“Same as Jon,” Trevor concurred.
“I appreciate it. I was…hell, I thought Lois…”
“So you said, and showed us,” Jon said dryly.
Trevor broke in. “If we didn’t understand your shit, Maurice, we’d have laid a licking on you. If you recall, I was so freaking desperate for my One I cut a swathe through every available submissive here and at two other clubs.”
“All the young subs.” Jon put the knife in and the front legs of Trevor’s chair slammed down.
“Fuck you, Spence. You never let me forget it. And you remind Lois, too.”
“Only when you’re getting more than your fair share of her time.”
Maurice eased his way toward the door. Jon had spirited Lois right out from under his nose, but also away from Trevor. She was older than Jon and nearly Trevor’s age, not that it mattered, but Trevor’s prior interest in young submissives was clearly still a point of contention. He’d said what he’d come to say and thought to leave them to sort out their own shit.
Abruptly, both men dropped the subject and faced him. Trevor spoke first. “Lois never held it against you, Alain. She’s too sweet for that. You can address her when she’s here next, but there’s really no need.”
“I’ll apologize anyhow. It’s necessary.”
“You turning over new leaf or something? Coming out of that hermit shell?”
“Or something.”
Jon narrowed his eyes, his shaved head gleaming under the overhead lighting. “You got yourself a sub.”
Maurice hesitated. He’d come by that label honestly. Hermit. He was reticent, and maybe it was time to change. The other men just watched him.
“I think I do. I do. That is—”
Guffaws filled the room. Trevor heaved up out of the chair and punched him in the arm. Jon pushed off the desk and copied him. Maurice’s bicep throbbed under the impact.
“Welcome to the D/s full-time relationship status, buddy. Can’t wait to meet her. It is a her?”
Fuck Jon. Lois had broken down the man’s reserve, and he displayed a wicked sense of humor—but at other people’s expense.
“Her,” he confirmed. “Just her. I’m not into men, and she isn’t either, aside from me. Ever.”
“Well, neither of us could be your third anyhow.” Trevor was as practical as ever.
“I’m bringing her tonight. Owyn’s got the door.”
“Ah. Well, Griffin’s little subbie is about to make her appearance, too. She finally came around, although I’m not so sure Rees and Owyn…but that’s neither here nor there. And Lois is coming. It’ll be like old home week.”
Maurice got a warm feeling. A feeling of anticipation and belonging. He tested it cautiously. “Susan is a little uncertain. I was hoping people could…ease the way.”
Jon blinked, his hewn features softening. “You picked a newbie? You? But you want a twenty-four-seven sub. A slave.” He said it almost reverently, the title bestowed on so few subs, although Lois didn’t quite fit into that category, by choice.
Sharing how he and Susan met blew both of his fellow Doms away, but Maurice insisted Susan was submissive. Trevor shook his head. “Well, if anybody can read a sub better than my asshole partner here, it’s you, Maurice. Life around the Club just got a whole lot more interesting.”
Jon agreed. “Keira is going to push limits. That’ll be entertaining.”
“Susan won’t push.” His voice rang with certainty, even to his own ears. She might question him in private, but never in public.
“We’ll ask Lois to fill her in,” Trevor promised. “Kennedy would be someone you should introduce her to, as well.”
Uh, no. Lois was a sweet little sub and didn’t rock any boats. Kennedy only occasionally chose to submit and gave her Dom fits. Maybe Emily…or Olivia. Elise was too busy with her baby as was Ivone, although Ivone still came to the Club at times. And her Master was a lot like Maurice, before he found Susan…He gave up, recognizing what he couldn’t control. Susan would get exposed to a variety of BDSM lifestyles. But in the end she would have to accept his own. Arrogant much? Indeed he was, and immovable, too. Susan would conform, and he’d give her no reason to regret it.
