by Jane Henry
“And you? Are you okay?”
I sigh in contentment. “Honey, I’m better than I’ve been in pretty much fucking ever. Got that guy behind bars. Got my girl back. And I know now, this is going where I want it to, you and me. Yeah, baby,” I say, dipping my head to brush my lips on her forehead. “I’m good.”
We sit in silence for a while before I speak again. “We’ll get that guy behind bars for life. And I’m gonna talk to Seth. Seems we need a new location for Verge. Don’t ever want to set foot in that place again, remembering what he did to you. Need a new association. Something fresh.”
“You know, that’s a great idea. I love it.” She pauses, her voice dropping. “And I love you.”
I’ll never get tired of hearing those words.
I nod. “And I love you, Diana,” I whisper. “Gonna make you mine in all the ways I can.”
“You already have,” she whispers, then blows out a breath. “I’m so sorry for the women who were hurt. But I’m also just so grateful we put an end to this.”
“Me, too.”
“Okay, time to get to the bus stop. He’ll be here any minute and it scares him if he doesn’t see me right off the bat.”
“Understood. I’ll go with you. Remember, we do things together now.”
“Yeah, handsome. I like that,” she says with a grin. “Together.”
Epilogue
Six months later
“Hey,” he says, catching my attention. I’m standing in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, making sure that I’m fully covered. Tonight, Tobias has asked me to do a demonstration in front of a crowded room. We’ve opened the new location for Verge just this month, and his members have been clamoring for everything Verge used to offer before–demos, parties in the party room, in addition to the security, privacy, and comforts they’ve come to expect.
Seth and Tobias feared opening the doors to the new Verge would see a membership loss, afraid that the negative publicity they’d seen in recent months would affect them. To their surprise, it hasn’t waned in the slightest. In fact, they’re thriving. Their new spot is in a swankier location and brings with it a heftier price tag, so they upped membership fees. It worked in their favor, though. They have so many requests to join, they have to turn people away. Lucky for them, they have an in-house interior decorator who knows her shit. The place looks amazing.
No more long, dark hallway to get to the lobby. Now, the entry area contains an office and a community room. His office is tucked in the corner, and private, but the larger area across from it is spacious and welcoming, with comfortable furniture, good lighting, and all the information new members could possibly need. All who enter must go through the community room, show proper I.D. to the bouncer, and only then are they allowed entry to Verge. The entryway opens immediately to a huge bar, dance floor, leather seating, and small, circular tables for couples to mingle. We serve light food and drinks. Like the previous set-up, we wanted to keep things similar, we have the party room and dungeon offset from the main bar area, along with color-coordinated private rooms, but there is no back exit. We have fire exits only, and regulars must all enter through the main door and exit through the main door.
Tobias asked me to do a demo with him tonight. I’ve wanted to do this. Beatrice is seething with jealousy, as she can’t seem to convince Zack to do a public demo for anything. Though Tobias has stepped down from scening with anyone else—he may be my dom, but I’ll kick his ass, or at least try to—members miss his thorough demos. He asked me if I’d be game for one, and to my surprise, pushed harder than I expected. I agreed. I love to please him. And I’m a little turned on at the thought of a public demonstration.
Still, because others will be watching us scene, I need to look good.
I look in the mirror, watching as Tobias approaches behind me. He’s got that look in his eyes that I can never quite identify, only one word coming to mind when he gets it: hungry. It is the same look he had when he collared me two weeks ago. The same one he gets when he makes love to me, betraying an animalistic possession he can barely temper.
I don’t want him to temper it anyway. I like bringing out his fierceness.
“I’m surprised, sir,” I tease, my eyes glinting. “You love me in the red corset top and knee-length leather boots. And yet you have me dressed for a scene in a BDSM Club in nothing short of a burka.”
I’m teasing, of course. The long-sleeved top and fitted leggings fit me like a glove. Every inch of me is covered, though.
