by Cara Dee
"I should go," I croak.
"Not yet," Angel sings. "You're our responsibility until you feel better."
I shake my head, about to protest, because I'm sure as hell not their goddamn responsibility. Except, Ryan shushes me before I can open my mouth.
He presses his lips to my forehead. "We didn’t feel good about letting you go home before. Not without knowing how you'd fare. That shit's over now." He strokes the shell of my ear, down to my jaw and chin. "If you want us to hurt you, you better accept the patching up, too. End of story, you hear?"
There's no point in arguing. I can't go without their harsh treatment. I suppose I'll have to suck it up and suffer through this aftercare crap in order to get it.
"Fine," I mutter.
He pats my ass. "Fine, what?"
"Fine, Sir."
*
I'm back in my suit, showered and ready to go home, when Ryan tells me he'll walk me downstairs.
"I hardly need a chaperone."
"There's something I want to discuss with you," is his answer.
My crisp button-down scrapes my damaged skin on the way down the stairs, and I loosen my tie, wishing I lived a life where I could be naked more often. But that’s not who I am. It's a slippery slope between indulgences and a life that will fuck you up, so I'll stay rigid. Twice a month. Nothing more. Outside of their building, I'm someone else. Someone who definitely isn't naked because two Sadists have bruised me.
The bar has filled up, and Tory and TJ are busy enough that they don't notice us when we walk through the establishment. Mostly gay men frequent the bar, with the addition of groups of girlfriends and a few straight couples.
Stepping outside, I take a deep breath and wait for Ryan.
I check my watch. It's dark by now, and I contemplate returning to my office. I have a court date next week and wouldn’t mind distracting myself with an all-nighter of reviewing a case I'm already familiar with.
Ryan lights up a cigarette, looking like my opposite. Jeans and wife-beater, all those tattoos, scruff, that lazy smile…
"Hotshot." He's amused by my suit.
"What did you want to discuss?"
His mouth twitches. "So impatient." He exhales some smoke. "It's about our D/s relationship."
"I'm listening." Though, I dislike the term relationship.
Ryan doesn’t beat around the bush. "Angel and I have released our other two boys. We don’t want to release you, but things are changing, so if you want to stay with us, you'll have to agree to new terms."
Unease trickles down my spine, and my forehead creases. What changed? Did something happen? Is everything all right? Oh, for chrissakes. I'm losing it. Focus. I clear my throat.
"What would the new terms be?"
Something dims in his assessing stare. "Perhaps it won't matter. Your interest would be required, Greg." He takes a drag, the tip of the cigarette glowing brighter. "Angel and I are trying for a baby."
Trying for a baby.
I flick my gaze up to the second floor where their apartment is. They're starting a family above a noisy bar? While being kinky. My jaw tenses. Children and alternative lifestyles don't mix.
"Congratulations," I manage stiffly. "As for the new terms…?"
Ryan smiles thinly and takes a final puff before stubbing it out on the pavement. "You don't really care about us as people, do you? You see two Tops." There's no malice or accusation in his voice. It's a frank statement, an observation. Mostly false, however. Nothing of which I can admit. "It's okay, pet." He's already retreating. "We would've liked to get to know you. Create something more meaningful and meet up more often. We want stability for our children, so we're done with casual lovers who come and go."
The unease grows. I can't give more. Despite what I might want, I give everything I can, and I know it isn't much. We can discuss current events and engage in insignificant chitchat, but that’s it. All they know of me is that I'm a lawyer and I live outside the city. They've seen results from an STD screening, they know my name, and they know what beer I like.
They know my limits.
"I…" Fuck, this hurts more than it should. Perhaps it's best to call this off now. "I don't have room in my life for more."
He nods tightly, though his gaze flashes with something I can relate to. A bit of hurt. "I figured."
I swallow hard, and a gust of wind gets caught in the Pride flag that hangs alongside the American flag by the door. I don't belong here. In an attempt to punish myself, I've gotten nothing but satisfaction from Ryan and Angel—and a taste for something I can't have. I've discovered what gives me bone-deep pleasure, even though I sought it out for reasons of which they wouldn’t approve.
