Maisy's Keeper
Club Drift, Volume 1
Saffron Hayes
Published by Saffron Hayes, 2018.
Maisy’s Keeper © 2018 by Saffron Hayes. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Tom Thornton
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Saffron Hayes
Visit my website at www.saffronhayes.co.uk
First Released: April 2018
ISBN – 978-1986936538
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Disclaimer
Chapter 1 | The Wedding
Chapter 2 | The Fish
Chapter 3 | Not a Pizza Place
Chapter 4 | 101
Chapter 5 | A Taste
Chapter 6 | Perks
Chapter 7 | How big?
Chapter 8 | More
Chapter 9 | Rope and Whips
Chapter 10 | What Happens After
Chapter 11 | The List
Chapter 12 | Home
Chapter 13 | Dinner Table Conversations
Chapter 14 | Club Drift
Chapter 15 | Sights
Chapter 16 | Are you sure?
Chapter 17 | Boutique
Chapter 18 | Loose Lips
Chapter 19 | Firecracker
Chapter 20 | Just A Client
Chapter 21 | Wax
Chapter 22 | Bad News
Chapter 23 | A Proposal
Chapter 24 | Discovery
Chapter 25 | The Bench
Chapter 26 | Drop
Chapter 27 | House
Chapter 28 | Little Piggy
Chapter 29 | The Difference
Chapter 30 | Detached
Chapter 31 | Office
Chapter 32 | How Does It Feel?
Chapter 33 | Airborne
Chapter 34 | Heist
Chapter 35 | Trespass
Chapter 36 | The Main Event
Chapter 37 | One Of Us
Chapter 38 | Bad, Bad, Bad Cop
Chapter 39 | Cards
Epilogue
About the Author
For my extraordinarily patient family:
Please, never read this.
Disclaimer
I write BDSM Erotic Romance and I’m a part of the BDSM community in real life.
However, I don’t write about real people in my fictional world. The characters, places, and events are all figments of my imagination.
Although my Club Drift novels are fictional, I hope they portray healthy and realistic attitudes to BDSM. If you see something alarming in my work that falls outside the suspension of disbelief required for these fast-paced romances to work then PLEASE tell me.
These stories are by their nature escapist fantasies, but I want everything I write to have safe, sane, and consensual play in mind.
The Drift heroes may be all knowing and preposterously attractive and things might move a little faster than in real life, but that’s only because this is fictional fun.
In real life, you’ll be extra careful, promise? If someone tells you they’re an all-knowing pleasure God, then you can probably laugh in their face and walk away. If any potential partner demands you obey them without negotiations or without a safe word you will walk the hell away. If anyone treats your limits as an obstacle to overcome, then walk away. If some guy tells you he can only play during work hours that guy is married, mate. Probably walk away. Unless they’re a poly couple and you’re all into that, of course. Do your research. Be safe. Have fun, but please be safe.
“No.” is a complete sentence.
Rule one in BDSM is mutual consent. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a potential hazard.
I’ll be including some links to beginner BDSM information on my website because I hope my novels find their way into newbie kinkster hands one day. The kink community is big and broad and inclusive and fantastic, but it really helps to have your wits about you and some reading under your belt.
There are as many ways to be kinky as there are kinky people and my way isn’t some ideal that should be upheld, but safe, sane, and consensual (SSC) or risk-aware consensual kink (RACK) are essential starting points for any kink relationship.
Have fun out there, you glorious kinksters, and take care of each other.
See you back at Club Drift,
~ Saffron
www.saffronhayes.co.uk
Chapter 1
The Wedding
The bride was radiant in her knee-length vintage tea dress. Her flame red curls were almost the same shade as her shoes. Neither the bride nor the groom could dance, but that didn’t matter. The way they looked at each other, as if they’d discovered something secret and awe-inspiring behind their partners’ eyes, made their dance more watchable than any choreographed waltz.
Their clumsy half steps did nothing to detract from the beauty of their obvious affection for each other. Even the bride’s sour-faced mother-in-law managed to crack a smile when her son dipped his new wife at the end of the tune. Maisy watched from the sidelines with a smile, truly happy for them.
They might be clients rather than friends, but she liked them and hoped to see them again once her event planning duties were done. Everything had gone smoothly for them on the day. Well, everything had gone smoothly as far as the guests were concerned.
Maisy and the beleaguered bridal party had been up at 5 A.M. receiving the replacement flower order that Maisy’d had to organise last minute. The disastrous first delivery on the eve of the wedding had left the bride in tears and Maisy ready to scream at her incompetent boss. Maisy didn’t hold with gender stereotypes at all, but gosh damn it, men like Michael who only cared about the bottom line shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a bride’s floral arrangements.
Maisy had been so embarrassed when the florist’s truck had arrived, so had the florist for that matter. Maisy’d used the company before and had never had a problem. This had Michael’s fingerprints all over it. Apparently, he’d phoned around the contractors that Maisy had hired making changes to cut costs.
