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"Oh, she just went off shift. She was supposed to meet Marguerite for lunch
at the Tea Room. Marguerite runs the place, and we're thinking of integrating a classy kind of coffee room here at the club. You know, for clients to enjoy after they have their workout, socialize some more. A kind of franchise of the Tea Room inside of our club. She left a few minutes ago."
"You both work here?"
"She does. I'm actually the owner, she's the manager, so I can pretty much just show up, work out and handle the stockholders. She handles day-to-day stuff in the club. She likes to do that versus any of the aggressive sales stuff, and I hate being bogged down in maintenance and repair details and breaking people into the machines. That's why she's going to see Marguerite. She's working out the details with her now that I've closed the deal."
"You're a good complement to each other, then."
"The joy of being twins." She nodded, and he helped her take it back up to the rack. She sat up, considered him, gave him another sultry smile and a perusal so blatant it had some of the surrounding customers raising a brow or grinning.
"If you ever change your mind, hon, my sister and I'd love to sink our teeth into you. I suspect you're the meal of a lifetime."
"Again, I'm flattered," he inclined his head, "but I think it's fair to say...I'm off the market as long as my--"
He stumbled to a halt. He'd forgotten, and he never forgot. But he'd almost said it aloud, called Violet what his mind had accepted her as. His Mistress. Of heart, mind and soul. Just as she'd said from the very first she would become to him.
"...I'm otherwise involved."
Tamara rose, running her hand familiarly up his thigh, over his hip bone and to his waist. "Our loss, hon. Maybe Violet will share you with us again sometime." Then she left him, drawing the attention of every patron with her African queen looks and the lithe body displayed in the shimmering spandex.
"I hope not," he muttered.
It was getting easier to admit that now. He wanted to be committed to one Mistress, and her to him. While some interactive play was fine, he wanted the main event, the focus just to be with her. As long as he had Violet, he wouldn't care if he never saw the inside of a BDSM club again.
However, he had other issues to deal with at the moment. Kiera and Tamara worked as a team. Nothing about the crime scene suggested more than one player in the room with the vic at the time of death. He had written off Lisbeth right away. The woman was as frank and honest about herself as she was with her subs. She didn't have any demons in her closet and seemed to have little interest in a man young enough to be her son. There were the five female Doms with permanent memberships, but he was particularly interested in Marguerite Perruquet.
He'd watched her pick up a twenty-something at The Zone the last night he was there. She kept the young man lapping sparkling tonic water out of a bowl at her foot like a pet dog while she talked to other Doms, occasionally slapping him on the ass with a sharp quirt she carried, tucked into a metal band on her forearm. But when she took him down to play in one of the rooms, that cruelty turned to dangerous gentility. She put him on a turnstile, raised it vertical, spun him upside down so he could eat her clit, then strapped a cock to his head and made him coordinate fucking her with it while he licked at the base of her pussy, nibbled her thighs. All the while she teased his cock, positioned at her eye level, with her mouth, her teeth, working him and threatening him, telling him he could not come until she did. By the end of two hours, she had made him come for her several times, in a variety of ways where she was alternately playful and vicious, loving and cruel, until Mac understood why she was a Mistress of great popularity at The Zone. A sub's only regret with her would be that she rarely chose the same man for more than one night.
Or maybe she did, but her pickups for longer term relationships didn't occur at The Zone, and those she hooked up with weren't ever going to be able to talk about it.
The early evening crowd thinned, and he went to the locker room before his lingering became suspicious. Police investigative work was ninety percent tedium, two percent clues and eight percent hunches. Of course, this case had been a little less tedious because of Violet. He'd cook her up a quiche tonight. He'd seen what was in her fridge and knew she lived on frozen food. Not anymore.
Once in street clothes and headed for his bike, he was annoyed to see he was parked diagonally from Powell's Lexus, and the arrogant dickhead was in the process of putting a gym bag in his trunk.
Mac passed him with a cold nod and the blonde shot him a baleful look as Mac picked up his helmet to straddle the Honda.
"You know what I don't get about you, Mac? You play the game all wrong."
"Not interested, Powell," he said briefly, fitted his key into the ignition.
"You don't get it, Mac. And I thought you would. It's obvious you don't like to give up power, but you resist it out front. I play the game in reverse. They think I'm all theirs, I give them everything they want until the end, indulge every whim, and then when they lose their hearts, I cut them loose. It's a power rush like you wouldn't believe. These Mistresses, they salivate all over you. You could choose any of them, but you get yourself tied up emotionally over a little inexperienced cunt like Violet. All you're really looking for is a ring in your nose. You're not fooling anyone."
"Powell, I'm not going to brawl with you like two kids in a school yard. Skip the goading insults and tell me what you want."
Powell stepped forward and, sensing trouble coming, Mac got off the bike to face him.
"You got me kicked out of The Zone. You're welcome to your opinion but not the right to interfere in my personal dealings."
"Wrong. Protecting a woman, even if she's not his own, is every man's business."
Jonathan sneered. "If she'd chosen me, she'd be so twisted around my dick by now she might as well be on her knees sucking on it."
"You're an asshole, and what burns you is that Violet didn't choose you. She's beautiful, she has taste, and she knows trouble when she sees it. You don't need a Mistress. You need to be neutered."
He knew how to handle an idiot like Powell, so he was ready for the lunge, the swipe of Powell's fist, his keys clutched in them. But Mac was angry as well. Not enough to let it control him, but enough for him to take a split second to consider and then take great satisfaction in following up his block with a clip to Jonathan's jaw. Powell sagged forward and Mac caught him. The sharp jab in his neck spun him around, and he was vaguely aware of Jonathan regaining his balance at his back as Kiera pulled the syringe out.
There was no time for anything. The helmet dropped from his fingers and his body fell into their hands. They effectively used his momentum to roll him into the open door of the van next to his bike. All over in five seconds, and likely not a person around to see it. Jesus Christ, he was in trouble.
