by M. Q. Barber
He laughed, and they were off. The questions she’d held poured out like an upended box of nuts and bolts. Santa’s workshop held the tools to fashion them into answers. Her steam ran dry in the mathematical details of millimeter counts and better-safe-than-sorry weight tolerances for ropes supporting vigorous, swinging bodies.
Henry, the constant support post at her back, massaged her temples. “I do hate to pull you away from the physics of proper weight distribution when such talk makes your eyes shine and your stomach flutter, but we’ve put in enough of an appearance. You have a reward waiting at home. A round of hearts before bed?”
Fuck yes. The flutters in her stomach gained seismic ratings. “Yes, please, sir.”
“Will.” Henry extended his arm, and the men clasped forearms. “We’ll talk soon. I trust we haven’t disrupted your plans too terribly much.”
“Not even an inch, and don’t you dare hesitate to ask again. Alice, if I may?” At her nod, he pecked her cheek with fuzzy exuberance. “Enjoy your games, pet, and give that boy of yours an extra squeeze when he gets home for all the fun he’s missed.”
Gazing back through the window as they left, she nudged Henry in the ribs. “I think Santa’s getting lucky with Ms. Rope Dress tonight.”
The woman approached and laid a hand on Santa’s chest, a hand he covered with his own and raised for a kiss.
“Will has a talent for knots.” A smile crossed Henry’s lips. “If we should happen to need a rigger in the future, he’d be my first—and only—choice.”
The demo rigger’d put his hands all over his model’s body. Henry sure as hell wouldn’t let just anyone touch her or Jay so intimately.
“At home?” They’d have to get creative with the furniture to make room. And inviting someone into the bedroom, even Santa, wriggled like creepy-crawlies climbing her arms and legs. Henry’s bedroom was their refuge.
“No, I haven’t suitable hardware. Jay supported your weight the last time your legs left the floor. The bedroom hook is enough for anchoring floor play, but I wouldn’t trust it for full suspension unless I’d bought the apartment above and made a modification or two.” He glanced sideways at her. “Yes, I know you’d hate being the cause of such expense.”
“It’d be awfully extravagant, sir.”
As they slipped from the hall into the main room, Henry halted and squeezed her hand. “Extravagance is not the concern for me it is for you, but your feelings, and Jay’s, are. Our bedroom will remain for private joys, a place in which you may approach me without shame, sweet girl.”
A promise. A commandment, the way Henry spoke. She returned his squeeze. “Here, then?”
Hard to imagine being so exposed. Henry’d taken baby steps with her compared to how some folks behaved around them. Rows of seats filled with watchers and faces lining the window didn’t trip her trigger. Not for arousal, anyway, even if being part of the crowd was fun.
“Upstairs.” He led her around knots of people. “Nothing so open as this.”
Not— “The fourth floor?” Reclaiming the space might help Jay, but he’d be uncomfortable, too, and Henry wouldn’t push such nervous territory with bondage. Not when he’d been so careful about testing the cuffs in a safe space.
“No.” Flat and unyielding, he drew her beside him. “The fifth. Will maintains a private room.” He brushed her cheek in a kiss. “He hasn’t the luxury of sharing his joys at home.” Sidestepping, he curled her into his embrace. A pair of pony players passed them, manes braided and tails bobbing. “On a night like tonight, the fourth floor will busy indeed.”
Bigger crowd plus fewer open rooms equaled—a big headache for Emma. She had to be getting slammed at the desk. “All the space on this floor is eaten up with demos.”
“Precisely.” Unwinding her, he started them forward. The stairs waited down the shorter hall near the far end. “And all of those inspired by the ideas raised here will be begging for a place on the fourth.”
“Natural outcome of a career fair, sir.” She swiveled, tip-toeing backward in front of him. Mmmf. Him. That suit. Her man knew how to dress. “Interns taking on new positions.”
“Or assuming familiar ones.” Eyeing her, he smoothed his tie down to his suit and fingered the edge. “We’ll see what positions we might find for you to fill at home.”
