Fuming, she strode over to the porch and climbed the steps. When she stepped through the doors, there was no one manning the security desk, and she couldn't hear anything from beyond the pair of swinging doors leading into the club proper. The hairs on her neck rose, and her steps were more hesitant as she pushed through into the bar and social area.
No Liam behind the bar, she noted, which wasn't unusual. He could be unlocking the barns, checking the equipment, playing with his new condoms and lube. What was strange was the lack of people—at eight o'clock on a Friday night, the club normally had at least half a dozen people already getting ready to play.
Instead, there was only Atticus, waiting in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed over his barrel of a chest.
Suddenly, uncharacteristically nervous, Connie stopped where she was and looked around, waiting for the nasty surprise she was one hundred percent sure was heading her way. “Where is everyone? Liam said everyone was coming to rain on Jasper's parade.”
Moss-green eyes, dark and concerned, met hers. Atticus was a beautiful man, inside and out—although he'd probably disagree with both. Muscles strained the black silk shirt he wore, and the well-faded blue jeans hugging his thighs. “Come sit down, Con. We need to talk.”
Oh fuck, she thought in disgust. This was an intervention, only it wasn't for the lovestruck sadist and his sassy sub. It was for her. “I'm going to kill that pretty blond bastard,” she muttered, thinking of how she could make Liam squeal like a stuck pig. “Go to hell, Att. I am not in the mood for this tonight. I don't feel well and I'm going home. Tell that lying prick he better not come within my sight for the foreseeable future.”
She turned to leave, but was brought up short by the crack of her name in Atticus's dominant voice.
“That lying prick is worried about you. We all are. The others would have been here for this, but I figured you'd want to do this in private. So, it's just me and you, and between us, we're going to try something different.” He unfolded his arms and moved toward her, not stopping when she held her hand up. “That's not going to change anything, sweetheart. You're barely treading water, and if we don't do something about it, there'll be a point where you sink and can't come up for air again.”
“I'm not doing this.”
He wrapped his huge hand around her small one, tugging her forward. “We both know I can have you on your knees with a word, Connie. One word and you will submit, because that's part of who you are, isn't it? Shush,” he crooned when she whimpered reflexively and tried to yank her hand free. “Tell me your secret, Connie. It's safe with me.”
Pain screamed behind her eyes, driven by the erratic surge of her pulse. She was just angry, she told herself. Angry at being set up by her friends, lied to by someone she trusted. More shit piled on top of the rest she was already struggling to cope with. “What did you do, Atticus?”
“Pulled a few strings. Asked Liam to keep the club closed for an extra hour while we get this argument out of the way. Nothing too extravagant.” His mouth thinned in the thicket of his neatly trimmed black beard. He'd earned a few silver hairs there, and scattered along his temples. “As far as secrets go, it's not the worst I've kept close to my chest. Just say the words; we can move forward from there.”
Connie squeezed her eyes shut. “I'm not doing this. I can't.”
The big brute she'd considered a friend up until five minutes ago pressed a hand to her back, guiding her over the floor. As always, he was so fucking gentle, but this time, it made her want to cry. She kept her eyes closed, hoping this was all some kind of hallucination caused by too little sleep and far too much stress. “There's no one here. No ears listening to what they shouldn't. There's nothing to be ashamed of.”
How many times had she said those words to someone else? Coaxed a reluctant patient into divulging the root of their pain so that she could help fix it? Too many to count. It was probably one of her most frequently used phrases. Shame was a huge motivation to keep a secret locked away. “I'm not ashamed of who I am, Atticus. I'm just not that person anymore.”
“Of course you are. Hiding pieces of yourself doesn't mean they don't still exist.” Atticus stopped her and, to her shock, scooped her up as though she weighed nothing. She felt him step down, down, down, and knew they were in the seating pit. When he sat and kept her cradled on his lap, she felt herself waver. “Should I tell you what I've noticed about you over the last three months, sweetheart?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Tough. At a guess, you've lost nearly thirty pounds. You're quiet, you're emotional, and there are bags under your eyes a hobo could sleep in. I can't remember the last time you took a sub for the night, which means you're not getting what you need as a Domme…or as a submissive.”