"I should go." Before I make a bigger fool of myself. I wouldn’t be able to blame physical pain on the emotions now.
Ryan doesn’t object.
I toss a final glance at the second floor, then the Pride flag… I shake my head, mournful, and start toward my car. My feet feel heavier than lead. There you go. You got what you deserved. No more secrets to keep, I suppose. Not from Ryan and Angel, not from my family.
Enough with the indulging. I have strong beliefs where family and children are concerned, and I wouldn’t be able to witness it—much less be part of it—when Ryan and Angel have their child anyway. Enough with the emotional releases, too. I don't need the Quinns. It was only their pain I sought out, and it was wrong of me. Time to pull my shit together. I certainly don’t cry and show myself as weak.
I'm Greg Cooper, ruthless lawyer, traditional—a family man. My daughter is my number one priority.
Getting in my car, I reach over to open the glove compartment and slip on my wedding band again.
No more secrets.
Twice the Touch
Chapter 1
Mark Cooper
Throwing the rag over my shoulder, I survey the bartop, making sure it's clean and spotless. In my periphery, more and more people trickle in for a night at the club, and I grin when I see Nicholas and Kayla, back from Venice. That means Kevin is around, too, since he's itching to give Nick the latest figures.
Expanding the club was a wise decision; now we have people flying in from all over the state to visit Switch, and Nick has Kayla to thank for it. It'd been her idea, and since she has Nick wrapped around her little finger, there was no hesitation. Granted, Nicholas Ford is one badass businessman, so I doubt he would've gone through with the remodeling if his financial projections hadn't agreed with her vision.
"Welcome back, you two." I shake Nick's hand over the bar and tip an imaginary hat in greeting to Kayla. "How was your vacation?" Before the last word is out, my eyes have already strayed to her left ring finger.
Someone said yes. Of course he went with yellow. It's Kayla's favorite color. A fairly big, yellow diamond surrounded by small, clear ones on a white gold band. Or…knowing Nick, it's platinum.
"Magical," Kayla sings as she scoots onto a barstool. "We're engaged!" A big smile stretches across her lips. I congratulate them both, happy for them. "Thank you, Sir," she says sweetly. She's looking very pretty in another one of her baby-doll dresses. "It was the best vacation ever." Nick is content to let her do the talking, and he sits there, watching his little fiancée as if she's the center of the universe. Of course to him, she is. "I can bring photos tomorrow. If you want to see?"
I nod and pour her a Sprite. "I'd like that, honey." With a wink, I turn to Nick and ask him if he wants a drink, but he declines. All right, then. "Have you spoken to Kev yet?"
"He ambushed us in the lobby," he chuckles. "I'm happy it's going so well." He tugs on one of Kayla's pigtails. "This one's more business-savvy than I thought."
"Daddy." She giggles and squirms. "Always pulling my hair."
"You love it." He moves closer to her and lifts her chin, their noses nearly touching. With his free hand, he cups one of her tits and pinches a nipple through the fabric. "I can do whatever I want, can't I?"
"Yes, Daddy."
>
I smirk at Kayla's blush. She is too adorable for words. Not really my cup of tea, but I can still see the appeal—obviously. She's experienced despite her young age, beautiful, naturally submissive, with a mischievous streak that'll keep Nicholas on his toes. She's also a sweetheart, so I wasn’t surprised when Nick told me he was going to propose to her. Now, only six months after they met in the beginning of June, they have a lot going on. To some it might seem rushed—expanding the club, getting engaged, buying a house…but I guess they know what they want.
I can't say I'm envious. I used to have what he has now—sans the clubs—and I barely escaped unscathed. Admittedly, it's left me a little jaded.
"Are you on the floor tonight?" Nick asks me.
"Yeah." I nod.
He tilts his head in my direction as Kayla snuggles against his chest. Even seated on a barstool, he can have her on his lap. "Playing or working?"
