by Jane Henry
The woman nodded and hesitated, staring hard at Hillary for a second before finally hurrying away. Matteo reluctantly pushed himself to his feet.
"No. You know what? I will go give Hank a hand," Slay said, standing up abruptly. "I'm in the mood to crack some fucking heads."
He glared at Matteo.
Then he turned to Hillary and bent low, whispering in her ear.
"It was very nice to meet you, honey. You've got my number. Feel free to use it anytime."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt more brotherly than any interaction she'd ever had with Matteo, and she realized what had felt off about his physical proximity to her all night: He wasn't Matteo, and Matteo was the only one she wanted in that way. Ignoring her feelings wasn't making them go away. She was more in love with him than ever.
Shit.
She was an idiot.
And she wasn't the only one.
"So…" Matteo said, nodding his head as Slay stalked away. "That went pretty well."
Hillary's jaw dropped. "Are you serious? That was a disaster."
"Well, in a way you're right. And that's mostly my fault. Sorry, babe," he said sincerely. He shook his head in disgust and took a deep drink from his water bottle.
She sighed. "It's okay." Given that she was in love with Matteo, she and Slay had pretty much been doomed from the start.
"No," he told her. "It's not. There are certain standards of behavior, you know? Certain things that are just never acceptable. You shouldn't forgive me so easily."
She sighed again. "Yeah, well, don't be too hard on yourself. You can't help being protective…"
"But that's just it!" he said. "You trusted me to find you a decent guy, and I promised I would. And I had no idea that Slay was such a judgmental asshole. I'm sorry I set you up with that guy, babe."
Hillary pressed her lips together. "That's what you're sorry for?" She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry.
"Well, yeah," he said, as though this should be obvious. "But don't be too discouraged. I mean, finding you the right dom is going to be as much about figuring out what we don't want as what we do want. You know?"
"What we want?" she repeated, laughter winning over tears.
"Next time I will give a lot more thought to the dom I source and vet for you. I don't know what I was thinking, picking Slay." He shook his head again.
"You… you think there's a better dom out there?" she asked. "Better than your best friend, a guy you served with, and work with, and sang disco hits with?"
Matteo shrugged.
"Who are you going to trust if you can't trust the guy who had your back for a decade?" she pressed. "You trust him with your life, Matt," she reminded him.
"Yeah, but I don't trust him with you!" he exploded. He seemed to realize what he had said, and cast around wildly for escape.
Hillary's heart was beating so fast she could hear it over the loud thump of the music. It felt like the last few months of her life had been leading her to this very moment.
"Then I think I should probably find my own dom," she told him. "I release you from your promise."
"What? No!" he argued. "Absolutely not."
"Yes," she said firmly. "I'm going to go on Match. Or Fetlife. Somewhere. Maybe I'll get a membership here, explore the place myself."
"Jesus, Hillary," he whispered. It was almost a plea.
But she couldn't back down. Wouldn't.
"It's the only way, isn't it? There's not going to be a person on earth you trust to take care of me, to be my dom."
He looked at her, straight at her, an agonized, hungry look in his beautiful green eyes. She could feel his leg bouncing wildly beneath the table top, faster and faster.
Hillary's breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his focus. God, what she wouldn't give to be able to read his mind! Was he dreaming up some excuse, some argument, that might change her decision? Scrolling through his memory bank for another potential dom? Or was there even the slightest chance that he felt the same pull that she felt, the same feeling of rightness, of inevitability, when they were together, despite all his protests?
What would it mean if he felt that way?
And, God, what would she do if he didn't?
The silence dragged on and she clutched her hands together beneath the table, feeling dread pool in her belly.
But then his leg stopped bouncing.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
And nodded.
"You're right," he said slowly. "I don't trust anyone else. I'm going to have to do it myself."
Chapter Four
What the actual fuck had he been thinking?
I'm going to have to do it myself.
