Club Alpha: BDSM Romance Boxed Set

by Amy Valenti

  He pulled away, stepped back, breathing hard.

  “I...” She couldn’t speak any more, didn’t know what she’d been going to say.

  “I’ll get you that cab,” he said, and she was briefly lost. What had she done? What had gone wrong? And then she realized that perhaps it wasn’t that it was wrong, but that it was so right.

  “I could stay.” Her voice sounded so small.

  “I know. And what shade of bastard would I feel if I let you? You’re going through all sorts of sh... all sorts of problems and you don’t need me taking advantage. You need to be with your sister. You need to work out what you want.”

  “You’re doing that thing again. Telling me what I need.”

  “You’ve already told me what you need. I’m just repeating it back to you.”

  “I was wrong about you.”

  “How?”

  “When I said you weren’t necessarily through and through nice, that your niceness might be limited in some way. I may have to revise that opinion.”

  “It sucks being nice.” Then: “I’ll get that cab.”

  Seconds later, they were out in the street, Matt holding the cab door for Julie.

  “You’ll come back?” he said.

  She nodded. “I will.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “And unable to stop thinking about me.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  She climbed into the back seat of the cab and Matt closed the door, and she wondered why in Hell she hadn’t just grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and kissed him again and maybe changed everything.

  §

  She was being the good sister. Trying to make up some ground after failing to notice that Rachel’s life had been falling apart. The late night phone call was just a part of this, it wasn’t anything to do with Julie feeling frustrated and confused and needing to talk, and Rachel having always been so easy to talk to.

  It wasn’t a selfish thing at all.

  “So how’s things?”

  “What? Here, you mean? With me alone in my big house, surrounded not just by a million reminders of the man who thinks I’m boring, but by only the ones he didn’t want to take with him. The boring mementoes. Ha!”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t–”

  “You should. I’m the one who’s sorry. That was my feeble attempt at turning all this into a joke. I never would have made it as a stand-up, would I? I should just stick to the day job, to understanding people.” She snorted a laugh again, at that.

  “You need to work on the punchlines a bit more.”

  “I need to work on the rest of that bottle of Merlot.”

  “You want me to come round?”

  “You thirsty? You trying to drink my wine?”

  “I have wine here.”

  “Then let’s raise a glass over the phone, my love. I’m fine. Really. A girl doesn’t often get the chance to wallow in this much self-pity, so I’m making the most of it.”

  “See? I knew you’d find a silver lining.”

  “Just a matter of looking hard enough.”

  “So how’s things?”

  “How’s things with you? Did you go back to the Club tonight? I knew you were going to. That’s why I sent you packing.”

  “No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t make it that far.”

  “No? Intriguing. Spill.”

  “You don’t want to know.” Julie raised her own glass and took a sip. “This isn’t about me. I just wanted to be sure you haven’t, you know, slit your wrists or anything attention-seeking like that.”

  “Not yet,” said Rachel. “But I will if you don’t spill. Go on, Jules: distract me. Entertain me. I’m boring, after all: you’re the one who has a life, albeit one with a few too many whips and chains for my preference.”

  “It’s nothing, really. Just this guy. You know how it is.”

  “For you.”

  “For me. It’s complicated, and I don’t think I can do complicated right now. If I need sex I should just go to the Club and find someone. Everything’s clean and simple there. No strings. Well... you know what I mean. No expectations.”

  “You had sex with someone?”

  “No. That’s what’s complicated. We could have but we didn’t. He’s a nice guy. Sensitive.”

  “Relationship material, not sex.”

  “Both. Definitely both.” She closed her eyes and remembered the kiss. His touch, his scent.

  “And you’re not ready.”

  “No.” The way the battle to do the right thing had been written across his face.

  “And you want to wait for that magical point in your life when you are ready, and then you can think about relationships. Instead of, you know, doing what most people do and taking things as they happen and if a relationship just comes along, even if the timing could have been better, then you give it a chance.”

  “Stop being so sensible.”

  “So right.”

  “So whatever.”

  “So what about the guy at the Club? The one you were stalking. The man in the mask. What about him?”

  “I so was not stalking him!” She had another sip of wine. “Do you know what?” she said. “I’ve barely given him a thought for, oh, hours. Not when I was talking to you. Maybe afterwards, briefly. I did head back to the Club, but it wasn’t to look for him, it was to look for escape. Release.”

  “But you didn’t make it that far, and then you got distracted, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So you’re fretting that maybe in the thick of all that’s going on you latched on to some unattainable guy in a mask and started to fantasize just a little too much, and now you’re realizing that that was only a transient thing, over in a flash. And now you’re letting that mess up your chances of something more significant by pushing everything into the same category?”

  “When you put it like that...”

  “So what’s the big deal, Jules? You met a guy. He was nice. Maybe you should meet him again. See if he’s still nice. Take it from there. That kind of thing?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hell, I really should do this kind of thing for a living, shouldn’t I?”

  “Perhaps you should.”

  §

  She didn’t know what to do.

