You, Me, and the Crazy Ex: A Club Stigmata Novella

by Luckett, Elle

  I threw on a pair of running shorts and tank top as quickly as I could, while Denton pulled on his jeans and a white T-shirt. Our eyes met as we headed to the door. I could see the fury and embarrassment in his, and I hated it.

  “Denton, stop.”

  “We should go and see what my ex has done now.” He met my eyes reading the possibilities there. “You have to have the same assumption I do, Em.”

  Running his hand through his damp hair, he made a move toward the door again, but I stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

  “That can wait. First, I need you to know this isn’t on you, so stop looking so damn guilty.”

  “Emerson.”

  “I mean it, Denton. That bitch presses your buttons just to get you to react, and I’m just a new button for her to push.”

  “You’re the one that’s starting to matter the most,” he confessed with a warm smile, a slight hint of surprise in his eyes. This was a look I could empathize with. He was important to me, too.

  “Which is why she’s not going to win.”

  “Emerson.”

  I smiled as his hands both gestured in the direction of the door with a scowl. I shrugged and headed to the door, stepping out before him.

  I understood his frustration. I did. The woman had him over a barrel. She’d managed to make him look like an abusive husband and was willing to take that to great lengths to continue getting what she wanted from him, which was mainly money and control. For someone who was supposedly submissive, she had a lot of gall. It wasn’t unusual for submissive women to be powerful outside of the bedroom. Subs came from every walk of life but making any person this miserable felt as though it was out of place, completely out of character.

  We made our way down the stairs of my apartment to where my parents were standing side by side, staring at the garage. My dad had his phone out and was taking photographs while my mom tipped her head from side to side—her scowl more than enough to tell me she was trying to figure out what it all meant.

  I understood the confusion went hand-in-hand. Denton and I turned to look at the building.

  Scrawled in crude red paint was a message. The CS of Club Stigmata’s logo was badly drawn, and the words next to it were almost illegible.

  Dirty Homewrecking Hore Bitch

  “She spelled whore wrong,” I pointed out, deadpan, bringing three sets of eyes on me.

  I hated that Kara Strake had figured out that I hadn’t shared that side of my life with anyone outside of the club environment and was using that information against me. I hated that I was being forced to unveil parts of myself that I’d never intended my parents knowing. Only, what Kara hadn’t figured out, was that I wasn’t ashamed of who I was. I wasn’t ashamed of being submissive, and I wasn’t embarrassed about knowing what I liked. It was a personal preference that I chose to keep to myself because it wasn’t pertinent to share.

  If that was all she could get to use on me, I could eliminate that with one awkward conversation.

  “I fail to find the humor in this, Emerson,” my father said gently, the hand holding the phone swinging to his side. He glanced at Denton, obviously having questions but choosing to focus on the problem at hand first. “Why on earth would anyone deface our home this way?”

  “That’s—” Denton started, but I cut him off with a gentle squeeze of my hand.

  “Mom, Dad, I think we need to talk. I’m going to give Tristan a call and tell him I’m going to be late. Then we can talk over breakfast,” I said, leaving no room for argument. When my mom glanced at Denton again, I gave a soft smile. “This is my friend Denton Strake, and I’ll explain more over the fantastic breakfast that Dad’s gonna make us.”

  It was going to take a while for the cops to show up. I was pretty sure even in the Garden District, destruction of property calls weren’t going to be high on the list of priorities. I was also hoping my parents would let me handle this situation. If this bitch wanted to play hardball, I was going all in. I just wasn’t sure Kara Strake was prepared for the outcome.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was a long morning.

  My parents weren’t shocked by my revelation. When I gave them the truth about my sexual preferences, they sat still for a long time before they simply accepted it. There was no disgust or shame laid at my feet, and as I had suspected, they barely blinked. The most either of them said about the whole situation was that as long as I was happy and careful, it was my choice. After I’d confirmed it was what I wanted, and that I had been happy about it for a long time, they gave me a smile and met me with encouragement. Something that seemed to endlessly impress Denton who had sat with me the entire time, holding my hand as though waiting for a fallout that never happened.

  That was the easy part.

  The hard part came in the form of two of New Orleans finest showing up at my door and asking questions.

  I knew that it made Denton uncomfortable to talk about the past and the charges his wife had accused him of. It was difficult for him to deal with two of his peers staring at him as though he were a bug that needed to be squashed. There was no escaping a charge like that. Once you were tarred with that brush, the label followed you everywhere and implicated you in everything that could possibly go wrong.

  By the time we were finished with the mess, there was no point in me going into work. I called to see if I was needed anyway, and once I’d explained the entire situation, Tristan kindly told me to take the rest of the day off and enjoy my weekend.

  So, I did, and I spent the day with Denton in his workshop, watching him working off his frustrations on wood while his muscles rippled under the surface of his sweat-dampened skin, gaining a thin layer of sawdust that clung to him. It was easy to see that his work was a way for him to lose himself and rid his mind of the bullshit that he told me followed him like a dark cloud. His mind and body found comfort in the pleasure of creating something beautiful, the sound of it easing me like a balm.

