Follow Me Under

by HELEN HARDT

  “Oh. Then where—”

  “Quiet,” he says harshly. “Your questions will be answered, but they’ll be answered on my time.”

  He moves to his briefcase sitting on one of the chairs in the bedroom. He opens it and pulls something out. Then he turns back to me, holding a black velvet case. He opens it.

  I gasp.

  It’s a diamond choker. At least I assume they’re diamonds.

  “Kneel before me, Skye.”

  My eyes pop open into circles.

  “Kneel before me,” he says again. “I’m going to collar you.”

  “But I—”

  “This is for your own protection.”

  “Braden, I—”

  “I said kneel!”

  I drop to my knees in front of him. “May I speak?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “I don’t know a lot about this lifestyle, but doesn’t a collar mean that…?”

  “That you’re my property? Yes, it does.”

  “But we haven’t discussed this.”

  “I know that. It’s for tonight only. As I said, it’s for your protection.” He places the choker around my neck.

  It’s cool against my skin. Heavy, as well. I inhale sharply.

  “This is temporary, Skye,” he says. “You may rise.”

  I stand and meet his gaze. “Temporary?”

  “You begged me to introduce you to my lifestyle, and I will, but I cannot do so without adequately protecting you. By wearing my collar, you are off-limits to anyone else. You belong to me, and no one else will touch you.”

  “No one else? What do you mean? Why would anyone else be in our bedroom?”

  “Because we’re not staying here, Skye. We’re going to a club.”

  Fear surges through me. Or is it excitement? Since I met Braden, the two feelings are difficult for me to separate.

  “I can’t go out in public wearing this,” I say.

  He walks to the closet and pulls out a black trench coat. “This will adequately cover you. And don’t worry. We aren’t going far.”

  “What will you wear?”

  He’s still dressed in his suit.

  “You’ll see.” He walks back into the closet, closing the door behind him this time.

  I wait.

  And I wait.

  Finally Braden emerges, wearing another black trench coat that covers him from shoulders to knees. From his knees down, he’s dressed in simple black pants and leather shoes.

  What the…?

  “Are you ready, Skye?” he asks, his voice low and dark.

  I swallow. Then I nod.

  “I need to hear you answer affirmatively.”

  “Yes, Braden,” I say. “I’m ready.”

  I force myself not to stumble in the stilettos as we walk out of Braden’s living quarters and through his makeshift office, which is now eerily empty—a massive change from the night we got here.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “I sent them all home,” he says.

  “Does that mean your business is concluded?”

  “My business is never concluded. It simply means they’re working elsewhere.”

  “But why—”

  “Enough questions, Skye. I don’t think anything I tell you can adequately prepare you for what you’ll experience tonight, so I’ve made the decision to take you in blind.”

  “Blind?”

  “Not literally. I won’t blindfold you. In fact, I want all your senses on alert tonight. I want you to take in everything. Only then will you be able to tell me truthfully what you think afterward.” He slides a card through the device to call the elevator.

  When the doors open, he gestures for me to step inside. He follows. Then he takes a second card out of his wallet and slides it through the device inside the elevator.

  “Why do you need a card?” I ask. “Aren’t we going to the lobby?”

  “No.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The elevator descends, and when the doors open, I gasp.

  “Welcome,” Braden says, “to Black Rose Underground.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  We step straight from the elevator into what appears to be a luxury nightclub, with one blatant difference.

  Wardrobe.

  Instead of skimpy club dresses, the women are dressed a lot like I am, some of them more scantily. Several of them are showing their nipples.

  And the men? Some are dressed in suits, as if they just came from a workday. Others are dressed in leather, some bare chested. One man even has pierced nipples.

  What would Braden look like with pierced nipples? The thought makes me tingle.

  Jazz music wafts from the sound system, not too soft and not too loud. It’s perfect. I can still hear Braden speak.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  My heart is pounding. “Where exactly are we?”

  “The bottom floor of the building. It’s a private club.”

  “Who are all these people?” I move my gaze about the room rapidly. Everywhere I look, something—or someone—else stands out.

  “Members, of course.”

  Braden walks me to a desk where a burly man sits. “Hey, Claude.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Black.”

  “This is Skye Manning, my guest.”

  Claude nods and pushes some papers toward me. “You’ll need to sign these.”

  I lift my eyebrows at Braden.

  “It’s a nondisclosure agreement. Everyone who comes to the club must sign.”

  “You mean I can’t tell anyone what I see here?”

  “More than that,” Braden says. “You can’t even tell anyone you’ve been here.”

  “Not even Tessa?”

  “Not even Tessa.”

  “But I tell Tessa everything.”

  “Not this.” Braden hands me a pen. “Read through it if you’d like, or I can explain it to you.”

  “I’m capable of reading a legal document.” I hastily glance over the papers. They’re pretty straightforward. Then I scribble my signature. “Everyone here has signed this?”

