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Feet lighter than they had been in years, I made my way toward them, having to politely decline three other members’ requests to play as I crossed the lounge.
I’d never been into giving or receiving pain, was as far from a sadist as a man could be. But while I wasn’t one with a heavy hand, I enjoyed having someone to care for, a person to pamper and lavish with love. And their submission in return fulfilled me with heart-wrenching joy.
For the first time since Katie’s death, my chest didn’t ache at the memory of her. My inhales weren’t hindered by grief, and my eyes didn’t sting from heartache as I remembered the love we’d shared in and outside of Chantelle’s club.
Master Cooney raised his focus off Becky, and his gaze landed on me, a wide smile cracking his facade. He didn’t stand to greet me, and a quick glance down at his wife let me know why.
She rested in near subspace, eyes closed, a contented smile on her face from kneeling and being bound by her Sir.
Master Cooney lifted his free hand, and I shook it firmly, grinning.
“Master D.”
I snorted a laugh at his greeting, a name I hadn’t heard in I couldn’t remember how long. Only those friends I’d left behind after Katie’s passing called me a Master even though I didn’t identify as such.
“Sit.” He gestured to the empty leather chair beside him, and I did as told by the red-haired giant of a man I’d lost touch with.
“I never thought I would find my way back here,” I said, settling in beside Master Cooney.
“It’s good to see you, Matteo.”
“You too,” I stated, meaning it with my whole heart.
He caressed a hand over Becky’s head, a loving touch I envied his being able to gift.
My heart did ache at that but with longing rather than loss.
I’m moving on, Katie, just like you wanted.
The realization of the choice I’d made, the determination I felt inside to live again, hit me with a bittersweet pang. I would never set aside my sorrow over losing Katie, but I finally felt free to seek out intimacy—emotional and otherwise—once more. She’d wanted that for me, had asked for it on her deathbed, and if nothing else, I had trusted her with my whole heart. I had to believe she was smiling down on me from wherever she’d gone.
Filling my lungs fully, I gave the scene taking place in front of us my full attention.
Master Kaden’s Bella rested on her knees, reddened ass lifted high, her lips pressed to his boot. Livi Risso had been a brat of the utmost grade when she’d first sauntered into Chantelle’s looking for a little fun years ago.
She’d gotten what she’d wished for and then some. Master Kaden’s sadist side matched her needs, and their love of exhibition and sceneing in Chantelle’s lounge had always brought smiles to other patrons’ faces and releases to sexual needs.
The sassy brat had handprints on her lush backside along with lashes up her back that had probably come from a flogger.
“I missed out on the fun,” I said, turning toward Master Cooney.
“He finally put her out of her delicious misery about five minutes ago,” he replied, his focus flitting to Becky’s calm face. The man was still smitten, his eyes warm with longing.
We got caught up over the next half hour, and my desire for someone to kneel for me intensified with every passing minute. Envy for the dominants littering Chantelle’s lounge area filled me to the point I allowed myself to imagine a needy Sean at my side.
While Chantelle’s was inclusive, more straight couples than queer paid the fees to be club members. Katie and I hadn’t been rich by any means, but she had used part of an inheritance from her grandmother to gift me a membership after we’d begun to explore aspects of BDSM that fit us. We’d been enjoying monthly visits at Chantelle’s for two years before she’d fallen sick.
Master Cooney’s attention shifted to the doors, and I followed his gaze.
The couple stepping into the lounge looked familiar, and I studied them as they drew closer, the man grinning at Master Cooney.
His blonde partner clung to his arm, her cheek resting on his shoulder. He wore leather pants and chose to go bare chested like quite a few of the Doms littering the lounge.
The same he’d done with me, Master Cooney stuck out his hand but didn’t disturb his wife from where she continued to rest. “Micah.”
The blond returned his greeting as recognition bloomed in my brain.
Micah Fox. Sean’s brother, the one whose social media I’d browsed through.