"Work, I'm afraid." I jerk my chin at Dante a few feet away who asks for a beer. Now that Nick has created a big scening area for Switch, more regulations have been instituted for the guests. If you want to scene, there's a drink limit, and anyone who plans to partake in any type of play wears a blue rubber wristband. After giving Dante his first drink for the night, I scan his ID into the system so he's on the list for tonight. Then I return to Nick, who knows I'm usually all for participating in these events. "Liam called in, and he can't make it because his daughter's sick."
"Ah. So, you're manning the bar in the Cave?"
"Yep." Unfortunately.
When Nick bought the restaurant next door, he decided to keep the bar in the center of the new space. Four bartenders were hired as soon as the area was ready to be used, and Liam was supposed to work tonight.
Seeing as Nicholas has left me in charge of the bartending staff, it means I have to pick up the shifts that no one else can cover. Luckily, it doesn’t happen often.
"Are you and Kayla playing?" I ask and grab a soda for myself.
"We are," he chuckles as Kayla grins widely. "I promised my baby girl."
I have a feeling she's going to give him a run for his money. The new part of the club is fairly big, and when the lights go out, it's only going to make things more difficult for the Doms. But worth it in the end. So fucking worth it.
I scan the area, noticing the growing crowd. Some are playing before the main event, and some are socializing.
Half the wall on the other side of the club has been removed, so I can see straight into the Cave. Tearing down that wall was basically the only thing that needed to be done—aside from a paint job and refinishing the floor. Exactly like the original Club, the new section is perfectly square. The only difference is that the ceiling isn't as high in there as it is here; it creates a more intimate atmosphere, which is why we refer to it as the Cave.
Instead of another dance floor or seating area, dividers are lined up with the walls, each one making up a scene room. And in the middle of the floor, there's the bar, the one I'll be working in a couple hours.
There's still the kitchen and the private dining room behind the Cave to be dealt with, and I'm not sure what Nicholas is planning there. Those areas have been sealed off for now.
"Speaking of, we should probably put on our wristbands, little one," Nicholas murmurs, handing Kayla a white one. Everyone who's participating in tonight's Hide & Seek has to wear one, and they glow in the dark. "I should go tell Cade to turn on the floor lights, too."
No one wants anyone to walk into a wall or something and hurt themselves. This game is all about thrill—predators hunting down their coveted prey, Daddies chasing their Littles—and so the tiny lights embedded in the floor help the participants stay on their side of the makeshift playground. The dance floor in the Club and most of the Cave are free to play in, marking the scening stalls and seating areas as off-limits.
"Cooper!" Simon, one of the dungeon monitors, runs over. I jerk my chin in what's up? and get started on a drink order from a waitress. Miranda. Pretty sub. I've topped her before. "Is there any way you can help with a scene?"
I give the vodka bottle in my hand a pointed look before I meet his questioning gaze again. "A little busy here, man." This early into the night, there's only one bartender in each bar. I'm here, and Max is in the Cave. Facing Miranda, I ask, "Are there any IDs I need to check in?"
"No, Sir." She flutters her eyelashes at me. "They're not here to play."
I smirk at the redhead but say nothing and turn back to Simon again.
"What's the problem?" Nick inquires.
Simon huffs a breath; he looks as winded as the guys who are pushing big EVA foam blocks onto the dance floor. Hiding spots for the subs later. A few are big enough for two or three to fit inside.
"A new couple," he replies a bit sullenly. Simon has been with his sub for over fifteen years, so patience doesn’t come easily for him. "The Dom—and I use that term loosely—has his sub restrained to the St. Andrew's, and he's actually asking her what to do next."
I let out a laugh. "So, tell them to observe before they play."
It's not an uncommon occurrence that we have guests who think they're into the lifestyle, when all they really want is a little extra spice in their vanilla sex life.
"Is the sub topping from the bottom?" Nick asks.
Kayla, still in his lap, snuggles deeper into his embrace and starts sucking her thumb, her free hand playing idly with Nick's tie.