Her throat snapped tight. He'd thrown it out there, but she could deny it. Would deny it as soon as she could control her vocal cords. The Domme in her was outraged at being held, at being cuddled, at having control wrenched out of her grasp. But the submissive she'd neglected for so long…she was in her element, yet frustrated at being held back from snuggling into the safety of his arms.
“How many hours' sleep do you get a night? I checked out your cupboards and your fridge this afternoon, and everything in there is geared toward Alicia's tastes. You're neglecting yourself to keep her alive, Connie. It can't go on.”
“She's my responsibility.”
“Not anymore. It's about time we all pulled our weight with Alicia. We let you take her on without thinking about the long-term effects caring for a disabled woman would put on you. Starting tomorrow, you'll be spending weekends away from home, and one of us will stay with Lisha.” He stroked her back. “No arguments, Connie. We've all agreed on it.”
It hurt to open her eyes again. “I haven't.”
“You've been outvoted.” Atticus shifted her on his lap so her back was to him. “Tell me what you are, Connie.”
“A Domme,” she whispered. “A psychologist and a Domme.”
His hands peeled her out of her jacket, cast it aside, then settled on her shoulders. She hissed out a harsh whimper as his fingers and thumbs began to knead the painfully tight muscles, flooding her brain with more pain before an odd bliss washed over her. “Don't lie to me, sweetheart. Try again.”
He shouldn't be touching me like this without my permission, her inner Domme snarled.
Oh, shush. He has the most wonderful hands, the submissive whispered.
Lost in the rhythm of his hands, the quick sweep of pain followed by that beautiful uplifting of pleasure, she felt her head loll forwards to give him better access. The throbbing in her head began to ease, the nausea gathering in her stomach dissipated. She sighed and, when she spoke, the words were little more than a whisper. “Switch. I'm a Switch.”
“That's my girl. That's my good girl.” His thumbs dug into the nape of her neck, massaging out the knots holding her muscles prisoner. “Wound up real tight, aren't you. You've been at Avalon for, what, twelve years now?”
“Ten,” she mumbled.
“So you've denied your sub for a decade, letting the Domme take control while the sub pines away in the closet.” Atticus tsked quietly and, as one hand continued to work on her neck, the other released her hair and began to tend to her scalp. “It's time we brought the little sub back out to play, Connie. No, don't stiffen up. This is why I wanted the club empty for now. We're going to take a walk into one of those pretty new rooms Braun installed, and Connie the sub is going to have some fun.”
God, he had the best hands. The more they kneaded, the faster the migraine receded. It was almost completely gone, and she was barely keeping herself sitting up. “No. No one respects her, not like they do Mistress Connie.”
“I do, sweetheart. Tonight, I'm the only one who matters.” Atticus slid his hands down her back until he gripped her hips, then lifted her up as he stood. A second later, he laid her down along the padded seat, balling up her jacket and sliding it beneath her
head. He crouched beside her. “Stay still for a few minutes, okay? Just rest.”
Rest? She could sleep for a day. She couldn't remember the last time her shoulders felt so relaxed. Drifting, she sensed him walking away. Time ticked past slowly until her head was eased up and a bottle pressed to her lips. She drank slowly, deeply, and murmured a protest when her body was tugged gently into a sitting position.
Atticus knelt in front of her, maintaining eye contact. “Liam's opening the club in fifteen minutes. He's behind you, at the bar, but you're not to worry about him, okay? He won't say a word to anyone about this, he's given his word.”
Connie snorted and ran her hands over her face. The migraine was little more than a vague ache now, for which she was grateful. “Sorry, but I'm not trusting his word. He's lied to me once already tonight.” A little embarrassed, she tried to pull the Domme façade back into place. She stood up, swaying slightly. “Thanks for the massage, Atticus, I appreciate it. I think I just need to go to bed now and—”
“Sit. Down.” The command in his voice hit her in all the right—wrong—places.