  She could hardly keep turning up at the guy’s coffee shop, could she? She’d look like some kind of caffeine-addicted stalker. He did make a really good long black, though: that in itself might almost excuse a return visit sooner rather than later.

  And that kiss... how could that not be an invitation to return? The tension in his body, in everything about him, as he’d resisted following up that kiss. Trying to do the right thing. Trying to protect her. Had her vulnerability been that obvious?

  Was he being over-protective? She might have to cure him of that. And that train of thought, more than anything, confirmed that it was a ‘when’ rather than an ‘if’.

  Part three: Falling

  When you see someone in an unfamiliar setting, it can take some time for your brain to catch up. When you’re accustomed to seeing that person in a leather nun’s habit and killer heels, that process can be even slower.

  “Hey there, honey,” said a rich voice in her ear. Madame Superior’s tone was unmistakable, a husky, deep purr that was closer to Barry White than anything else.

  Julie was in a department store, browsing through the rails of last season’s designer stock for bargains.

  She turned her head, expecting to see a leather-clad nun with long, false eyelashes and drag queen make-up, even here in the middle of Joyner’s. Instead, there was a tall black woman in jeans and an ill-fitting jumper. Julie’s first reaction was to look past the woman to see if she had a companion, then she did a double take, recognizing the eyes, the full mouth, the way she held herself.

  In real life, Madame Superior was slimmer than Julie had expected, and her un-made-up face actually looked younger, almost schoolgirlish, even though she m
ust be in her mid thirties at least. She probably didn’t even call herself Madame Superior out here in the world.

  “So how are you keeping?” asked Madame.

  Julie was still caught in the process of that double take: there was so much that was disorienting, seeing one of Club Extraordinaire’s longest standing House Dommes out here, like this.

  “I’ll go away if you don’t want to talk,” said Madame. “I know some people like to keep everything separate, you know?”

  “No, no,” said Julie. “It’s fine. I just... You know how it is when you see someone out of context.”

  “I do that,” said Madame, stepping forward to flick through the rack of clothes. “I almost didn’t recognize you in clothes that aren’t leather or rubber or ripped off and on the floor.”

  Julie chuckled at that. She glanced around the store. Everyone just going about their business. She wondered then if she and Madame were the exceptions, or if everyone had their secret lives, their affairs and parties, their fantasies. Maybe, for all Rachel’s protestations, it was her humdrum life that was the exception, not Julie’s.

  “I was pleased to see you back at the Club this week,” said Madame. “Thought you might have given up on us, or moved away or something.”

  “No, it was just Nathan who moved away.” They didn’t use their names much at all at the Club, but Madame knew everyone. “Clean break. You know.”

  “Oh, I know. That one never did know how to treat a lady. Or keep one.”

  Madame’s easy familiarity with Nathan reminded Julie that he had been a regular at the Club before she had known anything about it. It was his world, and he had introduced her to it. Had he ever lain himself down at Madame’s feet and submitted to her demands? Probably not: control was his thing. Whereas Julie was open to all possibilities, Nathan was not one to bow down.

  She thought then of Matt, and said, “You know the coffee shop across the street from the Club? Do you know anything about the guy who runs it?”

  Madame studied her carefully. “Matt?” she said. “Sure. He’s sweet. Was some kind of athlete before he did something to his knee. Then he was something big in the city. You have the drive to make it as an athlete, I guess you’ve got the drive to make it in anything. He quit all that, though. Didn’t like the life, or the people, much. Bought the shop, fitted it all out himself. Nice guy, if you like that kind of thing.”

  Julie nodded. She was rapidly coming to realize that she did like that kind of thing and that you don’t shut out the chance of something good just because it’s come along at an inconvenient time. And if she worked at it, she might even convince herself that was her own conclusion and not exactly what Rachel had told her last night.

  Then: “What?” asked Julie. “What did you just say?”

  “I said, do you know him through Nathan?”

  “Nathan?”

  “That’d be a ‘no’, then. Nathan. The two of them were buddies. Real close. I thought you must–”

  “No. I didn’t know.” Her brain was racing, trying to recall any mention of a Matt, any encounter with him, even. Nathan might have mentioned him. He had a drinking crowd, a work crowd, a crowd for everything, it seemed. Nathan was that kind of a guy, always at the center of things.

  So why hadn’t Matt said anything? Did he not recognize her? But if he was close to Nathan, as Madame had said, then surely he must know who Julie was...?

  “You okay, honey?”

  “Yes, just... okay.”

  §

  Was she being paranoid? Reading too much into an innocent situation?

  So Matt knew Nathan. Big deal. He’d been ‘something in the city’ before setting up the coffee shop – he must have known Nathan through work. He probably hadn’t even made the connection between Julie and Nathan: to him, she was just the woman who had started to come in and occupy the window seat, nothing more.

  But how closely had he known Nathan, and how did that affect anything?

  Then she got to thinking, if he knew Nathan, then did he know about Nathan’s very particular tastes? Had he been stringing her along? All that Mr Nice Guy act. The faux sensitivity. All that being nice to Nathan’s slutty ex.