  “Yes,” Braden says.

  I look around. A dance floor lies to my left, but no one is dancing. Strange. Straight back is what appears to be a full bar. Two bartenders, one a topless female, mix drinks for guests. Several guests sit on black leather barstools. Others mingle, chatting, flirting. One man has his woman on a leash.

  I hold back a gasp.

  “We’re all good, Mr. Black,” Claude says. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “I plan to. Thanks, Claude.” Braden turns to me. “Skye? Shall we?”

  Heart still hammering, I bite my lower lip. “Sure. I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  “If you’re not all in, Skye, we may as well leave now.”

  No. I don’t want to leave. I really don’t want to leave. “I’m in. I just don’t understand. People are dressed like me, but nothing is happening here. I don’t get it.”

  He curves his lips slightly upward. “This is only one part of the club. Would you like a drink?”

  “God, yes.” I never let alcohol affect me, other than to put me slightly more at ease. In that vein, a drink seems like a good idea at this moment.

  “Only one,” he says. “I want your mind clear for tonight.”

  I nod, and we head to the bar. The topless server jiggles toward us. “Nice to see you, Mr. Black.”

  “Good evening, Laney. Two Wild Turkeys, please. Neat.”

  “You got it.”

  The drinks appear in an instant. Braden pushes a fifty dollar bill toward the naked bart
ender.

  I take a long sip of my bourbon, letting its spiciness coat my throat and give me courage. Then, “What is this place, Braden?”

  “It’s a leather club.”

  “Which is…”

  “A place where people who enjoy the BDSM lifestyle can come and play together.”

  “Who knows about it?”

  “Only the people here. It’s very exclusive. Membership by invitation only.”

  “Oh? Who invited you?”

  “No one.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s my club, Skye. I own it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Red noise buzzes in my ears.

  “You own it?”

  “I own it,” he repeats.

  “So this is…”

  “This is where I practice my lifestyle in New York.”

  “And you don’t do this stuff in Boston.”

  “I do not.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve told you. Boston is my home. Where I grew up.”

  “So?”

  He takes a sip of his drink. “I prefer to keep this side of me private.”

  “And you can’t do that in Boston?”

  “I could. I choose not to.”

  Why? I don’t feel I’ve gotten an adequate answer, but I know Braden. This is all I’m going to get. “What do you do here?” I ask.

  “Sometimes nothing,” he says. “Sometimes I come alone and simply have a drink at the bar, as we’re doing now. Sometimes I help another member with a scene.”

  “A scene?”

  “A scene is when members play together.”

  “And you…” I take a sip, gathering my courage. “You have sex with them?”

  He shakes his head. “A scene doesn’t always mean sex.”

  “So you don’t have sex here?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “For God’s sake, Braden, I’m ageing. What kind of play do you do here?” And with whom? I add in my head.

  “First of all, you’ll see all kinds of play here, and some includes sex. Some includes other types of intimacy, and some includes no intimacy at all. I’ll tell you this. If I’m involved in a relationship, as I am with you, I will have sex only with you. In the past, when I haven’t been involved with a woman and I’ve had sex here, I’ve always used protection and I’ve only had sex with women.”

  I’m awed by his candor. It’s more than I get most of the time. “So some members…”

  He nods. “Some members have sex with both men and women, yes. Some only with their own sex. Whatever their preference.”

  I nod. “What will you and I do here?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  I smile and swallow more Wild Turkey. “Really? I thought you had control in the bedroom.”

  “I do. But I’ve never done anything without your consent, have I?”

  “No. Though sometimes it’s implied.”

  “True. It won’t be implied here. I’ll get your express consent for everything I do to you.”

  My body is on fire. Seriously. I’m ready to burst into blue flames. What kind of stuff does he have in mind?

  “You’re flushing,” he says.

  “Am I?” I know damned well I am.

  “This excites you.” A statement.

  I nod.

  “And that excites me.” He stands and removes his coat then, revealing his bare chest.

  I suck in a breath.

  He’s magnificent, as always, but here, in the dim lighting, with others around so scantily clad, he’s a fucking king.

  “Stand up,” he says to me.

  I do, and he unties the sash of my coat and then unbuttons each button. He parts the fabric and takes the coat from my shoulders.

  For a moment, I’m freaked. I’ve never been this exposed in a public place before.

  But is this a public place?

  Not really. Members only, he said.

  I look around. Though the corset covers my breasts, my ass cheeks are completely hanging out. The fishnets and stilettos make my legs look longer and more slender than they are.

  I look good. Damned good.

  Yet no one even glances at me.

  I’m not as gorgeous as Tessa, but usually I merit a look or two in a club. What gives?

  I meet Braden’s gaze. “No one is looking at us.”

  He smiles. Sort of. “You mean no one is looking at you.”

