The Perfectionist_Sin City Sentries [Book Two]

by Myra Scott

  CHAPTER TEN - ERIC

  I was on cloud nine. Ever since my last session with Mick, I had been floating around like a teenager in love. It was getting kind of ridiculous, truth be told. Just yesterday I had slipped up during a session with a client and called him “Mick.” Luckily, that client had been so distracted by pain and pleasure to have even noticed, but it was still a close call. A slip-up like that could easily cost me a client, which would put me in hot water with my boss, Madame Myrina. She was a no-nonsense, straight-laced hard ass, who ran her dungeon like a medieval lord. She was protective of her staff, sure, if we were ever faced with a violent client or some moralizing Bible thumper who showed up to tell us we were all going to hell. It had happened a couple of times, but we were lucky it didn’t happen more often. That was why Madame Myrina kept the dungeon so well-hidden. The building was totally nondescript, and from the outside, there was no way of knowing that it was home to a kinky sex dungeon. Myrina looked over all of our contracts and nondisclosure agreements to make sure they were airtight, to protect us from the long arm of the law or a petulant customer.

  But most of all, she looked after us as a means of covering her own ass.

  We were all just assets to her, just little pawns she could move around on a sexy chess board. She could be lighthearted, even pleasant at times, but when it came down to it, I may as well just be a walking, talking blank check in her eyes. We were cash cows, giving her a hefty cut of our every commission and deposit. That was fine by me most of the time. After all, she was the only who provided us with the space, the legal protection, the decor, the toys—she was the wizard, or witch, behind the curtain of it all. I owed her a lot.

  Before being recruited to work here, I had been a struggling line cook at a restaurant in the casino where my mother worked. I had endured long hours on my feet, burning my hands in the scalding hot water while washing dishes, being barked at and berated by ornery chefs, and nearly chopping my own fingers off while frantically trying to hurry through prepping vegetables. It was arduous work, and it paid off if it was your passion, but for me, there was no passion there. I did love to cook, but at my own pace, to my own tastes, for myself and for people I loved who would appreciate and compliment my cooking. Being a line cook was just a continuous lesson in how lowly and unimportant I was. I could never work as quickly as they wanted me to, because I was a perfectionist, and I could never complete my tasks as perfectly as I wanted to, because they rushed me. I was miserable there. At the kitchen, I would usually get off of work around two or three in the morning. Too keyed up to go home and sleep, I usually ended up hitting the nearby clubs to dance and drown my sorrows in cheap cocktails.

  One night, while I was drunk and tearing up the dance floor, a tall woman in a sequined black dress and sharply-winged eyeliner came sauntering up to me to dance. She didn’t seem to mind that I was gay; and therefore, not interested. She was a good dancer, and we had fun anyway. After the song ended, we had gotten to talking, and once I had downed about five shots of vodka, I admitted that I hated my job. Slurring my words like a sloppy idiot, I complained about it to her for probably thirty minutes straight while she nodded, listening intently. I could remember still how good it felt to let all my frustrations out. Myrina, who was a complete stranger to me then, had somehow coaxed me into sharing more details about myself than I usually shared even with my own family. After I said my piece, I finally asked her what she did for a living and she grinned. I could remember her words to me clearly, even years later.

  “I make dreams come true,” she had purred, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her dirty martini. “Fantasies, to be more specific.”

  Well, of course, I had been instantly intrigued. I asked her to elaborate, and she did, explaining that she ran a dungeon, and what all that entailed. I had been enthralled with her explanation, amazed that a kinky underworld like the dungeon could exist just out of sight, like some magical universe hidden behind a curtain. Then she said those magic words.

  “Would you like to make dreams come true, too, Eric? Would you like to leave behind the chopping and the dishes and the smelling like garlic all the time?”

  I had laughed it off at first, saying there was no way I could do something like that. But that was when she got a serious look on her face and said, “Yes, you can. I would not have offered you the job if I didn’t know. I’m a good judge of character, and I can see that you have what it takes. All you have to do is accept.”

  And the rest was history. I had quit my job at the restaurant the very next day and started training at the dungeon that night. I had worked there under a tentative contract at first, feeling it out, just testing the waters. I had sat behind two-way glass to watch a veteran Dom perform a session with a client, which turned me on and got me hooked. I discovered a side of myself I had never known even existed. I could tap into my stress, my worry, my pent-up emotions, and channel it all into the act. I could put on my leather outfit, hold a flogger in my hands, and become the intimidating, imposing, authoritative man I had never tapped into before. It was like a switch had been flipped, and I could never look back.

  Sure, it made dating almost impossible. And keeping my career a secret from my family all this time had been hard. But the job paid better than anything else I had ever done, and I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to some crappy restaurant job where I would feel useless. I was a man in charge of my own fate now, and it felt good. I could buy myself nicer clothes, nicer decorations, nicer food than I ever had before. I was addicted to the lifestyle, even though I knew now that it was eating me up inside.

  It had been so much fun for a while, but it was different now.

