She tears off a strip of the wax and tears come to my eyes. I can’t prevent the yelp. “Sorry, can’t help it, I’m afraid. But you won’t mind the bit of pain to prepare you for your Dom, will you?”
“He’s not my Dom,” I reiterate firmly. “And I’m not a sub!” My eyes water with the stinging pain, but I realise she’s gone too far for me to call a halt now. Having one side of my labia bare and the other like a brush is a bit lopsided.
This time, she covers her mouth as she gives a belly laugh. “Of course, you’re a sub.” As I glare at her, she continues. “Like me.”
“You?” I’m dumbfounded. I wave around at the salon. “You’re the owner, aren’t you?”
She looks at me, puzzled. “Yes?” And then smirks. “Ah, you think a successful business woman can’t want to enjoy submitting to a man?” Focusing on her task, she seems to be considering something. “I’ve read a couple of your books, Dex, and while you describe the power exchange quite well, you do tend to write about slaves, you know, 24/7 submissives. Submissives, who submit out of the bedroom as well as in it. Most subs are like you and me, strong, independent people who don’t need someone to depend on all day every day, who want to be treated as equals in their daily lives. But giving up control in the bedroom? Well, there’s no beating that as a stress reliever.”
My brow creases as I consider her words, “You saying I write about weak women?”
“Not exactly weak, but you haven’t yet used a female lead who leads a life totally independent of her Dom. There are many women, like myself, who just want to play and not have a man in their lives.”
Using men for sex? In the same way that men use women? Knowing this is a thought completely alien to me; my only experience of sex was something I wouldn’t want to repeat, I realise getting to know Diamond better and understanding her way of thinking might provide some good background for a new novel.
So as she continues to painfully complete her task, I reflect on what she’s said. It’s something I can’t understand; for me there couldn’t be anything worse than the thought of giving up control. However, I’m enjoying this conversation with Gorgeous, and decide that I’m probably not going to cause her bodily harm after all, especially if I want to pick her brains at a later date. Notwithstanding the themes of my novels, I’ve never actually come across anyone in the lifestyle before, well, other than Jon, but he and I haven’t had this kind of chat. It dawns on me I’d like to know her better.
“I take it your name’s not really Gorgeous?” I ask with a smile.
“Yes, it is.” She grins back. “At the club, anyway.” Ah, so Jon hadn’t called her that as a term of endearment. “My real name is Madelaine, hence Salon de Madelaine. I didn’t choose the name; one day someone called me Gorgeous and it kind of stuck.”
I smile. It’s easy to see why. And then my brow furrows, and I frown, “Has Jon got a club name?”
“Master Jonathan.” She squints at me. “I know you write this stuff, but do you want me to go over the protocol of what to call the Doms?”
“Could be useful.” Club Taicapan might be different to others I’ve heard of.
“Any Dom you meet at the club you should address as Sir, if not, you’re liable to be punished unless they’re lenient as you’re new. A Master of the Club should be addressed as Master whatever his name is. You should only address a Dom with the title Master without his name, if you are in a D/s relationship with him.”
What she tells me is fairly standard fare, but serves as a useful reminder. “Jon’s a Master of the Club?” Somehow I guessed he would be pretty experienced.
“Yes and…” her voice trails off.
“And?” I prompt.
“Never mind. Some things he’ll probably want to tell you himself. Anyway, Tiacapan has some protocols which I expect Jon will explain to you. It’s different to some clubs which don’t seem to have any at all.”
“Like Tops and Tailends?”
I see her grimace. “You’ve not been there, have you?”
“No, a friend was going to get me in, but Jon went up the wall. That’s why he’s taking me to Tiacapan instead.”
Reaching out to touch my arm she suddenly becomes solemn. “Don’t go somewhere like that, Dexie. It can be dangerous. You could find yourself in the middle of something you don’t want to be doing. Power exchange means exactly that, an exchange. At Tops and Tailends you might end up giving your control over to someone else. All your control.” She shudders. “They’re not too hot on safewords, and last time I went, I saw no dungeon monitors at all.”
