by Eden Bradley
“Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I know it’s not true.” He got up off the bed, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes, knowing he was the cause. He reached for her hand and leaned in to brush a kiss across her cheek. “Come on. Let’s not argue anymore. Not tonight. Stay with me. Please.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Only if you want me here. If you want me to stay. I can’t do this half-assed thing where I’m the only one who wants me here with you.”
“I do want you here. I really am going to have to pack. But I want you here where I can see you. Talk to you. Touch you.”
She blew out a breath. “I don’t mind the packing.”
He pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers. He wanted to ignore how soft she was, how sweet, but he had to kiss her once more before pulling back.
“I’m going to be gone for a few days. Can we not get into anything heavy right now? We’ll talk more when I get back from my trip. I still . . . obviously have some stuff to wrap my head around.”
“Okay. It can wait,” she agreed.
He wrapped her in his arms and she leaned into him. He didn’t want to think about how good she felt. He didn’t want to think about anything.
“Why don’t you curl up in bed while I pack? You can help me figure out what to take.”
She climbed back into bed in her tank and her panties. She was fucking adorable.
“How have you managed on your own all these years, Mick?”
“Probably by running out of socks on every trip.”
“Men.”
“Why do I have a feeling you’re quoting Marie Dawn?”
“Because from her comes the wisdom of the universe,” she said soberly.
“That’s what she keeps telling Neal, anyway.”
Allie laughed, and he felt the knot in his gut loosen a little as he went into his office to grab his suitcase from the closet. It seemed he’d gotten around the tension. For now. But he’d think about that later, after his trip. Right now things were okay with Allie—or at least in a holding pattern—and a little less intense. He had a few days just to chill, which was what he needed.
You need her.
Yeah, that too. Which was why the timing of this trip couldn’t have been better. He couldn’t think straight with Allie this close, this accessible. A few days away would give him perspective.
* * *
MAY IN ATLANTA was almost as hot and muggy as New Orleans, but Mick had always liked this town. He was booked into his usual hotel, the Omni—it had a killer view of the Atlanta skyline and was central to his business contacts. And to the local dungeon, 2112, where he was meeting his friend Finn tonight.
He and Finn had met each other on the kink circuit five years earlier, and they hung out together whenever they were in each other’s cities, or at the fetish conventions, where Finn often lectured on BDSM safety and his favorite topic, mind-fuck. He was a true sadist, one of the best Doms Mick had ever seen, and a good friend.
Mick stared out at the incredible view, the city lights a sea of color against the dark sky. The sky was clearer here than in New Orleans. His head was clearer here than in New Orleans.
He’d spoken with Allie several times in the last few days, checking in on her. They’d kept the conversation light. He hadn’t mentioned to her that he was extending his trip by a day or two so he could play at 2112. No, he’d texted a short message to her a few hours earlier saying business was keeping him longer than expected.
He hated that he’d lied to her. But he’d excused it by telling himself that letting her know he was going to play with someone else would only hurt her.
It wasn’t as if he’d promised to play exclusively with her.
He turned from the window and grabbed the keys to his rental car. There was no point in beating himself up about it. He was doing what he needed to in order to get his head on straight. It was that simple. He fucking needed simple.
The drive to 2112 in Atlanta’s historic Adair Park area only took fifteen minutes. He found parking across the street from the club—although from the outside no one would have known what went on behind closed doors.
The place was a beautifully restored Craftsman bungalow set on a large hill lot at the end of the street, three stories of gorgeous old architecture, outfitted from top to bottom for kink. He’d been a number of times before and knew many of the regulars. Still, he’d called Finn and asked him to set up a play partner or two for the night.
He grabbed the small play bag he often took when he traveled from the trunk of the rental car and walked up the long driveway to the house. It was only when he stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door that he could hear the music playing inside.
The ornately carved door was opened by a hulking man in a black leather vest.
“Evening, Mick,” the man greeted him.
“Evening, Richard,” Mick said as he moved past him into the club.
He nodded at the pair of collared subbie girls corseted in white leather at the desk, a matching pair of blondes. 2112 always did it up right.
“Good evening, Mick, Sir,” they chorused.
“We have your online check-in, Sir,” one of them said. “You’re welcome to go on through.”
“Thank you.”
He moved through the door to the right and into what was originally a parlor but was now a sort of lounge for members of the club. It was decorated in early Craftsman style, with a few additions. There were large eyebolts in the floor next to chairs and sofas to which a leash or rope or chains could be attached, and an old gun case against one wall held a nice array of paddles, floggers and crops. Another young woman in the club’s official white leather corset and collar approached with a carefully balanced silver tray holding a decanter of whisky and several crystal glasses.
“A beverage for you, Sir?”
He rarely drank on a play night, but a little extra relaxation sounded good.
He nodded, and watched as the pretty girl balanced the tray with one hand and managed to pour with the other. She smiled as she handed him the glass.
