Maisy's Keeper: Club Drift, Book One (The Club Drift Series 1)

by Saffron Hayes

  His loud laugh caused a number of patrons to glance in their direction. “Of course, sweetheart. We put our subs through a lot, they need something to get them back to themselves after a hard scene."

  A cup of tea sounded just about right actually. Maisy hadn’t particularly wanted the chocolate, but she remembered how much it’d helped before and once she’d tasted the rich, dark stuff she wolfed it down.

  "I wanted to do a scene with you." She said quietly, sitting up a little straighter when the beautiful submissive lawyer came by to drop off her tea.

  Daniel put two sugar cubes in her cup before handing it to her, even though he knew full well she didn’t take any, "I know, but I’m meant to be the responsible one when you’re in the submissive mind-set. I’m meant to watch out for times when you make decisions you shouldn’t."

  "I am perfectly capable of making decisions for myself thank you very much." She gulped a mouthful of too hot tea and glared at him.

  "I know, sweetheart." He stroked her arm and gave her a moment with her tea.

  "Maybe we should have waited until next time," she said quietly. It had been an intense day and they really hadn’t needed to rush into a scene. They’d gotten carried away.

  "Probably. I think you dropped so hard because of your confused emotional state beforehand." He looked her in the eye, "I’m sorry Maisy, I won’t be so careless with your wellbeing again."

  She handed him her cup before curling back into his chest. "I should think not," she said, in her snootiest voice.

  He handed her the other unwrapped bar of chocolate, "That’s my good girl."

  Claude, his timing impeccable as always, chose that moment to approach their cosy nook.

  “How are you feeling, dear Maisy?”

  Her unexpected and dramatic mood flip hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the club then. More’s the pity. Maisy’s stomach lurched unpleasantly when she remembered Claude had hired her in a professional capacity earlier that very evening. She nearly dropped the chocolate in her haste to sit up and put on a bright smile.

  “Absolutely fine, Sir! Nothing to worry about, just a little wobble. Shall I call you about noon tomorrow? We can just go over some preliminary details and then-”

  “Of course, petite. You can call whenever you are ready. For now, however, I’d like you to consider staying in one of the member’s bedrooms.

  “Oh! Why would I stay here?”

  Claude sat opposite them in the booth, pausing a moment before continuing carefully, “It is getting late and you’ve had a trying day. I’d feel happier knowing you were safe here than releasing you into the night when you’re a little...what did say? Wobbly.”

  Maisy bristled at the suggestion, but something about the concern on Claude’s lined face made her pause. She did feel strange and there’s nothing particularly pleasant about late night tube rides home even when you are entirely in possession of your faculties.

  “That’s very kind of you, Claude,” she said, pushing her prideful objections away, “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

  Claude nodded and smiled as if giving thanks. His face seemed less lined now, Maisy thought, how strange.

  Claude had just stood to leave them to their cuddle, satisfied with the knowledge his members would be safe that night, when Daniel, uncharacteristically quiet until now, spoke, “Just a minute, Claude.”

  Claude waited, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

  Dan took Maisy’s hands in his and said, “You could come stay with me if you’d prefer. I’m not far away and you’ll be safe enough getting there with me, wobbly or not.”

  The serious intensity with which he asked this surprised Maisy. It was offered in much the same tone one would expect to receive a marriage proposal or notification of a birth. Her first instinct was to laugh, but she knew somehow that Daniel was offering more than a bed. It cost him to invite her to his home.

  Those invisible guidelines that had restricted their relationship were more insubstantial now than they had been. The lines were blurring. To go to each other’s homes, to spend the night, would have been out of the question even a week ago. Neither of them had noticed it at the time, but things had changed between them. Claude’s rules weren’t the only thing binding them together anymore.

  “Maisy?” Claude was still waiting and Maisy hadn’t spoken for a long moment. If Dan was pained at waiting for a response he did not show it, his expression was all stoicism.

