“Enter.”
Wordlessly, she did as ordered and kneeled on the pillow in the middle of the room, assuming a perfect present position. Standing, Cordell rounded the desk and took a seat in one of the two guest chairs, swiveling it until he was facing her. “How was your day, pet?”
“Work was busy, but nothing out of the ordinary, Sir. How was your day?”
He smiled. It’d taken her about two months of being his submissive before she’d started asking him questions about his day, instead of just responding to his queries. It’d been another month or two before she’d seemed comfortable with the new routine. “It went very well, thank you. In fact, I’ve made my decision on the job Mitch offered me.”
Her gaze shot up to his as he’d expected it would. He purposely kept his face blank. He could tell she wanted to ask whether he was taking the job or not, but she held her tongue.
“Before I tell you, though, I’d like to know what you’ve decided. There’s no right or wrong answer, pet. If I took the job, would you move to Florida with me or stay here? And if my decision is to turn down the position, I would still like to know what your choice would’ve been.”
A flash of frustration appeared on her face. As he’d suspected, she’d been hoping to hear his decision first before making her own. Not happening, pet.
During their first few weeks together, Cordell had discovered his and Mitch’s suspicions had been correct. Tiffany was not meant to be a slave. She’d wanted and needed the freedom to make her own choices when it came to most aspects of her life. However, in the wake of two years with that asshole Bruce Whitlow, she was having a hard time taking back that control. After Cordell’s initial meeting with Tiffany, when he’d decided he had to help her, he’d done a discreet background check on Whitlow, including talking to the head Dom at Indigo. Master Jay had nothing nice to say about Whitlow. In fact, he despised the bastard. However, Whitlow had never done anything in the club that could get him banned, and the club’s owner wouldn’t let Master Jay kick him out on personal feelings alone. That shit wouldn’t fly at Master Key if Cordell had any say.
He waited silently. Usually, he would demand a prompt response, but he knew Tiffany was still debating what she genuinely wanted to do. He didn’t want to force a decision, nor did he want to influence it. This was her choice and hers alone.
Seconds ticked by. Over in the bay window, Eastwood’s tail swished back and forth as he stared at something outside, but Cordell kept his gaze on his submissive. Finally, she took a deep breath and straightened her spine. No matter what she said, he was proud of her. While there were still things he had to work on with her, Tiffany’s confidence had been growing stronger lately. She was still uneasy when asked to make her own decisions, but when she finally did, she stated them with conviction.
“I would like to move to Florida with you, Sir, if that’s your plan. I’m not sure what positions will be available at the resort for me, but I’m sure I’ll find something to do. It’ll also be nice to be closer to Tori.”
A gleam in her eyes grew brighter as she spoke, and he knew she was hoping he would take the job. He saw no reason to hold back the news any longer. “After reading Mitch and Ty’s proposal, I’m very impressed with plans for the resort, and I’m looking forward to helping make it the premier lifestyle destination and club they want it to be. I’m delighted you’ll be joining me, pet.”
A huge smile lit up her face. “I am too, Sir.”
“Mom, I’ve already made my decision. It’s a great opportunity for me.” Tiffany switched her cell phone to her other ear as she flopped down onto her bed. When her mother had called, Tiffany had been boxing up some of her clothes she wouldn’t need until after the move.
“But what about me? You’ll be so far away. Why can’t Cordell get a job in Vegas? I’m sure with his experience—”
“Mitch offered him a great job down there, and he took it. I’ll have my choice of positions when the resort opens up.” As far as her mother knew, Master Key Resort was just a regular, vacation destination in southern Florida, and Tiffany wasn’t about to tell her otherwise. It was highly unlikely her mother would ever want to go there to visit because she was terrified of flying and hated long road trips. “You and I barely see each other now, anyway. We talk on the phone more than anything, and we’ll still do that. And we can Skype or FaceTime. I can fly back to see you every once in a while, too. I thought you’d be happy for me.”
