by KD Robichaux
“Now, as far as my job for the club goes… say you were a sadist. It would be up to me to be sure you aren’t someone who would go too far when inflicting pain—someone who would want to actually harm another person, instead of giving them mutual sexual pleasure. And the second reason for the sessions is to teach the prospective member how to use BDSM as a form of therapy to help them heal,” he explains, and I nod once again. I know from my books that the right D/s relationship could go a long way to heal a person who has suffered a trauma.
But I let him continue, because my God, he’s sexy when he’s in therapist mode.
“Normally, there is a reason one gravitates toward BDSM. There’s usually a catalyst that makes being flogged or gagged sound appealing. It had to come from something, no matter how minute. For some people, it’s as simple as they have a very high-powered position in their career, so when they come to Club Alias, they like to hand over the power and be controlled. Or maybe the opposite. Maybe that executive assistant who has to wait on their boss hand and foot all day likes a night at the club to feel what it’s like to be completely in control, to be the one giving the orders and receiving someone’s willing submission. But then there are the more complicated cases. The ones we have to take care of. The ones where something happened to the prospect that caused them to have these needs against their will. Cases like yours,” he finishes, and I fidget with the hem of my skirt.
“Understood,” I reply, not really wanting to go much more in depth about that right now. “Um… I think we got off the subject of my sister’s sessions and then her healing after. Can we get back on track?”
His face softens, seeing my discomfort. “Absolutely.” He holds his paper back up to read her notes. “Session three was different than the others. We went over in depth the… events that took place that could’ve had lasting damage on Twyla’s feelings about the BDSM lifestyle. The patient got emotional talking about the things that had gone through her mind while—” He looks at me, seeming to question whether or not to disclose everything in detail to me.
“Um… I found out all about what actually happened to my sister while she was in the hospital, in vivid technicolor detail. So I don’t mind if you skip ahead,” I reply, the overwhelming guilt sinking into my stomach to replace the jealousy that was there only a little while ago.
He nods, looking back at the paper. And then he smiles, and the expression seems so odd right now that I perk up to listen. “In the last session, Twyla confided she couldn’t understand how her now-husband could love her so instantaneously, even though she felt the same way about him in the same short amount of time.”
“Hm.” I smile along with him. “My sweet baby sister. She has no idea what a light she is in this world, does she?”
He meets my eyes. “She does now. Seth makes sure she knows every day. And it runs in the family.”
My cheeks turn hot, and I press my palm to my face as I glance away, feeling emotional at his sweet words when I still feel the guilt of what happened to Twyla in my gut. “And the healing?” I turn back to face him. “What came after the sessions?”
Reading off the paper, he translated, “Well, since she was going through the process of becoming a member, it was explained to Twyla that we have strict rules at our establishment. The Doms at my club are all highly trained in the devices and equipment we have in our playrooms. In order for a Dom to even be allowed into one of the different themed rooms is if he has been certified in all the things that room has to offer. We have security and documentation in place to ensure a Dom who isn’t trained in, say, a flogger, will never be allowed in the playroom that holds that specific device. This keeps the submissives from being hurt by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. Twyla was also told our playrooms do not have locking doors. There are curtains that can be closed for privacy, but even so, there are also security cameras inside each room. We take every precaution to make sure Club Alias is a safe place for people to explore their alternative lifestyle, without having to worry about a wolf in their midst.”
My eyes widen. “So hold up.” I lift a hand, fingers pointing upward. “You’re saying people can watch on the other side of the security camera what I’d be doing inside a playroom? I don’t know if I’d be okay with that.”
He smirks at me, and it goes straight to my pussy. “As your brother-in-law so eloquently put it when your sister questioned the same thing, this is where you could apply a ‘special treatment card.’ Call it a perk of being the owner’s woman. Twyla, Vi, Clarice and you, if you were to join, are the only submissives who have the option that if you don’t want anyone watching what we do behind the closed curtain, my partners will respect your wishes.”
I’m already nodding frantically before he even finishes the sentence. “That’s a solid red light from me.”
His face softens, as he must see something in my expression that tells him the reason I don’t want to be on video. Or maybe he just recalls the night before last and what it was like for me during a sexual encounter. “Stepping out of my therapist role and speaking personally, goddess—I, for one, want you all to myself and would prefer to keep our scenes private. But for the sake of being a good Dom whose job it is not to withhold anything that may bring you pleasure, you should know that another good thing about having such a strict membership process is we’ve established an incredible group of likeminded people with a passion for the BDSM lifestyle. They see nothing but beauty in the scenes, the bodies and actions like living art. So if you ever wanted to allow voyeurs to observe, it’s an option I’d be willing to discuss in the future.”
And with that, I realize Neil truly is like the Dominant heroes in my books. He’s so observant, aware of everything I could possibly need or want before I even think of it myself. In fact, he might be even better than the heroes in my books, at least the ones I’ve read, because who better to be a Dom than a sex therapist who can read his submissive like an open book. He’s trained and practiced for this his entire life. There’s no one more perfect, more qualified in the entire world, and for some reason, he’s in love with me.
