Huh? “What does that even mean?”
Standing, he moved to the closet and pulled out a black gift bag with pink tissue paper. Handing it to her, he moved to the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of her. His elbows on his knees, head in his palms — he looked like a kid on Christmas.
She couldn’t help the laugh. “Excited much?”
“More nervous.”
She cocked a brow. “You don’t look it.”
He placed a chaste kiss against her lips. “Trust me.”
“I do,” she smiled, reaching into the bag. She pulled out a large, square, black velvet box. Looking up to him, she took a breath, running her finger against the clasp.
Swallowing, she flicked the lip opening, revealing…
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
Sitting on top a black jewelry pillow lay one of the most gorgeous necklaces she’d ever seen. Deep gold, shining against the black, even in the dim light. It was delicate, less than half an inch wide, the curved design dipped in the front, almost like a teardrop.
Fingertips trailing the necklace, she noted the inside felt soft, padded. Looking up, she realized what he’d given her.
“Is this…” she swallowed, unable to finish.
“Depends,” he shrugged. “Do you… like it?”
Looking down again, the smile broke across her face. It’s perfect. Not only was it exactly her style, it was a symbol of … something. Of him opening up, trusting her with his world.
“I love it!”
His smile matched hers. He let out an audible breath. “So, I figured. If you want—”
“Yes! Yes, I want to go with you,” she squealed, knowing he was going to ask her to go to The Cave.
He rolled his eyes, still smiling at the interruption. “Okay. We’ll go.”
Nodding, she lifted the collar. “Will you put it on?”
He took the jewelry from her, pulling a small key from under the padding. Twisting it into a hidden lock, he leaned forward, his fingers brushing over her neck as he placed it around her.
The metal hugged her neck, the dip in the center resting just against the apex of her clavicle, as if it had been made to fit her body alone.
Suddenly, her stomach felt queasy. Remembering his comment about some taking it as a wedding ring, she asked, “So, what does this mean, exactly?”
He moved her hair off her shoulder, kissing the lines of her neck. “It means I want to keep moving forward with you. Just you. I don’t want to be with other women, don’t want you to be with other men. I want you to trust me, to be my submissive in the bedroom — and the club — but my equal everywhere else. Then, if things … progress, we can talk again.”
Her eyes widened at his words, wanting all of that too. And more. She wanted to tell him the truth. She was married — not running from an ex-boyfriend. Not divorced. Married. The conversation earlier with Gene had been running through her head all evening, and now — it was practically banging on the front door. This was her opportunity to clear the air. To start a real relationship. His earlier words echoed in her mind.
Without trust, there is no love.
Not that she wanted love. Or even deserved it. But she wanted him. She wanted … this. “I … Alistair?”
“Yes?” he asked, his voice gentle. The corner of his lip was upturned, the molten chocolate of his eyes soft as they gazed into hers. He looked — happy.
“I just…” Her voice trailed off. The back of her eyes pricked with tears.
She couldn’t do it.
“Thank you,” she uttered, clearing her throat. “This is beautiful.”
When his smile widened, and he leaned forward for a kiss, it took everything in her not to pull back.
You’re a coward, Jayla. A lying coward.
Licking her lips, knowing tonight wasn’t going to be the night she admitted the full truth, she at least wanted to settle for something else that had been on her mind. “Wait, there’s something else.”
He moved back, lips thin. “Okay?”
“I want … I’m on birth control. I’d, uh. I’m sure I’m okay, but maybe we could go get tested together, and, uh…”
His lips on hers surprised her, melting into the heat of his kiss. “Fuck, Princess. Does that mean what I think it does?”
She laughed as his gravelly tone. “What do you think it means?”
Lifting back, he wiggled his brows. “You wear my collar. I’ll not wear condoms?”
The way he said it, she shook her head, fake smacking his arm. He pulled her in again, worshiping her with his mouth. After a few moments, she pulled back, taking a breath. In less than half an hour, their relationship had taken a few large steps forward. And yet … she seemed to take one giant step back.
Turning, she caught her reflection in the mirror and caught the gold shining in the light. Then she looked at him — looking only at her. He looked positively satisfied.
She refused to ruin it.
“It’s perfect,” she commented, softly.
“Yeah, it is.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Alistair asked, helping her out of the car.
They stood in front of a large wooden door, at the entrance to The Cave of Wonders. Over the past week, her arousal was at an all-time high, the anticipation of what would happen tonight constantly on her mind.
The best part? They’d gotten their test results back this morning. All clear.
The thought of feeling Alistair entering her without the sheath of a condom … her body shuddered.
Well, the cool air up her mini-skirt helped too. She and Snow spent hours on-line shopping, looking for the perfect outfit for her first time at the club. When it arrived, it was even better than she expected. A black corset dress with a sweetheart neckline in a faux leather. The skirt covered her ass, but if she leaned forward only a few inches…
“Yep, as ready as I’ll ever be.” Truth be told, she still had some apprehensions, despite her almost uncontrollable curiosity over what they would find inside. Her biggest fear? Running into old subs of his. That was akin to ex-girlfriends, right?