A heavy exhale came through the phone. “I am happy for you, baby. It’s just . . . well, I’ve filed for divorce. Randy’s been cheating on me with some blonde skank.”
Tiffany wished she could say she was shocked by the news, but she wasn’t. It was the story of Regina Armstrong’s life. Within three months, she’d be moving in with a new guy. Two months after that, she’d be either engaged or married. If it were the latter, it would probably happen at one of the many wedding chapels throughout Vegas. Her last nuptials had been performed by an Elvis impersonator. And wedding number three had been a drive-thru ceremony. That marriage had lasted all of eleven weeks. Tiffany couldn’t remember a time when her mother had gone more than a month without being in a relationship. Her own father had been out of the picture since Tiffany had been three years old. She had no idea where he was or if he was even still alive. One day, he’d just packed his bags and walked out the door, never looking back or saying goodbye.
Ten minutes later, and after a bunch of sobs and tears on her mother’s end, Tiffany disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. Tomorrow, she was giving her two-weeks’ notice at her job. The more she thought about it, the more she wished she could just walk in with a cake that said, “I quit,” like on a commercial she’d seen. However, that would mean she’d lose the pay from her seven annual personal days. Those were use them or lose them, unlike her accrued vacation days which they had to pay her for. But, damn, it would be so satisfying to just quit! She hated her boss. He was a creep who’d hit on her several times over the years and then passed her over for any promotions. Not that she’d told Sir that. Her Dom would’ve shown up at the casino the next day and put the fear of God into the weasel.
She glanced at the clock. Shit! She’d lost track of time while on the phone and was now running late. Sir was going to be annoyed if she wasn’t on time, and that meant a punishment when they got to the club tonight. He’d told her to be ready at 7:00 p.m., and it was already ten of and she hadn’t even showered yet! Damn, damn, damn!
Ripping off her clothes but leaving on the leather collar she wore indicating she was under Sir’s care, she rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She didn’t bother to wait for it to heat up—she had to hurry. A quick pass of a razor under her arms and up her legs resulted in two nicks that drew blood on her shin. A few seconds later, she hissed at the sudden pain but then ignored it as she shampooed and conditioned her hair in record time. The loofah with her favorite body wash sudsed her up, and she barely rinsed it all off before shutting off the water and jumping out of the tub. Thank goodness she’d set aside her clothes for tonight before she’d started packing earlier. She wrapped one towel around her wet hair and then used another to quickly dry off her body.
Back in the bedroom, she began to don the schoolgirl outfit she’d decided on and fumbled with the buttons on the semi-sheer, white blouse, cursing under her breath. Thankfully, she hadn’t planned on a bra—one less thing to deal with. Next came the short, plaid skirt with thong underwear. She paused. Maybe she should forget the thong. She’d only been putting it on to be sassy and earn a funishment when Sir found out, but she didn’t want that following the punishment that was surely coming her way.
Yanking off the underwear, she tossed it aside and pulled on the white, knee-high socks and black Mary Janes that went with the outfit. She tripped on the discarded towel on her way back into the bathroom and saved herself from face-planting by grabbing the door jamb. Off came the towel around her head. Tiffany grabbed her deta
ngling brush and hastily ran it through her hair, then separated the long strands into two ponytails, fastening them with hair ties. She didn’t have time to put on eye makeup—it would only run anyway when Sir beat her ass later—so she just swiped on some lip gloss.
Grabbing her purse and jean jacket to wear over her see-through shirt, she hurried out the door, locking it behind her. By the time she reached the main house, she was out of breath. As expected, Sir was standing in the foyer, arms crossed and frowning. Shit!
But, God, was he built. He was wearing a black, leather vest, and the bulging muscles of his chest, arms, and abs looked more solid than they did if he’d been wearing a shirt. His long legs and slender hips were also encased in black leather, with biker boots finishing the ensemble. The quintessential Dom—and he was pissed.
