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Chapter One

Harper

The renovation was nearly done, yet it still felt incomplete.

“Something is missing.”

Menotté avec toi was a BDSM club I co-owned with my ex-husband, Simon Moreau. The name, Handcuffed with you, was his brainchild, and when said in his native language of French, it rolled right off the tongue.

“I agree, but what?”

His current plaything ran around, flirting with the staff and the remaining tradesmen.

Mischievous little bastard, this one was, but that was part of what drew him to Simon in the first place.

That and the fact he had zero inhibitions and enjoyed being put on display.

Given that Simon now ignored him for the most part, I knew his time as plaything number…

hell, there were so many I’d lost count.

Either way, his role in Simon’s life was coming to an end.

Thank fuck for that. If I had to hear one more, fuck me Daddy , I’d string him up by his balls. That shrill voice of his carried, and if Simon didn’t have a ball gag, which I knew he did, I’d shove one in the little shit’s mouth myself.

We had an odd relationship, Simon and I, but one that worked for us.

Compatible as a couple we were not, but as friends and business partners it flowed well.

For one, I preferred the company of women, and as of late, my bisexual ex appeared to lean more towards men, and young ones at that.

But all these years later, Simon and I remained the best of friends and trusted each other without question.

In my heart I truly hoped he’d one day find his forever person.

The very same wish I had for myself as of late.

Business had tripled over the last decade since we first opened Menotté, and the need to expand the club had been a no-brainer; only we took it several steps past our initial conception.

We’d added not only a dining area, reservations only for the dozen tables, but also a Plexiglas deck beneath it that sat above a couple of our dungeons, and the walls around two sides of the dining area itself were fetish rooms also visible through Plexiglas, so our diners received a show while they ate.

Fetish rooms with sensory play. When we surveyed our current members and asked what they’d wish to see more of, that and the dining experience were their top two choices.

So, at their request, the new dining venue and entertainment areas were born.

Meals are not part of their membership dues, and given dinner comes with a show, their dining experience would be quite pricey.

Those cubicles were a modern marvel that took quite a bit of additional engineering to bring to life.

One can never be too cautious when dealing with electricity, after all.

Each fetish room was outfitted with a series of interactive play that those on the dining side could not only watch but also engage in without laying a single finger on the subs.

Anything from press this button , which a throng of toys from dildos to clamps were outfitted to, to roll the dice, which randomly gave instructional commands, has been installed to up the experience.

Options ran the gamut from light play all the way down to the other end of the spectrum, with the sub receiving electrified pleasure.

Try me, spank me , there were so many choices.

How was anyone to pick just one? The beauty of it was that they didn’t have to.

It was like walking through a holiday display in a big box retailer will all the test me buttons there itching to be pressed.

Imagine being the electrician we had to explain these rooms to. Sometimes the shock and awe factor when I shared my chosen profession as a Domme to those outside of the lifestyle was worth its weight in gold.

I couldn’t wait to hear the gasps and claps when the curtains fell, and the shows began.

It was the simple things in life that brought such happiness. And when it came in the form of orgasms, it sweetened them even more.

“Artwork.” It finally hit me. “Let’s interview local artists and find one to commission one-of-a-kind art for us.”

“Hmm,” Simon paused, his gaze currently ravishing one of the younger electricians. “That’s a wonderful…”

“Idea?” I rolled my eyes. Clearly he was about to say ass, since that’s what his eyes were locked on.

“Yes, yes, of course. Idea.”

If I rolled my eyes any harder at the ridiculously horny man, gray matter would be all I’d see.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” Le sigh. If the man wasn’t a well-renowned Dom, I’d have found a way to buy him out already. But alas, clients come from far and wide seeking his services. And service them well he does.

I have a handful of clients myself, though over the last few years I’d transitioned into more of an administrative management role.

There were a few favorites I still played with, though that was few and far between.

It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy my job, but as with the artwork, something was missing.

Hiding in an office behind a computer instead of facing the issue head-on?

Quite possibly, I was, but such is life.

“Good morning, Patrice.” Our office assistant and receptionist, who’d been with us since the beginning, had just begun her day.

“Morning, Harper. Nearly done with the construction?”

In my opinion, we’d been closed for far too long.

The members were getting antsy, as was I.

“Nearly. They’re working through the punch list items today, but we’ve decided to add artwork.

I’m sure it won’t be ready for the grand re-opening next weekend, but the members are getting restless, so we can’t put it off any longer.

” I feared they’d invade our apartments above the club, demanding we unlock the doors.

“Would you be able to help me put an ad together? I’m thinking of sensual artists, which limits where we can post it, but I know you have a plethora of connections.

Maybe also allow whomever we choose to offer some of their works for sale as well, but on consignment.

” Might as well make a little while we spend a lot. “Those can be displayed in the lobby.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. I’d be happy to assist. I’ll add it to the website and send out a newsletter today. Once you approve the ad, that is.” Patrice was a true find and our Jack, or Jill, in this case, of all trades.

“Excellent, just pop into my office when you’re ready and we’ll go over it.”

Mindless paperwork. The last task any business owner wants to take on, but the best way to kill time. Before long, Patrice knocked on the door, and a quick glance at the clock showed three hours had passed.

“Harper, ready to go over the ad?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Attention: NSFW artists for exclusive contracted commissioned art portfolio for local lifestyle club. Seeking one-of-a-kind artwork for our members’ viewing pleasure. Only serious artists need apply. Resume, references, and NDA required.”

“Very thorough without giving too much away.” Why I double-checked anything she did was beyond me. It’s been eons since I’d corrected a single error.

“I’ll add my contact information at the end and will fully vet them before they reach your desk.”

“And that, Patrice, is one of a million reasons why you have unending job security.” She laughed, but I was dead serious. “You are an asset, I hope you know that.”

“Thank you. I’m excited for the grand reopening.

Images pale when compared to the real thing.

” Patrice and her husband were equal parts exhibitionist and voyeur, as were most of us here.

I too was intrigued with how the display cases, that’s what I’d lovingly nicknamed the Plexi sub cages, would work out.

I foresaw an onslaught of reservations, booked out for months just to get a glimpse of them.

Doms at the ready, intently watching those on display to ensure they wouldn’t overdo it.

Pain sluts were a full-time job, in my opinion, and didn’t always know what was best or when to stop for their own good.

Every inch of this club, except for our third-floor residences, had been remodeled.

One half of the upper floor was Simon’s, the other mine, both with separate entrances.

We had spared no expenses; it was only the best for us and our members.

Given we’d waited as long as we had to finally bring their suggestions to fruition, we owed them that much.

We lucked out when buying this building.

An opportune time when the market was ripe for picking.

We’d undergone a basic remodel then, a refresh of the existing rooms, whereas this time around we scrapped the first two floors completely and built them anew.

The only floor we did not touch this time around were our third-floor residences.

No part of the club was visible from the lobby, which also held our offices, but as soon as you entered the double doors, you were immersed in a world of sexual wonder.

Hiring a reputable chef and culinary waitstaff willing to work in such an open environment proved to be a bigger challenge than getting the architectural plans through the city.

But it was best to know that ahead of time before extending offers to the wrong personnel.

With no sessions scheduled and the club still closed, there was no reason to hang around the office any longer.

Was I bored?

Had I acted rashly, removing myself from the dungeon schedule this morning? What would Simon say when he saw it posted?

What was wrong with me?

My head was no longer aligned with my heart. That was the biggest issue. The life I’d built for myself no longer held the allure it once had.

So where did that leave me now? What was next?

Where do I go from here?