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Damon realized Jake was staring at him. Embarrassed, he managed a smile.
“I’m fine. Just a little distracted. What were you saying?”
“Samson & Co.’s incident response plan. I sent you the link. You said you wanted to review it before you leave the country tomorrow?”
Damon tried to force his mind back to business. Turning to his laptop, he tapped in the password. He noticed an unread text and, in spite of himself, his heart leapt at the thought it might be from Ellen. When he saw that it wasn’t, he told himself that was for the best. After all, what would be the point? Why draw things out if he had no intention of pursuing things with her? It wasn’t fair to lead her on.
Their amazing week together had been something outside of time, outside of real life, impossible to sustain in the real world. Now it was time to move on. He had a lot on his plate right now. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by outside stimuli.
Ellen deserved someone who could be there for her, someone able to give her what she needed. Hopefully she would eventually find a strong, intuitive Dom who would understand her stance on safewords. A man who was willing to shoulder the full responsibility of keeping her emotionally safe while still giving her the intensity of experience she craved.
“Damon?”
Damon forced himself to refocus on Jake, who was regarding him with bemused concern. “Huh?”
“Samson & Co.?”
“Oh. Right. I’ll get on that. Thanks.”
At a little after ten that night, Damon pulled into the Lair Sade parking lot. As usual, the place was hopping, the lot nearly full. Tomorrow’s flight was early in the morning but he was too agitated to even attempt to sleep. A scene with a willing sub girl would at least distract him for a while, assuming he could find one.
Exiting his car, he surveyed the lot, searching for a red Mini Cooper in spite of himself. There was no sign of one. Which was probably for the best. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle it if he entered the club to find the lovely Ellen involved in a scene with some random dude.
After paying the entrance fee and shoving his jacket into a locker, Damon stepped into Lair Sade’s well-appointed BDSM dungeon, gear bag on his shoulder. He breathed in the familiar, heady scent of leather mingled with sweat and pheromones as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
He spent a while moving from station to station, checking the action and keeping an eye out for a potential scene partner. Eventually, he made his way to the bondage wheel at the back of the club. Because the piece of equipment was new, there was a clipboard containing a signup sheet for twenty-minute sessions on a nearby stand. A glance at the sheet showed him it was nearly full. An egg timer beside it was ticking away, only four more minutes left.
There were several people observing the scene currently in progress. A voluptuous older woman in a bright red garter belt and matching stockings was bound to the wheel, face forward and spread eagle. A guy in full leathers was slowly rotating the wheel while a second guy, similarly clad, was inexpertly flicking a heavy flogger against her jiggling breasts and thighs.
“Oh, come on,” a female voice muttered beside Damon. “You can do better than that.”
He turned to see a tall, slender woman of around forty with short blond hair dyed pink on the tips. He didn’t recall ever seeing her at the club before. She wore a sheer white blouse tucked into a black leather miniskirt. Her small, pretty breasts were bare beneath her top, her nipples poking alluringly against the fabric.
She grinned at him. “Think you could do better?”
Damon shrugged. “It’s possible that’s all she can handle.”
The woman placed a hand on Damon’s arm, her long, manicured fingernails grazing his skin as she stared up at him. She had full, pouty lips painted blood red, her dark eyes heavily outlined in kohl. She looked nothing like Ellen, which was a good thing.
“I can handle more,” she drawled, looking up at him through her lashes. “A lot more. I’m next in line and I’m in need of a partner. I like it rough. No flogger—I crave the cane or a single tail, the more welts the better.” She dug her sharp nails into his arm. “Think you’re up to the job?”
He lifted her hand from his arm and offered her a lazy smile. “I imagine so. What’s your name?”
“My name’s Saskia, but you can call me Pain Slut,” she said with an answering grin. She let her gaze travel slowly from his face to his body and back again. “I’ll just call you Master Tall, Dark and Handsome.”
Damon laughed in spite of himself. “Whatever.”
The timer dinged. Once the trio had decamped and the dungeon monitor had cleaned the wheel, Saskia slipped unselfconsciously out of her blouse and skirt. Wearing nothing but an almost nonexistent thong, she climbed onto the wheel, facing away from him so her small, muscular ass was on display.
In spite of his promise to himself to keep Ellen firmly out of his thoughts, he couldn’t help but compare Ellen’s luscious curves with this too-thin, hard-bodied woman.
Determined to enjoy the scene, he secured the woman’s legs, arms and waist in place with the provided leather straps. She had turned her head to the side. Moving so she could see him, he asked, “You good?”
“I will be, once you get out your cane,” she said with a snort.
Damon’s treacherous brain instantly flashed back to Ellen tethered to the St. Andrew’s cross, her ass and thighs welted from his cane, tears falling down her flushed cheeks as she breathlessly, sweetly begged for another, and another.
She had refused to use her safeword even when it was clear she’d had enough. What if she ended up with some asshole who didn’t understand or respect her stance on the subject?
