by Livia Grant
“I can’t tell you her name, man. Confidentiality.”
“I know that. She went through three rounds of orgasm torture. Is there a chance you can offer her the free membership?” Kane lowered his voice. “I know Master D and I broke the rules, swapping subs so early in the game. Technically, Ms. Jones safeworded. But even if we didn’t win the free membership, I was hoping you could find an excuse to offer it. I’ll pay for it myself.”
Jaxson’s eyebrow went up. “Paying for her? Didn’t you just meet her tonight?”
“Yes, and you know as well as I do what it feels like when you’ve found the one.” He met his friend’s gaze. Jaxson stared right back, but Kane didn’t back down.
Finally, Jaxson broke into a smile. “Well, shit. I didn’t know it was like that.” He clapped Kane’s arm. “I better not keep you any longer. If you want her, go get her.”
The surge of triumph lasted as long as it took to stride back to the semi-private room. He sent a glare in the dungeon monitor’s direction, then stopped short at the entrance, heart stuttering to a halt as he took in the empty room.
No Ms. Jones. No dress or boots either. Just an empty water bottle and two pieces of black plastic that broke apart fully when he lifted it.
The mask.
Her body was broken. The orgasms had broken her. That was the only explanation. Halfway home, her body had started shaking uncontrollably. The taxi driver probably thought she was on something. He’d noticeably bit back a comment when she’d fumbled the fare out of her wallet, but he’d taken her money and driven off with only a, “Take care of yourself, ma’am.”
It took all the strength in her to climb the stairs to her apartment. Once inside, she dropped her purse and stripped off her boots, but left on her dress. She still clutched the blanket from Black Light in a ball around her chest. No one had made her hand it over, and she’d forgotten it until now. Her one souvenir from the night.
God she was a mess. She didn’t want to get into bed – didn’t want her stink on the sheets. She should shower, but couldn’t quite bring herself to move any further. Darkness curled on the edge of her vision and there was a faint ringing in her ears. Her own panic was threatening to deafen and blind her, more effectively than any mask or leather hood.
“You’re safe, you’re safe,” she chanted, but found herself sinking to the floor. Still clutching the blanket, she crawled the last few feet into her closet, and curled into a ball.
Kane caught the arm of the sub he’d sent in with the water bottle.
“Where is she? Did you see her?”
“Who?” the woman asked.
“Nancy Pelosi, who do you think?” Kane snapped and almost growled at the look of confusion greeting his sarcasm. “The sub I asked you to help.” It was all he could do to keep from shaking the woman. As it was, his fingers bit into her arm with a little warning force.
“Stop – you’re hurting me!” The woman wrenched her arm out of his grip. “Help!” she raised her voice.
Jaxson was at their side in an instant.
“What’s going on?”
“Ms. Jones is missing,” Kane explained through gritted teeth. “She’s in no condition to leave on her own. I worked her over pretty good. She’ll need aftercare.”
“And you’d know all about aftercare, wouldn’t you,” the woman sneered. “You beat and fucked me three months ago, remember? I gave you my phone number and I haven’t heard a word since.”
Kane felt his eyebrows try to crawl into his hairline. “Ma’am,” he said in the coldest drawl he could muster. “I never made any promises to seek you out afterwards. In fact, I distinctly remember thanking you for the night and making it clear that I don’t often scene with a sub more than once.”
“So why are you so worried about her?” the lady snarled, lunging at Kane. Jaxson caught her, strong arms caging the woman as she screeched with outstretched claws.
“Go –” he said to Kane, containing the struggling sub. “Find your Ms. Jones. Make sure she’s all right.”
“Are you looking for your sub, Master Kane?” Another club employee rushed to help Jaxson. “I think I saw her leave. She didn’t look too good –”
“So you just let her go? You didn’t try to stop her? Christ, I’m surrounded by incompetence.”
“Preston, get it together,” Jaxson snapped. “You can’t intimidate my staff; I don’t care who your daddy was.”
