by J Paton
“Right, I’ll leave you two to eat.” I turned to Phil. “Jup has my personal phone number. You’ve got the other one that I’ll have on me when I’m out. You know what to do if you need me to call.”
Phil tapped the side of his head. “Yep, I do.”
A quick exit was needed in order to make this as painless as possible, so after giving a final salute, I walked to the front door, grabbing my bag on the way. The image of Jup’s brimming eyes was in my head as I closed the door and cursed under my breath. “Fucking shitty bastard.”
Jupiter
The meal was tasteless. I tried to stop myself from fidgeting as Phil sat opposite in Tucker’s seat. Phil was even harder to read than Tucker, sweat sliding down my back and into the waistband of my shorts.
“Is there something I can do to ease the tension you’re feeling?”
That he had read me so well, helped a little, allowing me to answer honestly. “I can’t get a good enough read off you.”
His head tilted to the side, those enigmatic eyes studying me. “Can you explain what you mean by that?”
I squeezed the cutlery in my hands, focusing on the half-empty plate. “I learnt… to read people… to cope… to help me.” Had it helped? I sagged in my seat when I couldn’t honestly answer my own question. It meant going to some dark places inside my mind.
Phil placed his cutlery down in a measured way. He carefully eased his chair back from the table so that it didn’t scrape over the floor. The distance gave me a little more breathing room, allowing me to see the whole of his body.
He wore black from head to toe. The trousers he wore looked like they would be far more suited to someone in the army. His T-shirt was plain and hugged a massive chest. He looked relaxed as he sat back with his hands in his lap.
“What impression do you get from me?”
There was a spark of interest in his eyes that had me licking dry lips. “You appear relaxed, but you aren’t, not really. It’s an illusion, a mirrored reflection you’re portraying so that no one looks deeper.” At his eyes slightly widening, heat crawled up my neck and I returned to staring at my plate. “Sorry Sir.”
“Look at me, Jupiter.”
I winced at his use of my full name. The authority in his voice wouldn’t allow me to do anything other than what he’d asked. “Yes, Sir?”
He very slowly shifted forward, his hands remaining in my line of sight. “Would you prefer I call you Jup?”
I nodded.
He waited a beat, as if waiting for me to say more before continuing. “Okay, Jup, it is. Can I ask why you call me sir?” Nothing in his demeanour indicated that he was angry. His question had surprised me.
Could I be honest?
Tucker had said it was up to me what I shared with Phil. He’d told me what he’d said to the other man. “I was never allowed to use any other name for Macintosh or his friends,” I whispered. Saying his name aloud always left me feeling like he’d appear, as if his name held some form of awful magic which would conjure the monster.
“Do you think you could use my name? If I’m honest, Jup, I don’t feel comfortable with you calling me sir.”
His openness felt real, and I bit my lower lip before finally nodding. “I can try.”
Up to now, I hadn’t seen him smile, not fully. But the one he aimed my way was stunning. It changed his whole face. The odd feeling I’d got during our first encounter returned, my top suddenly feeling too tight against my chest. Which was impossible because I always wore clothes three sizes too big to hide my body.
“That’s all we can ever do, Jup.” Phil eyed my plate. “Are you going to try and eat a little more or are you finished?”
There was no way I could eat any more at the moment. “I’ve had enough.” I got up as Phil stood and picked up both our plates.
When he walked over to the sink, placing the dishes down and turning on the tap, I couldn’t find my voice to tell him to stop. Tucker and I had an established pattern, this situation leaving me floundering.
Phil glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll wash if you want to dry?”
Tucker had stopped offering to help after I’d had a couple of meltdowns, but this time I nodded. I picked up the tea towel while he filled the sink with hot water and washing up liquid. Phil seemed at ease as he started to clean the dishes.
“You weren’t wrong in your observations of me,” he said as he handed me a plate, his fingers brushing against mine. There was a moment when our gazes met that I was able to believe I was normal, that I could be the person who was attracted to a guy and had the choice about what happened next. “Those skills of observation are excellent.”
The compliment was so unexpected that the plate slipped from my fingers. Phil was fast, his hand moving at lightning speed to whip the plate from me and avert disaster.
I cringed back.
Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!
Phil held still, the plate in his hand. “Breathe Jup. Breathe for me. Deep breaths, come on.” He continued to talk in the type of soothing voice you might use on a frightened child. “I’m not going to hurt you. I understand this is difficult when you don’t know me. I could offer you promises, but I’m not going to do that. I’m sure there are others in the past who have done that and broken them. What I will say is that I’ll work on showing you I can be trusted.” He took a step back and put the plate down.
The tea towel hung limply in my hands as I worked to bring my breathing back to normal. “I’m sorry S… Phil.” I corrected myself at the last second, earning a smile from the other man.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. Things happen that are beyond our control. It’s a fact of life. I’d like to try something with you. Would you be able to trust me enough to sit in the chair and shut your eyes for a few minutes? I’m a reiki healer, and I work with energy. I think I might be able to help balance you a little.”
Reiki? “What’s that?”
“I can explain more later, if you want? Do you want to give it a go?”