Tiffany bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, S—”
“You’re bleeding!”
Before his barked words penetrated her mind, he’d scooped her up into his arms and was carrying her into the living room, which was furnished in southwestern decor. He gently set her down on the couch and kneeled in front of her. Rolling down her bloodstained sock, he growled when he saw the nicks from the razor—there were a few more than the original two she’d been aware of. “Stay right there.”
Tiffany knew better than to argue when Sir was in full-Dom mode and concerned about her health and wellbeing.
Sir left the room but was back in less than a minute, holding a large, gray duffel with a red cross on the side—his fully stocked first-aid kit. He kept one in the house and another in his truck. His motto was “always be prepared,” and, not for the first time, Tiffany wondered if he’d been a Boy Scout in his youth. Although, she couldn’t imagine Sir as a child, even after seeing a few pictures of him with his parents and siblings back then, that were scattered around the house.
Again, he went to his knees. “What happened, pet?” he asked as he rifled through the bag and pulled out a few packages of sterile gauze, ripping them open.
When they made contact with her damaged skin, she hissed. “Ow!” She’d been able to block out most of the pain until now. One slice was deeper than she’d realized, while the others had already started to coagulate. “I cut myself while shaving, Sir. I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “You were rushing again, weren’t you?” When she nodded remorsefully, he continued. “We’ve talked about this, pet. Why didn’t you set the alarm on your phone so you’d have time to get ready?”
Her gaze fell to her lap where her hands were twisting together. She really hated disappointing him. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Sir. I meant to but forgot. And then my mother called, and I lost track of time.”
Keeping one hand holding the gauze to her leg to stop the bleeding, he reached up with the other and cupped her chin. His hard gaze softened when he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. He brushed some away with his thumb and sighed. “What am I going to do with you, little one?”
The question was asked so softly, she wasn’t sure if he’d meant to say it aloud or if he expected an answer. She responded anyway. “I’ve earned a punishment, haven’t I?”
The corners of his mouth ticked upward just the slightest bit, as if he were trying to hold back a smile. Amusement appeared in his eyes, but he didn’t laugh out loud. “Yes, you have. Do you understand why?”
“Because I rushed and hurt myself?”
“Exactly. There are reasons why I set certain rules, pet. Not because I want to punish you if you break them, but because I hate seeing you harmed in any way.” He gradually peeled the gauze from her leg. “Good, it stopped bleeding.”
He rummaged through his bag again and pulled out a Band-Aid, some alcohol swabs, a tube of bacitracin. Making sure he didn’t run a wet swab over the cuts, he cleaned the blood from her leg, then applied the ointment to each laceration. His touch and facial expression were so gentle, so tender, that Tiffany’s heart caught in her throat. Damn it, stop falling in love with him. This is only temporary! One day, he’s going to set you free and you’ll have to let him go.
“There, all set.”
She hadn’t realized he’d covered the wounds with the large bandage. Leaving her sock rolled down, he stood and helped her up. “Walk, don’t run, back to the cottage and put on a clean pair of socks, then return here.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Several minutes later, she entered his house again through the kitchen and found him sitting in his favorite recliner in the living room. Eastwood was perched on the right arm of the chair, getting his ears scratched. The cat gave her an annoyed look when Sir abandoned his job and got to his feet. “Very good, pet.” He picked up her jean jacket she’d left on the couch and helped her into it. When she turned around to face him again, she looked at him in confusion, and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, your punishment is coming. It’ll just be at the club, instead of here. We’re already running late, and I don’t want to miss our scheduled time in one of the private playrooms.”
He’d signed them up for a private playroom? Which one? Most of their scenes had been in the public forum or in an observation playroom with large windows so others could watch. In fact, Tiffany had only been in two of the private rooms at Club Domain on separate occasions with Sir. One had been decorated like a doctor’s office and the other had looked like a medieval dungeon. She didn’t know what the other rooms looked like. She knew each had a theme, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what the other subs had told her about the rooms she’d never seen.
