Her eyes crinkled. “You have the right energy, you know? Most of the guys we looked at just want to be goofy or get it over with, but I think you actually like making people happy.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “That’s the job, right?” It sounded foolish. But she didn’t look like she thought it was. She just nodded, a little softer this time.
“I wish you could get my brother what he wants, but I don’t even think he knows. He took over the company after we lost my father, keeping everyone on payroll, you know?” She hesitated, glancing sideways like she was checking for spies. “Honestly, I figured he’d just sell it. I’m not even sure why he bothers so much, we didn’t have the greatest—” She stopped and colored. “Listen to me.”
“I’m free.” I confirmed the date.
She actually clapped her hands. “Perfect. I’ll text Jenny to confirm. And I’ll make sure the suit is dry cleaned, if that’s okay?”
“That’s fine.” I tried not to sound overeager. It was just another gig. But the way she looked at me made my chest go weird. Like maybe I was more than just the man in the suit.
She lingered in the doorway for a second. “Thanks, Santa. Really.”
I just smiled, tugged at my fake beard. “Happy to help.”
When she left, the room felt quieter. I leaned back in the chair, letting my legs stretch out. The Santa boots were actually comfortable, which was a surprise. The suit wasn’t hot unless you moved around too much. I could do this. I could do it for as long as people wanted me to. I was needed. Even if I knew I was hiding, it was like the suit gave me courage.
Jenny was delighted when I texted her the update. “You’re a rockstar, Clayton! Seriously, they’re going to love you. I bet you get repeat bookings next year!”
I doubted that, but I didn’t argue. I just agreed, took the next party, and the next.
It was strange how quickly being Santa turned into the thing I looked forward to. Sometimes people hugged me. Once, a young lady, Naomi, shyly told me she and her boyfriend had just done their last round of IVF and desperately wanted a baby for Christmas. I desperately wanted to make that wish come true.Then she shared they’d put in a dozen adoption applications as well. We both cried together over that.
When I was done, I checked my diary on the phone, but I didn’t need to. So far, the only night I had free this week was Friday. If it stayed free, I was going to go to the club. Not that I expected to see Master Felix, or if I did, I knew he would be with someone else, but I might get lucky and find someone that wanted to play. Not even a Master dominant. Just not an asshole, someone kind.
Chapter five
Felix
I poured myself a drink. The good bourbon, not the cheap stuff that lingered at the back of the cabinet. The glass sweated in my hand as I wandered from one end of the kitchen to the other, counting the steps. Seven, then nine, then back again. Like a dog in a cage. I didn’t even bother with dinner.
What the fuck was I actually doing?
Father had been dead for nearly eight years. I’d taken his business on the verge of bankruptcy and turned it into a media powerhouse by getting rid of the old ideas and working a hundred hours a week. And for what? To prove that I could? To prove that I had worth in the only language my father would understand? Money? Mom didn’t care, so long as her glass of gin and tonic was never empty at whatever party she was at. My sister Livvy didn’t care in a good way. She’d married her childhood sweetheart, and they were blissfully happy working on child number three. Livvy had told me to walk away and said Mom could either get a sugar daddy or a job. She didn’t care which.
But I’d been stubborn. I’d set out to prove something. To be noticed. Except the year after I’d taken over, the second stroke had killed him. His doctor had shared that if the stroke hadn’t gotten him, his liver would have finished him off.
My thoughts turned to the club, well, to Clayton. Not that they were ever far away.
I could still feel him. Clayton, the way he’d shuddered under my hands. The raw honesty of it. Not polished, not practiced. Just need. Desperate, open need like nobody had ever fed it before. Most subs I’d had lately wanted rules for five minutes, got off quickly, then begged for a safe word the second things got uncomfortable. They liked the idea. They didn’tneedit. And all the decent ones were in long-term relationships.
Clayton needed it, though. He needed someone to take his decisions away. He needed praise, structure, even the gentle touch. Maybe especially that. The way he’d gone quiet when I stroked his hair had floored me.
I could have kept him there all night, just holding on, listening to the way his breathing slowed. I hadn’t had that for a long time. Not with anyone. I’d deliberately stayed away last week so he hadn’t gotten any ideas he might be a regular. I didn’t do regular.
Fuck, I was an obnoxious prick. I put down my untouched glass and took the stairs two at a time to grab a shower. It had been two weeks. It was Friday. I could go and find a sub to scene with and finally get a certain one out of my system.
Fifty minutes later I was sitting at the bar talking to Harriet, a Dominant who had been in the scene a long time. Her sub Charlie was kneeling by her stool on a special cushion, head resting on Harriet’s leg, eyes closed and still blissed out. My eyes searched the room for the umpteenth time. I hadn’t seen Clayton. I should’ve been relieved. Just then a sub who’d been standing in front of us moved, and Harriet made a disgusted sound. I followed her gaze and froze.
Clayton.
The moment I locked onto him, everything else vanished. He hung naked, arms bound awkwardly above his head, gagged, his face turned and slack with dread. The Dom’s cane was held like a baseball bat, swinging from the wrong angle. The anticipation in that stance made my stomach churn.
“Who is that?” Harriet’s voice cut through the crowd. “Where the hell are the monitors?”
The next crack landed on Clayton’s upper back. His knees buckled; he sucked in a breath but gagged, he could make no sound. The Dom didn’t check on Clayton—he was already raising the cane for a second strike, aiming it just above his old scar.
I barreled through a circle of snickering subs. One of them let out a squeak as I brushed past; I barely noticed. The new Dom I didn’t recognize wasn’t even looking at Clayton.