There was nothing to indicate that he’d be pissed if I said no. Did I want him to do this? What if it hurt? I chewed on my lip as he waited patiently for an answer. “Will it hurt?”
“No, you might feel warmth, maybe a buzzing sensation. You might get a feeling like something has released, like a cork popping out of a bottle. Everyone’s experience of reiki is personal to them.”
It didn’t sound scary. Could I do this? I took one step towards the chair before stopping and looking back at him. “If I ask you to stop, will you?”
He was already nodding before I’d finished speaking, the earnestness in his expression easing a little of the tension. “Immediately.”
I sucked in a shaky breath and walked over to the chair and sat. I became aware of his scent as I let my eyelids close. It had tones of musk that were masculine. The smell got stronger as I felt the warmth of his body behind me. The seconds ticked by as he remained silent.
Was he doing anything? Maybe it wasn’t working.
His fingers brushed the tops of my shoulders and I gasped at the heat coming off his hands. It was like he’d placed them on a hot water bottle to warm them. The heat penetrated through my T-shirt and deep into my muscles. It spread out slowly, tingling starting in the centre of my chest. My eyelids fluttered as something deep within me unfurled.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was only when I registered that the back of my hands were wet that I realised I’d been crying silently. There was no reason for it, the tears flowing down my cheeks until my head started to feel thick. “What’s happening to me?”
“As I explained, every person’s reaction is different, Jup. Don’t try to overanalyse it. Why don’t you go and lie down and have a sleep, and when you wake up, we can talk about how it made you feel, if you want to.”
“Okay.”
Tucker
Exiting Tegan’s car, I gave the other man a wave before heading towards Dungeon’s Wharf. Tegan hadn’t
been as chatty tonight. Why was that? I’d had the impression that he liked to talk.
Whatever his issue was, it wasn’t my first priority. All I needed to know was that he had my back. We’d set a time for me to check in. All I needed to do was get through whatever rigmarole the club had planned for an intro night. There hadn’t been much on the website that gave me many clues as to what to expect.
I cursed under my breath. Would Phil’s man, Gabriel, be there tonight? In my rush to leave I’d forgotten to ask Phil, but he had shown me a picture of him so I’d be able to identify him. That would have to do for now. I made a mental note to check what nights Gabriel attended the club. Him being there might come in handy if something kicked off.
As I approached the club, the sense of dread I’d worked hard to ignore for days grew. My senses hummed as I strode past several men who didn’t appear to be queuing outside the large, dated warehouse, looking more like they were catching up instead.
Had I arrived too early? It was just after ten pm, the sky still not completely dark.
The large guy on the door, who was dressed head to toe in black leather, nodded at me and then opened the door. Any thoughts about the guy sweating to death in the muggy heat outside disappeared as I stepped into the foyer and registered how seedy it was. The scent of cleaning products didn’t quite manage to mask the aroma of stale sex. There were three men having a conversation, none looking in my direction. One glance said that they were all Dom’s, and that one of them was the owner, Riley Sewel. Dom’s Haven was registered to a company called RockRoom, and Phil had identified Riley as one of the registered owners. I hadn’t asked how he’d obtained that information. There hadn’t been any point when I already knew.
“Name please?” The question had come from a sub sat behind a counter with a swanky looking computer in front of him. He kept his gaze down, his body language stiff and unfriendly.
“Troy Garrick,” I answered, noting that the shabbiness of the lobby was at odds with the iMac the sub was using. The thing had to cost at least five grand, depending on what package was purchased with it.
A whispered conversation from behind me could be heard over the sub tapping on a keyboard. I kept my gaze on the sub as I strained to hear.
“This is your first time. You’ll need to wear this wrist band.” A green, stretchy band was slid towards me, the sub’s gaze not once lifting from the screen.
The only indication one of the men had moved closer to me was a swish of leather before a deep voice spoke. “Hello, I’m good with faces. You’re got to be a newbie. I’m Riley. It’s nice to meet you…”
I took my time picking up the band before turning to look at the man. “Troy, Troy Garrick.”
One look at the guy and it was easy to recall Ferron’s description of the man who’d tried to snatch him off the street. They matched, and my gut twisted. He hadn’t been interviewed by the coppers Ferron had reported the incident to.
Working on keeping my smile friendly, I eyed the long hair hanging to his shoulders that looked like it could do with a wash. There was a couple of days’ worth of scruff on his chin, the leather trousers he wore paired with a plain black T-shirt. On first impression of both the club and the man, it would be easy to assume that business wasn’t going so well.
I held out my hand, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. “Nice to meet you.” It wasn’t, and I brightened my smile to make sure he didn’t pick up on that fact.
Riley gave me an assessing handshake, my hand squeezed in a punishing grip. I returned it with the same force, ensuring I didn’t wince as he dug his nails in hard. What was his problem?
The action lasted for a few more seconds before my hand was released, Riley giving a nod. “I’ll be seeing you around.”
What was that supposed to mean?
It means fuck all. Chill.
By the time I’d slipped on the wristband, Riley had disappeared into the club. Was I just being hypersensitive?