  Now, I knew what it felt like to want something more. I had met Mick, who awakened something deep and buried inside me: a desire to be truly intimate with someone. And not just for a paycheck, not intimate as in spanking and bossing around and sexual teasing. I wanted the romance, the sweetness, the tenderness of something real. Something genuine. And now that the seed had been planted, I couldn’t ignore that desire deep in my soul.

  Which was going to make my job extra difficult.

  Today I had strolled into work with all the intention of putting my emotions aside, checking my feelings at the door, and assuming the tough-as-nails role I was used to. Not even a little thing like a crush on an amazing man was going to knock me off my game today. I was determined to work through it, just focus on my job and let the rest roll off my shoulders.

  But when I walked into the lobby for my shift, I didn’t even make it to my chamber before Madame Myrina came storming out of her office to stop me.

  “Eric!” she barked. I stopped in my tracks, shocked at the anger in her voice. I turned slowly to look at her. She was standing with her hands on her hips, dressed in her usual austere-but-sexy pencil skirt, tight blouse, and high heels. There was a look of intense rage on her face, and her eyes were blazing. What the hell had I done to deserve a look like that?

  “Yes?” I asked, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

  “Come into my office. Now,” she ordered.

  “But I have an appointment in half an hour and I need to get—”

  “I said now, Eric. Do not make me ask you again,” she hissed icily.

  My eyes widened. This could not be good. I dutifully walked over and followed her into her office. “Shut the door behind you,” she demanded. I clicked it shut and turned back, fixing her with a confused look.

  “What’s going on, Madame?” I asked, shrugging.

  “Oh, as if you don’t know,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “No. Clearly, I don’t,” I replied, starting to get angry, myself.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Watch your tone,” she scolded.

  “I’m sorry. Please, just tell me what’s wrong,” I sighed.

  “You have a client. Phillip Langford,” she began, and my he
art sank instantly. I had almost managed to put him out of my mind completely until now.

  “Yes. He’s an asshole. I remember,” I replied shortly.

  “He is a paying customer,” she corrected.

  “Yeah, and he paid for a contract with me. Which he broke,” I retorted. “So, what about him? What did he do now?”

  “He went above your head. Spoke to me personally. I thought we agreed after my conversation with him that you would continue to honor your arrangement as planned?” she said.

  I scoffed. “Sure. Yes.”

  “Then why have you been ignoring his calls to schedule his next appointment? Hmm? Care to enlighten me on your poor decision-making skills lately, Eric?” she chided coldly.

  Shit.

  “I—I’ve been busy,” I said with a shrug. I knew it was a lame excuse.

  “Not too busy to engage with a customer,” she shot back. “Or did you forget that’s why you work here? Your chamber isn’t just some lounge where you can relax, you know.”

  “My schedule is packed!” I replied, throwing up my hands. “Check it if you want. I’m not slacking off, I swear. I just don’t want to meet up with Phillip again. It’s fine, I don’t need him. I have plenty of other clients.”

  “You need to call him today and schedule an appointment,” she ordered. “Move your other appointments around, if you must. But you have to call Phillip Langford and get him back in here for a session. That is an order.”

  “Since when do you get to dictate who I will and will not work with?” I demanded, furious. “Last I checked, I get to decide that.”

  “This client is different,” she said cryptically.

  “Different, how? Because he’s more of a jerk than my clients usually are? Because he complained to you about me? Why?” I shouted.

  “Because he has very, very deep pockets, Eric. He’s an important man with connections, and if he wanted to bring us down, he could,” she finally admitted in a terse voice. “Furthermore, we cannot lose out on the paycheck he could represent.”

  “So, it is about the money,” I spat. “It’s always about the money with you, isn’t it?”

  “Look around you, Eric!” she exclaimed. “Where the hell do you think you are? This isn’t all for fun and amusement. This is a job. And that means you have to do your job even when you would rather not. Do you think a house painter gets to say ‘Oh, hmm, I don’t think I like this house’? No! He does his damn job whether he likes it or not.”

  “This is supposed to be different,” I said quietly, shaking my head. “You promised me something different when you recruited me. You said you’d take care of us.”

  “And I have!” she hissed. “Do you think it’s easy, maneuvering the legal intricacies of this industry? Coordinating everything? Making sure you all have everything you need to get your work done? Do you think I don’t work twice as hard as you do every single day? And then, when you get one handsy customer, you suddenly throw a tantrum like some spoiled brat?”

  “He’s not just handsy, Myrina!” I countered, using her name instead of her title. Her face paled with rage. “He’s a bad man. He’s dangerous. I can’t work with him. If you want to keep him so badly, toss him off on someone else.”

  “I can’t do that. He wants you and only you, Eric. And I am not going to deny him what he wants. He has the money, he has the connections. We are going to give him exactly what he demands and then some, whether it suits your fancy or not,” she insisted, slamming her hand down on her desk, making me jump slightly.

  I stared at her, my chest heaving. I could feel the tears burning in my eyes and I hastily bit the inside of my cheek to keep from letting them fall. I had to keep my tough face. I had to hold my own here, not let her see my weakness. And she was right. There was nothing I could do. She softened slightly, but the coldness remained.