First, Dom was going to kill him. He'd probably beat him to a bloody pulp first, and if Slay was around he'd probably be oh so happy to lend a hand, then he would kill him, and when he was good and thoroughly dead, Matteo would go straight to hell.
But the way her eyes lit up. Oh, God, her eyes. They'd squeezed shut quickly, and when they opened they were brighter, trusting, even a little damp.
Shit.
He knew how to be a dom. He had done this for years and was well versed in meeting the needs of a submissive. And hell, he knew that girl well. He knew that she was sweet but edgy, and the day after she'd been rescued from Black Box, when he'd taken her to the police station, she'd sat in the chair giving her report with a voice that didn't waver, articulately and pointedly relating every detail of what happened, even when the officer in charge asked probing questions that would've made other girls cringe or falter. Not Hillary. Getting her out of that horrific scene and being the one to take her home had satisfied a need deep within him. Rescuing her had been the first nail in the coffin. Her willingness to trust him and the way she relaxed around him was the second nail. The third nail was, absolutely, the way she intelligently explained to the officer how the scene was supposed to have been consensual, and somehow hearing her explain her engagement in BDSM activities seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Learning who she really was—sweet, but strong, capable and brilliant, fun to be with, sexy beyond his wildest imagination, and—yeah. Oh yeah, he was a total goner.
But he'd given his word to Dom, and now what was he going to do? He mulled it over, while she sat patiently, her finger trailing a pattern on the condensation of her beer bottle. Without conscious thought, he reached for her hand, the back of his left hand grazing the table so that his palm was face up, the slightest bend in his fingers welcoming her hand. Her eyes were focused on the table, as she gingerly placed her hand in his and he placed his right hand atop hers so that both his hands were holding her one.
"We can make this work," he said, more to convince himself than her. "But so help me God, if you breathe a word of this to Dom or Heidi, you won't sit for a week. And you know this is just to help you, right?"
She blinked. "What do you mean?" And she tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast.
Shit would be on his terms now.
"You need me to help you," he said. "Reach your goals, take care of yourself, learn how to be obedient and submissive. But no sex."
A look flitted across her face but she quickly masked it with a sarcastic roll of her eyes as she pursed her lips at him. "Aw, shucks," she said. "I was so hoping you'd nail me tonight."
His hands tightened on hers, and he realized with a bit more satisfaction than he really should have, that he now had the ability to do something about her wise cracks. He dropped his voice and leaned in closer, making sure her eyes were focused on him and he had her undivided attention.
"That's ten," he said.
She inhaled and swallowed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she hissed, as if she were afraid of being overheard. "You won't!"
She was gonna sass him, too? He narrowed his eyes at her.
"You do not roll your eyes at me or talk back. Am I clear? We're in a BDSM club, Hillary. You do it again, I pu
sh my chair out and take you across my lap right here. Understood?"
Her eyes widened, but she nodded.
"Okay," she whispered, frowning. "Should I be calling you 'sir'?"
"Normal day to day? No. When I correct you? Absolutely."
She merely nodded again. The idea of her addressing him as sir... God.
Where to begin? The first thing he wanted to do was get her the hell out of The Club. It was a place where people met and played, and though he'd had plenty of nights where play was at the top of his list, the idea of the other men looking at her... hell no. His adrenaline surged as he got to his feet, still holding her hand.
"You're going to spank me now?" she squeaked, and he realized that she mistook his sudden moves as an indication that he was prepared to punish her. He softened, tugging her hand, pulling her a bit closer and one of his arms snaked around her shoulder.
"Not now, honey," he said gently. "My shift is over, but there's a protocol I need to follow before I leave. So I need to go and make sure that's taken care of before I take you back to my place, but when I do, you are getting a spanking."
He watched as she swallowed and nodded. She liked hearing him say he would spank her. Hell, he liked the idea of spanking her. But this was not a game. The girl needed a real spanking, and he would give her what she needed.