“He said it wouldn’t matter if they were a bit small. He said it went with the theme and you’d made a mistake with the order before. I should have known to call you, but his name was on the business account. Oh God. Miss. Sinclair, I am so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” The bride maintained her composure throughout the ordeal. “Really, it’s fine. It’s not your fault.”
“No. it’s not fine.” Maisy pursed her lips, staring at the sad bouquets and sparsely filled table arrangements. “Can you rush something through overnight? I wouldn’t ask, but...”
“Say no more.”
“I’ll pay the premium rate, obviously-”
“No,” the florist was adamant, “No, standard rate. Hell, you can have a discount. I’ll make this right. Let me get back to the shop, I’ll call you.”
Maisy was sure the new flowers would come out of her commission, but it didn’t matter. Not when the alternative was letting a client down. Some people wouldn’t see it that way, she could think of one person in particular, but flowers meant a lot to this bride.
Somehow, the florist pulled it off. They went over the possibilities, the vintage theming, and what could be done as quickly as possib
le during a rushed phone call that evening. Neither woman slept much that night, but it was worth it. The bride had wept again when the replacement flowers arrived. She’d wept several times throughout the day, in fact.
It seemed she was overwhelmed by the occasion in general. When Maisy saw the reverent way the groom kissed his bride’s hand, Maisy understood why. They’d be happy together, she just knew it.
Soon after the first dance the bride approached Maisy, champagne flute in hand. “Come on, you must be off the clock by now.”
“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Maisy eyed the glass longingly, it had been a long day.
“I insist.” Beaming, Miss. Sinclair, well, Mrs. Thornton now, swiped a bottle from a passing caterer and topped the glass up to the brim, “You’ve earned it.”
“Thank you.” Maisy took a dainty sip, some unnaturally strong professional instinct keeping her from draining the glass and heading off to the nearest soft surface for a nap. “Congratulations, it was a beautiful ceremony.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Thank you, but it was all your ideas.” Maisy looked past the bride at the unique floral arrangements that framed the evening garden party. Lush, full white roses nestling with burlap clones of themselves while silk and sacking fought for prominence in the chair covers and column shrouds. The couple had designed most of the decor themselves, Maisy had just helped make their dreams a reality.
The rustic and glamorous mash up shouldn’t work, but it really did. Maisy couldn’t help but admire the Thorntons’ commitment to their theme. “You’re so good together.”
The bride looked over her shoulder at her new husband, who was good-naturedly enduring a third waltz with his emotional mother, “Yeah, we’re pretty great.”
Job satisfaction can come in many forms, but Maisy thought she got a pretty good deal where that was concerned. Seeing that proud, adoring look on people’s faces on a weekly basis? It was something special.
“Have you got anyone special in your life?”
Maisy’s smile tightened a little at the edges. Weddings made up more than half of their business, and inevitably the question would pop up: “When’s it your turn?” Or “How would you do your wedding?” Or, most commonly, “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No, not at the moment.” There’d been a couple of dates recently, but Maisy had already decided she wasn’t going to see him again. She just never felt excited by these men. Maybe she just didn’t like sex? No, she definitely liked something about sex, otherwise she wouldn’t get through as many batteries and romance novels as she did, but in real life? It just wasn’t doing it for her. Sex had always been perfectly pleasant, occasionally even orgasmic, but mostly? Just okay.
“Drinking on the job, Bennett?” The stench of whiskey assaulted Maisy’s nostrils moments before her boss entered her field of vision.
The bride’s smile faded when she caught sight of Michael, but she quickly recovered her polite facade, “How nice of you to make the evening party. Miss Bennett relayed your apologies for missing the set-up and ceremony.”
Maisy quickly masked a smirk behind her champagne glass, she’d done no such thing, but Mrs. Thornton clearly had a talent for backhanded compliments. In this case, her remarks translated to something like, ‘Nice of you to show up for the free bar and dodge all the work.’
Michael, true to form, didn’t notice any subtleties in her greeting, “Yes, yes! Bloody marvellous party. You’ll have to hire us again.”
Maisy winced at his forward approach to soliciting return business. The bride’s raised eyebrow did nothing to dissuade Michael’s grin, “Yes, well, I’d hire Maisy to run every single day of my life if I could. She’s a real star, really going places.”
She squeezed Maisy’s hand and, although she hadn’t said anything, Maisy recognised a familiar refrain in her touch and in her eyes. The same thing her mother, her flatmate, and just about everyone else had been saying since Michael’s father had died and his blockhead son had taken over: Run. Run now.
“Quite so!” He replied, not one to bother listening once he’d finished speaking. He winked at the newlywed, gave Maisy’s glass a significant look, and wandered away. He would probably be heading for the buffet table.
“Pig.” Cathy said, wrinkling her nose, “Maisy?”
“Mm?”
Cathy Thornton refilled Maisy’s barely touched glass until the golden champagne bubbled over the glass’s lip, “You ever consider, you know, moving on company wise?”
