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But the few careful feelers Olivia had put out about BDSM to her sex-loving friend had always been met with a response that was anything but positive. She was one of those women who skipped over theconsensualpart of the definition, labeling everything within the lifestyle as abuse. As if she knew anything about it.
Though admittedly, Olivia didn’t know anything from firsthand experience either. Sure, like any wannabe sub, she’d gotten plenty familiar with Ye Olde Google, obsessing over the websites of BDSM clubs around the world, scrolling through picture galleries and imagining herself in the different dungeons. She’d even bought herself a few sexy outfits—clothes that would hopefully project to any unattached Dom in the room that she was a sub looking to play.
But the few times her daydreams had turned into concrete plans, she’d always been too chickenshit to go through with it. If she’d had someone to go with her, it would’ve been a whole different story. Especially if that person was active on the scene themselves and could show her the ropes. Help her understand the unspoken rules. Make sure she didn’t make a fucking idiot of herself in front of a roomful of people, because everything she knew about BDSM came from kinky novels.
Hence her application to Fairford Manor. There, she wouldn’t have to attract a Dom and try to keep his attention as she awkwardly stumbled through all sorts of unknown steps. He’d already know she was a total newbie from her application, without her having to explain it verbally. Her throat would probably close up from sheer embarrassment if she ever tried.
It had seemed like a faaaaabulous idea on her birthday, after a bottle and a half of cabernet sauvignon. Less so now.
With a deep sigh, Olivia grabbed her keys and purse, heading inside. It wasn’t like any of the Doms would pick her anyway. She knew from lurking on the subreddit devoted to the Manor that the place was Exclusive with a capital E. They wouldn’t pick a thirty-three-year-old with no experience and anxiety.
Besides, the wine had made herwaytoo honest on her application. She might as well have written,I HAD A SHIT CHILDHOOD AND NOW I’M BROKEN—NO FUN TO BE HAD HERE!in big block letters on the first page. So why waste her time worrying about it?
Because worrying was what Olivia did best.
Olivia grabbed her mail on her way through the lobby, tucking the stack of envelopes and ads under her arm, and headed up to her second-floor apartment. Heremptysecond-floor apartment. No boyfriend, no roommate. Not even a pet.
Yeah, that was the answer to all her problems. Time to accept she’d be alone forever and get a fucking cat.
Frustrated, she threw her keys, purse, and mail onto her dining room table, then stalked into the kitchen to check if she had any of that birthday wine left. Score one for the depressed chick: half a bottle of the cab waited in her fridge door, and there was an unopened bottle of merlot in her otherwise empty wine rack. Perfection. It was easier to lose herself in her deliciously naughty books if she was slightly drunk. Easier to imagine she was the heroine who’d finally met her perfect Dom.
Glass of wine in hand, Olivia headed toward her living room, stopping on the way to grab her Kindle from her purse. That was when she noticed the bit of textured ivory cardstock peeking out between the other pieces of scattered mail. Pulling it free from the pile, Olivia groaned when she saw the fine calligraphy on the front of the obviously expensive envelope.
Just what she needed, another wedding invite. So she could sit around with all her married college friends and talk about their children and the fancy vacations they went on, and how all of them clearly had better lives than her.
Well, except for the ones who were already divorced. She’d actually enjoyed the one wedding where her table was full of semi-recent divorcees. Better to be eternally single than to go through that total shitshow.
Olivia was going to toss the invite back into the pile and worry about it the next day. But curiosity got the better of her before she could turn away. She might as well check the return address and find out who was tying the knot.
Flipping the envelope over, she read the two lines of delicately scrawled calligraphy on the back flap. And she very nearly dropped her glass of wine.
Fairford, VT
She’d actually gotten a reply from the Manor? It had to be some kind of mistake. Or maybe it was a polite rejection letter.We’re sorry, but you do not meet any of our Dominants’ needs. We wish you all the best in your search for submissive bliss.Yeah, that had to be it.
Her hand shook as she put down her glass, sending ripples across the surface of the wine. “Calm the fuck down,” she scolded, taking a couple of deep breaths. She absolutely refused to have a panic attack over mail. Then, holding her breath, she slipped her finger under the flap and gently pried it loose.
There was a single piece of paper inside, every bit as fancy and expensive as the envelope. She unfolded it before she could chicken out yet again, and her gaze hungrily skipped past the formal header, straight to the body of the letter.
Dear Ms. Adams,
Thank you for your interest in Fairford Manor. We are delighted to inform you that we have upcoming vacancies at the resort and are looking forward to your stay. Your host during your visit will be Mr. Aiden McLaren, who is very much looking forward to making your acquaintance.
Please call the number above to arrange the details of your upcoming trip. I will be all too happy to personally assist you in finding the dates and vacation package that work best for you.
Be advised that cell phones and other recording devices are not permitted on Manor property. A list of additional rules and restrictions will be provided once you book your stay. Feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns.
Best regards,
Zachary Potter
Olivia stared at the page, trying to make the lovely, curvy handwriting make sense. Where was the apology? The polite-but-clearly-bullshit reason why they were rejecting her? That was the only outcome she’d been prepared for.
Obviously, she couldn’t actuallygoto a fancy-ass kink resort...could she? For one thing, it would set her back quite a bit on the down payment she was saving up for. Though the housing market was crap right now anyway, so maybe that wasn’t a dealbreaker. Even so, it would be irresponsible as all hell. And Olivia Adams simply didn’t do irresponsible.
Besides, the people who went to Fairford Manor were outgoing, sexy, exciting. The most exciting part of her day had been figuring out why the numbers were off in one of her client’s accounts. Hell, one of the few times she’d gone clubbing with her friends, she’d almost started hyperventilating when a guy asked her if she wanted to head over to his place.
But to pass up Fairford Manor...talk about something you’d regret until the day you died.