A discomfort flowed through her. What if … what if they’re better than me at this? She shook her head of the thought. He wouldn’t leave her in the club for another woman. She knew it in her bones. Needing to be brought back into the moment, she peeked a glance back at him.
Dom Ali was … glorious. She half-expected him to show up in some leather outfit, ready to make a joke at his expense, and instead he walked out of the closet dressed to the nines. Dark suit pants caressed his thighs, allowing her to make out the curves of his ass and muscular legs. His crisp white dress shirt was open at the top, no tie, and he donned a black suit jacket over it. From looking at him, one would never assume his chest and arm were covered in ink, a detail which turned her on even more. He wore his patented black bracelets on one hand, with a black watch on the other. It took sheer will not to start drooling.
Images were filtering through her mind. Her naked, crawling up to his clothed form. Wanting to lick the small patch of skin showing right under his throat. His smell, the heady cologne mixed with his own unique scent — she was wet before even leaving the house.
Just before leaving the apartment, Alistair lifted a medium-sized duffel bag from the floor. Hoisting it over her shoulder, when she asked what was inside, a wink and smirk were her only answer. Instead of nervousness, pure arousal shot through her system.
Now, at the door to the club, Alistair took a breath, running his hand through his hair, stopping at his neck to rub the muscles there. “All right. A few rules. Once we’re inside, you’ll meet with the Dungeon Master, or DM of the night. He’ll bring you to a private office, explain to you the club rules and ask you to sign a waiver indicating you accept and agree. I won’t be there for that — each person has to meet individually, to show they aren’t being coerced into attending. I’ll be waiting at the bar for you when you’re fin
ished.”
She nodded at the explanation, already appreciating how seriously the club took safety.
“Second,” he continued, “once we’re in, we’re in. You’re my submissive.” His finger grazed her collarbone before tracing the line of the collar. “If other Doms approach you, it will be to introduce themselves only. They will not ask you to do anything for them — they would ask me instead, so you don’t have to worry about turning anyone down,” he winked. “If other submissives want to talk to you, they’ll ask permission first. Unless, of course, if you’re alone — say, sitting on the couch waiting for me to get back from the bathroom or something.”
“Seriously?” Jayla asked, beginning to change her mind about the positive vibes of the club.
“Yes, Jayla. The members take their roles seriously. It’s about respect for each other. The members all care about each other, and the submissives, even slaves, are very well cared for. It’s just protocol, if you will.”
She crossed her arms, about to argue, when he added, “If you don’t like it, I can take you home. No skin off my back not to share you.”
She didn’t want that, wanting at least the ability to see what the club was about. Uncrossing her arms, she took a breath. “No.”
“No, Sir,” he corrected.
Her eyes narrowed at him, yet she acquiesced. “No, Sir.”
“Good girl.” He took her hand, knocking on the large wooden door. Turning to her, he spoke one last time. “And, Jayla, remember. Whatever you see in there — it’s all consensual.”
Her throat constricted at his warning. Before she had a chance to question him, the door opened.
Showtime.
Alistair walked the crowded main floor, waiting for Jayla to emerge from the DM’s office. Looking around, he tried to imagine the room as she might see it for the first time.
The large room was arranged facing a main stage, where public scenes occurred every half hour or so. A large bar covered the back wall. The drinks were top shelf, albeit the maximum kept to two per customer. The last thing the club needed was a drunken mess when dealing with whips and restraints.
Around the main floor, there were various sections for exploration — a stockade, St. Andrew’s cross, leather couches running the side wall, with rings in the floor to attach slaves. Doms usually brought their own bag of toys and tools, just as he had tonight, but the club could provide whips, floggers, canes, and other implements, should they be needed.
Safety was of paramount importance and The Cave had no less than four DMs on every shift. One for new customers, one for cleaning furniture and tools, and two, or more, to watch the floor and make sure everything and everyone was above board.
Every once in a while, a DM would stop a scene, assessing the submissive. While the club didn’t require safe words, they were trained in body language. If a submissive couldn’t answer a DM’s questions, the scene ended. Immediately.
He’d only seen that happen twice in the eight or so years he’d been a member.
Walking to the bar, he ordered them both drinks, figuring she might need a little liquid courage. Although with that outfit, I’m surprised this is her first time in a club.
Her long legs were accentuated by above-the-knee leather boots, ones he knew he’d make sure she wore in the future. Her tight dress showed off her hourglass figure, and as much as he hated to admit it, jealousy was already warming his blood. Even with her collar, other men, and women, would have their eyes on her — hoping for a chance to play. His hand tightened against his glass. Not gonna happen.
Taking a large swallow, he turned in his seat to check the scenes on the main floor. He grit his teeth when one of the members he’d scened with in the past, Marissa, strolled up. This is going to be fun, he thought sarcastically.
Marissa often sought him out when he was at the club, provoking him to reprimand her behavior. He’d comply — most times there was no reason not to — but he had found himself more than once setting her up with other Doms, after getting a sense she wanted more than just a scene here and there from him.
“Hi, Master Al,” she cooed, rubbing his arm.
