Page 2 of Never Forget

Large hands settle instantly on my shoulders, steadying me before I can fall or before the panic can fully flare.

“Whoa there, sweet thing.”

His voice is low and warm, rough around the edges but calming in a way that slides straight under my skin. I whip around too fast and end up chest-to-chest with one of the biggest dudes I’ve ever seen.

Broad shoulders strain against a black t-shirt that hugs thick muscle like a second skin. The red lighting shines off his dark hair, the longer strands pushed back off his forehead like he’s been dragging his hands through it all night. Scruff shadows a jaw so chiseled it looks like he could be cast in some hyper-masculine superhero flick. I’m not a small man by any means, but this guy towers over me. The sheer size of his body dwarfs mine. He’d probably look intimidating if not for the disconcerting softness in his eyes.

He smiles down at me almost indulgently, like he’s amused, and with a familiarity that makes me worry for a moment that he recognizes me. Instinctively, my fingers flutter over the edge of my mask, making sure it’s still in place.

“I’m not your sweet anything,” I mutter, stepping back automatically.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and his eyes do an obvious up and down perusal of my body.

“You look pretty sweet to me.”

Traitorous heat rushes into my face, hopefully hidden beneath the mask and low lighting. His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, and he wets his lips. Without thinking, I mimic the movement, and something in his expression sharpens. It’s not quite predatory, but maybe hungry. Interested for sure.

My eyes flick back to the scene where the blond sub is moaning as three men run their hands over his body under the watchful eye of his dom, who praises him for being a good little whore for his master’s friends. The sub moans loudly at his words. At least he seems to be enjoying himself.

I take another step towards the exit.

The stranger’s hand lands lightly against my shoulder, not stopping me from leaving, just getting my attention.

“You aren’t going to stay for the rest of the show?”

My eyes dart back at the scene, where the dom is instructing one of the men on how many fingers to use to open his boy up and gloating about how much he can take. Another is fitting some kind of mouthpiece to the sub’s face, like a gag but with a round hole to force him to keep his mouth open.

I suppose this is where most people might think the show is just getting good, but not for me. It’s the intimate play between the dom and sub that I’m interested in, and watching the sub slip into that space where they’ve completely given themselves over. That’s the part that’s had me coming back for more. Tonight I’d even considered maybe doing more than watching.

I’ve been fantasizing about walking into this room, stripping down, and falling to my knees in the middle of the room, waiting for some nameless figure to step up and show me how to find that release... that emptiness I see subs fall into.

I’m a realist. I know I wouldn’t actually follow through on that fantasy. Couldn’t. I don’t think I’m capable of handing myself over like that. I also don’t think I’d be okay with just anyone touching me or commanding me. It would need to be the right person, not that I know who or what it would take to qualify them.

But it’s my last night in this city for a while, and part of me thought I might get brave enough to ask someone to… What? Bend me over their lap so I can see if it would work on me?

Ridiculous.

The more I think about it, the more I’m sure it wouldn’t work anyway. I don’t think I could ever get there.

“Are you alright?” the man asks. “Do you need some water, or anything? There’s a back entrance nearby, I can take you outside to get some air if you need it.”

I try to give him a small smile. He really does seem kind, even if he’s only doing it to get in my pants.

“I’m good,” I answer, gently shrugging out of his hold. “I don’t think any of this is for me.” I vaguely gesture at the room.

“Just curious then?”

“Yeah,” I say, taking the lifeline. “I wanted to see what was back here. I saw, so now I’ll be on my way.”

“You must be pretty curious. Considering this is the third time I’ve seen you here this week.”

I recoil a little. “Excuse me?” What? Do I have a stalker now? Jesus.

“Don’t worry, I'm not stalking you,” he says, laughing as if he heard my thoughts. “I work here.” He points to his left pec, where the club’s logo strains against the tight fit of his shirt, then twists his body so I can see the word security emblazoned across the back. “I’m technically off duty, but I noticed you seemed distressed, so I came over to make sure everything was okay on this side of the room, and we ended up bumping into each other.”

“So you… uh, play here as well as work?”

“Not usually.”