From an armchair near the fireplace, I watch the scene playing out in front of me—a woman strapped to a leather bench while a Domme teases her, trailing a flogger along the back of her thighs.
I watch the women with mild interest. Floggers and whips aren’t my thing. I prefer my own two hands. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as the crack of my flesh against hers, the feel of heat radiating from warmed skin. As I watch her squirm and try to be quiet, I appreciate the amount of courage her public submission takes.
From across the room I see Reece, and based on the look of satisfaction on his face, I’d guess he’s returning from one of the private rooms. He’s the owner of the club, but so laid-back, most people wouldn’t suspect that.
I’ve visited a couple of other clubs, and Reece’s club is by far the best. The others felt cold and more like a gymnasium, with sterile equipment and wide-open spaces, yet this place feels dark, moody, and sensual. The play spaces are built for quiet, sensuous scenes, leaving the more risqué kinks for the private rooms. Sconces provide dim lighting and low bass-filled beats thrum in the background, creating a soft hum of anticipation. There’s no wonder it’s grown into the biggest fetish club in Chicago in three short years.
When Reece gets closer, I tip my head in silent greeting. The big man lumbers up, squinting at me curiously. “Cameron Fucking Hale. I haven’t seen you in, what…at least a month, brother?”
“Sounds about right.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling oddly defensive. This lifestyle is lived out differently for each person in it, but Reece doesn’t seem to get that. He doesn’t understand why I’m not here every night enjoying a different sub.
I’m really not one for a meet-n-fuck. Sure, I’ve done it before, when necessity calls for it, but I much prefer the slow, sensual exploration of a partner’s naughtiest desires, and then exploit the fuck out of them. Pushing a woman to her limit is as gratifying to me as the sexual release itself.
Reece takes the seat next to me and surveys the room with the watchful eye of a predator. He’s a businessman and a Dom in all aspects—qualities I appreciate and can relate to. I silently note the scene in front of us has progressed to nipple clamps and ice cubes. Interesting.
“Where have you been, man?” he asks. “I’ve missed seeing your pretty face.”
I shrug. “Working. Staying busy.” He knows as a senior associate at the law firm, intent on making partner, I work way too fucking many hours.
He turns to me with a smug grin. “Still working to train the uncivilized?”
“I’m still mentoring, yes. But trust me, I get a lot out of it.”
His smile says he’s not so sure. “Yes, you were always that way—a do-gooder. I like them well-trained and ready to play. I’ll show them my preferences, break any bad habits their previous Dom taught them. But, shit, I don’t want to start from scratch.”
I know what he means; a well-trained sub is a beautiful thing. Still, something excites me about taking a woman to that place. The journey is sometimes more gratifying than the destination.
“It’s more fun than you might think.” My thoughts drift to my newest conquest, and my heart rate kicks up a notch. Glancing at my watch, I see it’s just now six. My nervous little kitten is probably entering the club next door, heart pounding and eyes wide. Imagining the fear and uncertainty swimming inside her arouses me.
“You too busy for lunch next week?” Reece asks, his eyes still on the women before us. “It’s been too long.”
“Never too busy for lunch. Just come downtown to my office.”
“Sounds good, man.” He claps me once on the back.
Reece, despite not understanding my preferences and tastes, is the closest thing I have to a best friend. I have work acquaintances, friends, and even a roommate, but none of them know about my lifestyle. Reece knows all about my past and supported me through the shittiest time of my life. He’s the one who introduced me to this life.
“I have an appointment to get to,” I say, rising to my feet. “But I’ll see you next week?”
“Count on it. I’ll need to hear all about your newest plaything.” He grins at me unevenly.
“Not a chance. You know I don’t kiss and tell, like you.”
“Or spank and tell.” He smiles again. “Have fun tonight.”
“I always do,” I say, tipping my head before heading to the door.
Immediately upon entering, I congratulate myself on choosing the Dakota. It’s perfect, swamped with a sexually-charged energy. Moody jazz floats through the air, and dim lighting casts faint shadows in all the corners.
When I spot her, my stride falters. But only for a second. Holy fucking hell. Anyone watching wouldn’t know my entire world just got knocked on its ass. I’m not usually one for keeping secrets, yet the moment I see her, I know what must be done.
Fixing a cool expression on my face, I start toward her again.
She hasn’t noticed me yet, so I take a moment to drink her in. Her cocktail is half full, and her hand is gripping the glass. She’s nervous. And questioning herself. She takes another sip and her shoulders relax.
Good girl.
I approach her from the side of the bar—and with her eyes trained on the front door, it’s not the direction she’s expecting.
“Bookworm?” I ask, though I know it’s her. I can smell the scent of nervousness and desire on her.