It wasn't just because she rolled her eyes at him, though he couldn't let that go uncorrected. The most basic element of any D/s dynamic Matteo would partake in was the expectation of his submissive's respect and obedience. Other doms might warn first, but in this case, he felt it would be best to set her straight. And she was long overdue for a good spanking. It wouldn't be just punitive, though. He needed to clear the air and establish their roles.
She trotted to keep up with his long strides, and he knew what was coming next, as it was common enough it was almost predictable. The first mention of a punishment, and they would ask questions, push, and test, some harder than others. It was an almost necessary step when establishing roles. Did he really mean what he said?
"Are you sure you're going to spank me tonight?" she asked, as they walked past the bar to the office, a small room tucked behind the bar. "I mean, we haven't even set ground rules yet, and you're just jumping in, and—"
To a dom new to the scene, the questioning was sometimes frustrating, but Matteo knew where it was coming from. He'd spent long hours learning from submissives, both those he dommed and those he didn't, learning from experienced doms and dommes, and witnessing firsthand the results of being consistent, firm, and dependable. Even though most submissives didn't really like being punished, they needed to know their dominant meant what he said. So when doubts began to emerge, they would often push, some harder than others, but honest questioning was part of the normal routine. They needed consistency, dependability, and most of all, to know they were willingly relinquishing control to someone strong and worthy.
He pulled her to a quiet spot and pushed her in front of him so that her back was flush against the wall. Leaning in, he pinned her with no more than the heat of his body, one of his arms above her head, resting on his forearm, the other still holding her hand.
"Known each other a while now, haven't we?" he asked low.
She swallowed and nodded, clearly intimidated by his physical posture and their near proximity. Good. This was time, now, for her to learn to focus on him and obey, and a little intimidation went a long way.
"Yes," she said, and as he stepped a little closer, she quickly amended it with, "Yes, sir!"
"Do I like it when you roll your eyes at me or talk back?"
She shook her head silently.
"In fact, what have I said to you more than once?"
She swallowed. "Um...about what? I mean there are lots of things you've said to me, and I—"
He leaned closer. "About being a brat, Hillary."
Hillary gave him a sheepish smile. "Oh, right. The brat thing!" She laughed nervously. "You said, uh, you know, something about spanking me or something..."
He nodded. "Bingo. Now that you're obeying me, you'll learn to be respectful." He leaned in so close their knees were touching and she craned her neck to look up to him. "You going to be respectful, Hillary?"
Her eyes widened and she nodded. "Yes," she managed to eke out.
Good. She was exactly where he wanted her, listening to him, completely aware of the fact that she was in trouble, and clearly lapping up every bit of his control over her.
Oh, he was so gonna pay for this.
Grasping her hand again so that she was trotting beside him, he stalked to the office in the back, gave three quick knocks, and waited until he heard Blake's "Come in." Blake, owner and overseer of all that went on in the club, sat at a desk, several dozen monitors mounted on the wall to the side, including one monitor that would show him it was Matteo knocking on the office door. When they entered the office, Matteo pointed to a chair on the side for Hillary to take a seat, and she meekly obeyed.
Blake was in his mid-fifties, a large, stern man with gray hair and dark eyes that missed nothing, a nose that had clearly been broken more than once, and a short, severe goatee. He was dressed in a button-down blue shirt and khakis, and he watched the two of them enter. He sat in front of his computer behind a large, gleaming cherry-wood desk. The office was large but simply furnished, and immaculately clean. He had been into the scene longer than not, and after marrying his long-term submissive several decades prior, opened The Club.
"Matteo," he said in greeting, his voice low and guttural. Matteo nodded back.
"My shift is over for the night," Matteo said. "We had issues in the Red Room, but Slay took over."
Blake nodded. "I know." Of course he did. Everything awry was immediately reported to him via The Club's high-tech communication system, wireless headsets with ear pieces that all supervisory staff were required to wear. Blake nodded to the chair in front of him.