“Master Henry.” A gray-haired man in a fancy suit with a full vest approached them—no, just Henry. He didn’t so much as glance at her. “My apologies for the intrusion, but I must speak with you.”
“Master Laurence.” Henry inclined his head. “The night seems a success. The board must be pleased with the turnout.” He tugged her to his side. “May I present the distaff pride of my collection?”
“The woman you boys have been squabbling over?” Flicking his gaze across her, Master Laurence scowled. “A fine pet, I’m sure, better seen than heard.”
What. The. Fuck.
“An exquisite flower in bloom.” As his teasing tone vanished, Henry settled into his neutral dom voice. “A traditionalist such as yourself would naturally prune with more vigor, but I anticipate her full growth with great pleasure.” Shoulders squared, he rested his hand on the back of her neck. Weighted, but not gripping. He rubbed his thumb beneath her ear. “Have you heard squabbling? I fail to see a reason for it. The woman is mine, without question.”
His possession. So socially inappropriate. So sexually thrilling.
“I’m told Masters Calvin and William nearly came to blows over her in the salon. Again.” The old man’s puckered lips matched the rest of his wrinkled face. “No official complaints, but we can’t have you boys feuding. They’ve both been steady members over the years. I’d hate to see either ejected.”
Jolly Santa and that fucking jackass merited the same regard from this dick. If a feud existed, Cal fed it with his predatory behavior and constant needling. Like a scorned kid who kept trying to prove himself better than them.
“No feuding, of course. A rift dividing the membership could throw the club into chaos.” Henry swept his hand down her back. “Perhaps cause a loss of confidence in the board’s ability to manage affairs.”
Maybe Emma had the right idea, and the board would stick and grind without a fresh mechanic to grease the gears. This guy looked like he’d trained his first sub before Henry’s birth.
Master Laurence grunted. “These classes of yours best help train them to know their places. Master William ought to know better than to raise his fist to a fellow master.”
“This evening? An exchange of words, nothing more.” Henry looped her ribbon around his finger. “Cal forgot himself and attempted to touch my pet. Will reminded him of the rules for yellow ribbons. Prevented him from breaking a core rule, in truth, and perhaps saved him a sanction. My dear girl would have been obligated to report such a deep infraction.”
“Oh?” The old man squinted at her. “I’m told she invited the attention, and that Master William had his hands all over her.”
Fucking Cal. He’d gone crying to a sympathetic ear with half-truths. No one else would’ve done it for him.
“Alice?” Clasping her chin, Henry leveled a green stare at her. “Tell Master Laurence what happened, please.”
Time to shine. Henry was counting on her.
“I gave Master William permission to greet me, Master Laurence.” She tucked her irritation behind a docile tone. “He touched my arm and my face. As he is my master’s friend, I knew he’d behave with impeccable manners. I did not grant Master Calvin”—allowing him a title coated her tongue with filth—“the same permission, nor did he ask. He assumed, and Master William shielded me from an unwanted intrusion.”
The old master must’ve crammed lemons in his mouth. No possible way could anyone twist a face so sour otherwise. “Well. That would put you in a more respectable light, young miss.” Like a kid worrying a loose tooth, he pushed out a papery cheek. “You’ll vouch for the girl’s honesty, Master Henr
y?”
“I would stake my reputation on it.” Henry spoke like he’d sunk footers into the earth three stories down. “As it happens, I needn’t today. I witnessed the exchange. Her account is accurate.”
Master Laurence quizzed Henry on the nuances. Her thoughts likely rated as high as a dog’s. Not even a dog-man’s. Just a dog’s. Unless her ribbon rather than her sex predetermined his attitude. He sure acted like he figured himself a pillar of proper behavior.
Scanning the crowd, she tried floating on their happiness. She’d explained her side. Henry would handle the rest. Best case, Cal would receive a black mark in his record, Santa wouldn’t, and she and Henry would go home for playtime.
Spiky hair and a skintight shirt flashed in a gap.
Could’ve been any jackass with an overabundance of hair gel. They hadn’t run into Cal for hours. He might’ve left after tattling to the old man.
