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"You must have been watching something different." Marius took a swig of water. "That was just a demo, man."
"Yeah, sure. You should think about looking deeper into that."
Marius followed Noah's gaze to Regina, who'd met up with Mistress Lisette and was taking a seat with her at a courtside table. "You think she's looking for a boy-toy?"
Noah snorted. "I think if you pull that boy-toy stuff on her, she'll tear you to pieces and make you beg to be put back together again. Which she'd probably do, though she'd hold onto your dick for a few weeks to remind you not to fuck with her."
Because that twisted his cock and his gut in ways he couldn't interpret, Marius scoffed. "I've watched her play. She's not into that kind of meanness."
"That's surface stuff, and you're playing dumb. Her way of holding control has nothing to do with maximum force."
No, it didn't. It had taken him by surprise. Noah described it just right. When she touched him, she touched things far below the surface. Chemistry. Fuck. Had she felt it? He thought she had, but he could hope she hadn't.
"The boy-toy thing doesn't work forever, you know," Noah pointed out. "Not when you really do want a Mistress. The player routine is starting to look a little thin, Marius."
"I don't--" Marius broke off, his attention zeroing in on the activity at the suspension station. He glanced at the Dungeon Master on duty, Carlissa, but the DM was handling equipment instruction with a new member on the other side of the floor. "Hold that stupid and entirely off the mark thought. Back in a sec."
Noah grinned. "You're not on schedule to DM or do security tonight. You notice everything, man. Sure you're not a Mistress?"
"I'll come back and fuck you up the ass so you can decide for yourself," Marius said, already getting to his feet. He moved to the suspension station. The Dom was fortunately squatting over his open suitcase of ropes and clips. "Sir Guillaume?"
The black man with a runner's physique and a cauliflower top of short dreads shot him a look. Marius saw the usual flash of irritation that any Dom experienced when interrupted in session, so he got right to the point. He nodded to the slim Hispanic male sub, blindfolded and wrapped in an elaborate harness of jute, his feet off the ground since Guillaume had him suspended from the sturdy oak frame. Guillaume had found his passion with suspension rope play, and hadn't mentored long with the club experts before striking out on his own. He was smart enough to keep his solo play here at the Zone, though, where he was under the watchful eyes of the staff.
"He's having circulation issues in his right hand, and he's too deep to notice."
Guillaume rose. "There shouldn't be anything pinching him. I tied it--"
"When you worked him up earlier, this section probably tightened as he was squirming." Marius stepped closer to Tawn, the tied sub, and gestured. "See here." He guided Guillaume to grip Tawn's hand. "Feel how cold it is?"
Guillaume paled under his bisque coloring. "Shit."
"It's okay. He's not in danger yet. Skin color's still decent, though remember you have to keep a closer eye when your bottom's not Caucasian. Just fix the problem and massage the hand and arm, get the circulation going. Or, since you've already gotten him off and sent him flying, might be a good time to end the session." Marius gave Guillaume a dry smile. "Do aftercare and then let him have the chance to suck his Master off to show his gratitude for giving him such a good time."
"Yeah." Guillaume was busy loosening the ropes, murmuring to Tawn, holding onto him. The sub's head tilted back, lips parted. Even without seeing his eyes, Marius knew they would show a subspace haze. Tawn was a dedicated rope bunny. All a Dom had to do was twitch some twine in his direction and he'd practically zone out then and there. Fortunately, the twitch of his fingers was what had caught Marius's attention. The unconscious mind had a way of staying on guard even when the rest of the brain was too fuzzy to compute danger. Until it was too late.
That wasn't the case here, and Marius was no longer needed. Easing back, he left Guillaume to handle his shit. As he crossed the room to Noah, he saw Regina watching him again. Though she was listening to Mistress Lisette, her eyes were on Marius.
He slowed under her regard. What would happen if he went and knelt at her feet? Asked if he could stay awhile, do anything for her? He could just sit, let her decide if there was more she might want from him. Maybe she'd put her hand on his shoulder and throat like she had before, that touch that sent him into a place that was similar but different, quieter but no less intense, than the subspace that Tawn was experiencing now.
What did he want from her? He didn't know, but a strong part of him wanted to find out. Noah was right, but being right didn't mean pursuing it was the best option.
Her gaze flickered, her lips parted. Fuck, it was an invitation. After all this time, when their schedules had never meshed, or she hadn't been approachable, or he'd talked himself out of it, maybe tonight...
"Marius."
Noah was waving at him, getting his attention. When he had it, he pointed toward the bar. Alex was working behind it, and he lifted the phone, telling Marius he had a call. He'd forgotten he'd left this as one of his backup numbers, because so often his cell was in a locker, or his car. He didn't really
like carrying one. But he wished now he'd never given that number out, because his sense of sanctuary crumbled.
As he moved toward the bar, his gaze flickered up to the TV they kept on mute for people in the bar area who'd come to socialize rather than play. It was on the news, and the headlining story told him what that call would be about.
What were the chances they'd be on the right channel, at the right moment for him to see that shit? Right when the damn phone call came through? If there was any kind of sign in this bullshit world, it seemed like that was one.
He felt like he was in one of those video games where, when the player was killed, a gray pall came down on the landscape. Everything that was vibrant became dreary and lifeless. He found himself trying to draw in air, as if it was being sucked out of his world with the color.
Why did it fucking matter? It had been coming for months, right? He struggled to get past the gray, and he couldn't. It was like being struck blind, only he'd been struck color-blind, everything leached away, so it was an effort just to walk to the bar. He picked up the phone, spoke a word he didn't remember. Listened. Hung up.
He didn't remember going down to the locker room and putting on his street clothes. He didn't remember coming back and seeing the blushing submissive waiting by the door, hoping to catch his eye. He closed his hand on hers, tugging her out the door with him. He wouldn't remember that later either, or fucking her in her car like a crazed demon, trying to lift that gray pall. It didn't work.