She gets up and goes to the sink to take off her gloves and wash her hands, her manner now dismissive, as if the conversation is over. I sit up and gingerly reach for my underwear. While having a smooth mound and underparts might eventually look better; I’m not relishing the bright red look I’m sporting right now. Gorgeous brings me some cream which takes away the worst of the sting. Whether I’ll be able to walk normally, or will have to stride with my legs apart to stop my nether regions chaffing remains to be seen. Before she passes me onto one of her colleagues for the rest of my ‘pampering’ which I’m now thinking could be better termed ‘torture,' she tells me to enjoy myself tonight, and that she might see me there.
The rest of the day carries nothing else out of the ordinary, and I have no further in-depth chats with the salon’s owner. I have my toe and finger nails trimmed buffed and polished, and varnish applied. I go for a dark red, still not sure what I’ll pick to wear tonight, mentally running through my wardrobe in my head and coming up short on suggestions. Lastly, my hair’s trimmed and styled so that it falls over my shoulders in soft waves, a look I’ve never been able to achieve myself. And then makeup is applied, a bit heavier than I usually wear, but Gorgeous tells me it’s perfect for the club, and I have to trust her. Finally, I’m given instructions on how best to refresh it before going out later on.
And then I’m done. I’m dressed and now have to wait for Jon to arrive to collect me. Glancing into the mirror my new look gives me confidence, and I have to smile at the transformation. Then my face falls, my hair style certainly won’t look so good once it’s squashed under a helmet again. But I should have known better and that there was no need for me to worry. When I watch out of the window and see Jon arrive in the McClaren, I mentally kick myself. Of course, he’s used to collecting women from here and knows better than to ruin an effect that’s taken hours, and a lot of money, to achieve.
Standing up from the couch where I’ve been waiting I grab my bag. The door to the salon opens, and Jon walks in like he owns the place, nodding a greeting and calling out a friendly hello to the stylists working out front, then comes to halt in front of me. He lifts his hand to my chin and moves my head from one side to the other. “Beautiful,” he murmurs softly.
Gorgeous has come up to stand behind him. “She’s a lovely one, Jon.”
Lovely one indeed. One of how fucking many? I ask myself cynically. He doesn’t understand the quick scowl I throw him before I turn back to thank Gorgeous and her team with a warm smile, making sure they know how much I’ve enjoyed my day with them.
But he’s not my Dom, whatever Gorgeous implied; he’s just helping me out with my research. So what does it matter how many women he’s brought here? He could have brought a hundred for all I care. Stepping out of the door, I pause, trying to pull myself together before getting into the McClaren. I’ve had an amazing experience today, not one I’d rush to repeat, perhaps, but pleasant nonetheless. I should be grateful, and remember I haven’t any reason to be acting like a jealous cow.
Chapter 13
Jon
Four years ago
The Kassis Royal Family owned a number of casinos dotted about Europe, as well as one they were currently building in their homeland, part of their journey towards making Amahad a destination attractive to tourists from overseas. Part of Nijad’s official role was to keep an eye on this section of the family business, and in that
capacity, tonight he was visiting the Kassis casino in the centre of Paris. I was going with him as his guest, not as his protection officer, as I was still waiting for medical clearance to resume duties after having the bullet removed from my lung.
It wasn’t long before the argument starts between us.
“Half a million euros?” I looked incredulously at the pile of chips he’s put in front of me.
“I just want to get a feel for how the house is working,” Nijad informed me emotionlessly, “I’m here to check how things are running. Have fun and lose the lot. You’ll be helping me out.” Of course, it was probably just pocket change to him, but a huge amount to me.
I glanced at him; we’re about the same height so stood eye to eye. I tried to read him, but his face was inscrutable.
“Come on, Jon, just enjoy yourself for once. Harry’s got my back,” he cajoled me, shamelessly.