  “If you can’t handle this challenge, then perhaps I misjudged you years ago when I said you would be a good fit for this career,” she said with a shrug. “I went out on a limb for you, but if you can’t keep up, maybe you ought to go back to your job at that restaurant. Be a line cook or a janitor or something. I only employ winners here, Eric, and if you can’t win—then leave.”

  We stared at each other for a long, tense moment while her words sank in. Then I felt my stomach twist up as I realized she was right. There was nothing more for me to do.

  “Yes, Madame,” I replied quietly. “I understand.”

  I couldn’t go back to my old life. I was stuck here. And if that meant I had to bend over and take whatever Phillip had to offer, then so be it. I had signed up for this, and it was no one’s fault but my own. I turned and walked out of Myrina’s office, then went to my own chamber and sank down into my office chair, gazing sadly at the business phone. I reluctantly picked it up and dialed Phillip’s number.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - MICK

  Walking into Madame Myrina’s felt awkward this time, and I knew I had to break the tension immediately when I got in, if there was any hope that I could keep things from getting sour with Eric.

  As soon as I stepped inside, just like last time, I saw Eric in the lobby, but this time, he wasn’t talking to anyone. He was leaning against the wall in full uniform, chewing on his lip as he waited. Was he waiting for me? Sure, that was normal. It was just his job. I had to remind myself of that.

  But when he looked up at me, there was no denying that his face brightened. He smiled warmly at me and waved me over to him with such an energy that I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. The receptionist smirked at us as I made my way toward him, and he led me down the usual hallway.

  “Hey,” he greeted me informally, flashing a grin back at me.

  “Hey,” I said back, too taken aback to gather my thoughts. “Good to see you again.”

  “You too,” he said, leading me into the showers again. “You know the drill, let’s get you washed up.” There was a teasing edge to his voice this time, and his eyes were sparkling in a way I hadn’t seen before.

  My heart wanted so badly to hope that it was unusual, but I couldn’t let myself think that. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I reminded myself. I stripped down, and I felt Eric’s eyes on me. I tried to control myself, but I was already at half-mast thinking about what was going to happen tonight.

  “I’m glad to see an enthusiastic client,” he said in an almost singsong voice as he watched me get undressed for the shower. “Hard few days at work?”

  “You have no idea,” I admitted with a soft smile. “You’ve got a way of running through my head when things get tight on the job.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” he purred as I stepped into the shower.

  I took a breath while the hot water ran over my muscles and let me relax while I washed off. This was probably the best time to bring it up—and better yet, I didn’t have to face him directly to apologize, but I could still get the point across.

  “By the way, Eric,” I started, a little hesitation in my voice. I was half-expecting Eric to correct me to say “Sir,” but he seemed to recognize that I wanted to step out of character for a second.

  “Yes, Mick?” he said. There was anticipation in his voice that threw me off, but I pressed on.

  “I… about what happened last time I was here,” I said, closing my eyes. Eric didn’t interrupt me. “I kissed you before I left.” I paused for a beat, but I didn’t hear him trying to get a word in. I suddenly wished I could see his face so I could see if that was good or bad. “That was a clear breach of contract, and I… it was a mistake. A mistake I really regret, and I wish I could take it back.”

  There was a pause so long from the other side of the shower that I felt my gut wrenching. Finally, I heard a single syllable come from Eric in a tone that was hard to read.

  “… oh.”

  I bit my lip and pressed on. “I apologize. I’m
sure you hear this from bad clients all the time, but that’s not usually what I’m like.”

  “You’re not a bad client, Mick,” Eric assured me, and there was a kind of thickness to his voice that sounded strange.

  “Regardless,” I said, “I promise, it will never happen again.”

  “I see,” came Eric’s voice in a hollow tone. Suddenly, I didn’t want to come out of the shower.

  I had said exactly what I had rehearsed to myself, and it came out in the perfect tone and perfect pacing. I hadn’t stuttered or sounded insincere for a second, even though what I really wanted to do was spill my guts and let him know how I really felt. But this was the right thing to do.

  So, why didn’t Eric sound relieved?

  But I had to power through this. I wouldn’t let this make things tense between us. I quickly finished up my shower and stepped out to get dressed again.

  When I did, I saw that Eric looked totally different.

  He was leaning against one of the sinks, keeping his eyes away until I was dressed. He had looked relaxed when I came into the dungeon, but he suddenly looked a little stiffer, and not in the way we expected each other to be.

  He bit his lip a little before glancing back over to me. Even I could feel the awkwardness in the air. It didn’t help when I noticed him rub his eyes and saw that they were ringed with a little red that he was holding back. Had I upset him?

  I paused, opening my mouth to make sure everything was okay, but he beat me to the punch.

  “Shall we get started?” he asked, putting on a fake smile and nodding to the door. I hesitated, then nodded curtly.

  “Sure.”

  Walking into our room, I could tell immediately that something was different. There had been candles lit all around the room—not just the ones used for lighting, but some purple ones that gave off a dark and seductive scent. I caught Eric’s eyes glancing at them, a twinge of regret in his face.

  He picked up the old riding crop and gave me a light pat on the ass. “Shirt off, shoes off. You’re getting tied up a little differently today.