They left Pat’s office together, talking about the imminent birth of that Dom’s child, and how glad Jon would be to hand over the reins to the Club’s owner. Maurice headed out to pick up Susan and get ready for the evening, maybe the biggest evening of the beginning of the rest of his life. He should be tired after putting in the hours on the door last night, then picking Susan up from the bar to take her home, but he felt amazingly well. Owyn and Rees were so ready to stand in for him that his small cadre of…friends was indeed growing.
He’d pushed Susan the night before, engaging with Ray when she displayed her diffidence, not wanting to let the old man down by putting herself first. He wondered if she’d come to understand it yet. He was going to take care of her no matter how she protested, and of course he was being a tad selfish, too. He really wanted Susan to attend the Club and further her education. If he didn’t get inside of her soon…
The way she’d caught up with him in the bar proper, needing the reassurance he wasn’t withholding, well, he had to remember not to use that insecurity against her. And find out where it had taken root. They needed to spend more time together just talking, but her infernal work schedule precluded it.
She was so tired at the end of last night, she’d dozed in his truck, and he wondered if that was the case every night and if the cabbie ever was an asshole. The work he and Adam had done on the steps and porch pushed her into breakdown mode, and it had taken all of his efforts to soothe and reassure her. She was alternately grateful and resentful, blessing the work while insisting she’d have come to hire it done. Kissing her senseless had finally stopped the verbal barrage, and she appeared to resign herself to his determination to take care of her—for now.
He could have stayed the night, but knew he’d bed her and it would smack of a payoff for his repair work. Grimacing ruefully, Maurice steered his way against traffic toward the floral shop. Susan had given him very clear signals of wanting him in her bed, and his final kiss goodnight had erased a pout, if not calming his frustrated cock.
They hadn’t even managed breakfast this morning because Susan had slept in, for the first time ever, she assured him. Watching her flit around the house, getting ready for work, talking to herself under her breath, had been an interesting experience, one Maurice enjoyed more than he’d thought possible. Or maybe it was just because it was Susan and him in close proximity. But she’d dashed between the bath and bedroom in nothing but her underwear, something a modest woman like herself would never do unless she was comfortable with him, albeit in a tearing hurry. Well, her modesty would be under fire in a short while. Even the memory of her in those scraps of lace had him shifting to ease his erection.
Once he arrived at the shop, Missy twittered around, attempting to escort him into the back of the shop where Susan was in conversation with her boss.
“She’s thirty, you know.” Missy’s sweet voice and angelic face were at odds with the nastiness in her voice.
“Prime,” he agreed easily, and nearly laughed when she stepped back and gave him an evil stare.
Susan saw him and left Felicity in midsentence. His chest hurt in a good way, a sudden pang of delight, and he moved to gather her in for a kiss. She returned it, more at ease with showing her affection in public. Having her in his home, in his bed, in his life, forever, couldn’t come too soon.
“You ready?”
“You’re late,” she teased. “That’s a surprise.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not late. Unlike someone who was nearly late for work this morning.” He regretted they hadn’t even had time for more than a coffee and slice of toast, let alone more time to talk.
Pink tinged her cheeks, and he could see how she resolutely didn’t look at Missy. Felicity chuckled behind her, and Susan turned.
“I understand you t
wo have a date tonight.”
Maurice supposed Susan had explained their date carefully. Her boss was a good friend of Susan’s mother, and he could hardly expect her to tell Felicity they were going to his club. Let alone the type of club.
“We do. Our second.”
Felicity’s eyes danced, and she smiled widely. “Well, Susan has tomorrow off.”
At Susan’s protest, Felicity gestured her silent. “Missy is looking forward to learning all of the various aspects of the floral business, aren’t you, honey?”
Missy’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she muttered her agreement and flitted off to the front of the shop, where she took up her usual vigil near the window. Maurice knew a pair of brothers who could teach the snooty girl a few things about manners, and a whole lot about herself. Missy was a lush, curvy blonde, just the type they seemed to prefer.
