He wasn’t going to undress her for bed. He might wake her, and he didn’t know her nearly well enough for that, as amusing as it was to imagine. Besides, as drunk as she was, her clothes weren’t going to wake her. But he was at least going to take her shoes and socks off.
Her sneakers came off easily. She twitched when he peeled her white ankle socks off her feet, but she didn’t wake.
On the bottoms of her feet were scars. He looked closer. They looked as if they were from burns, little rough circles as if someone had put out cigarettes on the bottoms of her feet. He clenched his teeth. Who would do such a thing? He remembered her gun-toting crazy ex, and wished the man would walk in right now. He’d never know what hit him. But presumably the man was fifteen thousand kilometers away.
“No. Don’t,” Zoe whimpered and rolled over.
He moved around the bed to her side, but she was still asleep. “Hush, Zoe. You’re safe here. Just sleep.”
He watched her until her breath regained its regular peacefulness. There was no point in standing guard over her, even though that was precisely what he wanted to do. She’d probably sleep all night long, so she wouldn’t be up to drink any tea. There was really no reason for him to stay, but he wanted to know what her story was. At last he got up and returned to the kitchen. He took a sip of tea—no sense in letting it go to waste entirely—and then poured the rest down the sink. He rinsed the cup out, dried it with a towel he found in one of the kitchen drawers and put the cups away.
He took out a business card and wrote the words “call me in the morning” with his home phone number on the back, and left it writing-side up on the little desk. There was no guarantee she’d see it, but it was worth a try. Then, as quietly as possible, he left her hotel room and headed for Indigo.
Chapter Two
Zoe stared at the card. Nick Carrady. Nick Carrady Football Camps. Fitness and Skills development, run by a former AFL professional. So she didn’t imagine him. Somehow he’d rescued her from maudlin boredom in front of a slot machine and gotten her back to her hotel. She vaguely remembered something about him planning to make tea for her and her lying down, and not much after that. She was sure her imagination had added a few wistful details; he couldn’t be that good-looking, that tall, that well-built. Lots of people looked better after a few drinks.
My god, I invited him into my bed, didn’t I? Or practically I did. What was I thinking? I have no tolerance for alcohol at all. She used to have a glass of wine before the “scenes” she’d do with Stu. Especially if he was in a foul mood. It helped stop her from screaming, and he punished her more when she screamed.
But it wasn’t just the alcohol. I haven’t had any sort of sex since. And I miss it. I wanted some nice, safe vanilla sex, something to take the edge off. Even kinky girls like vanilla sometimes.
She laughed. “I could call him, I suppose. Hey, I’m awake, wanna fuck?” Right. She’d die of embarrassment. Besides, all the usual reasons for not letting someone get intimate applied. She preferred her sex with an edge, and yet the very thought of submitting to someone again made her shudder, and she didn’t want to top either. I’ll be damned if I let Stu ruin sex for me forever, but right now, I can’t.
Still. I should call that guy. Nick. She flipped over the card, read the number on the other side and put it back down again. Not quite yet, though. Maybe after her head settled, after she had a cup of coffee. She started some brewing. Thank goodness the hotel got enough Americans that they had a coffee machine. Although she supposed she could stand tea in the morning, if she had to.
She looked at the travel brochures. The Old Melbourne Gaol was supposed to be fantastic, but she still had trouble envisioning it being fun. The zoo—she should definitely hit the zoo, but she’d feel she had to paint if she went, and the way her head felt, there was no way she was going to do any of that. She knew she was reinforcing the block in her mind that stopped her from being creative, but that would burst someday, hopefully. Hopefully before she had to be back at her secretarial job in Fort Worth. The state library was an important visit for the family history research, but the idea of sitting in an old building staring at musty books made her head throb. She much preferred walking around, like she did when she’d gone to Ballarat two days earlier.