  As lost as he was in his work, Denton never seemed to get lost enough to forget me. Every time my presence crossed his mind, he would glance my way, his blue eyes warm, his rugged smile heated as though making sure I was still there as his own personal audience before he would shake his head and get back to work.

  I was stretched out in a patch of sun on one of his workbenches when he finally took a break. Van Morrison’s Veedon Fleece album was played quietly from the turntable that was hidden in one of his cabinets. The gentle crackle and pop of the vinyl added to the atmosphere of our afternoon together, lulling me into a warm trance of relaxation. When Denton finally reached me, his rough palms trailed from my ankles and followed every curve of my body like he was studying a beautiful statue. My skin pebbled in its wake as little excess flutters of wood fell from his forearms and stuck to my shorts and shirt as he took his time. He swooped in for a kiss as soon as he was close enough, his lips warm and soft, his body smelling masculine and woodsy as he had the first night I’d sat by him on the streetcar.

  This was a good kiss. The kind that started heavy and slow as Denton indulged in his own desires, but easily became desperate and frenzied as passion gave way to need. He hadn’t touched me since we’d driven back to his place after talking to the cops, but I welcomed the touch now, yearning for it and meeting him with my own need.

  “I know you don’t want me to say it,” he finally said against my lips, his breathing coming harder. “But I’m sorry.”

  I smiled, my lips curling against his, and I let my eyes flutter open to meet the fair blue of his.

  “I’m going to accept that apology if it makes you feel better.”

  “What would make me feel better is you coming so hard you forget God's name and scream mine instead.” He ran his hand back down over my shorts, his hand pressing down against my mound enough to add pressure to my clit. I gasped, the sound twisting into a hungry moan as he moved his hand, circling slowly, constantly applying pressure and igniting a slow-burning fire inside my body. When my h
ips rose as I sought for more pressure and friction, Denton clicked his tongue quietly, his mouth moving to my ear, and his breath brushing over the shell of it as he pressed his thumb to the seam of my shorts, adding another layer of pleasure with direct pressure to my clit.

  “Our fun today was interrupted.”

  All I was capable of was humming in agreement—something that amused him to no end.

  “I’m still going to make you wait until tonight, Emerson.”

  “But…”

  “Oh, this isn’t negotiable, sweetheart.”

  “Yes, Sir.” As the endearment left my lips, Denton pressed the seam roughly against my clit again, sending my breath stuttering from my chest in one long stream.

  “How about we put that pretty mouth of yours to work for now?” Denton pulled back, and my eyes fluttered open. I could only imagine what he saw there: heat, urgency, need, and my acquiescence. His Dominant side had woken up now, it wasn’t going anywhere, and my submissive side was rising to meet it more than willingly. With one last defiant roll of my hips against his hand, I nodded. It looked like I was spending the rest of the day on my knees.

  * * *

  I loved Friday nights at Stigmata. The weekend crowd normally didn’t venture in during the week, and if they didn’t have a committed relationship, they let all of that energy build up until they walked through those doors of the club and allowed that subdued part of themselves to shine. You could feel the crackle of excitement in the atmosphere. It was pure energy that rode the bass of the music filtering through the speakers.

  Denton and I had arrived together, and that didn’t go unnoticed by some of the girls I usually spent time with during lonelier times in the club. Their eyes moved to the man standing at my side with his hand resting casually on the back of my neck while his thumb ran along my spine adoringly, and he grinned at me. Their silent congratulations were an unneeded reminder of how lucky I’d been to arrive so early to allow the chance meeting between us.

  On my wrists, for the first time since I’d become a member, sat a set of leather cuffs announcing that I was unavailable. Cuffs that Denton had honored me and asked me to wear.

  My afternoon with him had been perfect, filled with everything he’d promised and more. He’d fucked my mouth every possible angle he could manage. He’d brought me high with him but never let me slide over the edge into oblivion as he had. I was now a live wire waiting for that switch to tell me it was okay to fall. My skin was sensitive to the touch, and he used that to his advantage every chance he got.

  When he leaned in, his breath on my ear made me shudder in excitement.

  “I have to talk with the Haywards for a moment. Go and find a scene that you like and watch. I’ll find you as soon as I can.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’m sure you know the drill, but just so we’re clear, if someone bothers you, you show them your cuffs. You let them know that you’re mine.”

  His. That one word had more power than he could have possibly understood.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Pick something good.”

  I smiled and dropped my eyes to my feet coyly. “Yes, Sir.”

  With a gentle pat of his palm on my ass, I stepped away and headed to the stairs that led to the club level. I skipped down them, more than aware that Kammie had slipped away from her master—with his permission—and was right behind me.

  “I want to know everything,” she said, looping her arm through mine and grinning as I held up my wrist and glanced back over my shoulder to see Denton’s amused smile at my display.

  “I don’t know where to start,” I confessed, walking slowly with her to the roped off areas that had a few couples beginning their scenes for the evening. “I’ve spent all week with him.”

  “You went twenty-four-seven on me?”

  “No.” My reply came on a laugh as I shook my head, stopping to watch a Dom securing his sub to a sawhorse. The thought of being a full time submissive hadn’t really crossed my mind before, and I didn’t think it was something Denton wanted from me, either. “We’re just spending time together. I’ve stayed at his place most nights, but it wasn’t as Dom and sub. Just him and me.”