Fuck!
With my instincts kicking in, even though I’d sworn never to go undercover again, I opened the door and passed the two remaining men. My nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent of stale sweat, sex and the coppery undertones of blood. It took more effort than I liked to step into the room, the door shutting to block the fresher air behind me.
The images I’d seen of the club on the internet had been taken some time ago. They had to have been. This place wasn’t all bright and sparkly; it was grim and dirty. Whatever I’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this grubby dive. The place had clearly seen better days. And from what I could see of the equipment scattered around the large room, so had everything else. It was old and well-used, looking like it needed replacing. Was this how they stayed under the radar?
As I walked deeper into the club, the thump, thump, thump of the music blocked out the noise of subs around the busy room being fucked, spanked, flogged and whipped. It was a huge red flag. A Dom needed to be able to hear their sub. It would have been difficult to hear a safe word, or to know when a sub was reaching their limits, or getting close to flying free.
No self-respecting Dom would be a member of this club. This place was geared to wannabes, my trained eye seeing them all around the room, posing and posturing. Men like these were dangerous, often thinking they were beyond the rules that anyone serious about BDSM would follow.
The longer I was there, the harder it was to stomach what I was seeing. The men were untrained and clueless about the dynamics that should exist between them and the subs. The Dom part of me was mortified to witness this shit.
My stomach was gripped by a tight fist of disgust, and I had to swallow back bile as I strolled over to the bar. My booted feet stuck to the carpet and I cringed. The scent was no less pungent as I reached the bar and waited for someone to move out of the way so that I could order something to wash away the sourness from my mouth.
Men passed me, some giving me no more than a curt glance, whereas others showed more interest. Everyone kept their distance, though. I wasn’t sure if that was because they sensed my true dominance, or whether they just didn’t like strangers.
The man in front of me moved away from the bar, and I stepped into the gap, indicating to one of the bartenders that I wanted a drink.
It took a couple of minutes for the guy to acknowledge me as he served other men. “Yo, what you want to drink?”
“A bottle of still water.” The bartender, who I’d pegged as being in his mid-forties and a Dom, widened his eyes but made no comment as he went to get the water. I glanced around the bar. There weren’t many men without some form of alcoholic drink in their hands. My lips thinned at the sight of the empty glasses scattered around the tables.
Another red flag. Clubs that served alcohol to those planning to play were a big fucking no-no. No one wanted an out of control Dom, or a sub too pissed to give consent. I masked my disgust as the bartender returned, dropping the bottle on the bar and not bothering to offer me a glass. “Four quid.”
I didn’t bother to quibble, pulling out the cash and handing it over. The guy grunted what could have been a thanks before wondering away to serve someone else.
Bottle in hand, I moved away from the busy bar and strolled over to the far side of the room, where a flight of steps led to a small area overlooking the main floor. It was pretty busy, but I managed to squeeze in past several men, leaning over the railing to scan the room.
The skin beneath the band on my wrist itched as I took in the view below. Most Dom’s were dressed similarly to me: leather trousers, boots and a T-shirt. Others were bare-chested, sporting a harness, while some were dressed casually, which wasn’t something I was used to seeing in a club of this kind, even on an introductory night. In my experience men tended to dress for the occasion.
The subs were mainly naked, some collared, but not many from what I could see. A few wore leather shorts. There was a distinct difference between the subs and Dom’s. There wouldn’t be any mistakes about who
was who here. Was that done on purpose?
I was unsettled as I searched the throng of people for Gabriel, who had been working undercover in the club for a year. I didn’t see any sign of him, but I didn’t have any plans to make contact tonight anyway, unless the opportunity presented itself. The last thing I wanted was to draw suspicion by showing too much interest in a Dom.
“What are you doing hiding up here?”
I tensed before I could stop myself, working to relax my posture as I recognised the voice. I turned to find Riley stood close enough that I could smell the alcohol on his breath, along with the underlying fragrance of sex.
“Getting an overview of the club,” I answered truthfully.
Riley glanced at the bottle of water in my hand, his eyes glinting in the light. “Water? I’m sure we’ve got whatever tipple you favour at the bar.”
Although the guy’s tone was friendly enough, there was suspicion in it too. “If I’m looking to play, I don’t drink. I like to keep a clear head.” The bite in my voice seemed to go unnoticed, Riley slapping my shoulder hard enough that I had to dig my feet in the sticky carpet to avoid stumbling into the person next to me.
“A clear mind, hell yeah. You want to hear the sub’s scream for sure. Otherwise, what fun would it be?” The way he spoke left me under no illusions to what he was referring when he said the word “scream.”
Playing along, I gave a toothy grin. “There’s nothing more satisfying than the noise of someone crying as you slowly take them apart.” I injected just enough enthusiasm to ensure Riley got my meaning.
Riley leaned on the railing next to me, continuing to shoot the breeze with me like we were the best of friends. Any temptation to push for information was tempered, experience having taught me that pushing too soon gave me nothing. I feigned interest in what Riley was saying while I watched a sub being dragged against his will, or so it appeared, to a spanking bench.