He felt Susan watching him watch Missy and immediately focused his attention back on her. “I’ll see that Susan takes full advantage of her day off.”
“See that you do!” Felicity hugged Susan, looping an arm around her waist, and said something he couldn’t hear, but his woman’s face got pinker.
“Going,” she muttered and headed for the door.
Maurice caught up to her just before she opened the door for herself, and turned the knob, hemming her in with his body as he did so. “Temper, sweetheart?” He was careful to say it for her alone.
Body tense, she accompanied him to the vehicle. As they drove to her home, she finally replied. “Everyone is telling me what to do.”
“People who care about you…And that’s bad because?”
She laughed. “Okay. It isn’t. I’m just not used to it.”
“Yet.”
Her breath blew out in an audible gasp. “Okay, I give. But…”
“What?” He couldn’t watch her face, his eyes on the road.
“You’re asking a lot, Maurice. And I’ve known you just a few days.”
“I don’t waste time,” he agreed, pulling into the fast lane, and not just literally. “I’ve been honest. And I’ll be patient.”
With a sigh, she asked, “What do I wear tonight?”
“I’ll see what you have and find an outfit.”
“Not PVC. I don’t have anything like that.”
Relieved her sense of humor had resurrected, he reached out a hand, and she tucked hers against his palm. “Not PVC.”
* * * *
“I don’t have a thong. Or a push-up bra. And I’m wearing a bra.”
Maurice found a silky top with short sleeves and a charcoal pencil skirt. He passed them to Susan, saying, “Your breasts are full and heavy. A bustier would be my preferred choice, but a bra is fine. And you can pass on the panties.”
“What?”
Catching her up, he pulled her close, the articles of clothing falling to the floor between them. “Susan. Sweetheart. This is your first night at my club. I want you to feel comfortable while looking your best. You haven’t committed yet. When you do, I’ll dress you as I see fit. And you can wear underwear tonight.”
Her eyes dilated, and she relaxed against him. Relief and arousal warred on her lovely features. Carefully, he set her aside and bent to pick up crumpled fabric. “Get dressed. We’ll go out for dinner, then go back to my place so I can change.”
“But you look fine. Dressed for dinner.”
“I don’t wear these kinds of clothes at the Club, sweetheart. Anyhow, I’d like you to see your—my—home, before later.”
“I’d love to see your home.”
Fuck. She missed little, his Susan. But what was his would also be hers. He touched her cheek and left her to change her clothing, while he headed out to the porch to scent the flowers so lovingly tended in the backyard. If he stayed to help her, they wouldn’t be leaving the house.
When he came back inside, his libido under control, she was at the kitchen table, leaning over it. He surveyed the roundness of her ass, beautifully displayed by the taut material of the skirt, and was again hard and erect. Fuck.
“I don’t understand it.” Susan shuffled through the mail she’d retrieved earlier from the front door mailbox. He thought he’d soon either have the lock changed or help her find the key. He hoped she’d be settled in his home in the very near future, but regardless, both doors needed to open, no matter who lived here.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find the ambulance bill for…well, the day we met.”
“That’s because I took care of it.”
“Maurice.” Her eye roll was covert, but he saw it.
“I nearly ran you down, sweetheart. My bad. I paid it.”
“I was partly to blame.”
“And I’m never letting you get so tired again.”
She put her hands on her hips, envelopes and circulars protruding from the left fist. Her exasperation was clear. “Am I ever going to win with you?”
“You won the day I saw your face over the hood of my truck.”
“You don’t fight fairly.” But it was over. She gave him that smile he’d break his ass to put on her face.
“I do, Susan. And I’ll always fight for you and your well-being.” Even if it means fighting with you.
* * * *
“This is nice, Maurice.” Susan looked around his living room, noting the dimensions of the space. She didn’t comment on the austere feeling. He was anything but austere. Complicated, controlled, passionate, and deep. His furniture choices and lack of items to soften the room were probably a reflection of his bachelor status. You’re being presumptuous, Susan! Quit thinking about how you’d change things.