Kane opened his mouth, and thought better of it. He was picking a fight with his friend, and, worse, his friend’s employees who’d done nothing wrong.
Ms. Jones had affected him more than he’d realized.
“Kane, go,” Jaxson ordered, and, for the first time in his life, Preston Kane the Third obeyed a dominant’s order.
“My apologies,” he bit out and dashed for the door.
Stupid, stupid. He’d been too cocky. He’d over-estimated his ability as a Dom. Breach a woman’s defenses and carry her into the deepest levels of submission all in one night? There was only so much a sub’s mind could take. Ms. Jones was a strong, intelligent woman, but she had her limits, and even if he used all his skill as a Dom to push her past them, there was always a price.
He only hoped it wouldn’t cost him everything.
Grabbing his wallet and cellphone from the locker, he thought about badgering the doorman to ask where Ms. Jones headed, but one look at the beefy fellow and he thought better of it. Pushing out through the back entrance, he emerged onto the street.
Think, he had to think. She’s alone, and feeling out of her depth, maybe even already experiencing the effects of sub drop, when her brain, high from the endorphins her body had released that night, finally crashed. Even if she wasn’t going through a drop, her body would be weak and shaky from exertion, needing water, rest, and care. Needing him.
Dammit, he’d let her down. So much for being her permanent Dom. He didn’t even deserve to scene with her for one night.
He couldn’t just stand there. He picked a direction – towards the heart of Georgetown – and started walking. As he moved, he called his most resourceful aide.
“Jameson? I need an address.” What sort of excuse did he have to be meeting with a lobbyist this late? If he didn’t watch it, it’d be all over the Hill. People pretended they didn’t know who was fucking who, but it was the most popular source of gossip. “A lobbyist who works for a women’s rights firm. Last name ‘Jones’.” What had been the first name on her placecard at the speaker dinner? “First name begins with a C... no, I am not fucking kidding you. I’m willing to call in whatever favors we have to get the info. Fuck!” He narrowly avoided tripping over a trashcan. He was almost to the busy street where he could find a waiting cab. As his aide dithered on the other end of the line, Kane realized he’d been charging down the sidewalk so fast that the drunks and homeless got out of his way.
‘Way to not call attention to yourself, asshole,’ he scolded himself. For once, looking calm and poised didn’t matter. Not with his Ms. Jones out there, possibly hurting, possibly alone.
“I’ve got a lead,” his aide said, and paused a moment. “Wait. Isn’t this the lady we met at dinner last night?”
“Yes,” Kane said. “Yes, that’s her.”
It took longer than he’d liked, but a few phone calls, and a short Uber ride later, Kane stood outside Ms. Jones’ apartment. Not the best part of town, but not the worst, either.
There was a man standing on the stoop, smoking. Kane drew himself up to his full six three height and turned on his full good ol’ boy drawl.
“Evening, sir. Did you see a woman enter here? Lovely gal with dark hair?”
“Yeah, man, she went up to her place in 2B. Looked real bad. A nasty trip or something, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Indeed I do. Thank you.” Kane took the steps two at a time. Apartment 2B. He felt a moment of trepidation – what if she was fine, and didn’t want to see him? He decided he’d insist. He’d at least make sure someo
ne capable was with her and could spend the night. He owed her that much.
His dismay lasted as long as it took for him to reach her door, where it turned to cold fear. The door was ajar. No lights were on inside or out. Her keys were hanging from the lock.
Not a good sign.
He knocked lightly and the door creaked open further. ”Ms. Jones? Chelsea? It’s Senator Kane. From the club. You left the keys in the door.” He pulled them out and held the doorknob so he could knock harder. “Ms. Jones, are you there?”
If she didn’t answer, he was going in, one way or another. Thank God he had gotten here first. Someone could’ve broken into the apartment, taken advantage –
A loud banging from inside nearly sent him out of his skin. Without thinking, he pushed inside the dark apartment.
