by Sophie Stern
Carolyn just rolled her eyes.
“You asked. All right, here goes nothing.”
She sighed heavily, as though sharing this with me was wildly exhausting for her.
“See, he used to come to the club with his girlfriend, Angela.”
So he was taken.
Of course.
“She was pretty and always looked great, and he seemed to think the world of him. Everyone else thought she was a total bitch.”
Thought?
Past tense?
“Really?”
“Yeah. You know Odessa?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Angela kind of made her cry. Like, a lot.”
“What? How?”
“Odessa has some damn luxurious curves. She’s a bigger girl, especially compared to some of the really petite subs. Not everyone can handle it. Angela made that known, and Odessa totally broke down. It was horrible.”
“That’s terrible,” I said. It was actually pretty horrifying to me to hear that a woman had treated a fellow girl that way. What about girl power? What about building each other up? I was surprised because for the most part, the club had seemed really comfortable and relaxed. It seemed like everyone there was really happy with their appearance, their body, and their experience.
“Yeah,” Carolyn nodded. “So you can see why we all hated her.”
“Yeah,” I can see it.”
“Anyway,” Carolyn shrugged. “What’s done is done.”
“So what’s his story? They aren’t still together.”
Their relationship status was no longer a question. Carolyn talked about the woman in the past sense, so they’d either broken up or the woman had passed away, but I had a feeling it was the former. Carolyn wasn’t the kind of person to speak ill of the dead.
“You know what it is,” she said.
“Do I?”
“It’s the same story it always is,” she rolled her eyes. “Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love with girl. Boy and girl move in together. Girl sleeps with his brother.”
“No!”
“On their anniversary.”
“No!”
“On a night when he was out trying to save people.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. I felt bad, suddenly, like we really were gossiping about someone’s pain. I didn’t like the idea at all. I needed to put a stop to it. Maybe Odessa had been right. Maybe this wasn’t the guy for me after all. Maybe I just didn’t need to be asking around trying to get more information about him.
“I don’t need to know anything else,” I said. If Carolyn was surprised, she didn’t show it. She just shrugged and reached for a drink.
“He’s hot, though,” she admitted.
“Have you and he…?”
“Fucked? No,” she shook her head. “He doesn’t play much anymore, if at all. As far as I know, he hasn’t been with anyone since everything happened, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Huh.”
I let that information settle, unsure of what it meant for me. He seemed like such a handsome guy: a wonderful guy. He was the type of guy a girl could fall for. He was also the type of guy who would work great in a story.
After Carolyn passed out on my couch, I went to my bedroom and sat down at my laptop to do a little bit of writing. The problem with my stories was that they weren’t spicy enough. I knew that, and my editor knew it, and my readers knew it. Apparently, that was why my sales were down, at least according to my editor.
I knew that if I wanted to succeed at this “writer” gig, I needed to step it up and make things work. I needed to take my writing to the next level, so I sat down, and I started my next story. It was all about a young submissive named Mary who had grown up in a conservative town with conservative parents and conservative ideas. A handsome soldier moved to town after being injured overseas, and he was different from anyone she’d ever met. Kyle was his name. Yes, Kyle. That was a good name, I thought, so I wrote.
I wrote and I wrote, thrilled that the words seemed to be flowing all on their own. When I described my heroine, I thought of every girl who ever wanted to fall in love, but who was afraid to let herself truly live, and when I wrote about my hero, I kept picturing Raiden’s face. That could be a problem, I knew, but it was a problem I’d worry about later.
Chapter 4
Raiden
On Monday morning, after a five-mile jog, I went home and showered, had breakfast, and headed to my first job of the day. It was a consultation for a new client who wanted permanent bookshelves installed. Apparently, she worked from home and needed a little extra space for her belongings. Fair enough. Permanent bookshelves were an excellent way to showcase your collections or books, and they were actually one of the things I preferred doing at work.
Before I could begin the project, though, there were a few steps I needed to take. I needed to visit, consult with her, and find out exactly what she wanted done in her office. Then I could start measuring and we could come up with a budget for the project. That was the next and most important thing. Once we had the budget established, we could decide on things like drawers, embellishments, and stylistic choices. Hopefully, this would be a simple project that would take only a couple of days to get started with. I wasn’t sure how time-consuming the actual project would be once we started.
With my new line of work, it was impossible to tell ahead of time what a client would be like. Some were really overbearing and controlling, and they wanted a say in every little decision. Others didn’t care at all, just as long as they ended up with something that sort-of resembled what they had ordered. Then there were the clients who didn’t say too much, but who were always wildly pleased with whatever I managed to craft them. Those were always really nice.
Hopefully, this lady would fall somewhere between the second and third type of client. I wanted clients who knew what they wanted, but who still listened to ideas. After all, I was the expert. I was the one who knew exactly what they were getting into. If they listened to me, I’d be able to share ideas and tips for avoiding common pitfalls, and over time, that would save them a lot of stress, energy, and even money.