Royal Botanic Gardens. That looked relaxing. And she’d bring her watercolors and a block of watercolor paper, just in case. Flowers didn’t move, which made them less stressful to paint. She smiled. A step forward. I can do this.
She sat down and sipped her coffee, looking over the brochure, getting more excited about going the more she read. It sounded beautiful. She enjoyed the bustle of the city, all steel and concrete and whatever they made the slick black sidewalks out of. But green space was what she needed today.
Nick’s card stared up at her. She picked up the hotel phone and dialed. It was a shame her cell didn’t work in Australia, but maybe it was a good thing too. No one from home could bother her. Especially Stu. There’d been an email from him in her inbox every day, but she didn’t have to check email if she didn’t want to.
The phone rang twice before he picked up. “Hello.”
His voice sent a shiver down her spine. Sexy, low voice. It was a lot like Stu’s, and yet because of his accent, it was different enough that she wasn’t sure whether the shiver was from fear or pleasure, or both. “Uh, hello. This is Zoe. I just wanted to thank you for last night.”
“You’re very welcome. It was my pleasure, really. How’s your head this morning?”
“Bearable. Sorry for falling asleep on you.”
“No worries. You looked like you needed it.”
Such a nice, sweet man. Some men would have taken advantage of me in my drunken state. Possibly most men. He’s really nice. Or he thinks I’m ugly.
“Are you in the country long?”
“Just a few days yet, why?”
“I wanted to know what kind of date to ask you out on.”
“Listen, I don’t normally drink. If you think—”
“I’m responding to a hunch. Maybe I like girls who point out that I’m not wearing a dinner jacket, first thing. Maybe I’m curious. And in any case, you’ll probably turn me down.”
Turn him down? No, a date with a handsome stranger who she might never see again sounded perfect. “So what kind of date did you wish to ask me on?”
“There’s a place I go a few times a year called Indigo. It’s not far from your hotel. It’s a fetish club.”
Her blood ran cold. The place in the ad. All her fantasies and all her nightmares tied her tongue for a moment. Finally she said, “You’re a Dom.”
“And you like the idea of being tied down. Or at least you do when drunk. Would you like to find out how you react to it when you’re sober?”
“I’ve been bound. Hundreds of times. Never again.”
“Then we won’t do that.” His voice was smooth but emphatic. “I don’t want to do anything to you that you don’t want. You’ve had some really bad experiences, haven’t you?”
In spades. Fucking mind reader. “Why do you say that?” she riposted.
“Because I saw your feet. I’d never do that to you. Even if you told me you liked that sort of thing, I’d never do that.”
“I don’t. I won’t.” Although I once claimed I’d do anything for my Master. Stupid me. Maybe that’s why Stu turned the way he did. She bit her lip. No. It’s not my fault. No one made him do any of that stuff, least of all me.
“Limits are good. If you’d prefer a quiet evening dinner, we can do that instead. I know a nice Malaysian place.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes.” But he was still a Dom. Having sex with someone might be just what the doctor ordered to blot out the memory of Stu, but a Dom ought to be the last kind of person she wanted to be with. And yet she was getting wet at the thought of a strong, dominant man. Her nipples were tingling. Her skin felt extra sensitive and her pulse sped up. “Maybe,” she amended. He was awfully goo
d-looking. The image of him holding her down flashed through her mind. Pulling her hair. She wanted it. But it scared the daylights out of her. “No.”
“Yes, maybe, no?”
Her face felt warm. Thank god he couldn’t see her. “Sorry, I have other plans,” she lied. “Anyway. Thank you for the save.” She put down the receiver, wanting to spare herself any further embarrassment.
She grabbed the brochure for the gardens, packed her purse with paints and paper, and walked to the door, wanting to act on her resolve. She wasn’t going to check her email today. Yesterday Stu threatened her. Today he would be apologetic, promising things would be better if she came back to him. He’d gotten predictable. She opened the door and walked out. She dimly heard a phone ring behind her, but she decided it must be in one of the other rooms.
