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“You're beautiful,” the Mistress said simply, without any heat. “Now, confess your sins so we can get you cleaned up.”
Oh boy, she really wanted to hide behind something. Being naked in the club was one thing—she wasn't the only submissive sans clothing there—but here in her own bathroom, with a larger-than-life Domme casting a critiquing eye over her, she felt more naked than if she was part of an Avalon sub display. “Um...”
Smiling, obviously aware of her embarrassment, Connie turned away and opened the shower door, flicking the water on to warm up. Archie thought her Jasper was the resident sadist at Avalon, but perhaps the Mistress had an edge of it herself. “I'm not going to bend you over the toilet and spank you, sweetheart. Just tell me what you need to get off your chest.”
Archie closed her eyes and blew out a breath. Might as well get the deception over with, right? Maybe then she could flop back on her couch with a fresh pint of ice cream and...fuck. No, she couldn't. Connie's presence was the best thing to happen in two weeks of depressing funk. “I'm a different person when I'm not at Avalon,” she blurted. “I know everyone there thinks I'm quiet and shy, but that's not who I am. When I'm not at the club, I'm more outgoing and...I'm just different.”
“Huh, so you're telling me you're not the perfect sub everyone believes you to be, fading perfectly into the woodwork? Wow, I'm shocked.” Connie's hands landed on her shoulders, squeezing gently. She was grinning when Archie opened her eyes. “No one expects you to be a robot, sweetheart. Most of us like a little sass in our subs, a bit of fire in the eyes. We want laughter and tears along with submission. The whole package, Anarchy.”
“Oh.”
Connie chuckled and rubbed her palms down Archie's arms soothingly. “Thought I was going to get mad and kick your ass, didn't you? Believe me, there's far worse infractions than trying to be what you believe everyone wants you to be. Now that the crisis is over, get yourself into the shower and make yourself presentable. We've got places to be, people to see,” she added in a sing-song voice, then gave Archie a quiet pat and left her alone in the steamy bathroom.
Archie breathed a sigh of relief and bent to scoop up the shirt Connie had dropped on the floor. Now some of her funk had lifted, she grimaced at the clothing and tossed it into the laundry basket. Unlike the trashcan, it was damn near empty. Just a symbol of how far she'd fallen in fourteen days.
She stepped into the shower and closed the door behind her, wincing as she got a whiff of herself. For fuck's sake, this wasn't her. She never failed to brush her teeth less than twice a day, yet her entire mouth felt sour and dirty, her teeth furry and disgusting. Her hair was a complete disaster, and she just...God, she was a wreck.
Lathering herself liberally with as much soap as she could fit in her hand, Archie attacked herself with the wash mitt, scrubbing her skin until it was a vibrant pink and stinging beneath the hot water. When she was clean, she moved onto her hair, dumping shampoo into the greasy catastrophe and working it through the knots and tangles.
Maybe she cried a little in self-pity, but who was to know?
The water was running cool by the time she turned it off and stood lost in thought. It ran in rivulets down her body, seeped from her hair, but her mind was circling around something Connie had said.
No one expects you to be a robot, sweetheart. Most of us like a little sass in our subs, a bit of fire in the eyes. We want laughter and tears along with submission. The whole package, Anarchy.
Is that where she'd gone wrong with Jasper? Had she been trying too hard to be what she thought he wanted, and not enough like herself to keep him...interested? Hell, had he ever been interested in her? There were too many questions, too many possibilities, and the man who held the answers was nowhere to be found.
The air nipped her skin as she stepped from the shower into the last wisps of steam and snagged the towel from the rack. Drying herself as quickly as possible, shivering, she wrapped the material around herself and padded out of the bathroom, intending to find some clean clothes before Mistress Connie waylaid her.
The hallway connecting her bedroom and bathroom to the living room was short. From her vantage point, she could see the Mistress busily tidying up the living room, and she winced. It was Archie's mess to clean up, and she stepped forward hurriedly to stop Connie from troubling herself with the chaos.
She collided with a big, hard male body and bounced back, almost falling onto her ass until an arm snaked quickly around her waist and secured her. Immediately, her desperate pussy slickened, recognizing the shape and size of him as the one with the magnificent cock she'd almosthad the pleasure of.
Unfortunately, the non-hussy side of her brain quailed at the reality of Atticus being inside her apartment when the housekeeping elves had the year off. She choked on her tongue, blushed brilliantly red, and shoved at him until he let her go. She didn't stop, she didn't hesitate, she just stumbled back and shot into her bedroom, slamming the door closed and leaning against it.
Mortification level: Dead.
“Well, that didn't go as expected.” Atticus's voice rumbled through the door. “Most subs are pleased to see me, but not this one. I do believe my pride is mortally wounded. I take it you didn't tell her I was coming over?”
“No.” Connie's response was cheerful, but fainter than Atticus's. “She needs some surprises in her life. Jasper wants his ass kicking all the way home for messing everything up. She's perfect for him if he'd open his damn eyes and get over himself. For God's sake, he's a sadist, not a serial killer. Did he even ask her if she likes pain? No, probably not, because he's a jackass.”
“He'll be home soon. We're his family, Con. He belongs with us; if he needs some time to sort himself out, we have to give it to him. In the meantime, what do you propose we do about Anarchy? We can't leave her here alone. She's already tumbled into depression by the look of this lot; it'll be easy for it to suck her back down. She needs tending, nurturing, until J comes back for her.”
“I'm so glad you brought that up, Atticus. I know you promised Jasper you'd take care of her, but with your work schedule—mysterious being that you are—I think it might be better to ask Liam to step in. I've spoken to Braun; he and Bodie have offered to let Archie stay with them. I'd take her back to mine, but with having Alicia, I just don't have the time. Loki would mess with her head with his pranks, you know what he can be like.”
Archie covered her mouth with her hand. Oh God, she'd become the club stray. They thought she was incapable of taking care of herself, needed round-the-clock attention. She pushed away from the door and let the towel drop to the floor.
How could they not think otherwise, she realized, when she'd turned into a couch hog, living on ice cream and soda while her life dissolved into shambles?
God, she was such a failure.
She walked over to the drawers and started rooting through the top one for some underwear when there was a knock on the door. She squeaked and froze as the door inched open and Atticus's dark head popped into the room. He kept his gaze averted.
“Can I come in, little bit?”
After a few long seconds where the words jammed in her throat, Atticus sighed and pushed the door wide, stepping in and shutting them both inside the small room together. He moved to the bed and sat down on the edge, her poor mattress sagging beneath his weight. “Right then, Archie girl, let's get this over with. Come here, please.”
As though she'd missed the thrill of a command, her body didn't think twice about obeying. Naked, damp, she went straight to him and let him scoop her up onto his lap. His arms curled around her, held her tight, and unlocked the chain keeping her together. He destroyed her through simple human connection, through kindness.