  “Sorry,” Maisy said, “Yes, thank you, Daniel. I’d prefer that. Thanks for offering anyway, Claude.”

  “Bien.” Claude’s gave Daniel a long unreadable look then, apparently satisfied, nodded. “I’ll speak to you both tomorrow.”

  Daniel seemed quieter now than Maisy had ever known him. He was deep in thought for a moment, then he smiled as if shaking off a tumult of bad thoughts and replacing them with something simpler, “Shall we go now?”

  Chapter 27

  House

  Maisy looked around the spotlessly clean kitchen. Dan was apparently extremely organised. He had one of those herbs and spices libraries. Cookbooks in alphabetical order, clever pull out storage, and not a cornflake out of place.

  Some mischievous part of Maisy couldn’t resist switching Jamie Oliver with Nigella Lawson to see if he noticed. He returned from the adjacent room - she caught a glimpse of a washing machine and rows of cupboards, must be a utility room - with an uncorked bottle of red and two glasses.

  “Let’s sit for a bit.”

  She followed him through to a low ceilinged, cosy cottage style living room and took the glasses from him.

  “You have a beautiful home,” she said as she sat in the deep, tartan print sofa. It was the kind of huge and snuggly sofa that you could hardly help curling up in like a little kitten. She restrained herself for the moment, not wanting to appear rude.

  “Thank you,” he said, smiling warmly. “I must admit I’m proud of it.”

  “It’s stunning. Like a catalogue.”

  He laughed and handed her a glass of red. “I’ll be honest with you, sweetheart. There’s a good reason for that.”

  “Mm?”

  “This was when...when I had my old job, I paid a company to come in and do it like a show home because I haven’t got the first idea about decorating.”

  She snorted, “Really? I didn’t even know they did that.”

  “If it were left up to me we’d be sitting on cushions and drinking wine out of teacups. I’ve just got no taste or common sense, as Claude would say.”

  “Poor Sir,” she smiled and took a sip of the wine. Warm, rich, and a little spicy. Delicious. “Well, your catalogue people have a lovely home then.”

  “Cheeky subbie,” he kissed her cheek then pulled her to lean into his side. Her legs pulled up onto the squidgy sofa and they snuggled there for a moment.

  “It’s nice having you here,” he said.

  She squeezed his arm in response and tried not to notice how surprised he sounded. “So, how long have you known Claude?”

  “Twenty years or so now,” he said, “We were at university together. I was an undergrad and he was a mature post-grad. Lost contact for a bit when he went back to France. Met up again by chance around the time he launched Drift.”

  “You’re close then?”

  “Oh yeah. He was going to be my best man, after all.”

  Maisy’s squeezed his arm again. He’d never really mentioned his engagement before. Or his previous job, for that matter. She’d guessed that it wasn’t a tidy breakup, but she’d never heard it from him.

  “Anyway, how would you like to see the rest of the house?”

  She made a show of rolling her eyes, “Let me guess, the bedroom has the most impressive chandelier and a four-poster bed?”

  “Right on one and a half counts, actually, but I was going to show you the basement.” His evil grin told her all she needed to know about what kind of catalogue that room had been kitted out from.

  “Sir!�
�� She whined, “I’m meant to be recovering!”

  “You look recovered to me, sweetheart.” His eyes grazed over her black dress, which felt out of place in the quaint country room and she felt a shiver of arousal. Maybe a tour wouldn’t hurt. “Don’t worry. I only want to show you.” She felt a little pang of disappointment. He helped her up. “Bring your wine.”

  Maisy took Dan’s hand and followed him down a wide hallway. They passed the open plan kitchen and three closed doors before reaching an unusually big door at the end of the corridor. He opened it and revealed a set of concrete steps leading down into the gloom. Maisy felt suspiciously like a character in a horror movie.

  Then Dan flicked the light on and she grinned. Curvy painted women in rope bondage adorned the bright red stairwell walls. Beautiful and kitsch and a little ridiculous. She gently stroked one woman’s thigh as she went past. Definitely hand painted. That’s something you can’t get from a Laura Ashley catalogue. It was delightful.