Zoe arranged the three paintings she had done that afternoon on the desk, propped them against the wall and took several steps back. She’d found any number of reasons not to do them, and she’d ignored them all. She’d sat on wet grass and soaked her butt to capture the Tasman Flax-lily, with its egg-shaped purple fruit. She’d had to lean against a tree for an hour to get the perfect angle to capture the bell-like hanging flowers of the tall Kowhai tree. And when she’d decided to rest in the relative comfort of a park bench, she’d painted a landscape, capturing the Yarra River with the city blurrily visible behind it.
She didn’t fancy herself to be very good at landscapes, and yet that painting pleased her as much as the other two. It might even be salable. Certainly she’d move the plant pictures eventually at an art show. Working on commission was better, but Stu had never been sympathetic to her deadlines, and her relationships with several publishers had suffered. Hopefully now that she was in control of her own life, she could mend some fences. In any case, painting again was a step forward.
She glanced at the newspaper on the coffee table, remembering the ad for a “fetish weekend”. Was she ready to make that step? Somehow what seemed impossible in the morning when she was on the phone seemed well within her grasp now that she was feeling creative again. Accomplishment was at least as good at making her feel bold as the alcohol had been. Maybe Nick’s offer of Malaysian food and a date at Indigo was still available. She called his number but got no answer.
I can go by myself. I don’t have to stay. I can just watch. And maybe Nick will be there. Her best friend Juanita had made her pack a little black dress “just in case”. It wasn’t fetish wear but it would do.
Juanita had been after her to start a new relationship for months, but she hadn’t wanted to do anything that might push Stu over the edge. If she started something in the BDSM community, he’d find out quickly. If she dated someone vanilla, she didn’t think she’d get what she wanted out of a relationship. Someday maybe she’d move, Stu would forget her, and she’d be able to look for a Master who really cared about her. Someday, but not now.
In the meantime, however, what happened in Melbourne was going to stay in Melbourne. She’d never been too excited about sex outside the context of a relationship, but a single one-night stand wouldn’t be the end of the world. And I don’t have to do that. I can just hang out. I can see how I feel when I’m there. I’m strong.
She grinned. There was a mirror to the right of the desk and she caught a glimpse of her face in it. There were more lines than there once were, but there was a hint of her younger self there too. Before Stu. She’d been brave enough to explore her kinky side once, and she’d met a number of people who seemed to have found the relationship of a lifetime.
She knew in her head that it could be safe with the right partner. She had to convince her heart to be brave again. In Texas, it would have been impossible, but here she could at least watch and dip her toe in the water. Although if she met Nick, would he be willing to settle for watching and dipping? Doms weren’t much on patience, in her limited experience.
She opened her suitcase, picked up the dress and set it on the bed. First, a shower. Then food. Then the club, if she was still up to it. After all, even going out in public in a little black dress was a step forward.
* * * * *
There was a pie place across the street from her hotel, and she stopped there for a quick bite. Showering and doing her makeup had taken longer than she expected. While she didn’t want to get to Indigo right when it opened and might be close to empty, she didn’t want to be too tired either.
She’d opted to put a gray sweater that buttoned down the front over the black dress, not wanting to expose her arms. There was a scar on her right arm above her elbow and a burn on the inside of her left from wax. The mark on her right, at least, wasn’t intentional. Stu didn’t care enough to learn how to use a single tail properly. But he always needed the biggest and baddest whip. Probably compensated for his dick size.
She wished she could say that to his face.
When she’d encountered the pie restaurant on her first day in Melbourne, she anticipated a scrumptious dessert. What she had in mind, she was told, was called a fruit pie. A “pie” was something else entirely, a savory, juicy concoction filled with meat and spices. She’d been back twice since. It was quick, tasty and filling.
