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He didn’t know my cousin’s first name was actually Amber…was the supposed giveaway he’d won her doing in order to see me again? Or had Stephen somehow gotten a free pass for the night through a contest he didn’t remember entering?
He tossed his boot toward the foyer, and it landed with a heavy thump near the closet door. “I can’t wait to show all those Doms what an obedient little slut you are.” Stephen barked a laugh, his murky brown eyes turning my way. “Okay, not little, but you do obey me. Cry for me when I tell you to. Every guy in that club is going to be jealous of me. Envy me.”
I highly doubted Stephen’s words, but whatever stroked his ego and made him tolerable—
“Put down your spoon and get over here.” He unzipped his work jeans, lifted his hips, and shoved them down his thighs. “Be a good slut and suck my cock. Get me off so I don’t blow my load like a goddamned teenager seconds after walking into Chantelle’s tonight. I can’t fucking wait.”
As though my knees knew their place, they didn’t complain when I knelt where told. Stephen needed to shower, but I ignored the musk from his long day at work and set my focus on pleasing him.
After release, he always offered a small cuddle and words of praise.
I lived for those moments because they took me back to the way things used to be and gave me hope that we could find happiness like that again. And if nothing else, at least I would get to see my cousin for the first time in too long.
Chapter 3
Daniel
Friday night found me heading downtown to the club as usual. I hadn’t even shrugged off my coat inside the entryway when Chantelle herself opened the door to her office on my left and motioned me in.
My brow raised, and I crossed the reception area, entering her domain. Nude paintings lined three of the walls of her office, large windows overlooking Boston’s skyline covering the fourth.
“Have a seat, Master Cooney.” She settled behind her desk, and I sat on the leather chair facing her after slipping my jacket off my shoulders. “Master Lamond can’t make it tonight, so I need to you fill in.”
My lifted brow furrowed. I’d done a couple of demonstrations for Chantelle but had no interest in actual classes. “I don’t teach.”
She peered at me over the wide oak desk, hazel eyes flashing. “You’re the best shibari master I’ve ever met.”
“And you’ve also said I scare the shit out of a lot of your patrons who want to be tied up. Hell, I’ve seen their grimaces myself.” Occasionally, I got to play with a brave soul. It was what kept me walking through Chantelle’s door every week.
Her Botox-puffed lips lifted in a Cheshire cat smile. “You look like a badass Dom but you’ve got a gooey center.”
She spoke the truth, but I still frowned. Few knew me in the way Chantelle did. She, like all my other acquaintances in Boston, wasn’t aware of how I’d ended up living with my grandpop. I had, however, told her the shorter version of what led me to enjoy bondage.
“Look.” She leaned forward, elbows on her desk, hands clasped in front of her. “I need this favor.”
I eyed her, hoping to catch a glint in her eyes, some sort of tell since I got the sense she was up to something, but the woman had a face of stone. “You have employees on payroll for this shit. Why me?”
Chantelle’s gaze bore into me, and I fought not to shift beneath her Domme stare that I’d seen intimidate more people than even I did. “There’s a couple who won a two-night freebie pass to the shibari class, and I can’t cancel.”
Unease slithered down my spine, but I didn’t twitch beneath her scrutiny. “Chantelle doesn’t do giveaways,” I reminded her.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I didn’t hesitate to answer. Chantelle was a ruthless businesswoman and honest to a fault. Hanging out in her club was the highlight of my week after the day job in communications—especially when Elite didn’t have any clients lined up for me and I needed an ego boost outlet and might get lucky.
“Do you trust my ability to read people?” she asked.
“I’ve never met a dominant as intuitive as you.” Fucking truth, right there.
“Then do this for me.” A rare pleading note rang in her voice. Desperation was something I haven’t ever seen in Chantelle.
What plan did she have up her sleeve?
I eyed her for a few more moments of silence, but a conclusion over whatever she played escaped me. “I’ll need a sub,” I offered an excuse instead.
“Ask for a volunteer from the audience.”
“Yeah, right.” I chuckled. “No one has offered themselves willingly to me like that since I joined here last winter. I’ve only gotten to string people up because of your recommendation or prodding.”