The house I was going to be meeting her at was located at the end of a quiet lane. It was a cute sort of road with trees that lined either side and sort of bowed over the center. It hardly qualified as suburbia and was more like a country road than anything else, or something you’d see in a movie. The road was paved, but there were only six houses: three on each side. The house I was going to was at the end on the left, and I pulled into the driveway and parked behind the black Hyundai Accent.
At first glance, the house was nothing special. It was a cute little ranch-style home, probably two bedrooms, and the backyard had a privacy fence. It was likely owned by a little old woman who was remodeling after her husband passed away. That happened more often than I was comfortable with. If I had a wife, I kind of hoped she wouldn’t wait for me to die to redecorate the house. I’d prefer that it be something we do together.
That was just me, though. Besides, I wasn’t exactly in the market for a wife, or for a lover, or for anyone. I wasn’t exactly thinking of ways to find someone to fall for me, and I wasn’t spending my time daydreaming about finding someone perfect.
I got out of the car and grabbed my bag with my notebook, as well as style guides and wood samples. I’d take Miss Hopper everything she needed to make an informed choice. Hopefully, it would be a simple project and I’d able to leave fairly quickly. I was ready to get on with my day. I was ready to get on with everything.
I hadn’t exactly slept well all weekend because I’d been too busy regretting my life choices and wondering why I’d been so lame at the club. I should have pressed Odessa for an introduction to her friend. The beautiful girl with the pouty lips had been sweet and lovely, and I’d spent more than my fair share of the weekend jerking off to thoughts of her.
Wh
at would she look like sprawled out on my bed?
Better yet, what would she look like on her knees in front of me?
It was a valid question: one I hadn’t asked myself about another person in a very, very long time. There was a reason for that, though, and I would do well to remember it. I didn’t need to be hurt again. Angela had broken me. I was damaged goods. What did I have to offer to a submissive anymore, anyway?
I headed up the front walkway to the door and rang the doorbell, and then I waited. It was only a moment before I heard footsteps inside and then the door opened.
And then…
“It’s you,” she said breathlessly, and I felt my jaw drop open.
“And it’s you.”
It was her.
It was the woman from the club: it was Blair.
I glanced down at the order form I’d printed out from my computer. Her first name wasn’t on it, which was unusual. I’d assumed that because she’d gone by “Miss Hopper” and not a specific first name that she was old, somehow, or something like that, that this was a woman who had some life experience.
But it was her.
“You didn’t use your first name on the order,” I said.
It was perhaps the worst opening line in the history of opening lines, but I didn’t have anything else I could have said.
“I know,” she said. She stared up at me, and I knew that she recognized me, too. In all of the months I’d been working in construction and carpentry, I’d never had someone from the club show up as a client. This was a first.
While at the club, the woman had been wearing the world’s tiniest tank top and matching skirt, today she looked more professional and comfortable. Her dark hair hung long and loose over her shoulders, and her bright eyes were sparkly enough to light up the darkest of nights. She had on a dark blue sundress with a denim jacket, and her feet, just like at the club, were bare.
“I’m Raiden,” I said finally. “I’m here to measure for your bookshelves.”
“Blair,” she said.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Would you like to come in?” She said.
“Yes.”
I stepped inside the cozy little house, took a look around, and instantly, I smiled. She noticed the look on my face right away.
“What?” Blair was nervous. There was no denying it. She was slightly uncomfortable with me being at her house, and I didn’t blame her at all. After all, I hadn’t planned on infiltrating her space. I had planned on spending the day inside some little old woman’s house. I had planned on remodeling the space and upgrading it in any way possible.
Seeing Blair?
That had been the last thing I’d expected, but then again, Blair was full of surprises.
“Are you baking cookies?”
She blushed and shook her head, and then shrugged.
“I like to bake,” she said. “And since I work from home, I like baking on work days. It gives me something wonderful to smell. Besides, even if my day isn’t going too well, it somehow makes me seem more productive.”
“I can relate,” I said, smiling down at the little submissive. She was quirky and cute, and she smelled so damn good.
Don’t get too excited. This is a business arrangement.
“So,” I said, trying to stay focused. “Why don’t you tell me about the project we’re looking at for today?”
“Of course,” she said. “My office is this way.”
She led me through the little living room. The house was set up neatly and orderly. You walked into the living room, and the kitchen was located right behind it. To the right, I assumed, was an entrance to the garage. To the left was a hallway, and that’s where we went. We passed a closed door and then she pushed open another one.
“Your office is the master bedroom?” I noticed instantly. There was an attached bathroom. The door to it was open. The rest of the space looked big and open. Most ranch-style houses looked pretty similar to one another, and this one was no exception. I could picture where the previous owners had probably placed their bed and dresser; however, Blair had taken the space and completely made it her own.