Connie sat without consciously agreeing to do so.
“If you walk away now, we're just going to have to go through all this again. If you don't want to submit to me, I'll ask Loki or Liam. You need some serious release, Connie, and you need to be with someone you trust when you let go.” He cupped her cheek, staring into her with those sympathetic eyes. “No one is questioning your dominance. Every submissive in Avalon, especially the ones with balls, has the utmost respect for you as a Domme. It's about time you gave that same respect to your own submissive self.”
Stand up and walk away. Connie ordered herself, but his eyes glinted, echoing a repeat of his vocal command. “Atticus—”
“Let's start there, shall we? Address me properly.”
Her teeth clenched. “Atticus.”
He pinched her thigh with his free hand. “Properly.”
“Master Atticus,” she ground out, nudging his hand off her leg. She would never admit how nice the honorific felt on her tongue.
“Better, but a sweeter tone would be beneficial,” he informed her, raising his eyebrow. “For you.”
Her jaw loosened. Fighting was too exhausting. “Master Atticus, Sir.”
“Excellent. Good girl.” He checked his watch. “Hard limits?”
She couldn't really be doing this—she hadn't stooped so low she'd just abandoned her control so easily, had she? When her mouth opened and words came out, she realized that yes, yes, she had. “Pet play. Blood play. Watersports.” They fell off her tongue as though it hadn't been over a decade since she'd uttered them. “Blindfolds and hoods.”
“Not a problem.” The intensity of his gaze didn't change. “Sexual touching and sexual intercourse.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake, Atticus—” She yelped when his palm slapped her thigh this time.
“The Domme has no place here tonight, Connie. We're not equals now—you're putting yourself in my hands and trusting me to look after you. Take a minute and think it over. Are you happy for me to touch you sexually, to go further if the scene dictates it?”
Her breathing hitched. She hadn't had an orgasm—manmade or self-made—since Kevin and David left. There hadn't been time, she hadn't had the inclination. That wouldn't be an issue for Atticus; the man gave his subs orgasms like they were candy bars on Halloween.
He took her hands, smoothed out her clenched fists. “Liam really did get a delivery of new condoms and lube, you know. Unless my eyes deceived me, I'm pretty sure the Viking ordered a box of studded condoms,” he added with a wink.
She laughed, but it lacked humor. “Sex would make things complicated, wouldn't it?”
“Why would it? No one will know what's going on between us. You'll still be the tough Domme you've always been, you'll just get something you need.”
Kick him in the balls and tell him he can fuck you when he gets on his knees and begs for it.
Connie squeezed her eyes shut. He was right. Rather than being an equal partnership of Domme and submissive within the Switch dynamic, she'd allowed the Domme to take full control and shove the sub aside. Sex was just sex; she could handle it if he could. “I-I haven't had sex in a while. I'd appreciate it if you would be…gentle if I struggle to…”
“Connie,” he whispered, startling her eyes open with the soft breath of sound. “You can take me. I won't hurt you.”
God, she was so off-balance. She was used to having a spine to lean on, was accustomed to being the one giving the reassurances and the orders. There was a huge probability she would fuck this up before they even attempted a scene. She blew out a breath and nodded. “I'll, ah, leave it in your hands then. You have consent.”
His grip on her hands changed, clasping them and using them to tug her to her feet as he rose to stand tall. “Thank you for your trust.” With one hand, he snagged her jacket off the seat, then led her over to the bar. She tried to dig her heels in as they approached Liam, but he just towed her along effortlessly.
“I'm opening in five,” Liam said quietly, taking Connie's jacket from Atticus.
“That's fine. We'll be using the private room we agreed on. If anyone asks where we are, you tell them Connie and I are having a meeting in Braun's office and aren't to be disturbed for any reason. I'll put the engaged sign on the door, but I'll lock it just in case someone gets careless. The safeword recognition is hooked up?”