  The red theme continued past the stairs, but the paintings were confined to that one area. The only decoration in this room were mirrors, tool racks, and cabinets.

  “Why bother going to the club at all?” She said, eyes wide with amazement.

  “Fair question.” Dan fingered the tails of a cruel looking whip that hung on a nearby wall while he considered his answer.

  There was nothing the room lacked. Every piece of equipment she’d seen in Club Drift was here too, maybe even more than she’d seen in Drift. The basement must stretch the whole length and width of the house. The lighting was so dim she could only barely make out the spider’s web contraption on the opposite wall from the stairwell. “I like public play,” he said, quietly, “and if truth be told, I’m a bit of a collector.”

  “Of sex stuff?”

  “Of play stuff, look.” He lifted the whip he’d been fondling and Maisy flinched.

  He shook his head, “You know I wouldn’t do that, pet. Don’t forget, safe words work in here too, but I want to show you.” He handed the evil looking thing to Maisy and she reluctantly took it.

  “Oh!” The handle was of the most exquisite carved rosewood she’d ever seen and the leather fronds were all hand knotted and artfully attached. “This is incredible.”

  “I got hooked when I was helping Claude kit out the club. We went to all these auctions, show rooms. The equipment in Drift is great, but then there’s this other artisan side that I found really exciting. You couldn’t put this in the public club, it’s a work of art. That bench over there is moulded to my height and my - Well, it’s personalised anyway. I collect works of art that are also...useful.”

  Maisy glanced at the slightly asymmetrical imprint of a bum that was caved into the bench. It had surely been modelled from life. His ex-fiance, perhaps? It must be. Carl had said Daniel never took subs home these days. Maisy thought it was probably best not to press Daniel for further details about personalisation.

  Maisy handed the flogger back to him and approached the wall it’d come from. Hand carved wooden paddles with words embossed and embedded in them, ornately carved handles, canes with animal heads - what could be on the other walls? “Wow,” she breathed.

  “This I can be proud of without stealing someone else’s hard work.” He took her glass from her - she’d forgotten she’d even been holding it - and placed both on an oddly formed tall table by the door. “I think you’re meant to put a plant on that, but it looked alright in here so I went with it.”

  She threw her arms around his waist and enjoyed the all-encompassing feel of having his arms around her. So, no idea about interior decor, but a collector of artisan and antique kink accoutrements - the place was practically a museum. She found the combination extremely charming.

  “I love it, Sir” she whispered.

  “Good,” he kissed her forehead, “I look forward to playing with you in here another day.”

  She pouted, “But Sir, I feel fine!”

  “Non-negotiable, sweetheart. I assure you I’m at least as disappointed as you are. Get the wine and go sit on that sofa on the back wall, I’ll join you in a moment.”

  She stole a kiss and scurried away when he swatted at her arse.

  She sat on a furry stole that was tiny compared to the plush leather sofa and sighed happily. The man had excellent furniture for sore bottoms. Maybe that was why this surprisingly vanilla section of the room was here, snuggly aftercare.

  “Unfortunately for my non-kinky guests, the basement was also the best option for the home cinema.” Dan returned with a box of DVDs and some remotes with far too many buttons. He passed the box to her in exchange for his wine and pressed something that made a projector style screen come down from the ceiling near the opposite wall.

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.” He put his arm around her and put his feet up on the coffee table in front of them. “Pick a movie.”

  “Aren’t they all porn?” She eyed their surroundings then the box suspiciously.

  “That’s the other box, sweetheart.” She wasn’t sure if he was joking.

  “I can choose anything?”

  “Anything at all.”

  “No punishments for picking something you won’t like?” She lifted Pretty Woman out and raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Ha! Clever little Maisy. You might receive some extra hard blows during your next spanking if you choose something deliberately awful, yes.”