The steel cage around my heart suddenly springs open like a jack in the box, catapulting my heart back into its rightful position, leaving behind that old promise to myself to never fall in love again.
“And to answer your question, Seth and Twyla worked together as Dom and sub to create a scene to act out at the club in a private playroom that helped heal and replace what happened during her trauma,” he finishes, slipping the papers back into his leather folio and setting it aside.
I feel a small smile tug at my lips. “Hm.” My eyes lift to his, suddenly feeling a little lighter. “Guess I was on to something in the shower, huh, Viking?”
His eyes flash and his nostrils flare, and after he sets his notepad and pen on top of the folio with deliberate movements, he looks back up at me with those oceanlike orbs.
“Your hour is up, Ms. Quill.”
Chapter 12
Doc
Monday morning, before I go to my office, I stop by the Imperium Security office to check on updates for our cases. Seth is sitting at the front desk, tapping away on the computer, and when I enter through the glass door, he looks up and gives me a big grin. He pulls off his reading glasses and comes around the desk, giving me a giant man-hug with a slap on the back.
“It’s about damn time you staked your claim, bro,” he tells me cheerfully. “I mean, not that she goes anywhere for her to get snatched up or anything. But still. I’m a proud papa.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re working on that. She enrolled at my gym and has gone to two group exercise classes in the past two days, and she’s planning on going again today during my lunch break so she can work out with me.”
He nods. “Probably a good idea. Our Quill girls are hot. I’d tell you to look into getting a home gym, but that kind of defeats the purpose of getting her out of the house, huh?”
“Any news on any of our cases?” I ask to change the subje
ct, not wanting to think of the book cover beefcake lookalikes at our gym checking out my woman while I’m not there, and make a mental note to always try to go when she does.
“Actually, yes,” he tells me. “That mansion just outside of town that Brian had a bad feeling about? We’ve been watching it more closely ever since he set up surveillance on it, and there seems to be something very fishy going on over there.”
“Really? Do tell. I thought he was just being his normal paranoid self,” I reply, knowing our man Brian, aka Knight when at Club Alias, has been extra precautious around town, since his woman Clarice finally lives here. They’d been long-distance best friends for years, so he was never this bad at home before. He saved his crazy for our mercenary missions, and his were usually out of state.
“What seemed at first to be like a rich kid party house has suspicious activities happening.”
“Like what?” I ask, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, and he takes his seat behind it.
“Well,” he begins, “no one comes as couples. All the women show up first, and then about two hours later, all the men start to arrive. And for some reason, I don’t think it’s because there’s wallflower gender segregation going on at the school dance.”
“So what are you thinking?”
Seth leans back in his chair and puts his glasses back on. “Well, looking a little more closely, all the girls come in street clothes and end up leaving all dolled up. The men show up already lookin’ fly. I hate to say it, because it’s not the 1800s anymore, but I’m thinking it’s a brothel. Some real Westworld shit happening. Or in our century, some kind of escort service or prostitution ring.”
“I mean, that’s not really our forte. We deal in justice and retribution and usually leave this kind of thing up to the police,” I remind him.
“Yeah, well, you know how sensitive Brian is about anything dealing with human trafficking after the bust he had to make in Nashville. So we’re just gonna keep a close eye on it and hope nothing bad happens.”
“Good idea,” I say, “and the second anything looks more than suspicious, as in substantial evidence we could turn in to our buddies at the station, you let me know.”
“Will do, Doc,” he replies.
I scrub a hand down my face then look at my watch. I have to get to my first appointment soon. “Anything else on our mercenary side?”
He shrugs. “We got paid for the Johnson case. Oh, and I’m still going through the databases looking for a few new men. Now that all our field guys are married off with women who don’t want us to put ourselves in danger, with kids and babies on the way, we have got to find some good fits for both the security side and the merc side to handle the ones our ladies deem too risky.”
I nod. “Use that magical technological genius brain of yours to line me up a stack,” I tell him, standing from my chair.
He cracks open a premixed protein drink and tears off the seal. “And you use your magical psychology brain to weed out the crazies. I mean, you did a pretty good job the first time around.” He grins.
“Did I though?” I eye him.
He just chuckles, and I wave over my shoulder as I head out the door.
When lunchtime rolls around, I grab my gym bag from the back seat of my truck I put there this morning and head inside. I see my Audi in the parking lot, which means Astrid beat me here. When I walk through the door, Johnna and a new employee greet me, and as she teaches her how to scan my card, I look around, not seeing my girl.
“If you’re looking for your lady, she’s already upstairs, Doc. She’s been here for about an hour already,” Johnna tells me.
“Oh really?” I flip my phone to my messages, not seeing anything from her since the one of her replying Okay :) to the one I sent telling her I’d be taking the 12:00 lunch hour instead of 11:00 because of an appointment that ran over.
“Yeah, I think she said she was going to try a yoga class today to stretch before y’all work out,” she replies.
“Nice. Thanks.” I walk around the reception desk and climb the steps, my eyes scanning the second floor. I’ve never taken a yoga class before, but I know the studios are somewhere to the left past all the cardio machines.