Liam nodded and offered Connie a sheepish smile, but she couldn't quite meet his eyes. Not like this. “All security measures are in place and have been tested. If a sub so much as whispers red, the microphones will pick it up and trip the alarm. Someone will be with you in seconds. The cameras are working, but there're no recording features. I've shut the screen down for that room for tonight, and I've got the spare key.”
“Okay then, we'll see you soon.” Patting his free hand on the bar in farewell, Atticus headed for the walkway. “Connie.”
She refused to move. The open doorway of the walkway mocked her. Every time she passed that threshold, it was as a Domme. She was the one striding ahead, confident and strong, with a submissive on her heels. She was the one who knew what came next, who had a plan in mind, who knew what the fuck she was doing.
Now, she didn't even know who she was, let alone what came next.
Stuck, Connie shook her head. She was suddenly grateful for the fact there was only Atticus and Liam here to see her falter. When she inched back, Atticus didn't move, but his face darkened. Dominance lit up his eyes, tightened his mouth. For the first time in a long, long time, she remembered what it was like to be the prey instead of the predator.
“Connie. Take a walk with me.” The tug on her hand was gentle, but the look in his eyes was velvet-wrapped steel. “Are you scared?”
Honestly, she didn't know what she was. A tangled, troubled mess, for sure. He was offering her what she needed, and the rational part of her brain told her to take it. Take the reprieve from always having her hands on the reins, take the peace of not having to worry about what to do and what to say. “I'm not scared.”
“I hope you're not wearing panties, sub,” he replied, giving her a firmer yank forward, “because if you are, they're on fire right now.” He sniffed carefully, leaning into her and bending slightly. “Oh yeah, that's some smoke right there.”
Connie was surprised when he let her hand go. She barely resisted fisting them, but something told her he was waiting for that response, so she simply gripped the loose material of her black pants. Her mouth dropped open when he moved behind her, gathered her hair in his fist like a leash, and gave her a fast, hard smack on the ass.
Her pussy went instantly, completely wet.
“In two minutes, there's going to be a good dozen of our acquaintances walking through those doors, Constance. We can continue this out here, you can say red and end it, or you can trust someone you've known for years to take you somewhere private.” Atticus used his grip
on her hair to turn her head toward the bartender. “Liam, would you open the doors please?”
Liam looked as shocked as Connie felt. She almost ripped her hair out by the roots trying to face Atticus, but he held her firmly. He couldn't push her this way, he couldn't force her into making a choice of this magnitude with so little time! The panic she felt at being maneuvered reminded her why she accepted the Domme's persona more easily than her submissive one.
Submissive Connie was pathetically indecisive.
“Stay. Safeword. Trust. What's it going to be?”
“Liam, don't—” She began, then grimaced when Atticus tightened her hair around his fist. She struggled when the Viking's shoulders slumped. He gave her an apologetic look, then wandered to the end of the bar and lifted the hinged shelf blocking his path. She risked another hit of pain. “Liam, please—”
Don't let them get away with this, the Domme hissed furiously.
“Goddamn you, Atticus,” she whispered.
This time, when he gave her a testing nudge, her feet unglued themselves from the floor. His free hand was gentle but insistent on her lower back as he stayed behind her, driving her forward into the walkway. It was too quiet without the usual sounds of erotic play emanating from the barn ahead. Her boot heels were muffled on the carpet, and it felt so weird being escorted instead of leading the way.
Braun, the owner of Avalon, kept his office down here. The club was essentially a group of three barns, each interconnected by walkways. Barn one was the bar and social area, barn two was the impact play area, and barn three was where some of the more extreme kinks took place. The office was built off the first walkway, settled between barn one and two.
More recently, Braun had decided to expand Avalon with three private playrooms, using the same design as his office and utilizing the space between the barns, with the walkways as access. Two could be reached from the walkway between barns two and three, but the one Atticus had booked was directly opposite the office.
Talk For Me: Club Avalon Book 3 Page 2
