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Inside, the parking lot was full. Nice cars. Mostly black. Definitely not bottling company factory workers. Either it was a company that had once existed and the sign had been left, or Mr. Fizzy Pop existed only in someone’s fevered imagination.
He parked near the front in a handicapped spot that she guessed he wasn’t going to get towed or reprimanded for taking. “Let’s go.”
The temptation to ask questions or plead with him to take her home was intense. But if she wasn’t being punished now, she was very sure she would be if she spoke when he’d specifically told her to be quiet.
Quill came around the car and helped her out. He shut the door and pressed her against the side of the Bentley. He pulled her top up, and sucked first one nipple into his mouth and then the other, until they were fully hardened.
“That’s better,” he said, pulling her shirt back down.
As if she weren’t already self-conscious with the lack of bra and panties. At least there was no easy way to advertise the missing panties, short of ripping her skirt off—which might still happen.
He took her hand and led her to the side entrance, the only place with light—a single bare bulb that creaked and swung lightly on the cool desert breeze.
Sinister clichés abounded tonight.
A bouncer-looking guy stood at the entrance and nodded. “Kane,” he said.
What? Who?
Quill nodded back. “Jace.”
The bouncer raised a brow at Saskia, his gaze drifting briefly to her bandaged knees, but he refrained from comment. Why the hell had that guy just called her master, Kane? How many aliases did this man have?
They went inside to a small, dimly lit lobby. Quill turned to her. “I go by many names,” he said by way of non-explanation. “It’s still Master here, to you. So you won’t have to keep them straight. You’re welcome.”
It seemed he spent his entire life creating bubble upon bubble of carefully wrapped identity so that he could be all the variations of himself he wanted without one encroaching upon another, bringing the whole fragile house of cards down. Whoever he was as Kane must also be a threat to Niche Industries.
By now, Saskia was unsure if Lachlan Niche was even his real name. Perhaps there was another layer under that layer that she wasn’t privy to. That maybe no one was privy to.
When you thought about it, his real name sounded kind of invented, too. What were the odds someone who created niche computer communications tech would just happen to have the last name Niche? And Lachlan was a Scottish name. He didn’t look Scottish to her. Though she wouldn’t object if he decided to don a kilt.
The door that led into the main part of the warehouse burst open, sending loud, deep thrumming music pouring into the lobby. A couple of blonde girls squealed: “Kane!!” They ran to him and practically smothered him in hugs.
He raised a brow.
“Sorry,” they said together taking a few steps back and bowing their heads. “Sir.”
They were about college age and in that Girls Gone Wild phase of life. They wore what amounted to thick black ribbons that wrapped around each of their bodies in criss-crosses, coyly covering them in all the necessary places. Saskia suddenly felt modest by comparison, and let out a relieved breath.
One of the girls glanced at Saskia, sizing her up. Glossy red lips formed into a pout. “I can’t believe you collared someone!”
“I wasn’t looking,” Quill said. “She fell into my lap.” An obvious lie, since he’d more-or-less stalked her and had been setting her up for this fall for months.
The blonde batted her eyes at him. “But I fell into your lap that time, and you didn’t put a collar on me.”
More pouting.
It actually wasn’t a huge mystery why he never put a collar on her, but Saskia wisely kept her mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was for Kane... um... Quill... Lachlan... whoever the hell he was... to punish her in front of these women. In some weird, fucked-up way, she wanted him to be proud of her.
“Go on back inside. I’ll play with you both in a bit,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.” They turned and giggled their way back into the main room.
Quill’s attention returned to Saskia, as if to survey her reaction. She wiped her face of all expression, not willing for him to know anything she’d just felt.
In the car all she’d been was terrified. Submissive feelings hadn’t been at the forefront of her brain. But somehow, in this element, things were different. She’d expected to feel like a sideshow in what she was wearing, but now it felt like camouflage. She never would have blended here innormal clothes.
This was obviously a private club, probably not a lot different from the few kinky parties she’d casually attended with friends in the past. She was almost a hundred percent certain that the people here would think she was with Quill of her own free will—that she’d consented to being his collared slave or pet or sub or whatever language was the current trend.