Simon shakes his head. "She doesn’t want to. I paused the scene to come here. Thing is, I don’t trust either of them to continue." He eyes me. "That’s why I don’t want to send them home."
I frown and pour a glass of red, the last drink before Miranda's order is complete.
Nick frowns, too. "You don’t believe the sub will safeword?" An educated guess. If this couple is already in a committed relationship, sometimes the trust comes too easily.
"Basically." Simon nods.
"Well—" Nicholas faces me "—you like a challenge. Go with Simon; I'll tell Kevin to man the bar for a while."
I grin. Kevin, Nick's right-hand man, is a Suit with a capital "S," and it's difficult to picture him behind a bar. However, he's the only option at this point.
"Lead the way." I wave a hand for Simon and round the bar to follow.
We cross the dance floor and enter the Cave, the smell of lemon from cleaning supplies coming on a bit stronger. I wink at a sub who is sterilizing the straps on a bondage chair.
There are a total of twelve stalls in the Cave, each one approximately twelve by twelve feet. The three by the eastern wall are as temporary as the wall itself and will be removed once Nick's figured out what to do with the extra space behind. Turning a big dining room into a dungeon was easy enough. Tearing up a restaurant kitchen is another matter.
"I'll be by the cross." Simon points toward a scening stall on the other side of the Cave, and I see that the stall in question has its curtains closed. Not safe for newbies.
I incline my head and duck into a cleaning station to wash up. My reflection in the mirror shows me I could use a vacation, but that will have to wait 'til January. That’s when I'll drive down to the beach house in La Jolla I inherited from my grandparents.
Thank fuck my ex-wife never cared for the place. Otherwise, she would've fought for it in the divorce.
I shake my head just thinking of Alexa. I spent seven years married to her, and that was six years too many. Damn woman was a skilled manipulator.
As the years passed, I heard more whines and complaints than "Yes, Master." Not to mention how she abused her safeword.
She changed so gradually that it took time for me to notice. I didn’t notice how she wore me down, either—not until much, much later. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I lost myself, but I did end up ignoring what I wanted in order to please her. And I guess I clung to the image and impression of how she was when we first met.
Good riddance.
Taking a closer peek at the mirror, I try to see if I
can spot another gray hair in my dark mess, but nothing yet. I'm due for another buzz soon, though. An inch is a bit too long. My brother's wife cut it for me last time, and I remember my niece saying, "So, you wanna go halfsies on the inch, Uncle Mark? Mommy, cut halfsies." I grin to myself and step back, wiping my hands on my jeans.
Time to be the Dom, not the jaded, maybe even bitter, divorced guy.
*
Just as I reach the stall, Simon pushes the curtain aside to exit. "Ah, there you are. I've already told them you're going to offer assistance." He holds open the curtain. "Do you want me to be here, too?"
I shake my head no and let the fabric close off the outside world.
Chapter 2
Fastened to the X-shaped cross, a lovely little brunette gazes at me with big brown eyes. I'd say she's in her early twenties. A heart-shaped face, soft-looking lips, and a slightly upturned nose. Gorgeous. She gulps and shoots an almost panicked look to the man beside me, but I'm not focusing on him yet. My main priority is the naked beauty who's restrained.
Full, round tits, rosy nipples, a slender waist, and nice, curvy hips. A bare little pussy. Exquisite legs, dainty feet—not a scar in sight. Also not in sight: any trace of arousal or excitement.
I approach her with slow, measured steps, and the first things I check are her bindings. With her arms raised so high, it's not good to have her restrained for too long, but it's looking good here. Simon has undoubtedly checked already.
"Not too tight?" I gently wrap my fingers around her left wrist, noticing the different wristbands she's wearing. Green for being approachable by other Doms, blue for partaking in scenes—which means the drink limit is in effect, and yellow for being new.
"N-no," she stammers in a soft voice, "they're good."
I raise a brow at her and clasp my hands behind my back.
"Sir," she adds hastily.
"There's a good girl," I murmur. "What's your name, kitten?"
She swallows before exhaling shakily. "Evangeline, Sir."
