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“Voyeur rooms are booked.” She barely acknowledged that I was at her elbow while she continued to type and scroll.
“Shit.”
The best laid plans and all that.
“It’s a busy night, Gideon. Master Thorin is giving a shibari demonstration tonight and fuck does he pack everyone in. Well, there is one possibility.”
Whisper turned her computer around to show me her reservation system. Not a single room. For a Wednesday night, the club was packed to the gills. Except for one place. The room.Myprivateplay room. The one I shared with Brooklyn. We’d purchased it together so we could both play there. Before it all went to shit, that was.
I hadn’t been upstairs for ages. There were way too many memories up there.
“Does she use it?”
I asked, bile rising in my throat, cutting off my voice. Brooklyn hadn’t been around in eons. At least, I didn’t think she had. Maybe she played on nights I wasn’t around. I silently hoped she discontinued her membership.
“Not since last November.” She told me.
That was about right. We broke up in the first week of December.
“Has she been back at all?” I asked.
It wasn’t my business. I didn’t need to know if she’d moved on. I’d made my peace with us not working out. Our personalities were too similar. If she found someone else at the club, so be it. Whisper shook her head in the negative. Relief that I was ashamed to feel flooded my system.
“Okay, give them my room. But don’t tell her it’s my room. Just say, I don’t know, say that penthouse owners allow use of their rooms in the event of overflow. What time did she have twenty reserved for?”
Whisper’s talons she called fingernails, tapped along her keyboard.
“Six to nine.”
“Two hours for scene, one for aftercare?” I ask.
“You know I can’t disclose what happens in private rooms.” She pops out her hip, her finger nails drumming along the sequin fabric of her dress.
“If I were to guess, am I warm?”
“Let me get this straight. Not only am I pissing off Mistress Margaux, and lying to her, I’m also giving you awarmer slash colderon when her scene finishes? You have my spidey sense itching.”
“Well, spray some Benadryl on that shit.” I laugh, “because your spidey sense has no reason to twitch, itch, or dance the jig. I just need to prove a point to Mistress Margaux and give her a little nudge out of her comfort zone.”
Whisper cut me with a sideways look that could have given any schoolmarm a run for their money. Though she didn’t say another word, she shook her head repeatedly while she moved things around in her system.
“Is thereanything elseI can help you with tonight, Master Gideon?”
Her smile was as saccharine as the words that dripped from her lips.
“I owe you.” I leaned in, air kissing her cheek, and pushed off the counter.
* * *
I sat at the bar, scanning the meeting areas repeatedly in fear of missing her in the throng of people. For a work night, the elbow-to-elbow crowd seemed ridiculous. It had to be because of Thorin.
The energy in the room shifted. It was subtle. A slight vibration that had me searching the entrance. Fuck me standing, Mistress Margaux switched from her favorite royal blue to red. A lace skirt with slits up both sides made for sinning, a red bustier with leather bindings and black thigh boots with pointed heels meant for a crime scene. The icing on top? Her long, honeyed hair swung proudly in a severe ponytail that trailed halfway down her back. Her outfit had me throbbing and, if I’m being honest, considering kneeling in front of the staircase for her.
Thankfully, I didn’t need to. She beelined straight for the bar I sat at, asking the bartender for a glass of sparkling water.
“Mistress Margaux, our paths cross again.”
I hid the twitch in my mouth behind a sip of my Johnny Walker. Up close, she was sin personified and my dick approved.