“Ms. Jones, is everything all right?”
He hit the light and found the source of the horrible clanging – a large radiator belching forth waves of heat.
No sign of Chelsea, but she had to be here. He stepped further into the tiny apartment, and kicked a pair of boots lying in a forgotten pile on the hardwood floor. One heel was broken.
As the radiator sound died away, he heard a low sniffling sound. Only a short hall separated him from an open bedroom door.
He locked the door behind him before he started towards the source of the crying.
His shoes creaked on the hardwood, and he prayed Ms. Jones didn’t carry a weapon, and that she’d forgive him for breaking and entering.
“Mina?” came a small voice. “Is that you?”
“Ms. Jones, it’s Preston Kane.” He winced as he realized they hadn’t been properly introduced. “I don’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to talk to you. You ran off before I could make sure you were okay.”
He flicked on the light in the bedroom and heard another whimper. The room wasn’t a real bedroom, he realized, but a tiny parlor converted into one. The bed took up most of the space. His sub was hiding in the closet.
Flicking off the light, he crossed the room in two strides and turned on a bedside lamp. “It’s me, darlin’. Master Kane, from the club. You left your door open and I was worried. I have your keys.” He laid them with a clink on the bed. “I’m here to make sure you’re all right.”
Moving slowly, and modulating his voice to a soothing tenor, he crouched to peer into the closet. “You left so quickly, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
As he got closer, she moved, and the soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminated a pair of liquid brown eyes.
“Master Kane?” She huddled in the closet, her arms around her knees. Black makeup ringed her eyes as she shivered.
“Yeah, baby.” Kneeling, he pulled off his coat to wrap around her. “It’s me. How you doing?”
“I d-don’t know.” She pushed a heel of her hand in her eye, smearing her makeup further as another sob shook her.
“Oh, darling. I’m so sorry,” he couldn’t stop the drawl as his heart plummeted straight to his feet. “Come here. Let’s get you warm.”
He sat fully on the floor in the soft nest she’d made from the club blanket and piles of clothes, and pulled her into his arms. She clutched his arm like a lifeline.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“Shh, you’re all right.” Her small frame shook, breaking his heart further. He closed his eyes, inhaled the scent of her hair, and tried to match his breathing to hers.
“There’s something wrong with me.”
“No, baby, this reaction is normal. Your brain got overloaded in the club, and you need some aftercare. I’m here now. I’m going to take care of you.”
That undid her. She leaned into him and cried.
“That’s it, baby, let it all out. You’re going to be all right. I’m here.” He kissed her hair. “You’re just fine.”
He kept crooning to her until the shaking subsided. He was just about to ask if she had some orange juice in the house, something to boost her blood sugar, when she spoke. Her quavering voice barely broke the dark.
“I don’t know why I’m like this. I wish I wasn’t.”
He stayed quiet, resisting the urge to tell her she was beautiful and perfect, that he wouldn’t change a thing about her.
“I’ve had men touch me. Cop a feel in the metro. Shout catcalls as they drive by. I hate that. I hate being treated like an object.” She angled her body to look at him. “But when you did it, I liked it. The more you did, the more I liked it.”
“There’s a difference. Consent. You can stop play with a safeword.”
“It’s messed up though.” She turned away again. “To want what I want. To orgasm –” She covered her face with a hand for a moment.
“Is it wrong to know what you want and go after it?”
She shook her head, but he knew she wasn’t agreeing with him.
“You said you had trouble orgasming.” He tried a different tack. Wrapped around her body in the small space, he kept cuddling her and hoped the intimate position made her feel safe enough to spill her secrets.
“I didn’t tonight.” She gave a small, brittle laugh.
“Maybe all this time, you just needed to be forced. Not actually forced,” he clarified, “but in a safe, carefully monitored environment where you’ve given consent first. You needed someone to push you past your boundaries. Break down your walls.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don't like this part of me that wants to be hurt, degraded. I’d cut it out of me if I could.”