“No one sees you in that but me,” he says, reaching me now, wrapping one arm around my chest, his mouth up to my ear. I shiver at his touch, his breath warm and sweet on my cheek.
I smile at him, my breathing slowing. When he touches me like this, it relaxes me. I’m conditioned now. When I feel my temperature rising, or I’m afraid of something, all he has to do is touch me—his hand on the back of my neck, a squeeze of my thigh, my hand engulfed in his, and my breath whooshes out of me in a gentle release. His hand presses up against my side, his torso pressed up against my back. He kisses the top of my head, then my cheek, and moves his mouth down to my neck. I shiver. He’s my undoing and my fortress.
“Then why,” I ask, panting now, “Did you decide to do a demo? You’re so damn possessive, I sometimes wonder if you watch me when I sleep.”
“I do.”
I smile. I like that. I look at his dark, handsome face in the mirror behind me. Gone is the line of worry that once knit his brows together. He doesn’t frown as much as he used to, but smiles more. It isn’t just me, though. I think it also has something to do with the little boy who wrapped his arms around Tobias’s neck before we left tonight. Chad smiles more now, too. He’s thriving in school, progressing in his studies, and even initiating conversation with others. He still lapses into some of his old ways, but he’s growing. Changing.
We both are.
Now that Tobias is an ever-present part of both of our lives, even Billy watches himself now, and Chad has come to almost look forward to his visits with his father. Though I miss him terribly when he’s gone, I have to admit it comes with benefits. Those are nights Tobias pulls out all the stops, and the louder toys he has in his arsenal—his leather belt, the leather-wrapped paddle, or one of his floggers—comes out to play. I don’t have to shove sheets in my mouth when I scream his name. We sleep skin-to-skin and revel in each other.
“You’ll see why I want to do this shortly,” he promises. “Trust me, baby.”
And I do. I do.
He releases me, takes me by the hand, and he leads me to the dungeon.
I like this dungeon better than the last. It’s larger, more comfortable, and welcoming. Tonight, a low buzz of anticipation greets us as Tobias leads me to the room. I’m thankful he isn’t doing a heavy demo, though.
Tonight, he’s demonstrating aftercare. The intimate, post-scene bonding that some of us crave so desperately, the closeness that forges necessary bonds of trust. Some days, I need that aftercare like the earth needs the sun. We’ve done a few public scenes lately, and his attention to detail was noticed by members. They asked him to demonstrate.
“You’ll have to act a little, honey,” he says into my ear. “Not gonna be too hard on you.” He pauses, his voice deepening. “That will come later.”
My nipples harden with the promise.
“Evening, everyone,” he says, the room quieting at the sound of his voice. A hush falls over us. I bow my head, and pull a little closer to him, both a sign of respect and more, a need to feel his strength. “Tonight, my girl has agreed to allow me to demo aftercare. Simply put, aftercare often ends the scene, the time when the top assesses the mental, physical, and psychological state of the submissive. Frequently, during a scene, measured trauma is inflicted.” He pauses, his voice holding the whisper of a smile. “Good pain, of course. But the more intense the session, the more likely the need for aftercare. For a submissive who enters sub-space, it’s a necessity.”
He turns to me, and his voice sharpens. “Turn and face the wall, Diana,” he orders.
“Yes, sir.”
Shaking, I face the wall and close my eyes, my belly dipping and a low throb of excitement coursing through me. It’s the lead-up to the spanking I find hardest, when my nerves are on edge. During the actual scene, my anxiety lessens.
“What did I tell you not to do?” he asks in the tone that makes my breath shorten, even though I know we’re scening. This is role play, an act, but I’ve heard that tone enough times for real that I can’t help but feel momentary panic.
“Not to eat the rest of your ice cream, sir,” I quip. He didn’t actually tell me what to say, and it pops out of my mouth before I can stop it. Laughter bubbles up around us, but soon I’m not laughing as his firm, solid palm cracks against my ass.
“Do you think this is a laughing matter?” he corrects.