  “Well…yeah.”

  “You’re wearing my collar.”

  “Oh. That’s what you meant when you told me it was for my protection? So no one would look at me?”

  He shakes his head. “No. If you weren’t wearing a collar, others would feel free to approach you, ask you to join in their play.”

  “But I could always say no, right?”

  “Yes. But if you’re not collared, you’re seen as available here.” He lowers his eyelids. “And you’re not available, Skye. You will play with no one but me.”

  That’s fine with me. I’m not interested in anyone but Braden. Does he expect me to argue the point?

  Braden finishes his bourbon. “Are you ready to see more?”

  I glance down at my own glass. Only a tiny bit of amber left. I down it quickly. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He hands our coats, along with another fifty, to an attendant who seemed to appear from nowhere. “I want to take you to the bondage room.”

  My heart races as I recall the photos in the book in his library. “Okay.”

  “I think you’ll like it.”

  I have no idea what to expect as he leads me away from the bar, through a dark-red curtain, and into a hallway. Doors line both sides of the hallway. We walk about halfway down, and Braden stops at a door.

  “Any member can enter this room,” he says. “It’s not private.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll see bondage in here, but you may also see people engaging in intimate play. Are you ready for that?”

  “I’ve seen porn, Braden.”

  “Live acts are a little different.”

  I’m oddly turned on. Maybe not so oddly. I’m fucking hot. I want to see what’s behind this door more than I want anything else at this moment.

  “Normal bodies aren’t always as beautiful as porn-star bodies,” he continues.

  “I know that. Don’t worry. I won’t stare.”

  “Actually, stare all you want. Anyone engaging in intimate acts in a clubroom that’s open to everyone is naturally an exhibitionist. They expect you to look.”

  I suck in a breath, remembering that first day in Braden’s office when he fucked me up against his floor-to-ceiling window. I thought anyone could see us, and when he told me later that they were tinted and no one could see in, I was strangely disappointed.

  Am I an exhibitionist? Will Braden and I play together in this room someday?

  “All right,” I finally say.

  “You’ll be tempted to look away,” he says. “That’s normal. These acts are private. But if you want to look, look.”

  I nod. “Do you like to look?” I ask shyly.

  “I’m not a voyeur,” he says, “but I enjoy the art of bondage. I come into this room to see the art more than the intimate acts.”

  “I see.”

  “Ready?” He clasps the doorknob.

  “Ready.”

  He opens the door. An attendant sits right inside the door. “Mr. Black,” he says simply.

  “Good evening,” Braden says. “My guest and I are here to observe this evening.”

  “Very good.”

  Braden takes my hand, and we step into the room.

  And I nearly lose my footing.

  The room is huge, th
e lighting is brighter, and the walls are white, which surprises me in an underground club. I was expecting dim light and black and red.

  But I soon realize why the walls are white and the light not as dim as before.

  Works of art are everywhere. Human works of art.

  While the rope used in the photos I saw in Braden’s library was all natural colored, the bindings in this room range from black to red to purple to green. Some multicolored.

  Braden leads me around the room to observe. We stop first to watch a man whose arms and feet are bound with intricately knotted dark-blue rope. “This is an example of shibari,” Braden says.

  I lift my brows.

  “It’s a Japanese bondage form that uses simple but intricate patterns. Go ahead. Take a good look.”

  A woman wearing a corset similar to mine but no thong whips the man lightly with a flogger.

  “Is this the kind of bondage you want to do to me?” I ask.

  “No. What I do uses quite a bit more rope.”

  I nod. Like the photos I saw in his library.

  “I’ll go easy on you tonight,” he says. “Baby steps.”

  Except, as I watch the show in front of me, I don’t want baby steps. I want to go all in.

  All fucking in.

  We walk to the next scene. A woman is bound in natural-colored rope, the knots intricately wound all the way from her ankles to her thighs. Her wrists are bound together and hooked to what looks like a pommel horse. Her partner, another woman, is fucking her from behind using a strap-on. I hold back a gasp. I’ve never seen a strap-on before, though I know they exist. As the submissive’s legs aren’t spread, she must be tight, and the dildo the other woman wears is not small.

  “That’s right, you slut. I’m fucking you good, aren’t I?”

  The woman doesn’t respond.

  She’s probably been told not to.

  On to the next scene.

  A curvy woman is bound with black rope and lying on her back on a leather table. A ball gag is in her mouth. Her wrists and ankles are bound together, and a well-endowed dark-haired man is fucking her boldly.

  This room seems to go on forever. We watch several more scenes, and though Braden said not all of these scenes would include sex, most of them do.

  I’ve soaked my thong already, and I want Braden badly.

  Does he know what this is doing to me?

  My clit is throbbing, and I yearn, more than anything, to touch myself. Even bound up in this corset, I want to swirl my fingers around my clit and force an orgasm.