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“Gideon, may I ask you a question?” Dax broke through my musings.
Neither said anything, though I assume Gideon must have given Dax some kind of non-verbal cue.
“When you are in a scene. Do you take your clothes off?”
“At any point, or like, from the onset?”
“No, if you’re having sex with your partner or partners—do you do it naked? Or do you leave your clothes on?”
“I don’t understand the question?” Gideon tucked his chin into his neck, confusion dancing across his face and furrowing his eyebrows.
“Our Mistress—” Dax began, “we’ve never seen her body. Lazlo and I weren’t sure if that was something standard that Doms and Dommes do, or if that was something she specifically did.”
“What Dax means to say is that not being able to hold her, to experience her body, to suckle her breasts, or run our fingers along her skin, it makes us feel—kind of used.”
Dax took hold of my hand. It brought me a wave of comfort I didn’t realize I needed to feel.
“Lazlo is a demisexual.” Dax explained to Gideon. “It’s as much about the connection for him as it is the submission. The more we play, the less he feels connected to Margaux. When she didn’t appear to know anything about us, and brushed off our offer to get to know us better—Lazlo took it to heart.”
The three of us spent the better part of an hour shooting the shit. We learned about Gideon’s brother and the story of how he introduced Gideon to Club Sin. Dax and I shared the day we met in a new submissive mixer fourteen months ago. Of those at the mixer there were only a handful of men, so we hung out. They introduced us to Margaux a few weeks after that and we’d been scening exclusively ever since.
Eventually, we parted ways, but not before Gideon asked if we’d be interested in hanging out again. There’d been something there between the three of us. Gideon felt familiar. Like an old friend I hadn’t seen in years but picked back up right where we left off. When we parted ways, I hoped we’d see him sooner, rather than later.
10
It took more convincing than I expected, but Margaux finally agreed to meet me for a cup of coffee. Not dinner, not lunch, but coffee. I chose a quiet little café I knew about two miles from Club Sin. I didn’t know if Margaux lived in Chicago proper, or if she was a suburbanite, so I hoped the location wasn’t inconvenient.
Knowing Margaux’s penchant for showing up early, I arrived at the café at ten fifteen. I barely placed an order for a cup of coffee and a scone, and my coffee date was waltzing through the door, turning every head in the shop as she approached my table. She wore a conservative, A-line dress, navy, a pair of nude heels and pearls. Her hair she wore up in a braided messy bun. And, most surprising of all, were the tortoise shelled glasses she sported. Without a doubt, though, she was Margaux. She carried that same elegance she did at the club. Paying no mind to a single person whose gazes she ensnared. Unaware that several men watched her with interest.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” I stood, greeting her with a peck on her cheek.
While she didn’t pull back, she touched her cheek where my lips met her skin. She looked at me with such disbelief, I feared I’d ruined my chance to get to know her, right out of the gate.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have more time to give you.” She double checked her phone before placing it face down on the table. “I had a deposition slated for two forty-five, which is now at eleven thirty.”
“An attorney?” That surprised me.
She was direct. No nonsense. But that revelation caught me off guard. It shouldn’t have given she was a Domme.
“You can’t honestly be that surprised, can you?”
“A bit.” I admitted.
There was a subtle smile that rose on her face like sunshine. I wondered why what I said pleased her so much. She leaned back in her chair and regarded me. Her gaze felt like tendrils tickling their way up my face and back down my body.
“My job forces me to be direct and laser focused. Surely, it’s only natural that spills over into my sex life, don’t you think? I’m sure you’re what? An options trader? A CEO? Something that requires you to make split decisions and command large swaths of people?”
I didn’t mean to laugh in her face. “Actually, I work in Foster Care as a consultant. I think if you were to try it figure me out, one could say that my own experiences in Foster Care led me to feel as if my life was not in my control. Therefore, I seek ways in which I can assure my inner child that we will always be safe through control of my surroundings.” I smirked and extended my hand, “Dr. Gideon Lange, PhD.”
I’d pushed my hand across the table as a silly gesture to shift some of the tension. However, the moment I extend my hand, she placed hers in mine. Such an obedient gesture from someone who had a strangle hold on her need to top. It made my cock twitch. I tried to stymie the sudden flutter of feelings that erupted through my entire blood stream. She was an equal, a colleague. Her gently placing her hand in mine with such obedience had to have been a professional reflex and nothing more.
“To further disprove your assumptions,” I said with a wink, “Lazloisan options trader. He owns a seat on the Chicago Board of Trade. He likes to submit because it turns his brain off for a few hours. It’s freedom for him. Control he relishes in giving to you. As you know, his demisexual nature craves closeness. The fact you know nothing about him is the stake in the vampire's heart, for lack of better phrasing.”
“He’s hurt.” I continued, “Lazlo desperately wants you to see him as something more than just your Wednesday night sub.”
Strawberry patterns appeared on the apples of both of her cheeks and traveled down her neck. I’d upset her. Unintentionally, of course. This was information she needed to hear if she hoped to rebuild the relationship she had with the two of them.
“Dax designs video games. Some really well-known ones, actually. I’ve played some of them. Especially during my doctoral program. He’s immensely talented.”