Spotting the double fogged-glass doors etched with Yoga Studio, I head that way, and when I reach them, I open one just a crack to peek in, not wanting to disturb the class. But what I find is this super Zen waiting area, and I step inside. At the back of the dim room is a curtained wall with a big glass lantern set on the floor that’s full of tall off-white battery-powered candles. On either side of the twelve-foot wide space are cubbies for people’s bags and shoes. There are cushioned benches with pillows that match the black-out curtains over the windows, and there are more fake candles and a diffuser on top of a shelving unit full of towels. There are two more frosted doors, one on either side of the room, each etched with Yoga Studio 1 and Yoga Studio 2, and there’s another cabinet next to the second door that says Cold Lavender Towels for Hot Yoga on a placard, which means it must be a refrigerator or freezer.
Yoga Studio 1 seems to be empty, with no movement behind the frosted glass, and I hear an instructor counting off “Hold one, two, three, four. Good, release,” from inside the second. That’s where Astrid must be.
I pull open the door slowly, quietly, so I don’t interrupt everyone who is currently trying to do a headstand on their yoga mat. A few are using the wall to keep their balance, while others attempt to do it in the middle of the big open room that is sweltering as I step inside, the door closing behind me. The instructor sees me and lifts a hand in greeting, and I wave and point to the wall, indicating I’m just going to watch.
She nods and says through her headset, “I’ll give you a few more seconds to try to hit your pose. For those of you who aren’t necessarily feeling a headstand for your practice, you have the option to just rest in child’s pose, and then we’ll meet you there.”
Through all the bodies, some giggling, some serious as they attempt the seemingly difficult position, I spot Astrid on a black yoga mat near the center of the room. She’s trying to stick the headstand, but every time she gets her legs up, she loses her balance. But she doesn’t fall to the floor with a crash like a lot of the participants are, which is the only reason my heart isn’t palpitating watching her stand on her head. No, just like in the barre class, and in everything she does, she does it gracefully, her falls purposeful as her pointed toes come down slowly to the mat before she propels her legs back up.
On her last attempt, she gets both feet in the air for a moment, and as she starts to wobble and is about to come back down, the instructor grabs her ankles, keeping her steady. “There you go. Pull in your abs and squeeze those thighs together, good. Now I’m going to let gooo…” She takes a step back from her, and when Astrid stays perfectly in position, pride fills my chest and I grin. “Look at that. Perfect. You sure you’ve never done this before?”
Astrid holds it for a few seconds longer and then bends both knees before landing on them on the mat, her long blonde ponytail soaked with sweat flipping back and nearly reaching her ass encased in black leggings as she looks up at the instructor. The woman beside her must tell her good job, because my girl turns to face her, and I see she has a smile on her face as she says, “Thanks!”
Either she sees me in her peripheral vision or she senses someone watching her, because her eyes come to mine, and her smile widens but her gaze softens as she lifts her hand to wiggle her fingers in a little wave.
My heart does palpitate then, and I mouth, “Goddess,” seeing her cheeks turn an even darker shade of pink than they already were from the heat of the room.
“Very good, everyone. If this is the end of your workout for the day, lie on your back and I’ll dim the lights. Close your eyes, and for those of you who’d like a cold lavender towel, rest your hand on your stomach and I’ll come around and place them on your forehead. If you’re not done working out for the day, you may leave your
mats where they are, and you have the option to grab a cold towel on your way out. Namaste.” The instructor finishes with a bow of her head, and Astrid hops up from her mat and makes her way to me, her ponytail swinging out behind her.
When she gets near, I reach out for her, but she bats my hands away. “Sweaty and gross,” she hisses, but she stands on her tiptoes and puckers her lips for a kiss.
I meet her the rest of the way, and although I want to wrap my arms around her, not giving one fuck about how sweaty she is, she seems to be squeamish about being touched when she’s sticky, so I resist for her sake. I don’t know yet if it’s a trigger or if she just doesn’t like it, so I’m not going to push her when she’s made it clear she doesn’t want it.
I follow her out the door, admiring the lines of her graceful neck down her feminine back slick with sweat, her skin visible as she only wears a sports bra as her top, then the gentle flare of her hips and ass. She bends to grab one of the rolled-up white washcloths from the freezer, the cotton sounding crispy as she unrolls it and presses it flat to her face.
She groans at the coolness against her heated flesh, and I hear her inhale deeply before she pulls it away, staring down at the washcloth as if it were a treasure map. “Oh my God,” she moans, lifting it to her face again and breathing in a lungful of air. When she pulls it away again, she looks up at me, her eyes wide. “Smell this!” she commands, and she lifts the white cloth to my nose.
I inhale as she ordered, a smile pulling at my lips at the mystified look in her eyes.
“There’s lavender… in the towel,” she says, as if it’s the greatest discovery in mankind’s history.
“Yes, goddess. As the instructor said, cold lavender towels,” I remind her.
She shakes her head. “Yeah, but I thought she meant like… the towel would be lavender.” She holds it up in front of my face for me to get a good look at it. “It’s not.” She shakes her head again. “It’s white. And it smells like lavender!”