Instinctively she turned right, toward her hotel, already thinking of it as home. But Indigo was the other way. She stopped, surprising the man behind her, who jostled her into the wall of the bank building next to the pie place. “Sorry about that,” he said, but kept going.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said to his retreating back, too softly to be heard as she rubbed her arm. People had been very nice to her so far, but she supposed there were a few rude people everywhere. “Asshole.”
I’m not going to let the likes of him stand in my way ever again. She set her jaw and marched off to Indigo, her high heels clacking on the black sidewalk. She hadn’t worn heels for a while, in part because Stu used to insist on it, but it gave her a feeling of confidence tonight to be up higher. She’d done a lot of walking earlier in the day too, and it felt nice to have the pressure on her toes rather than her soles, although that would change as the night wore on, she suspected. Still, for two blocks, it was nice. And she hadn’t allowed herself to feel sexy for a long time.
There was a sign out front of the club announcing that Indigo was in the basement. The ground floor was an Italian restaurant, and there were apartments above that. A neon arrow on the wall tempered the stairway’s darkness, and she made her way down, holding on to an old iron rail. She hated going downstairs in heels, but she wasn’t going to turn back on account of that. Pounding music came from ahead, heavy bass mixed with ethereal vocals. At the bottom of the stairs stood a man nearly as big as Nick. He stood to the side so she could easily get past him.
“What’s the cover?” she asked.
“Twelve dollars.”
She’d been to a place once where ladies were admitted free, which seemed like a great policy until she realized that was because there was a dearth of women and a surplus of horny guys who needed to be taught manners. She happily handed him a ten-dollar bill and a two-dollar coin from her little purse.
She’d been accumulating the coins and leaving them at the hotel ever since she got here. It took some getting used to, having coins worth enough that one wanted to use them instead of hoarding them to dump in a counting machine at a supermarket. Finding that even a two-dollar coin wouldn’t buy her a soda was something of a shock too, but she’d adapted by drinking coffee and cutting back on the caffeine some.
She walked into a dark room lit with purple lights around the edge, with spot lighting here and there. She let her eyes finish adjusting for a moment, and then looked around for someplace to put her sweater. At least the dim light would make her marks less obvious, although it would make it harder to find Nick. If he’s even here. In any case, I’m not here for him. I’m here for me.
There was a corner where people had hung up coats. Apparently it was all honor system, so she hung up her sweater and hung on to her purse.
She took a walk around. There was a big dance floor, which had a few couples on it and one threesome, but the crowd was thicker around the floor than it was on it. The people, she decided, were more interesting than the place.
There were a few other little black dresses, but most of the women were in fetish attire—rubber, latex and lots of leather. A few wore G-strings and electrical-tape crosses over their nipples. Others were entirely naked. She pursed her lips. I’ll keep my clothes on, thank you very much. Stu had always had control over that, and she hadn’t dared challenge him, especially toward the end of their relationship.
Satisfied that she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, she turned her eyes to the men. Some were dressed casually, in jeans and a T-shirt. Some wore leather harnesses. A muscular Dom whose chest was bare was flogging a naked male sub who was chained to an X-frame, the scene highlighted by the spotlighting from above. The Dom’s tight leather pants accentuated a shapely ass. He looked nice, but short for her tastes. The sub was built too, and his hard cock was huge, the head of it glistening as it jutted out past the wooden beams of the frame to the other side.
She watched for a while, transfixed by the sight of two men going at it. They presumably had no interest in the likes of her, and while she had occasionally entertained the fantasy of being trapped between two hulking men, she found that vaguely comforting. They were safe, even if one was raising dark-pink stripes on the back of the other. Maybe I should hang out in gay bars instead of BDSM ones. She frowned at herself and made herself move on. Surely I’m not that afraid of someone desiring me.
A table near the back of the club caught her eye. Two spotlights illuminated it. A slender young woman with perky breasts was lying on it and making little gasping sounds. On her side were streaks of solidified wax in bright blues and reds and purples. She winced, gripping the inside of her elbow where she’d been burned. He’d done it on purpose too, holding the wax closer and closer.
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