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Atticus rested his elbow on the bar, leaning his weight on it as he studied Thane through narrowed eyes. That green stare missed absolutely fucking nothing. “There's a reason you eavesdropped. You weren't in the walkway because you were just passing through. Why?”
There was a time to lie through his teeth, and a time to be honest. “I like her. Connie.”
“You like her, but she didn't know you existed until a few minutes ago. Are you stalking her?”
Thane scowled. “Do I look like I'm stalking her?”
The Master grinned slowly. He stood tall, looming over Thane where he sat on the stool, and lowered his voice several octaves. When he spoke, he did so quietly, but with enough dominance in his tone to make Thane's body sit up and listen. “When I ask you a question, you'll answer me with respect.”
The thrill of submission was like a drug. It had been far too long since he’d responded to a command so firm. Thane's eyes dropped to the middle of the barrel-sized chest. “Yes, Sir.”
“Well, I'll be damned.”
A big hand dropped on Thane's shoulder and patted him gently. “Relax, Thane. You just told me everything I need to know. How long have you been submissive?”
“About the same amount of time as I've been dominant,” Thane replied, raising his gaze. “I'm not entirely submissive, Atticus. I'm a Switch, I'm happy in my own skin, and I'm not a stalker. Connie appeals to me on several levels, I'm just working my way up to getting to know her. She's more than meets the eye.”
“She is indeed. Stick around, Thane. I might have a use for you in the near future.” Atticus lifted his hand and signaled Liam. “I've got to go make a phone call. Liam will get you a drink if you want one. My advice with Connie is, if you're serious about making a play for her, don't be submissive. You're not the only Switch in Avalon.”
Thane didn't watch Atticus leave. The Master hadn't even flinched at Thane's revelation, which meant he really did miss nothing. It was actually kind of refreshing to be accepted so easily, without even a joke or two at his expense. While it remained to be seen whether the rest of the club would be quite so blasé, Thane had fresh hope he'd fit in here.
He ordered a beer, content to sit for the night and run through what had just happened. He would love to know what Atticus might use him for. In the near future—was that tonight, next week, six months from now? If it meant spending time with the delightful enigma that was Connie Monroe, Thane would wish the time away.
“One beer.” Liam set it down in front of Thane. “You look like someone just handed you the key to the universe.”
“You know, it feels that way. The last club I went to, I ended up in a brawl with a Dom who decided I wasn't man enough to be a member there. His little pea brain couldn't understand that I'm still a testosterone-fueled man, even when I'm on my knees in front of a strong woman. We had a difference of opinion, I kicked his ass, and the club sided with him.” Thane lifted his beer in a salute, then drank. “Does that happen everywhere, do you think? That close-mindedness?”
Chuckling, Liam shook his head. “Not here, it doesn't. We don't give a shit whether you're dominant, submissive, or both. Braun's a big believer in equal opportunities, and he doesn't tolerate bullying in any form. Just be yourself—as long as everything you do is safe, sane, and consensual, you're part of the family.”
“Makes a nice change.”
“Tell me about it. I don't know how welcome I'd be in other clubs if they found out I'm a bisexual Dominant. Most places wouldn’t even take it into the equation, but I've heard of establishments that don't take kindly to their members being themselves. They like their Dominants straight and white, and their subs female, pretty, and submissive. If you decide to stick around, you'll fit right in here.”
“Perfect.” He lifted his glass again. “Here's to finding where we belong.”
*
Connie paced around the room, seething. She'd kicked her boots off because, although she'd worn them as a statement, they really weren't the most comfortable boots for pacing in. Being a nice, quiet submissive wasn't in her plans tonight, not after she'd seen the toys spread out on the bedspread.
Butt plug. Lube. Nipple clamps. Scented oil. Paddle.
She shouldn't be here. The past week had been just one mess after another. Three sessions with Caera had left her drained—the girl had a maze of triggers inside her head, and Connie inadvertently kept hitting the buttons to send her falling away from reality. Trying to map them was exhausting, but she could only take tiny steps forward until the map was complete.
Connie understood why there was a lack of notes in the girl's file, and why she'd been passed from therapist to therapist. It wasn't going to happen again, but Connie was giving serious thought to what actions she could take to keep the girl safe from herself. Caera's journals showed a distinct disregard for eating, for staying hydrated. Sleep remained essentially non-existent.
On top of that, Connie had had the pleasure of two sessions with Anarchy, which hadn't gone well. Her friend was floundering under the guilt of killing a man, and was concealing it with a perky, happy façadeto stop her Master from worrying over her. Not that Jasper wouldn't pick up on the little white lies, but he also wouldn't be thankful for Archie's attempts at hiding it from him.
Alicia's love of Disturbedwas deepening, and she was becoming more ensconced in the words blaring from the speakers twenty hours of the goddamn day. She was slipping through Connie's fingers, which meant she was scrambling her tired brain to devise a way to get through to the girl.
Add in the numerous other patients on her schedule, her refusal to attend Avalon all week, and the conflict Atticus had stirred inside her…Connie was sinking fast, with the bottom nowhere to be seen. She'd come tonight to prove she was still the Mistress of Avalon, still a kick-ass Domme, and here she was, breaking every resolution she'd made over the past seven days.
Five minutes ticked past. Where the hell was the mountain? He should've been here by now. Unless he was off in the parking lot somewhere, murdering the hapless new member for daring to speak to her. When another five minutes flew by, her temper was burning down to embers, leaving her tired and sad.
She clambered into the rocking chair and made it swing, closing her eyes as she curled into the seat. Back and forth, back and forth. Lulling her deeper into the fatigue haunting her bones. She didn't relish the idea of being punished for her disobedience, but she had warned him.
Several sleepless nights caught up with her, and she dozed as the chair rocked.
“Maybe I should just shackle you to the bed for the next few weeks,” Atticus rumbled, startling her awake. “You're not listening to what I say, you're ignoring my directions. At this rate, you'll be burned out and useless by the end of the month.”