“Sometimes, but I do love the work.” Maisy smiled, even more glad that they’d swapped phone numbers this month. She knew that leaving the firm seemed like the sensible thing for her to do now Michael was in charge, but every time she thought about it she baulked. She’d remember Michael Snr.’s kind face, how much the company had grown over the last ten years, how much she’d put into it all.
Not yet, she wouldn’t leave quite yet. Besides, she might not admit it out loud, but she was terrified that if she left the company behind she wouldn’t be able to do her job. Deep down she felt that without the contractors, the office staff, the support network she’d be revealed as a talentless nothing.
Maisy said goodbye soon after, confident that everything that needed to go well had gone well and all that was left was for the contractors to pack up when the last guest fell asleep on the lawn.
Chapter 2
The Fish
The morning after Cathy Thornton’s wedding Maisy rolled over, her fingers groping through the bedclothes searching for her bleeping phone.
She wasn’t sure how many times she’d pressed snooze, but surely there was time for one more. A muffled thud told her that last night’s paperback, which she’d devoured in a sleepy haze, had crashed to the floor. She had recently developed a bad habit of reading romance after romance in bed and waking up with the lights on and her face stuck to an open page. Still, there were worse bedtime habits one could have.
Last night’s hero was much like all the others had been recently - perceptive, gorgeous, and Dominant with a capital ‘D’.
The alarm went off again. Maisy didn’t even remember pressing snooze the last time, but the phone was in her hand so she must have. 8:15 AM.
“Maisy! I made coffee!” Her roommate drew out the last syllable with a high-pitched perkiness that shouldn’t be allowed before 10 AM.
“Coming!” Maisy jumped up and kicked the paperback under the bed with the others. She really needed to get the old ones to the charity shop, her bedroom was like a second-hand smutty bookshop at the moment. After the quickest shower she could manage Maisy dressed in the clothes she’d laid out last night. She might sleep in far too late, but at least she prepared for it.
Harry pushed a sweet, milky cup of coffee into her hands, “Don’t be mad at me.”
Maisy smiled, bemused “What did you do this time?”
“You make it sound like I’m always killing your fish or something,”
Maisy almost choked on her coffee, “You killed my fish?”
“No!” Harry looked mortified, “No, no, no. Hey, it won’t seem so bad now. Remember: I might have set you up an account on a dating website, but I didn’t kill your fish!”
Maisy closed her eyes for a moment, “Right. I’ll be sure to remember that. Delete it.” She downed her lukewarm coffee and started moving brightly coloured throw cushions around the sofa, looking for her make-up bag.
“Oh, please?” Harry’s wickedly mischievous eyes couldn’t quite pull off the manipulative puppy dog thing.
“No! I don’t like dating sites.” She didn’t particularly, she’d always found the number of unsolicited dick pics disconcerting. It was like turning up to a picnic and having whole salamis thrown at you from a distance rather than eating a carefully chosen sliced meat sandwich—painful and embarrassing for everyone involved, really.
The truth was, she didn’t think she’d find what she really wanted on any old dating site, so she’d given up looking. It was horrib
ly cliché to say that the men in books had ruined her for real life, but it was true. She’d never met anyone who made her feel the way the heroines in her books felt. She’d had boyfriends, sure, but she’d always felt uncomfortable, like something was missing, in those relationships or, if she was completely honest, sort of bored.
“Fine, I’ll take a look.” She didn’t feel the slightest pang of regret about the lie. Harry would probably forget to check whether she’d looked anyway, Maisy’s pocket-sized friend was very easily distracted.
“Great,” her victory smile was a joy to behold, “I’m off. Don’t forget to tell Michael he’s an idiot today!”
“Mmhmm.” Maisy rolled her eyes, waved Harry out, and checked her watch. Just over an hour until she had to be at the office. Maybe she’d have time to drop into the charity bookshop on her way in.
BY MID-AFTERNOON, MAISY was that special kind of bored that only comes from working on spreadsheets and costings all day. Her mind wandered back to the morning’s conversation with Harry. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if the dating profile was a joint scheme from her mischievous roommate and ever nosey mother.
Sure, it’d be nice to find someone, but the idea of a nice boyfriend and nice sex sounded about as appealing as a cold cuppa and she couldn’t exactly explain that to her mum and oldest friend.
Maisy couldn’t help but wonder if there were online dating websites for people with an interest in BDSM though. If they did exist, would she even be allowed on? She thought she was interested in that kind of thing because of the books and films and the feeling in her stomach when a man pushed her up against a wall for a rough snog, but she didn’t really know.
She’d never met anyone she trusted enough to try it for real. She also got the feeling that if these websites did exist they’d be pretty heavy on hook-ups. There was no way the intense, satisfying, true love with kinky sex she’d been devouring in paperback form existed in real life, it was far too good to be true. Still, it couldn’t hurt to look. She glanced around the quiet office before fishing her phone out of her pocket.
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