A laughing woman in lace plunged her fingers through a ring in a nude man’s collar and tugged him down. In the space beyond, Cal gloated. Gaze fixed below him, he walked a slow circle. The same fucking stalking move he’d pulled on her. On Jay.
As the collared man stepped forward, he exposed a low padded chaise holding a brown-haired woman with her head bowed. Red ribbon flickering on her arm, she hugged herself. Her curls hid her face, but those pink bows—
Cal slid onto the seat.
You miserable fucking ass.
She plowed through the crowd, muttering sorry in a perpetual feedback loop.
Cal sat knee to knee with his trembling prey.
“Leah!” She shouted. She had to. Reaching her would take too long. “There you are.”
Cal froze.
Leah lifted her head. Christ, she had eyes near brown as Jay’s, wide and tear-filled. She opened her mouth. “Red.”
The noise level dropped. Players turned as Cal scooted away and stood.
“Red, red.” Sobbing, Leah jumped to her feet and flung herself forward. “Red.”
One slippered foot sliding, Alice caught the shaking girl. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Leah, her breath heaving, blasted her neck with heat.
Three black-ribboned monitors pushed through the onlookers.
“Leah, honey, where’s your master?” Surely he’d run to his sub’s rescue if he’d heard her call.
“I don’t know.” Sniffling, Leah clutched the back of her dress. “He said sit here like a good kitten and he’d reserve us time upstairs.”
Stuck in line, if the desk was as busy as predicted.
“Excuse me.” She focused on the nearest play monitor, a brawny guy in a white shirt. “Can you find her master? Master Andrew. About your height, slim build, brown hair, brown eyes, wearing—” Shit, what color—
“A navy suit with a powder blue tie.” Henry stepped up beside her. “Try the desk first, and please ask Emma to page him if necessary. We’ll remain with the girl.”
“I was supposed to stay on the bench.” Mascara smudged Leah’s cheeks. “Do you think he’ll be mad?”
“Not at you.” She tugged a springy curl dangling from the girl’s hair bows. “Look how well you remembered what to do. Better than I did. He’ll be extra proud of his kitten.”
“Calvin?” The old man must’ve followed Henry. “I thought we’d found you a partner for the night.”
“Master Laurence, I’m glad you’re here to witness this affront.” Puffing up his chest, Cal glared at her. “You see how Henry’s whor—horribly trained submissive stalks me. She’s interfering in my enjoyment. How many years have I belonged here? How many years did you and my father serve on the board together? Her behavior is shockingly uncivil. I can’t understand how she’s allowed to roam unchecked.”
Henry tsked through his teeth. “Odd, how often these disturbances involve Master Calvin of late.”
Cal sneered. “Odd, how often these disturbances involve your pets.”
“Indeed. One might say you’ve been targeting them.” Tipping his head, Henry eyed Leah. No longer shaking, she still hadn’t eased up on her hug. “And now their friends.”
“Enough, the pair of you.” Master Laurence waved between the men and snagged Cal’s forearm. “Calvin. Let’s us go and chat in Emma’s office.”
“I didn’t touch the brat.” The whine in his voice grated.
“Master Calvin.” The old man sighed. “Would you rather we have this talk in the boardroom? These escalating outbursts can’t continue.”
“I sat to rest my legs, and she started shouting. And now my night is interrupted once again. How is that fair?”
“He said Master loaned me to him.” Leah shook her head, curls swaying. “But he’d never. I know he’d never.”
Master Laurence closed his eyes. His face sagged. If disappointment could bring on a heart attack, the play monitors had better be ready with CPR. “We’ll sort things out downstairs.” He snapped his fingers and gestured to the monitors. “Help Master Calvin find his way, please.”
“I know the way.” Cal stalked off with two men in his wake. “My father would be appalled by what this club has become.”
“Master Henry, I trust you’ll inform the girl’s master of the procedure in the event he wishes to lodge an official complaint?”
“Of course.” Henry bowed his head. “My Alice and I will wait with her and explain the situation.”
Master Laurence faced her.
She hastily copied Henry’s head-bob.
