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If they don’t know by now, I’m not sure we can help them.

Ira looks down into her lap. “Perhaps it would be best to wait a few minutes,” she says.

Yeah, we don’t have that kind of show planned. She probably went ahead and got this out of her system to get any potential frustration out of the way.

Just as someone approaches us, I get a text from Eve. “Ew. I need bleach for my brain. Thanks for the lovely image.”

“No problem,” I text back. “Maybe you learned something?”

“Ewwwwww I stopped watching once I realized what you’re doing. Girl, that’s Ira Mathison. Go brush your teeth.”

I turn off my phone, glancing up and catching the stupidest grin in the universe on my best friend’s face as her friend crawls all over her.

“Guess I’ll have to take some notes from you in the future, Allen.”

I dump my phone in my clutch and look up at Lara Anderssen, still making the rounds. Ira puts her arm around me, not that I need any protection from this woman.

“Glad you could learn something,” I say, feeling Ira squeeze my knee. In what? Warning? Honey, I don’t care if you’re the most masterful Domme in the universe, you can’t stop me from defending myself. Noble of you to try to intervene on my behalf, however.

Lara’s mouth twitches, and I can’t tell if she’s about to start laughing or snorting in derision. “So would now be an awkward time to mention the news I heard on the grapevine? I heard the council was about to support your little museum project.”

“Who did you hear that from?” Ira asks.

“My friend Colleen from the council. She and a few others have been to The Ace since the reopening and, protestors aside, are impressed.” Lara looks at me. “Good for you.” Finally, she lets a smile cross her wrinkle-free face. “Looks like all sorts of good things are happening for you recently. I’m kind of jealous.”

I see the way she eyes Ira, and in her euphoria, she’s reveling in it. I slap one arm across her chest and let a flicker of Kathleen the Domme overcome my demeanor. “They’re mine, Anderssen. And I’m not in the mood to share.”

Ira chuckles. “You heard the woman. Maybe next time.”

Fat chance, buddy. If I’m having a fun time with another couple, it is not going to be the Anderssens. How about some standards?

“Touché. Well, if you two are going to run around this club fucking in front of everyone, at least make sure it’s as hot as what happened there.”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Ira says. “Kathleen and I are due on stage for her grand debut as the prettiest submissive in this desolate wasteland they call sin.”

The look Lara gives me is practically predatory.

“Looking forward to it.” That’s the last thing she says before waving her fingers at us and stepping away. I am neither flummoxed nor inspired, so I guess that’s good.

“Ready?” Ira kisses my forehead. Now that inspires me. “It’s about time this club knows who you really are.”

Who I really am.

I was afraid of my real identity a few weeks ago. Back when I went to Ira and told her I wanted to explore my submissive side. I didn’t think I could handle it. I thought I would die, spiritually and emotionally. Now? It’s nothing. When I think of submitting, I think only of Ira, the one taking me by the hand to help me off the couch before latching onto my leash and bringing me forward.

As long as it’s her, I can do anything my heart and body desire.

People part as we walk through the club, Ira holding my leash over her shoulder with that look of, “See what I have and you don’t?” all over her face. It shouldn’t endear me to her as much as it does. This crazed possessiveness once frightened me. Who was she to say that I was hers? Now I realize it’s not about controlling my life or stripping me of my agency. Ira isn’t that kind of person.

No, what she offers me as my Domme is something I’m about to share with the world.

Ira signals to the same hostess from earlier that we would like to begin. She nods, finishes her current job, and hops on the stage while we wait in the wings.

The nerves settle in again. Ira takes my wrist as the lights go down and the stage is lit up in an array of purples, blues, and hints of red.

“God save us,” I mutter.

She sucks in her breath. “Yes, we need all the holy intervention we can get.”