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I pet each of their heads, yet neither pushed into my hand like they normally did. I needed to push my bad day out of my head. It wasn’t fair to them for it to continue affecting me during a scene. Yet everything I said, every motion, word and phrase, fell flat.
“You pleased me very much on Saturday.” I caressed Lazlo’s chin, running my fingers up his jaw. When he looked at me, his eyes looked dead. They didn’t have any of the heat that they usually did.
“What’s wrong sweet Lazlo?”
“Mistress, if you don’t know, then I question whether you truly are as in tune with your subs as we are with you.”
Impertinence? From Lazlo. Neither of them ever in the over one year we’d been scening had ever engaged in back talk. The thought of displeasing me usually mortified them. Just a hint that they’d disobeyed usually had them apologizing with wide eyes and stiff cocks. I smacked the crop against his thigh—not hard enough to smart, but enough to get his attention.
“Would you care to rephrase that, my sweet?”
He looked up at me and stared for long minutes. He shook his head and grunted. The silence, however, dragged on.
“Not now.” Dax implored. “We talked about this.”
“Talked about what?” I asked.
I watched the two of them have a stare down. An entire novel's worth of unspoken sentences flew between the two of them.
“No.” It was such a forceful statement. I had to double check it was Lazlo who spoke it.
“Lazlo—just tell her. Communication, remember.”
In hindsight, I should have stopped the scene at that very moment. I could feel our whole relationship unravelling in unspoken words. Yet, I simply stood there and stared. I tried to will the evening to piece itself together.
Lazlo looked between me and Dax, a stoic look in his eyes coupled with the determined set of his mouth. When he lifted his chin, I thought he was going to tell me what was wrong. I figured it had to be something minor. We’d laugh about it or talk through it and continue on with our evening.
“Red.”
His voice was loud and true when he said it. The word that every Domme worries will be used. The one that says they didn’t read the signals somehow slipped in, treading the line between pushing and hurting. If I had a paddle in my hand, or any number of instruments that were never in the room with us—I’d have understood the call to stop the scene. But we hadn’t even begun. I’d barely tapped him.
The alarm blared. I dropped my crop, raising my hands so that when security arrived, they’d see I followed protocol and ended the scene.
Rather than security pushing through the door, it was Gideon.
“I heard the alarm signal in my room.” He signaled to the expanse of the suite we were in.
Security came up behind him seconds later, immediately heading toward Lazlo and Dax.
“It was Lazlo.” I pointed toward where he still knelt, tears brimming in his eyes.
Somewhere in the melee, Gideon arrived at my elbow and led me away from where Dax and Lazlo had shifted to a seated position, hugging their knees.
“C’mon. Let’s go downstairs.”
* * *
Calling red to end a scene is a big deal. When it happens, it automatically triggers the safety system set up throughout the club. Then, you get to meet with management so they can tell you what a piece of shit you are. Not really. They just spend long hours going through every decision you made and the timeline leading up to the alarm.
The problem was, no one had any answer. Seemingly unprovoked, Lazlo cut off a scene that barely had gotten off the ground. They had separated me from the two of them while the safety team asked their questions, but it didn’t prevent my mind from reeling.
“How are you holding up?” Gideon took a seat next to me in the office holding room.
“That’s your room? The penthouse we were in?”
My brain chased thewhyof what Lazlo had done. This was an easier problem to ferret out. The reason Gideon arrived so quickly.
“It is. Penthouses are overflow. I hadn’t listed myself as playing tonight—I’m mainly here just to shoot the shit with Rodney and watch Thorin impress everyone with his knotting skills.”