“I may have misjudged you, miss.” Eyes narrowed and lips twitching, Master Lawrence coughed into his fist. “Pardon. You remind me of another opinionated young woman who acts as she sees the need.” He parted his lips in a fine smile, the first time he’d looked other than sour. “And now I’ll have to go and steal her office for a bit.”
As she waited for rankling resentment at being compared to Emma to creep in, her growling jealousy remained surprisingly silent. She’d never manage the hero-worship levels of fixation Leah lavished on her, but a cautious admiration for and a growing friendship with Emma seemed almost manageable.
The master nodded to Henry. “If there’s to be a report, I’ll want the both of your statements as well.”
“Certainly, Master Laurence.”
The old man strode off.
Henry seated her on the chaise, and Leah cuddled at her side until her master arrived. Whether Leah’s tears or Henry’s phrasing persuaded him, Master Andrew insisted on holding Cal accountable.
The clock in Emma’s office struck four before they’d finished giving statements. The board had a week to deliberate and assign reprimands or punishment, if any.
She dozed on the way home, warm and buttoned up in her navy overdress. When they reached the bedroom, Henry peeled her clothes off and tucked her against him beneath the sheet.
“Reward?” The question emerged in a yawn. She stretched her limbs, rubbing their legs together. If he needed release, she’d force herself awake. “You want?”
“When you wake.” Nestling close, he kissed her shoulder. “Sleep, my love. I’m pleased with you beyond passion tonight.”
* * * *
Henry let her sleep in after their late night, and between rewards and brunch and showering, the morning disappeared with unexpected speed. A text from her little sister rattled her phone just after one on Sunday afternoon.
Vid chat now?
She shot back a yes, booted up the battered laptop she’d gotten through her employer’s buying plan, and claimed her chair at the dining room table. With schedules at odds for weeks, they hadn’t exchanged more than texts in—God, two months. Not since Henry’s gallery opening. Lots to tell. “Remember those guys I was fucking? Yeah, so I kind of moved in with them, and it’s mostly fantastic.” Just like that.
Texting and social networks kept her updated on the graphically detailed medical procedures she didn’t want to hear about and Olivia’s near-daily pleas
for more sleep. But neither matched talking to Ollie face to face in real time.
She had the apartment practically to herself for explaining. Henry had holed up in his studio for the afternoon, and Jay would be on his way back from his parents’ place. Unless his family suddenly needed him more than they did.
Ugh. Unkind. Letting the territorial resentment sail through, she clutched the important emotion, the anticipation of Jay’s return by dinnertime.
“You look like you’re having a good time.” Spoon dangling, Ollie waved as the connection clicked through. “Gonna fill me in?”
“Why are you always eating cereal when we talk?” The guy thing would be an ease-into-it discussion.
“Uhh, because it’s breakfast time in California, duh. And since I am awake—mostly—and functioning—mostly—at breakfast, and—most importantly—I am not working at breakfast, it’s about the only time we can gab.” Ollie slurped mushy colored marshmallows. Her garbled words following might have been, “and I like cereal.”
“I’m over cereal. Pancakes for me.” Especially the light, fluffy crepes Henry topped with fresh fruit and whipped cream. God, he spoiled them. Last time anyone had made breakfast for her every morning—fifteen years gone.
“Pancakes take too much time.”
“And obviously they don’t contain enough sugar for you.”
“Don’t knock the Charms, Allie. You used to pour me a bowl every morning.”
All those weeks of Mom rushing to work or the hospital to see Dad while Alice took charge of getting Ollie and herself off to school.
“I should apologize.” She kept her tone dryly amused. Ollie didn’t need to know about the sugar cabinet she shared with Jay, where a half-eaten box of Charms lived alongside the mountain of sugary goodness Henry eschewed. “I’ve scarred your taste buds for life.”
Ollie pointed her spoon at the screen. “What’s that behind you?”
“Like I’m falling for that.”
“Seriously. Pan your cam. That’s so not your apartment. Did you get a bigger place and not tell me?”
“No.” Shit. She’d intended to work up to this part. “Not exactly.”