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Chapter one
Nora
Themusicfromtheclub floor trickles into the bar area downstairs. It’s pretty loud for my sensory processing disorder, so I sag my shoulders and huddle into myself as I try to drown out the noise. I cross my legs on the stool and sip at my second cocktail of the evening. Sunsets has a two-drink maximum on the lower levels, for good reasoning. They don’t want the patrons in the sex club area to be intoxicated during consensual play.
Pressing the straw to my lips, I suck my gin and cranberry down. I’m fucking nervous. I’m meeting a potential new dominant. The great thing about this high-end club is that it values its patron’s privacy. The dating matchups are an awesome perk, too. Members of the club can opt-in for a type of dating service. They’ll help match dominants and submissives that may work well together. You can decide what you’re looking for whether it’s a weekly meeting at the club only, or something more permanent and outside of the club.
The dating service is a bonus that I can’t afford usually. Hell, I can’t even afford a regular membership to the sex club part. But a few years ago I came into some money. Money that I dumped into my mental health, instead of investing like I probably should have. When my therapist and I were discussing what to do with my new fortune, he mentioned Sunsets. The club is high-end, luxurious, and expensive. There’s a two-year waiting list. But in those two years, I’ve spent a lot of time learning to be a submissive. Now, here I am. I’ve been a member here for one year, and I’m finally trying the dating service out.
Online dating isn’t for me, and honestly, it’s hard to find someone who understands my quirkiness. Who gets that loud noises make me anxious, that touch can make me extremely uncomfortable if not done properly. That my body is always on high alert, and sometimes I just need to shut it off.
I glance at the watch on my wrist. I was twenty minutes early so that I could relax before he got here. Now, he’s five minutes late. The nervous shits are almost in full force. My stomach is cramping. I’m about to stand and hightail it out of there when a man sounds behind me.
“I hope you’re not thinking of leaving?” His voice is deep and soothing.
Instantly, my body relaxes. Holy shit, I don’t think a man’s voice has ever been so calming to me so quickly. I turn, eyeing a tall blonde with some five-o'clock shadow. His eyes are a sparkling brown, and he’s wearing an expensive suit. I glance down at my Macy’s cocktail dress I caught on clearance, then back at him. I’m so out of place here. The people who can afford these memberships are in a completely different tax bracket than I am. It’s why I never tried the dating perks.
But, I’m getting lonely, and I need some structure in my life. Though, now it feels like a mistake. Like I’m just a gold digger looking for money, and not here for a D/s relationship, like I don’t want the companionship.
I tug at the hem of my dress, trying to hide myself.
“No,” I say, my voice scratchy. “I was just about to use the restroom.” I lie.
He tilts his head to get a good look at me, pausing to take in my facial features. A dark chuckle escapes, then he pulls out the stool beside me and sits. “You’re a terrible liar.”
My mouth drops, my breath shaky. “I’m not a liar.”
“You are, Nora.” He sniffs. “I can smell the fear on you.”
Fuck. Why is that sentence so hot? My mouth is so very dry. Becker King. A real estate broker, invested in multiple other businesses and way out of my league. Both in looks, scholar, and social status. I’m a college dropout turned phlebotomist making just a little over minimum wage. I live in an apartment with two other girls, buy clearance dresses, grocery shop at Walmart and can’t afford cable. What does he see in me? Besides a willing participant in adult play. He said he was looking for a serious relationship outside of the club, just like me, but surely he can find someone more eligible to be dangled on his arm.
“Why…” I gulp, my grip tightening on the glass in front of me. “Sorry. I’m just trying to understand.”
Becker orders a whiskey neat. “What are you trying to understand, doll?”
“Why we matched.”
His elbows rest against the bar top, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am too.” It’s so quiet, I don’t think it’s meant for me, but I hear it anyway. After a beat of silence, he looks up to me again.
Holy fuck, the noise of the music hasn’t bothered me since he sat down. And that’s when I glance down and notice his one hand has been firmly resting on my lap the entire time. Just the right amount of pressure that I need to remain calm. Too light and my skin crawls. Too tight and I feel like I’m trapped in a box, buried six feet under.
His fingertips brush my bare knee. “We matched because of what we are both looking for. You want someone to tell you what to do. I want someone who will listen. You’re also what I’ve requested for physical appearance.”
I gulp. Physical appearance? I left that part blank. I’m not picky. Most of the men at Sunsets are in great shape, and hair and eye color were never something I cared about. I glance down at my chest. My tits are far from small, and I’ve got a curvy ass to match. “You like thick girls? Sometimes it's hard to tell that I’m bigger in pictures. And then men seem to realize I'm not their type.”
I force myself to make eye contact with him.
The hand on my knee moves to my waist and he squeezes my love handle firmly. “This is the sexiest part of a woman. I can’t wait to have my fingerprints marked on you after I’ve fucked you hard and good.”
Jesus. My pussy is throbbing now. I cross my legs, rubbing my thighs together to ease the ache. I’m going to have to throw away these panties. That’s if they haven’t disintegrated into smoke by the time I get home.
“What do you like in your men?” Becker asks. He pulls away and grabs his drink again.
“I don’t really have a type. But I guess being able to be carried would be a plus.”
“I see.” He nods, taking a sip of his drink. “What do you like to do with your free time?”
I shrug, accepting a glass of water from the bartender, then turn to Becker. “I like to paint whenever I can. But lately, it’s been less than I’d like. We’ve been short-staffed, so I’m covering a lot of shifts at the lab.”
