THE PANAMA CLUB: Pas de trois // Chapter 8

And just like that, she’d been disarmed. It was never her intent to follow through with threatening to tell; had never intended to ever pull the trigger. But it was like Ballard reached across the table and took the gun out of her hand. And Alvaro watched him do it.

Any sort of strength she thought she may have was dashed; she felt as empty as their tequila glasses. She could feel her cheeks bloom with heat. Her hand withered away from Alvaro’s, and she touched her fingers to both her cheeks. She said to them, “Maybe I could have just one,” holding up a single finger, asking permission to have some tequila.

Both of them shook her head their heads. Alvaro still smirked. It was unnerving.

What had happened to the notion Alvaro would lunge across the table, take Ballard by his shirt collar, hoist the man out of the chair and beat the fuck out of him? She’d seen Alvaro do it many times. Hated it when he did it. Didn’t he know she hated that macho shit? Didn’t he know how vulnerable he was to lawsuits? Dominica always said London had been good for Alvaro.

Had she tamed him too far, soothed that dangerous animal within him to the point where he’d been neutered? She chuckled. Alvaro wasn’t neutered at all. He was more masculine, more in control of his own life than he’d ever been. He’d become a perfect man.

Then why wouldn’t he defend her against another man spanking her?

Fucking ask him, why don’t you?

“You don’t care that he did that to me?”

“What would you like me to do, London? Did you bring me here tonight so I would beat the shit out of him?” He cocked one eyebrow. This handsome looking asshole she’d fallen in love with.

“No,” she said.

“Of course you didn’t. Your friend here is right. You’re just trying to use me against him. Threaten him.”

“You’re not angry at all?”

Now he reached closer to her, put his knees out wide, reached one of those muscular arms underneath her, grabbed the lip of the chair seat, and dragged her over so he sat she sat between his open thighs. “If it was something that you thought I needed to do, you should’ve told me already. If he’d done it and you hated it, you woulda phoned me right away. Wherever I was I would’ve come storming up. But you didn’t want me to.”

“I didn’t,” she agreed.

“So where does that leave us? You brought me here for what? Not to harm him, but to do what, London?”

“This isn’t going the way I thought it would,” she said, her voice trembling. She reached across the table for Alvaro’s empty glass, but he blocked her, putting the blade of his hand on the table between her reach and the glass. He swept the glass out of her grasp. Ballard did the same, lifting the expensive bottle of tequila and moving it nearer to him. “It’s for your own good.”

“If you wanted something like this, London,” Alvaro said. “You should’ve asked me a long time ago.”

“Why?”

“I would’ve made it happen.”

“I didn’t even know.”

“So this guy is the one who gets to find out?”

“He didn’t know, either,” she said.

Ballard said, “I don’t let people speak to me the way you spoke to me, London.”

“What happened to Ms. Perry?” She jutted her chin out defiantly.

“I think we’re all on a first name basis, don’t you?”

“Blake, then. That’s what I call you?”

“Not in that tone of voice.”

“How do you want me to say it? You want me to pant it breathlessly?”

Alvaro took her hand and squeezed it. “Be careful, London.”

“What do you mean?”

“You hate this guy so much, why are we here?”

“I told you I don’t even know.”

Ballard said, “She can’t say it.”

“Tell me,” Alvaro said. “Whisper it in my ear.” He pointed to his ear and leaned very close to her. She was already sitting between his thighs. Alvaro smelled of his aftershave since she’d asked him to shave tonight, and candlelight winked in his diamond earring. She touched his jaw, curled her fingers around the muscle of his neck. She whispered, “I don’t know what I want, baby. I mean it. I think he does, though.”

Alvaro moved back and studied her carefully. His hand went between his legs and adjusted his expensive suit pants like what she said aroused him. His tongue licked over his lower lip, and his brow grew troubled. “It’s not something I can do?”

Ballard interrupted. “It’s something you most definitely can do.”

Alvaro touched her chin and made her look at him again. He said, “That’s what you want? You want him to show me how you want it?”

Now his fingers traced from her chin down the length of her throat into her cleavage. Ran a fingertip along the edge of her dress’s bustier, where tulle met viscose. Her heart leapt in her chest, and she let out an unintentional draggy sigh.

Ballard said, “I think that’s exactly what London wants.”