“It made more sense,” she said. “I’m just one person, and I spend most of my time working. Not sleeping.” She shrugged and looked around. “I like having more space to work in. Being in here feels better than being in one of the smaller rooms. I don’t like feeling…” She seemed to search for the right word. “Boxed in,” she finally settled on a description.
Boxed in.
It was an interesting way to describe working in a small space. I wondered what kind of submissive Blair was. She didn’t like feeling boxed into a little space to work, but what about rope play? Would she like being tied up and teased? Taunted? Toyed with?
“What kind of work do you do?” I asked, biting back the questions I actually wanted to throw at her. She was beautiful and fun, and she made me question my dedication to celibacy.
Blair hesitated for the very first time, and I wondered if she was about to lie to me. It was a stupid thing to wonder, I knew, but the thought was so quick and so fleeting that I felt guilty about it. Besides, she wasn’t my submissive, my girlfriend, or even my friend. She was simply my client, and I had a job to do.
More importantly, it was a big job.
Whether or not she lied to me about her career choices was unimportant.
“Blair?” I asked.
“I’m a consultant,” she said. Then she added, “of sorts.”
Definitely a lie.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means I have a lot of books,” she sighed. She gestured to the room. It was definitely a chaotic mess, albeit a pretty one. She had books stacked just about everywhere in the room. I was surprised that she managed to get any work done at all. There was a large oak desk pushed against the back wall, but everything else was…
Well, it was wild.
Part of me felt slightly irritated. Didn’t she have someone who could help her get organized? Shouldn’t her Dom be taking care of her and helping her manage her space? Then again, June had made it clear that Blair didn’t have a Dom. That was why she’d walked into Anchored, after all. She didn’t have a Dom and she was in need.
“I can see that,” I said.
“What do you think?” She asked. “Can you help me? Everyone says you’re the best.”
“Do they now?” I asked. My voice sounded a little deeper. Shit. I was getting turned on by Blair and she hadn’t even kissed me or touched me. The idea of helping her kind of warmed my heart, though.
Sometimes, a man just needed to be needed. It felt good to have someone want to be around me.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “And I need the best.”
“Let’s take a look,” I said. I walked around the space and started silently evaluating it. She had at least a thousand books in the room, if not more. Why any type of consultant needed so many books was beyond me. Besides, most of them weren’t textbooks or things that I figured a business professional would read. Instead, there were romance novels, books about love, and even a few hardcovers whose titles seemed to indicate they were about sexual positions.
Okay, so maybe she was a therapist, like a sex therapist. I glanced at her, trying to get a read on Blair, but it seemed impossible. She looked at me carefully, as though she was trying to gauge whether I knew she was lying.
She wasn’t a consultant.
Maybe she was a sex worker.
It was nothing to be ashamed about. Not anymore. Still, that didn’t seem to quite suit her personality. For one thing, this looked like a book lover’s dream room. It didn’t seem like a place you’d take sexy selfies.
“Tell me what you’re looking for,” I said.
“I’m planning to live here a long time,” she said. “And regular bookshelves just aren’t cutting it.”
“You don’t have any,” I gestured vaguely. Everything was on the floor or in boxes.
“And I do
n’t intend to,” she said. “I had a couple of freestanding bookshelves and my books basically were too heavy.”
“You broke the shelves?”
“Yeah,” she blushed. “They warped first, but eventually…”
Her voice trailed off, and she looked anxious.
“Blair,” I found myself saying. “You don’t need to worry. This is a super easy solution.”
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” I told her. “Look,” I gestured to the space. “There’s more than enough room here for us to add shelving. We can either build a desk unit directly with the bookshelves, or we can leave space for the one you have now. Once we’re finished, the space is going to look fantastic. You really don’t need to stress.”
“I guess I didn’t realize how nervous I was,” she admitted. “I kind of thought you were going to take one look and tell me I was a lost cause.”
“I’d never do that,” I told her.
“Thanks,” she smiled. “It’s just that the house is still kind of new to me. Even though I’ve been here awhile, I haven’t really personalized it. This is kind of my first step.”
“I understand. It’s important to put our own touches on our personal spaces.”
I pulled out my stud finder and started determining exactly where the different joists were. That was going to help me get a better understanding of what I was going to be working with. I was starting to feel excited, though. Not only was I going to get to work with a hands-on sort of project, but I was going to be seeing Blair up close and personal: probably for several days, at least.
I finished walking around and taking measurements, and she watched carefully as I worked.
“How long have you been in this line of work?” She asked carefully.
“I see you’ve been talking to people from the club,” I said. Even as I said the words, I cringed a little. Was I really being snarky with her over a simple question?
“What?” She sounded surprised, and I looked over at her. Was she blushing? What a strange reaction. She was nosy, but then she seemed embarrassed about it.