There was no point protesting. Without Nijad’s help, I wouldn’t have been able to afford to play for long, I certainly didn’t have that type of money in my bank account! Reluctantly I agreed. The alternative was to lose the few pounds I could afford to drop and then having to hang around just watching the action. Even the price of drinks was enough to make your eyes water.
He stood back as if to walk away, and then, almost as an afterthought moved forward again, and rested his hand on my shoulder. “Of course, anything you win you get to keep.”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. My suspicions grew exponentially as I seemed to have the luck of the devil with me that evening, eventually ending the night ten million euros richer.
Present day
Mia looks absolutely fucking beautiful. Her professionally applied makeup making her eyes look even larger than normal, her lips fuller; cheekbones more defined. My cock twitches in my jeans and if don’t quickly start thinking of something else; I’ll soon be sporting the customary hard on I seem to suffer every time I’m around her. It will be no hardship taking her to the club tonight; I’m more than eager to play. I suppress a grin at the thought of what’s waiting for her at my apartment.
Greeting Gorgeous with a nod, I wryly wonder just how many of my secrets she’s shared during the course of the day. As we leave the salon, and I step forwards to open the passenger door, Mia turns and gives me a sharp look. Hmm. Perhaps she’s shared a little too much. Oh well, step one to face now: our destination. Time’s getting on; it’s now almost six o’clock. I start the car and head for home. My home.
Mia breaks the silence. “Thanks for today, Jon. You’ll have to let me know how much I owe you.”
“Nothing,” I tell her softly, “It’s on me.” I know she doesn’t like that, but as I know; she couldn’t afford to pay the salon’s prices.
I see the hard stare she gives me, and she doesn’t say anything more, but I doubt I’ve heard the last of it. I’ve already found she’s got a strong independent streak. Instead, she changes the subject. “Have you told the police about the party, Jon?” Her voice sounds tense, and I know she’s worried about how much I would have divulged.
“I rang Coulton this morning after I left you, and brought him up to speed. We’re passing on anything we come across to him, but he’s happy for us to follow up any leads at present. To be honest, we can put more resources on it than he can, and he knows that.” I indicate right and pull out across the road, automatically glancing behind me to make sure there’s not a rogue motorbike or mad cyclist zooming up past.
“That’s good.” She’s quiet for a moment. “You told him what happened to me?”
“He has to know, Mia.”
She sighs. “Yeah, I know,” she says in acceptance but I see her shoulders slump. Something she’s kept so private for so long is now out in the open. In my view, that’s all to the good. The more we know, the more likely we are to be able to keep her safe.
The traffic isn’t too bad for once, so making my way across to Docklands doesn’t take too much time. I notice Mia getting a little restless when I don’t take the obvious route out of town.
“Jon, where are we going?” she asks, apprehensively, as if worried I’ve got any other surprises in store for her. I have steamrollered her a bit today. But that’s not going to stop just yet.
“My place.”
“But I’ve got to get home and sort out something to wear tonight.” She indicates her clothing. “I can’t go dressed like this.”
I know, and I’ve taken that into account. “No need to worry, I’ve picked up something for you to wear.
She stiffens. “Jon, you’ve done too much for me.” Her words hide a myriad of feelings, one that she doesn’t like me spending money on her, and another that I’ve taken away one of her choices. I get the feeling she doesn’t like being out of control. But she’s going to have to get used to it. Tonight, I’m the one in the driving seat.
“I’m taking you to my club,” I explain, gently, “I’ve seen your wardrobe sweetheart, and you’ve nothing to wear that will look right. Trust me; I’ve got you something that will make you blend in, and make me proud to walk in with you on my arm.” I’m impatient to see her in what I’ve chosen, though I doubt she’ll put it on without an argument.
Luckily we arrive at the parking for my apartment which stops further conversation. I pull the McClaren in alongside the three motorbikes I’m proud to own; along with the Agusta and Harley I also have an aging Kawasaki Ninja. I notice she gives the bikes a sideways glance and a grin, and can almost hear her thinking boys’ toys, before taking my offered hand and walking with me to the lift. And she’d be right, I do love my playthings. Suppressing a grin, I pause for a moment to open my mailbox and take out the post waiting for me there.