“For your pleasure, Sir.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
He smiled back, paused a few moments to look over her soft curves, the mane of red hair cascading over her shoulders, before nodding his dismissal. She was a pretty little thing, but even if she hadn’t been contracted to train at the house, he wasn’t interested in the slave mentality. Still, he wasn’t dead. He watched her hips sway as she walked away to offer a drink to another member.
He moved through the lounge and back into the second parlor, known as the Spanking Room. This room was more dimly lit and more comfortably furnished, though still in Craftsman style. Here the submissives were mostly naked. Several were draped over a lap and being soundly spanked. Small sighs and cries of pain or pleasure filled the air, and he felt that familiar tingle of anticipation deep in his bones.
He walked through, keeping an eye out for Finn—and finally found him standing in the opposite doorway, heavily tattooed arms crossed over his massive chest, watching the action. Finn was an enormous man, with tribal Maori ink covering most of his body and a short crop of spiky platinum blond hair. His appearance could be intimidating to those who didn’t know him, but despite his wicked Dom side he was a real gentle giant, someone who laughed a lot. His thick Australian accent added to that sense of ease, and he was damn good company.
Finn clapped Mick on the back, his huge hands giving him a good pounding.
“How are you, my friend?” the big man asked.
“Doing okay.”
“I’m not so sure that’s true, but we can talk more later. I’ve set up a few potential play partners for you. Would you like to meet them? Or do you want to relax first?”
“I’d like to finish this drink and hang ou
t for a while.”
“Sounds good. Think I’ll join you. I’ll meet you in the main room in a minute.”
“Sure.”
Mick turned to let himself through the glass-paned double doors that led to the largest play area on the main floor of the house. The lights were even dimmer in there, red, purple and amber lamps casting color and shadow in the room, which was a real dungeon room with padded spanking benches, the big St. Andrew’s crosses that looked like giant Xs made of wood, some of them freestanding in the center of the room and double-sided. There were enormous bondage frames made of heavy wood in the Craftsman style, even with the faux exposed rafters mimicking those under the eaves of a Craftsman building’s roofline. There were other pieces of equipment: chains hanging from the ceiling with thick iron spreader bars or heavy leather cuffs attached, special thronelike chairs made for interrogation scenes, cages lined with fur rugs. In between the equipment were comfortable seating areas for those who wanted to watch and for aftercare use. A number of people were already playing, and the room was filled with naked bodies and an air of wanting that reminded him too sharply of what he’d needed to get away from.
But she’s not here.
No, it was just him, a club that was familiar enough for him to feel at home, a good friend, and the girls he would play tonight to work some of this tension out of his body, and hopefully his damn head.
Finn found him, drink in hand, and they chose a long sofa to sit on.
Finn raised his glass. “Cheers, mate.”
“Cheers.” Mick raised his glass in salute, then tipped it back and swallowed. “Damn good Scotch,” he remarked.
“As always. Do you need another?”
“Not yet.”
His friend studied him for a moment. Even in the dusky colored light he could see Finn’s piercing blue gaze searching his face.
“So,” Finn started.
“So,” Mick finished—or so he thought.
“So, you going to tell me about it?”
“Tell you about what?”
“Don’t try to bullshit me, mate. I’m the mind-fuck expert, remember? My psychology degree has trained me to run circles around people’s minds.”
“Don’t even fucking consider crawling inside my head, old friend. You might not like what you see in there.”
“Do you really think anything could shock me? And that’s starting to sound like whining, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Finn raised a hand when Mick started to protest. “Yes, I’m sure you do mind. Whatever. I say what I think. As you well know.”
“Don’t think I didn’t come here knowing that.”
“In which case you must have wanted to hear what I have to say.”
“Since it’s fucking inevitable,” Mick said, not even trying to keep the wry sarcasm out of his voice.
“Damn right.” Finn leaned back and slung an arm across the back of the couch. “Shall we dance around this a little more, or are you ready to spill?”
Mick blew out a breath, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, avoiding Finn’s knowing gaze. “I hate this transparent communication shit sometimes, you know?” he muttered.
“Then you shouldn’t have become a Dominant. Not in this circle, anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Out with it. There’s no other way, mate.”
“Fuck.” He ran a hand back through his hair. “There’s this woman,” he began.
Finn’s grin was blissful. “Isn’t there always?”
“Yeah. But not like Allie. She’s the one who’s been haunting me since high school. The one I can’t forget. She’s back in town after being gone . . . well, a long time. Years. And she’s into it, the kink. Hard core. We’re playing. And it’s totally fucking with my head.”
“Because you want her or because you don’t? And you don’t have to answer me. You’re the one who has to know.”