  She was being over-dramatic, she knew. He’d sent her away last night when she’d been practically begging for it. He’d been protective of her, and sweet. That was the word Madame Superior had used, too: sweet.

  So he had known Nathan.

  That was nothing. It really was.

  §

  She should have called Rachel. Her sister was always the voice of reason. She would always make Julie step back from an impetuous decision, assess things, work out what she really wanted. She made her understand her own motivations.

  But Rachel was dealing with enough stress of her own. She didn’t need Julie plaguing her with more of her dramas. She needed to focus on her own life for once.

  So she didn’t call, and she didn’t step back from an impetuous decision, let alone pause to understand her own motivations.

  She went to the coffee shop.

  It was a Saturday afternoon and the place was as busy as Julie had ever seen it. She chose not to take the remaining table, but instead went to the counter, where she was momentarily thrown because it wasn’t Matt serving, but another guy, much younger, skinny with a wispy beard and dark ginger hair.

  “Can I help?” the guy asked her in a nasal voice.

  “It’s okay. I’ll get this.” And Matt was standing there at her side, his hand touching her elbow lightly. “Hey, Julie,” he said. “I didn’t even have your number.”

  She glanced around. “You’re busy,” she said. “And a liar.”

  §

  “You didn’t tell me you knew Nathan. You pretended you were a complete stranger. How much more of this all is just an act?”

  They stood outside in the street next to a row of parked cars. Overhead, a lime tree cut out the afternoon sun.

  “I what?”

  She could see expressions flitting over his face, as if he was waiting for one that might fit. He settled on slightly abashed. “Nathan? Well, yes, but... I didn’t lie about anything, Julie.”

  “But your version of the truth was carefully edited, wasn’t it?”

  He looked down. “Have I gone back to just being someone capable of occasional niceness, rather than through and through nice?”

  That may have been an innocent question, or an attempt at a joke, but in Julie’s current frame of mind it sounded just too calculated, too manipulative. “I don’t know what you are,” she said. “Or who you are.”

  He fixed her with those pale eyes. “And do you want to?” he asked. Perhaps fearing her response, he plunged on: “Because I really hope you do. I never claimed to be any kind of good guy, Julie, but you bring it out in me. I’m a better person just being with you.”

  Which only made her wonder what kind of a person he was the rest of the time. It seemed he couldn’t say anything without her turning his words against him, and she was very aware her mind was doing that now.

  “Nathan hurt me,” she said. “It’s taken me a long time to deal with that. And now you come along, all complicated and complicating, which was bad enough, but then you turn out to be hiding things from me. I don’t understand what it’s doing to my head, but I don’t like it. I don’t need complicated right now.”

  His hand came to her elbow again, an automatic response to the break in her voice and the way her eyes were filling up even though she willed them not to.

  She tried not to find that brief touch reassuring. She wasn’t ready for that. It was another thing that fell under ‘complicated’.

  “Nathan’s a dick,” said Matt. “He always has been, and the odds are good that it’s too ingrained in him for that to stop any time soon. Yes, I know him, and I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you. I actually met you once at a work thing with Nathan last year – we used to work together. I thought you were beautiful and mesmerizing then, and when I saw
you again I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  He stirred up so many emotions in her, even when she was angry with him and feeling manipulated.

  “You should have said you were his friend.”

  “You wouldn’t have stayed. You wouldn’t have talked like you did.”

  “No I wouldn’t!”

  “And would that have been fair?”

  “This isn’t about fair.”

  “But if you’d known I was a friend of Nathan’s you would never have given me a chance. I know what he’s like. I know how far his influence extends. He tends to dominate any relationship. He’s so controlling...”

  She looked at him, then. He tends to dominate any relationship. He’s so controlling. Was he telling her that he knew about Nathan’s preferences? Nathan the Dom? How much more did he know about her and Nathan and the life they had led?

  “You know someone else, too,” she said. The steadiness in her tone caught his attention. “She’s... a friend.” She didn’t know Madame Superior’s real name, and so didn’t know quite how to refer to her just now. What if she was wrong?

  “Yes? Who?”

  “Tall, about six foot. Afro-Caribbean. Wonderful deep voice.”

  “Madeleine, you mean? Sure, I know her. Comes in every so often and we chat. She’s cool. She’ll tell you I’m okay.”

  “She already has.”

  There was sudden hope in his eyes.

  “She said you were sweet. I think she likes you.”

  “She’s lovely, but she’s not my type. You are.”

  He had a way of suddenly cranking up the intensity, as if he’d just flipped a switch. She couldn’t hold his look. Couldn’t focus when he did that.

  Then he went on: “I’ve seen you there. At Madeleine’s place. The Club.”

  She looked at him now. The blond hair: slicked back with gel it would be darker, she realized. The line of his jaw. The thin lips. The way he held himself as he stood there. She recalled the way he moved around the coffee shop, a smooth power to his movements like a dancer’s.

  No.

  Even as she saw all the pieces slotting together she couldn’t accept it.