“Amputate a part of yourself to fit some norm? That’s not very kink positive now, is it?” He let his tone turn light, teasing.
“You don’t understand. I’m a feminist.”
“What’s more feminist than getting a guy to give you fifty orgasms in a row?”
“Oh my God.” She covered her face with her hands again, but this time he knew she was smiling.
Lifting her hair, he gave her neck a small kiss. “Come on.” He scooted back so they both could rise. “You need sugar and liquids. Chocolate, if you have it. If you don’t have any, I’ll go out and get it.”
“Fifty orgasms and now you give me chocolate,” she murmured. “You’re too good to be true.”
But she clutched the club blanket to her, keeping a slight distance even as she swayed a little on her feet. She still didn’t trust him.
“Point me to the kitchen, sweetheart, and I’ll get everything. Do you have loose comfy clothes you can change into?” He kept his manner confident, clinical.
Once his little sub was in pajamas, sipping juice and tucked into bed, he sat to take off his shoes.
Her eyes, which had been drooping along with her head, got wide again. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for bed.” He stripped to his undershirt. “Unless you have a boyfriend or significant other? Someone who might barge in and find us, and shoot me?”
“No.”
“Good.” He kept on his slacks and undershirt, and placed everything else in a pile.
She frowned a little as she watched him. He was crossing a line by staying, but he sensed that she needed him to. He’d be damned if he’d leave her alone tonight, even though he was sure she’d fight him, insist she could take care of herself, if she wasn’t so tired.
“I have a roommate though.”
“I know. She left a note on the fridge reminding you to water the houseplants while she’s gone.” He climbed into the bed and helped himself to one of the chocolates with a satisfied sigh. The bed wasn’t large enough for him to lay beside her without touching, but he kept talking, movements friendly and matter-of-fact even as he enjoyed the warm curves of her body against his much taller one. “She also told you to – and I quote – ‘Call me after the Roulette, you kinky bitch’.”
Ms. Jones blushed a little. “Yeah, that’s my roommate. She’s... got a mouth.”
“Her name is Mina, right? I think I’ve met her at the club.” He took the moment to thread his arm
through the pillows, around his Ms. Jones shoulders. She stiffened for the briefest moment, and then relaxed into his warmth. He couldn’t keep from bending his head and breathing in the sweet scent of her. His dick didn’t thank him. It was back to screaming for release. He ignored it.
“I know we’re not scening now, but can you do one more thing for me? Close your eyes and just rest. It’ll help.”
“I don’t even know you,” she said even as she obeyed.
“Preston Kane the Third. I work ninety hours a week and beat women on the weekend.”
“Typical man.”
“I only beat women consensually.”
“I stand corrected.” Her mouth curved into a lazy smile. She was half asleep, but still, he counted it as a win.
He put both arms around her, and suppressed the surge of glee at being in bed with a beautiful woman who could hold her own in conversation. One who got off on his particular brand of punishment.
God she was perfect.
“Why did you come after me?” She was still fighting sleep, fighting him. “Woman said you didn’t do aftercare.”
“Woman?” he asked as soon as he remembered the sub he’d sent in with the water bottle, the one who almost attacked him. “She didn’t know what she was talking about.” Anger coursed through him and he was careful not to let it through his voice. “She misunderstood.”
“She said you always look for the new subs.”
“I’ve scened with new submissives before, but I don’t look for them.” He took a chance and squeezed her tighter. “I looked for you.”
“You remember me?” She tipped her head back, and he saw her expression, hopeful, anguished.
“I do. Ms. Chelsea Jones, from table nine.”
“You told your aide you wanted to turn me over your knee.”
“That I did. I wanted to see your reaction.”
“You knew I’d heard you?”
“Of course. Watched you turn tail and run. Thought I’d read you wrong, until you showed up tonight. Close your eyes, now. We can talk more in the morning.”