“No, sir,” I say, gritting my teeth. It sure as hell isn’t. He spanks me hard, and even though I love being put in my place, even crave a good spanking after too much time lapses, it hurts.
He pauses. “If this were for real, she’d lose the leggings, but tonight we’ll pretend I’ve bared her and striped her ass.”
Now that turns me on.
He leans in to me and whispers in my ear. “Pretend to be really upset.”
I wipe my eyes, sniffling. He turns me around to him. “Sometimes, the emotions become overwhelming, and a bottom or submissive may cry. Listen carefully. Watch the cues. Holding him or her, reminding your bottom or submissive that they did a good job and that you’re proud of them, wiping tears… you’ll find what works for you. But don’t underestimate the power of an aftercare session.” He pulls me to his chest and smoothes his hand down my hair. He holds me, and stops speaking. The demo isn’t anywhere near done. Why did he stop?
For some reason, I can feel him trembling. His breathing is ragged, his hands shaky.
Why is he nervous?
Then he lets me go and drops to one knee. I stare at him in confusion for a moment as a hush falls over the crowd. His voice carries in the small, intimate room. “There’s another reason why I’ve brought her here tonight, to this room,” he says, his eyes meeting mine.
It takes me a second to realize what he’s doing, a cold nervousness and eager anticipation rendering me speechless until I barely eke out a breathy, pleading, “Tobias.”
He pulls a black velvet box out of his pocket. “We met at Verge,” he says, in a whisper only I can hear. “It was only fitting I ask you this here.” He grins and opens the box. “Be mine forever, Diana? Will you marry me?”
The silence hangs in the room, every one of them awaiting my answer, but I don’t need to think. I’d have said yes to him the first night he cooked in my kitchen.
“Yes,” I whisper, not trusting my voice not to crack. Cheers erupt around us, Tobias grins, and slips a beautiful, glittering diamond ring on my finger, then pushes himself to standing and wraps me in his arms.
Beatrice and Zack make their way to us. I didn’t even know they were here. She squeals and claps her hands, then pulls me in an embrace so tight I almost fall over, but Tobias rights me. Zack claps him on the back, and Marla pushes over a cart with a huge cake on it that reads, She said yes!
I laugh out loud, happy tears brimming my eyes. “And what would you have done if I’d said no?”
“Eaten that whole damn cake myself and cried myself to sleep tonight,” Marla says with a grin. Beatrice cuts cake slices and hands them out, and I see Travis toss multi-colored glittery dots of confetti high in the air. Tobias will kick his ass for messing up his dungeon like that, but tonight, he doesn’t care. They knew. They all knew.
But then again, so did I.
He holds my hand up like he’s won me, and he’s the champion. They cheer around us, the noise near deafening.
And it takes me a minute before I realize… I’m his prize.
THE END
BONUS CONTENT (opening chapter)
Beauty’s Daddy: A Beauty and the Beast Adult Fairy Tale
Icy rain whipped my face and hands as I bolted down the length of Main Street. My mind a million other places, I turned the corner and crashed straight into the hugest, most arrogant, pissed-off man I’d ever laid eyes on.
“Jesus!” he roared, lifting the cup up to try to avoid spilling even more, but it was useless. “Watch where the hell you’re going!” His deep voice startled me as he looked down from a lofty height, easily a foot taller than I was. So ashamed I could barely look at him, I was only vaguely aware that he looked familiar. He grasped his crushed coffee cup in one hand, a huge umbrella in the other, held so high over my head it did little to stop the downpour. Thick but well-kept stubble lined his sharp jaw, and black hair hung in savage, daring shocks across his forehead.
My mouth dropped open in horror. “I am so sorry,” I said, looking around frantically but unfortunately there was nothing along the lines of stray rolls of paper towels or time turners that would help me make this predicament any better. There was just me, a sodden, furious monster of a man, and a few bashful onlookers who went on about their business.
They were smart. He looked ready to kill.