“Marissa, what have I told you?” he answered, keeping his voice light. Knowing her, she’d addressed him that way only for the purpose of a reprimand.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I forgot you don’t like being called ‘Master’.”
A hint of a smile graced her lips. Marissa could give Jayla a run for her money on the brat scale. Yet, she wasn’t a natural. She worked hard to push buttons.
“No, you didn't,” he answered, taking a sip of his drink.
This time, she smiled. “You’re right, Sir. I didn’t. What should we do about it?”
Jayla’s voice sounded from behind her. “We should find someone to address your bad behavior, shouldn’t we, Sir?”
The woman turned — Alistair nearly choked on his whiskey at the anger on Jayla’s face. Her smile looked almost sinister beneath a pair eyes as dark as coal in the dim lighting of the room. He could feel the daggers shooting from their depths.
His heart thundered at the thought of Jayla’s jealousy.
“Who is this, Master — uh, Sir Al?” Marissa asked, looking back and forth. Fake smile of her own, she continued, reaching out a hand, “Hi, I’m Marissa, and you are?”
Even Alistair could detect the disdain in her voice. About to reprimand her, Jayla’s retort stopped him. “I’m Jayla. Master Al’s submissive.” Her head tilted slightly, daring Marissa to speak.
Marissa turned to him one more time, eyes wide, her lips parted in an O shape. “You … you collared her?” she asked, voice raised.
Her surprise wasn’t unexpected. In all his years, he’d never collared a submissive — something that hadn’t gone unnoticed. He’d heard rumors submissives had a bet going on who could get him to finally settle on one of them. Marissa, supposedly, had been the most certain it would be her.
Reaching forward, he took Jayla’s hand, bringing her into the space between his legs on the barstool. He kissed her, hard, both for her sake and Marissa’s. As they parted lips, he ran his fingers through her hair, speaking to Marissa, yet looking to Jayla.
“Actually, she collared me. She just wears the jewelry,” he offered, smiling at Jayla.
Her eyes softened and her lips spread in a genuine smile. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in for another hot kiss.
By the time they parted, Marissa was gone.
Other than the run-in with Marissa, Jayla was having a great time.
Alistair had introduced her to other members, and everyone seemed nice. And normal. She’d gotten into a long conversation with a submissive therapist, who immediately recognized “lingering self-doubt”. The woman, who introduced herself as Chastity, a name Jayla suspected was fake, offered to leave a few cards for Alistair to pick up next time they were there, for therapists in the area who worked with her insurance.
One of the male Dominants, Lucas, couldn’t believe she’d just gotten to New York, insisting her attitude was nothing short of native. Alistair positively beamed as he reported Jayla was brattier than the best of them, pulling her in as if he was proud of her inability to blindly follow his directions.
In fact, Alistair kept her next to him all night. Right next to him. At his hip. She couldn’t tell if he thought she was nervous, or if he was the one struggling with the thought of others looking at them. At her.
The club wasn’t exactly what she expected. Since they’d arrived, a few members had been involved in public whippings, or scenes, as Alistair called them, but she’d only seen one couple actually having sex — a male Dom bending his sub over a pool table, and a few others engaging in some oral activities in various areas.
It was less sex club and more … kinky bar. Which suited her, as it turned out.
Seeing the public scenes, watching the submissives’ expressions of ecstasy as their Doms brought them to the brink and back down, made her … horny. She wasn’t read
y to do anything in front of anyone, but wanted to at least try something while they were at the club.
Alistair took her on a tour, taking her down a set of stairs to private rooms. A few had couples in them, acting various scenarios — an evil smile graced her face at the male in the medical stirrups. Now you know what it’s like for us in gyno offices, she thought to herself.
One room — the “red room” — held only a large bed, covered in plastic. Six members were going at it with each other, a verified orgy. She stood quietly, watching them for several minutes.
She looked up, cheeks red, to find Alistair staring at her. “You don’t like watching?” she asked, embarrassed she did.
“I’m watching what turns me on the most,” he answered.
It took everything in her not to curl into him, like Rajah.
The last room was empty — set up to look like a normal office. A desk and chair, a bookcase, a rug. But what drew her attention was the large wooden X against the wall, with hooks for restraints, the cage with padding on top — in case the Dom wanted to strap down their sub — and in the center of the room, a padded spanking bench.
The room had a door, which, if closed, meant no entrance, and a window with blinds that could be drawn closed.
She laughed. “Other than the furniture, it looks like the bookstore at the club,” she commented.
Alistair looked into the room, nodding. He laughed back. “It does. Never realized it before.”
He took a step back, taking her hand, likely to lead her back upstairs. Instead, she stood her ground.
Now or never, Jayla.
“Can, uh. Can we use this room?” she asked, nervous.
The look in his eye sent a shudder down her back, warning her whatever was to come would be something she wouldn’t ever forget.
Rubbing her shoulders, trailing his hands down her arms, he spoke into her ear. “Lay face down for me.”
Nodding, she moved forward to the bench, her stomach lying flat against the padded center. Due to the height, the move placed her on her tip toes.
Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2) Page 22