  “You like him?” Her tone didn’t leave much room for misinterpretation. So, I nodded and glanced down at my bare feet, unwilling to let her see just how much.

  I couldn’t even begin to explain how I felt about Denton to myself most of the time. When I allowed myself, in those quiet moments of weakness, to admit how deeply my feelings ran, I held them close, not allowing myself to tear my emotions apart. I really didn’t want to have to put my feelings into words for anyone else just yet. There was no way in hell that this emotional attachment would make sense. Then, whether I wanted to admit it or not, there was the Kara situation. It wasn’t my right to bring her up, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to because it all circled back to this impossible connection I had with this man and my unwillingness to let him go.

  “I know that look, Em. I wore that look even if it was with more nervousness than you are. Trust me when I say that it’s worth it.” She used our linked arms to turn me so I was facing her, and we smiled at one another. “Christopher gave me some words of wisdom, and I think you could benefit from them.”

  “Christopher?”

  “He said, why waste time trying to explain why you love someone when you can be spending that time loving them?”

  I smiled brightly. I was encouraged by the words and the man that had spoken them. I couldn’t really imagine Christopher saying that because I’d only ever really known the man that inhabited this club and lived to dominate with his sadism. He was a gentleman that emanated power and strength, but the sentiment, though not his usual style, almost seemed right for him.

  “Smart man.”

  “Intuitive man,” Kammie said with a quiet chuckle. “The point is, you’re uniquely you, and there are no rules to life and the way you feel. You have to do what’s best for you. Whatever you’re feeling, feel it, and enjoy it.”

  Glancing over my shoulder and spotting Denton talking to Thomas on the bar level, I felt the swarm of birds rock my belly. Butterflies didn’t even begin to cut it anymore. I did allow myself to feel that stirring of genuine emotions for this man, and I was almost confident that Denton felt the same way about me. I just wasn’t sure how receptive he would be when he had the shadow of Kara and their marriage hanging over him like it was.

  Almost like he knew I was thinking about him, Denton glanced up and met my eyes, his smile enough to send the wings inside me fluttering again. He stared at me for a long while, studying me before he moved his finger in a circular motion, finally telling me to face the scene that was just beginning behind me. I did as I was told, my mind a sudden mess of lust and ideas on how to free him from the woman that was holding his life captive.

  Women like Kara only knew one language, and I was pretty confident I would know how to speak it when I was pushed. I just didn't want to give her any more airtime tonight. Especially not when I had such a promising evening with Denton planned.

  “Looks like I’m being beckoned by my lord and master,” Kammie chirped from beside me as she unwound our arms. “We’re trying out Denton’s spool piece tonight. Tristan was convinced by Thomas, who had very high praises.” She wiggled her eyebrows and stepped back with a brighter smile. “Just think about what I said.”

  “It’s not going to take much convincing on my part.”

  “I feel like there’s a but coming.”

  “Only yours from the look Tristan is giving you,” I said, feeling a bit more cheerful.

  “I do like it when that man focuses on my ass.” Kammie grinned at me for a second longer before turning and heading toward her man with her eyes firmly on her feet, while I did what I was told and finally focused on the fascinating use of a Hitachi.

  Chapter Twelve

  I knew the moment Denton approached me. My whole body was attuned to him, and it made my skin pebb
le as the heat of his chest beat against my back now there were only inches between us.

  “You see something that interests you?” he asked, choosing to hover inches from me rather than come close with an offer of touch. It was divine torture.

  I’d stayed in place at the scene where the Dom had been using the Hitachi with effective precision on his sub. If I’d thought my body was a live wire when we’d arrived, it was nothing compared to how I felt after subjecting myself to almost twenty minutes of watching the Dom using pleasure to torture the woman now panting for mercy. The screams of the sub were louder than ever, her body twitching and convulsing as she fought against her natural reaction to the Dom’s relentless pushing of the wand against her swollen and exposed clit. Denton felt it, too. The low vibrations of his excitement rushed through my body, greeting my own, only forcing the anticipation and need to roll from me wave after wave. I imagined it was enough to drown in at this point.

  “Emerson. Answer me,” he commanded roughly, that sexy purr in his demanding tone.

  “Yes,” I said, barely above a whisper.

  “Have you played with a wand before?”

  “Never, Sir.”

  “I’ve heard it described as exquisite torture,” he said, one of his arms circling my waist and pulling me back against him. His touch confirmed that he was just as aroused as I was. His erection pressed against my back, twitching as I rocked subtly. “I have something else planned for you tonight, but I can promise you, I will own one before we play in my dungeon.”

  Denton let his hand drop to my thigh and dragged it up the inside of it, under the short skirt of the dress where I was bare as per his instructions. I wasn’t sure how much I could handle him touching me without coming, and he was more than aware of that because the feather-light touch of his fingers was designed to be a torture all on its own.

  “So wet already.” He let one finger slip between my folds and hummed out a quiet laugh when my body rocked almost violently against it. “Are you ready to play?”