Following Sir to the door, she preceded him when he held it open for her before locking it behind them. As he always did, he opened the passenger door of his pickup truck and helped her into the high seat. As he skirted the front of the vehicle, she put on her seat belt. Moments later, they were on their way to Club Domain.
Tiffany was still in awe every time she walked into the place. It was so elegant, it put Indigo to shame. However, The Covenant in Tampa, the club Mitch owned with his cousins, was more Tiffany’s style. If she had to compare them to other places, Club Domain felt like a high-society ball at a fancy venue where everyone sipped champagne. Indigo would be a local dive bar that smelled like stale beer no matter what time of day it was. Meanwhile, The Covenant would be somewhere in between. It was the perfect combination of the Ritz meets Cheers—a place that was classy, but everyone knew your name. That’s the kind of club Tiffany liked the best. When you walked into The Covenant, it felt like you were coming home to friends and family.
“What’s on your mind, pet?”
They were at a stoplight about two miles from their destination. Tiffany faced Sir as she answered him. “I was just comparing The Covenant to Club Domain and Indigo and was curious what Master Key was going to be like.”
“From what I read in the file, it’ll be similar to The Covenant, but Mitch and Ty are still working on the plans for the interior of the club and rooms. They’re getting the dungeon equipment from the same designer they’ve used before, but the decor will be more suited to a vacation resort. Mitch has been researching and visiting other clubs and resorts for the past few weeks, looking for just the right mix. I’m sure it’ll be great.”
“Me too.”
“Have you decided what position you want to take there?”
Tiffany shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll have to wait until we get there and I see what needs to be done. I’ll probably fall right into something.”
“I have no doubt you will, pet.”
She smiled as they pulled into the parking lot of Club Domain but then remembered she had a punishment coming. She wished she knew what Sir was going to do to make sure she allocated her time more efficiently in the future. Tiffany was certain whatever her punishment was going to be, she’d remember to set her alarm for the next time she had to be somewhere at a specific time. Had her pending punishment screwed up the plans Sir had made for tonight’s scene? She hoped not.
When Sir parked in the club’
s lot, Tiffany waited for him to get out and come around to open her door. She relished how his gentlemanly ways made her feel—like a lady, cherished and adored by a man who was in love with her. Unfortunately, that last part was a farce. Yes, Sir was a good Dom. He did everything right, in her opinion, the way her relationship should’ve been with Bruce. But Tiffany had to remember that Sir treated all submissives that way. In fact, he treated all women with the same respect. She’d bet, even while working as a police officer, dealing with criminals and deadbeats, Sir probably had tried his best to give respect to any woman he’d come in contact with, whether they deserved it or not.
Before closing the truck’s passenger door, Sir retrieved his play bag from behind the seat. It was a black duffel he kept well stocked with assorted toys and items needed for scenes. When they walked into the lobby of the club, it was to find there were a few people in various states of dress, milling about. Sir assisted Tiffany in removing her jacket, then handed it to the submissive working in the coat check room, which was right next to a hotel-style front desk. There were men’s and women’s lounges located in the club, if one wanted to put their things under lock and key, but Sir rarely brought more than just a coat, and as a result, neither did Tiffany.
Like The Covenant, when you were in the lobby, you couldn’t see the main club. The closed double wooden doors, flanked by two burly security guards, served as an extra layer of privacy and protection for the club’s members. As Sir and Tiffany approached, one of the guards greeted Sir before giving her a welcoming smile and then opening a door for them to enter.
The sights, smells, and sounds of the interior club assaulted Tiffany’s senses. Walking into Club Domain was like walking into a Victorian castle that had fallen into the twenty-first century. The walls were made of stone, and dark wood was used for moldings, pillars, seating areas, and the bar. Wrought iron sconces and chandeliers provided soft and sensual lighting. The color scheme for the furnishings was mostly hunter green and gold.
Master Key Resort: A Novella Page 4