Mick shook his head. “I don’t have that answer. I mean, of course I want her. Christ, I’ve never wanted a woman as much. But ask me if I can give her what she wants? What she needs? That I can’t figure out. To be honest—hell, with myself, even—I just don’t know that I’m up to it. What do I know about relationships? The last real one I had was with her in high school.”
“Yeah, fucking pathetic. But from what you’ve told me, that was the real thing. Love, right?”
“Yeah, it was,” he said, an edge of fierceness in his voice.
Love. Christ, he had loved her so damn much. It made his chest ache even now. He’d carried it with him all these years. Carried her with him, unable to ever let her go.
He sipped his drink, his fingers flexing hard on the glass. “I thought some time and distance would clarify things, but it hasn’t done a damn thing. I’ll have to deal with it—with her—when I get home. I came here tonight to forget for a while.”
After several silent moments Mick turned around to look at Finn. His expression was thoughtful.
“It’s your thing, you know, Mick. Your decision to make. I’m thinking maybe you’re too much in your own head.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
Finn grinned. “I know a good way to get out of it.”
“That was my thought, too.”
“Ready to meet Princess, then?”
“Princess?”
His nickname for Allie since high school. Fuck.
He knew the subbie girls often chose cute nicknames, but why did this one have to be Princess?
“She’s a real beauty. Goes down nice and easy. Loves the ropes.”
Shake it off. It’s not her.
“Where is she?”
Finn made a gesture, and Mick followed the direction of his hand to see a petite woman with luscious curves and long hair dyed hot pink. She was dressed in nothing but a pale pink thong and pink knee-high boots. As she drew closer he could see that her nipples were pierced. She smiled shyly as she approached.
“Princess, this is Mick, our visitor from New Orleans. Be nice to him.”
“Of course, Finn,” she said, her voice soft, feminine.
His cock should have been hardening at the sight of her. She had a gorgeous, hot little body, her breasts large and firm, and a beautiful face to match. A prime girl—he was certain her time was vied for at the club.
“Hi, Princess.”
He couldn’t stand to call her that. Could not. Fucking. Stand it.
“Hello, Sir. Or . . . should I call you something else?”
Allie called him Mick.
“‘Sir’ is fine.”
“I would be very happy to play with you, Sir,” she said, looking up at him through long lashes. Her eyes were blue. Not that rich golden brown, like Allie’s.
Stop thinking about her.
That was the whole point in being here. So why was he finding it so damn difficult to do the things he always did with the greatest pleasure?
Finn rose to his feet. “You two seem to be doing just fine. Unless you’d prefer I stay for negotiations, Princess?”
“No, Finn, Sir. I’m fine, thank you.” She smiled, dropped a small curtsy. She was absolutely charming.
Except he was still left entirely untouched by her.
Mick stood, grabbed Finn’s arm, said quietly, “I don’t know about this, Finn.”
“Is she not to your liking? I have Tina waiting for me, but I’d be happy to trade out. She’s an amazing player. Sassy. You’d like her. Of course, Princess is top-notch, too. But if there’s no connection . . .”
Mick shook his head. “It’s not that. She’s as gorgeous as you said and I can tell she’s well trained. But I’m not . . . fuck all, I don’t know what my problem is.”
Finn looked thoughtful, then he gestured to Princess. “Sweetheart, go and
wait for me with Tina, that’s a good girl.”
Princess blushed, curtsied to Mick and left. But not before he saw the disappointed pout on her pretty face.
“Oh, that girl back in New Orleans has your head twisted the fuck up, mate, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah. She does. Sorry, Finn. I thought this would be the best thing for me, coming here to play. To work some of this . . . whatever it is out of my system.”
“You know, I’ve seen a few guys in your position, and it seems the only thing that’ll really work is to work her.”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” Mick said, his hands fisting at his sides. His head was spinning. “I can’t believe I can’t do this.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Finn said. “Just do what you need to. Go home and fuck her right through the walls. Play her until she screams. Go to the gym and pummel someone’s head in. Go to one of your fights. Work it out, mate. You can handle it.”
Mick clapped Finn on the back. “Thanks for understanding.”
“No worries. I won’t let her go to waste,” Finn said with a wide grin.
“I’m sure you won’t.”
“Good to see you. Try a longer visit next time. Or I’ll come and see you soon, anyway, to talk about working with you. And Mick, let me know how it goes, will you?”
“Yeah, I will.”
He passed back through the club, his brain in a tangle—images of Allie, of the woman called Princess, and a slow, simmering anger. It was himself he was pissed at, though.
Maybe Finn had the right idea, he thought as he got back into the rental car and started the engine. Maybe he needed to go home and go to the fight club.
Punching someone in the face—in a consensual environment, of course—would feel fucking great, he had to admit. Didn’t matter if they hit him back. Hell, that was part of it all, anyway—the chance of being hit. Even the pain, Dom or not.
He needed to find the next flight out of Atlanta. Had to get back to his city.
And fuck it, he had to see Allie.
CHAPTER