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“Goddamn you, Atticus,” she whispered.
This time, when he gave her a testing nudge, her feet unglued themselves from the floor. His free hand was gentle but insistent on her lower back as he stayed behind her, driving her forward into the walkway. It was too quiet without the usual sounds of erotic play emanating from the barn ahead. Her boot heels were muffled on the carpet, and it felt so weird being escorted instead of leading the way.
Braun, the owner of Avalon, kept his office down here. The club was essentially a group of three barns, each interconnected by walkways. Barn one was the bar and social area, barn two was the impact play area, and barn three was where some of the more extreme kinks took place. The office was built off the first walkway, settled between barn one and two.
More recently, Braun had decided to expand Avalon with three private playrooms, using the same design as his office and utilizing the space between the barns, with the walkways as access. Two could be reached from the walkway between barns two and three, but the one Atticus had booked was directly opposite the office.
Connie hadn't been down here in a few weeks. Skipping monitor duty a few times and hunkering down in the social area had kept her away—even the buzz about the new rooms hadn't been able to stir her interest sufficiently enough to poke her into coming for a sneak peek. That might have been a big mistake, now that she was about to experience the newness for herself.
Atticus turned her to face the polished wooden door with its shiny brass plaque stating Private Room #1. Carefully, he unwound her hair from his hand, then hooked his fingers over her shoulders. “Close your eyes and open the door, Connie. Follow my instructions to the letter.”
She heard voices spilling into the room they'd just left. She gripped the door handle, feeling the brass warm in her palm. On a deep breath, she obeyed. Eyes shut, she shoved the door open and waited, feeling Atticus's presence at her back like a heated blanket. The man sure did pump warmth out from that massive body.
“Forward, three steps,” he murmured against her ear.
One. Two. Three. Chest tight, Connie stopped and waited. The door clicked quietly behind her, the lock turning over with a snap that made her heart lurch. Jesus, what the hell was she doing? She couldn't submit to one of her best friends, for God's sake. Why did she think she could—
“Sidestep to the right, forward five steps.” Atticus interrupted her thoughts.
Concentrating on where she put her feet, she did as she was told without thinking. It was only when she stopped again that her thoughts berated her. This was so wrong. She wasn't a submissive anymore for a reason. Her line of work required someone strong and dependable; submissive Connie wasn't either of those things—
“Kick those boots off, sweetheart. I like my subs barefoot.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach, glad she hadn't had time to eat before she left the house. Nerves scurried in her belly like a nest of rats scrabbling to get free as she toed off one boot, then the other. The removal of one of her main Domme defenseswas enough to make her feel small and vulnerable.
Atticus prowled around her, humming under his breath. “No blindfolds, no hoods. Gonna be hard to trust you not to open your eyes, little sub. If you open them, you're gonna run, and I can't have that.” His humming grew thoughtful. “What are your safewords, Connie? Might as well set your mind at ease that the system works.”
Her head tilted, trying to follow his path around her. “Red and yellow.”
Silence. Worse, disapproving silence. It dragged on for an age before he cleared his throat pointedly.
“Sir,” she gritted out. “Red and yellow, Sir.”
A fist pounded on the door, making her twist and jump.
“Stay exactly as you are, Connie. Make a move, open your eyes, and I will know.” Atticus's immense presence faded, his boots thudding on the soft carpet. She curled her toes into it, fighting her instinct to do exactly what shepleased. The lock snapped open, a waft of cooler air invaded the heat of the room. “Evening, Saul.”
Oh fuck. Connie froze in position, desperate to duck her head, to curl up in a ball, anything to hide herself from the Dom at the door. Saul wasn't one of the Masters, at least not yet. Braun and Jasper had been making noises about inviting him to join the ranks, which she didn't have a problem with—he was a really nice guy, with a lot of experience under his belt. She just didn't want him to see her like this.
“Atticus, sorry. Didn't realize it was you. The alarm went off behind the bar and Liam's hands are full with the crowd out there, so I thought I’d give him a break and check it out. Someone safeworded?”
“Just doing some pre-scene checks,” Atticus replied easily. “You know the drill.”
“I do, indeed. You mind if I check with the sub that everything's okay?”
Goddamn him, why did he have to be such a nice fucking guy? Connie's hands trembled with the urge to bury her face in them. Saul liked to check all the T's and always, alwaysfollowed through on whatever task he was assigned within the club. He was the physical embodiment of thorough. She wanted to throttle him for that quality right in this instance.
“Can't let you in, Saul. My sub for the night is nervous about doing a scene, but feel free to ask her what you like from here.”
Connie couldn't see the Dom's face, but she imagined it was a mask of suspicion. She knew hers would be. Would he force his way into the room? She'd be surprised if he managed to get past the sheer brute mountain that was Atticus, but it would be worth watching.
“It's not that I don't trust you, Atticus.” Saul muttered something she couldn't hear, and both men laughed. “Let me get this over with so you can get back to things.”
“Little sub,” Atticus called out, weakening her knees with relief when he avoided using her name. “Color please, sweetheart.”
Shit, she had to speak? It was two words—she could say two damned words without giving herself away, right? Trying to make her voice higher, she choked out, “Green, Sir.” Her shoulders tensed when Saul didn't reply.
“You know, it’s none of my business, Atticus, but she sounds an awful lot like—” Saul's voice cut off abruptly, and the door slammed shut.