I inhaled, prepared to offer my most sincere apology. He towered over me, easily a full head over my slight 5’1” frame. His hands flicked off excess coffee, while he growled, in a deep, husky, pissed-off voice that sounded more like a growl than polite conversation, “You ought to watch where you’re going. For crying out loud, you could’ve burned yourself.” He grunted, attempting to smooth out his clothing, but it was no use. He was a sodden mess. “Did you?”
I blinked. Did I what?
His eyes lifted to mine, brows knit with a furious glare, his lips thinned. “Burn yourself,” he spat out.
I looked down at myself stupidly before responding. “No…I’m fine.”
“Good,” he muttered. “But for Christ’s sake, watch where you’re going.” He turned to leave.
“Mister — whoever —” I sputtered. “I am so sorry I bumped into you like that. Please allow me to compensate you in some way, pay for your dry cleaning, or —”
He turned a scornful eye at me, lips turning down at the edges, his eyes raking me over from head to toe before he scoffed. “You couldn’t afford it,” he said, before he turned on his heel and left.
My stomach dropped, and then I realized that I was now officially late for work.
“Annabelle!” So much for hoping that Linus, the overbearing owner of Diner on Main, wasn’t in yet. “You’re late?”
I frowned, turning away from him and hoping he’d get too busy to notice me again, when I heard a voice behind me.
“Do you have any idea who you just slammed into?” Lucy, the local librarian, was all about small town gossip, and knew every single person who ever set foot in any place at any time. She was even tinier than I was, with thick blonde hair pulled into a braid, sporting a short denim jumper. Perched upon a stool at the counter, her blue eyes blinked at me.
“No idea, Luce,” I said, stepping out of my rain coat and shaking it off in the back room. “And I don’t care. He’s the biggest jerk I’ve ever —”
“Annabelle!” My stomach clenched and I barely stifled a groan.
“Good morning, Linus,” I said as pleasantly as possible, taking my apron off a peg just behind the cash register and slipping it over my head as Linus came around the corner. Linus — a middle-aged dictator with wire-rimmed glasses atop his too-long nose, a thin moustache and a scant scattering of mud-colored hair across his head, frowned at me.
I fumbled to tie the apron in the back, when Lucy came over and did it for me, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Don’t mind him, honey,” she said. “He’s in a bit of a temper this morning.”
When was Linus not in a bit of a temper?
“Do you know what time it is?” he grumbled, pointing up to the clock.
I can tell time, dumbass.
“That’ll come out of your pay,” he grumbled, as he snatched a wad of napkins from the counter. “Go serve the table with the three kids over there.”
I inhaled, shot Lucy a forced smile, and stepped over to the table where three moms with toddlers were having morning coffee. I took their orders, catching a small glass of orange juice before it spilled, and doing my best to put on a smile despite the fact that my head pounded from lack of sleep, my stomach growled in hunger, and I felt like bursting into tears.
I turned to go to the kitchen to place the order with Lucy following me.
“I didn’t get to tell you who that was,” she hissed in my ear. “It was —”
“Annabelle!” boomed a familiar voice.
Oh, for God’s sake.
I closed my eyes, stifling another groan, as Lucy grabbed my hand and squeezed.
Her high-pitched voice piped up. “She’s working, Gavin. Bug off!”
I bit the side of my cheek to keep from smiling. I adored Lucy.
Gavin, true to form, ignored her as he plunked down on one of the spindly chairs by the bar. “Cup of coffee, baby,” he said. “You know how I like my breakfast.” Gavin Montgomery, the local news reporter and small town heartbreaker, flicked his fingers across his cell phone, tipping his head to the side with a cocky grin. He tapped the phone, and a flash illuminated his straight white teeth. As always, he was dressed impeccably, in a tailor-made suit, blue button-down shirt and tie, his hair perfectly coiffed. He was like a small-town Superman in designer duds.
“Selfie of the day, Gavin?” I muttered. “And no, I don’t know what your usual is.”
Sliding his phone in his pocket, he smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles from his suit. “Egg white omelette, lean ham, and fruit bowl, baby.”
