tongue back and forth over the tip. And I pant for him. Want him.

Every single shred of my reason wants to come out swinging, grab Jax with his clever ploys and skilled touches, and give him the ride of his life. But my body . . . my body wants to keep following where he leads, each sensation so new and unexpected—if I can just stop my brain from thinking.

When he flicks my clit unexpectedly, I lose the rhythm, and then he bites my nipple.

Oh . . . such pleasure, only this pleasure masked behind the sharp excitement of pain.

He licks away the sting, and I breathe again. My pussy soaks his finger. I am so needy, so turned on. And the waiting for him to fuck