  She grinned, this was the sort of game she could get behind. “Hmmm. How about...Mean Girls?” She held it out with a sweet smile, sure she’d get those lovely sounding spanks.

  “Good choice, go put it in the machine there, would you?”

  She frowned but jumped up to insert the disc into the system, which was thankfully more low-tech than it looked.

  They settled in, sipping wine and cuddling, both too tired to chat much. The movie was half-way through before she got anxious of waiting to find out when those spanks were coming.

  He laughed out loud when she asked, “The mistake you’ve made there, sweetheart, is assuming I didn’t know Mean Girls is a masterpiece.”

  She laughed, then stopped, noting a glint in his eye. Note to self - find out what Sir’s taste in films actually is.

  “You look tired,” she said quietly, when the film was over and they’d sat in silence holding each other for a while.

  “Just because I’m not going to play with you tonight doesn’t mean I’m not going to fuck you senseless in the morning, sweetheart.” He grinned and kissed her gently, the sweetness of the kiss belying his filthy promise. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” she said. Maisy turned on her side and felt his warm arm drape over her waist in the seconds before she fell to sleep.

  The little mite was out like a light. It’d been a long day for her, hell, for both of them. Dan was exhausted himself, but too in awe of the moment to let sleep take him quite yet. How long had it been? 5 years? More?

  Having her in his home, in his bed – well, sofa bed - didn’t just feel good, it felt right. He felt her chest rise and fall beneath his fingers, watched her lips part and her body relax as she fell deeper into sleep, heard the faintest rustles of what might become snoring. Damn, but she was cute. He’d screwed up at the club and she’d forgiven him in a heartbeat, with all the open honesty that had drawn him to her the night they’d met.

  It’d be so easy to do this every night. For Maisy’s beautiful smile to be the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep. He’d never imagined that love could feel easy again.

  Chapter 28

  Little Piggy

  Daniel placed a plate of beans on toast in front of Maisy. “I’m sorry I haven’t got anything else in, eggs or anything. The delivery is coming tomorrow.” Daniel rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. “At least I’ve got fresh coffee. I get points for that, right?”

  “No worries, I love beans on toast, I was just thinking yesterday that I haven’t had this in months.”

  “Good.
” He placed the coffee in front of her, “Milk and sugar?”

  “One of each please.”

  Maisy could get used to this. She’d been woken up late by the sound of a coffee grinder whirring away in the kitchen and the smell of the brewing drink had lured her in within minutes.

  Coffee, breakfast, and a gorgeous man wandering around the kitchen in nothing but loose grey sweats - definitely a good way to spend a rare Sunday morning off.

  They sat on steel and leather stools at the glossy black breakfast bar. If he’d noticed the rearranged cookbooks, he did nothing to let her know.

  “What are you thinking, sweetheart?”

  She picked up her knife and fork and started cutting her toast into neat squares, “That I’m really glad I packed normal clothes to travel home in last night.” When she glanced up to give him a sly smile she was delighted to find that Mr. Perfect Dom had a faint trace of orange bean juice around his lips.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That this feels good. More than good.” He gestured at their spontaneous domesticity with his cutlery.

  She nodded, not wanting to agree too enthusiastically because he was obviously still a little surprised by this homely turn of events. “It’s nice. Thanks for having me.”

  He snorted, “You sound like a school girl when you say thank you, sometimes. It’s adorable.”

  She gaped at him, “I do not.”

  “You do too.” He wiped the orange gunk from his face and sat back to enjoy the last of his coffee. “Shall we go to the club together this afternoon? I’ve got work to do on the books and I know you’re eager to speak with Claude now you’ve got that party to plan. It’s only...um. This is why it’s your job now, not mine. It’s a month away, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s about right. It’s going to be tough to get it all together in time, to be honest.”

  “You’ll get there,” he said. He sounded so sure that Maisy couldn’t help but agree with him.

  “Can I trust you to behave at the club today?” She asked, very much hoping the answer was no.