***

Ballard led the way, and he and London followed. From the mansion’s parlor, up a set of stairs to a second floor, they passed along rooms, the doors closed but sounds of sensual sex happening beyond. Multiple voices. Group sex. From other rooms emitted snapping cracks of whips or leather belts and the cries of young women. Another room was just male grunts.

London walked ahead of him. He watched the muscle of her upper back move as she did her light and lithe walk. Her scraggly bob swayed and danced, sometimes showing the nape of her beautiful neck. Ahead of them, Ballard strode confidently, the key in his hand like they were at some fancy hotel. They passed all the rooms and stopped at two opposing doors at the end of the hall. Ballard opened the door on the right and gestured for them to both go ahead.

Alvaro got ahead of London to make sure the coast was clear, not some people laying in wait, this whole thing a ruse to kidnap one of them, a gang holding them for ransom, or heisting her ten-million dollar engagement ring. The one she wore tonight was a fake, just in case.

Dominica had investigated Mr. Ballard for him. Had come back with acknowledgment that Blake Ballard worked as the cultural attaché at the Ministry of Culture’s office here in Panama City. About a block away. He was American; an American with almost no past. Anything preceding the four years was generic. High school in Rhode Island, college in New Hampshire. And that was it. No work history. He was also the CEO of the registered Corporation, Tomahawk Solutions LLC. Based out of Dublin, Ireland, there was not much to be learned about what Tomahawk did. Ballard was shady, and for sure some sort of government agent—at least according to his dramatic sister. Who even knew if Ballard was really American. But the truth was that he had worked for Gabriella Aguilar for eighteen months with no problems. And Gabriella spoke of him highly. Maybe the woman was sequestered in one of these rooms, zipped up tight in a gimp suit with a vibrator humming in her cooch.

The room was square and very tall, the ceiling about fifteen-feet overhead. A chandelier hung from the center of the room, dangling from one of those big medallions that reminded him of wedding cakes again. There was no furniture in the room, but for an odd contraption sitting on the blank parquet floor.

Alvaro waved London to come in, letting her know it was safe. She was timid now, and seeing this person who he loved so much and knew so well reduced to this timid innocence was driving him wild. It was the thing that was saving him from blowing his top. If London wanted kinky sex-club sex, he was all in. All she had to do was ask. And if London hadn’t known she wanted it—not until someone had shown her that her guff wouldn’t work on him—that was the way it was going to be, and he’d live with it.

With his hands in his pockets, he strolled toward the adjustable bench-slash-table, something looking like out of the gym at West Villages where the team worked out in spring. Only this one was black steel and black leather, adorned with straps and buckles. And underneath, he touched a shelf with the toe of his handmade shoe, sliding a drawer out a half foot to see that it had been lined with sex toys and straps and crops.

Was this what London wanted?

The idea that she wanted something like this blew him away, brought him to the brink of laughter again. He turned to regard London, standing timidly still, that normally proud posture now slope-shouldered, practically sucking on her lower lip, one arm folded across, the hand massaging the opposite elbow.

The sight of her like that brought his heartbeat pounding into his cock.

***

Blake hoped Alvaro appreciated his woman’s perfection. London Perry was an incredible specimen. Every feminine swoop, the tilt of her head, the elegance and fineness of her bones and ligaments. London Perry was the kind of woman men would kill for.

He watched her from behind as Alvaro circled the training bench. Ballard swore she trembled. The muscles of her back twitched. He got her attention, clearing his throat. She glanced at him over her fine shoulder, big brown eyes frightened but earnest.

Ballard said, “When I close this door, you will be our supplicant. You will do whatever we ask. You will do it immediately and with no hesitation. I know it’s not your nature. Do you comply?”

London looked to Alvaro, who still stood admiring the implements they were going to punish her with. Alvaro grinned a handsome grin. This was going far better than he’d planned. Alvaro had always been a wildcard—especially given his reputation. But Alvaro was also a man known for many conquests through the years. There’d been a good chance he would be up for anything. And it would seem that he was up for this.

Alvaro looked to London, and they said nothing but their eyes hovered over each other’s for a long moment. Then Alvaro said, “We can leave now. But I’m staying for you, if you want. You got me here, you got us both here. Now’s your chance to show me.”

London glanced over her shoulder at Ballard again and nodded.

“You have to use your words, London.”

“Yes,” she said.

“You comply?”

London nodded once; a small motion. “I comply.”