"Sit."
Matteo sat as Blake pushed a small tablet in front of him, giving him time to give his report of the night. Matteo knew the routine, and nimbly filled out all the required fields. He was paid amply for the times he was substitute Dungeon Master at The Club, and he took his responsibilities seriously. When he was done, he pushed the tablet back over to Blake. Blake read over the report.
"Good," he muttered. "Thanks for the details. You can go now, and enjoy your evening. However, we need to talk soon," he said. "I've been noticing a pattern of behavior on certain evenings, and piecing things together. Can you come tomorrow afternoon?"
"Yeah," Matteo replied. "I have a morning shift at Inked, but will be free after two."
Blake nodded. "Fine. Three good?"
Matteo nodded as he walked to the door, gesturing for Hillary to follow.
"Going to introduce me to your lady friend?" Blake asked, stopping Matteo in his tracks.
Introducing her. It seemed like a big step, somehow. He put a protective arm around Hillary's waist as they turned back around to face Blake.
"Blake, this is Hillary. Hill, Master Blake."
Hillary, clearly intimidated by Blake, nodded and murmured her greeting as Blake fixed his eyes on Matteo.
"Is she the one?"
He heard Hillary's intake of breath as she tensed.
Matteo paused. Blake missed nothing. His stern eyes twinkled as he took the two of them in with a slow nod. "She's the one you saved from that shit storm at Black Box." It was a statement, not a question.
"She is."
Blake nodded knowingly. "I'm aware of what happened." His gaze shifted to Hillary, and his voice softened, a rarity Matteo had never witnessed. "You're safe here," he said. "We ensure shit like that doesn't go down." His eyes went to Matteo. "Still, she's here, she's within arm's reach of you. Yeah?"
Matteo's eyes hardened and he stood straighter. "Hell yeah," he said in a voice just above a growl. Hillary's body softened and she stepped closer to Matteo.
Blake's chin lifted, a subt
le acknowledgment that he and Matteo saw eye to eye, and his voice dropped.
"She your sub?" Blake liked to know the relationship status of every one of the people who worked for him.
Matteo paused. How open would they be about their relationship? He looked to Hillary, and he couldn't deny her, couldn't denounce her, and even though he had to keep their relationship from Dom and Heidi, Hillary deserved the recognition. He nodded, eyes meeting Blake's man-to-man.
"Our relationship is not public knowledge," he said. Blake knew Dom frequented The Club but Blake could keep shit tight. He swallowed as he looked at her with pride. "Yeah. She's my submissive."
* * *
Hillary was quiet on the way home, and Matteo was aware of what a long evening she'd had. First, the serious courage it took to go and meet Slay to begin with, followed by the roller coaster ride of having Slay not end up being the friggin' dom she went home with, and the confirmation to Blake that she was his sub.
His submissive.
He'd never taken his charge to dom a woman so seriously before. Until Heidi came on the scene, he and Dom had all but made a pact that they were not going to do the 24/7 thing. Then Dom went and hooked up with Heidi, and suddenly... the need to skirt the edge of commitment no longer held the same appeal.
Despite the fact that Hillary and Matteo were both quiet, he didn't find it awkward or uncomfortable. She had a lot on her mind, and so did he, but when his stomach growled, he decided it was time to break the silence.
"You hungry, babe?" he asked, as the stoplight turned green and he accelerated.
"Mmm," she murmured and shrugged, neither a yes or a no.
"What's 'mmm' mean?" he asked. He gave her a sidelong glance as he drove, noticing her phone was in her hand, and she was texting away. He reached for her phone.
"What?" she asked.
"Hill, when I ask you a question, you're supposed to answer me," he said. "Hand me your phone."
Grumbling, she handed it to him and he placed it face down on the console.
"I didn't know you asked me a question," she protested.
"That's because you weren't listening to me."