I live in the renovated docklands area, and look out over the waterways, which gives me an exceptional view from my penthouse. Mia enters my home, and I step back, curious to see what she makes of it. To be quite honest it’s not really me, and I prefer her cottage. The apartment is too new, and olde-worlde stuff would look out of place here, so it’s furnished with mainly stainless steel and glass rather than the honesty of fabric and wood in her Epping Forest home. She walks over to the floor to ceilings windows and looks out, and I see the view takes her attention. You can see for miles from here.
When she turns, she nods, as if I’m expecting her to make a comment and doesn’t want to disappoint me. “Nice.”
I shrug. “It does. It’s close to the office, so it’s a short walk instead of needing to drive.” Moving into the room I glance at the envelopes I’m holding, and for a moment my attention is taken away from the woman I’ve unusually brought to my domain. Having ascertained there’s nothing urgent for me to deal with; I lift my eyes to watch her, interested to see what she makes of this incursion into my life. She’s still standing by the windows, as if unsure what to do. I’m not surprised. In her cottage her warm comfy looking sofa just invites a person to sit down; here the cold looking leather doesn’t seem as appealing. “Sit,” I suggest, indicating one of the two modern couches.
My phone rings as she places her coat into my outstretched hand before taking a seat. I go into the kitchen to answer the call, but it doesn’t take long, and after only a few moments I return to her. She’s leaning forwards, her arms crossed and her elbows resting on her thighs. She’s not relaxed at all and gives me a quizzical look.
Sitting down opposite, I bring her up to date. “That was Coulton. Just keeping us informed, no real developments,” I begin. “They’ve visited the shop where the flowers were purchased, but the florist can’t remember much about the man who bought them. There’s no CCTV in the shop, so that’s a dead end. But there might be something about the locality. It could be he lives in the area.”
She shivers. “Were there any other messages today?”
“No, it’s gone quiet.”
“How long will you keep protecting me, Jon, if he doesn’t do anything else?”
I squeeze her hands to reassure her, understanding her fears. “I�
�m not leaving you alone until this matter’s resolved. I’m not taking the chance that he’s waiting to get you on your own.” Selfishly, I hope a resolution won’t be found too quickly; I want more time to get to know this woman.
Her sense of relief is palpable. I take the opportunity to change the subject. “I’m going to order some food now. Want to come and look at some menus?” Getting up, I walk through to the ultra-modern kitchen which I rarely use. It’s not that I don’t enjoy cooking, I just don’t get much time for it, and cooking for one doesn’t hold much appeal. Now cooking breakfast for Mia, that was different, and something I could well get used to, watching her eat the food I’d prepared with such relish was a real turn on.
Opening a drawer I take out some well-thumbed highly colourful leaflets promising a variety of highly stylised dishes, thinking how disappointing it is that the dishes don’t match the photos when they arrive in little foil containers.
She takes the menus but doesn’t immediately look at them. Something seems to be on her mind. “After the club, Jon, am I going home?”
“Here’s closest, Mia. I’ve got a spare room all made up.” Selfishly, I’d much prefer we stayed at my apartment rather than me having to spend another night on her couch with is more than adequate for sitting on, but highly undesirable as a bed. But then again, if my plans for the evening work out we might only need the one bedroom. Down boy! I shake my head trying to remove such thoughts from my head. It seems I’ve had a one-track mind since the day I met her.
We order in food, just a basic Chinese, but Mia doesn’t seem to have much appetite, which I put down to her nervousness about the night ahead. It must be strange for her, knowing so much in theory, but never having put it into practice before. It’s not as though she’s got any sexual experience either. Well, nothing good. Briefly, it occurs to me to question whether I’m doing the right thing. But then, if I don’t take her to Tiacapan, she’s so darn set on going somewhere she may well end up going to a different club on her own where members aren’t vetted properly, and safety precautions aren’t so well observed. And fuck it, she might go without me. My body tenses at the thought of anyone else touching her.
Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2) Page 16