“I’m not here much. Mostly to sleep.” He was being self-effacing, and she didn’t like it. It didn’t sit well on him.
“It has good bones.”
“I liked it when the real estate agent showed it to me. I like the high ceilings and all the windows. Nice yard, too. Wander around at will, take the tour while I get ready.”
The kitchen was pretty high end. Granite and stainless predominated. She wondered how much Maurice cooked and if he preferred to eat at home. So far they’d eaten out, but she loved to cook, and bake, when she had the time.
Two nice-sized bedrooms, both furnished with a queen bed and nightstand, and a den slash office area, at least what she assumed the smaller room might be used for, were off the main hallway, as well as a full bathroom. She poked her head into the master bedroom and froze. It was huge. Probably a combination of two rooms, and one side of it was…decorated with all manner of pieces of furniture one wouldn’t find in most bedrooms in the city. At least she assumed one wouldn’t.
Maurice had clearly spent most of his design effort and budget in this room. The walls were painted in warm colors, a thick dark rug anchored the space, and a large, four-poster bed sat squarely against the far wall. The windows were covered by heavy wooden blinds in the same wood as the bed and nightstands and dresser. One of the blinds hung slightly askew, and she could see the frayed end of a cord. It seemed out of keeping with his attention to detail.
A door that she assumed led to a big closet was set between two windows. She could hear water running behind the only other door, and pictured Maurice in the shower, water running over his wide, muscled shoulders and upper arms, coursing down over his tight buttocks and thick thighs. Her hand was on the door handle before she realized she’d crossed the room, and she snatched it back and set it behind her like a child caught doing something naughty.
Tonight was the night. She’d forced it to the back of her mind all day, where it simmered, a faint, anticipatory buzzing that had her alert and edgy. If he didn’t have sex with her tonight, she was going to…do something. Something to make him sorry. A smile crept, unbidden, across her lips. He’d probably make her sorry. His dominance was exhilarating if only she could accept it totally, and forget how women were supposed to be strong and independent. Forget her teachings that women couldn’t depend on men. But no matter w
hat, she’d follow his lead and see where it took her…as long as it was to his bed.
Then she made herself look at the other side of the room. A spanking bench, a St. Andrew’s Cross, an exam table, the restraints and stirrups prominently displayed. Her belly clenched, and her sex drew up. There was a tall wardrobe, also in the same dark cherrywood as the rest of the conventional furniture in the room. Wondering if Maurice’s invitation to tour and explore his home meant taking a look inside that piece, she crossed the room, marking the change from the rug to polished hardwood, and tugged on the handle.
“It’s locked, sweetheart.”
Biting back a small scream, she jumped and whirled around to see Maurice observing her from just inside the bedroom, the large master bath visible behind him through the open doorway. Not that she really took notice of that room. Besides a few droplets of water decorating his tan flesh, Maurice wore only a towel, slung casually around his hips, the thick terry doing little to conceal his impressive package. Dragging her eyes away from that bulge, she leisurely surveyed the width and breadth of his remarkable torso, all bulk and sinew, corded arms and defined pecs and abdomen. God. An intricate tattoo curled up from his six-pack and meandered over his left pectoral to end in a swirl at the base of his neck. Her fingers itched to trace the spiny swirls and learn the pattern, and for the first time she wondered about choosing a tat of her own.
“I…I was looking around like you suggested.”
“I know. What did you think?”
Was she standing in a bedroom designed for sin with a man who was guaranteed to make her taste each and every variety? She was. It was hard to focus.
“Aside from this room, you haven’t spent a lot of time on decorating.” A lash of jealousy literally made her flinch. He came alert, instantly, and she hurried to finish.
“I imagine you spend most of your time in this room—sleeping.” Holy crap. Could she be any more transparent?
“Exactly. Sleeping.”
Flustered, she looked around and noted how everything looked…new.
“I prepared this room for you.”
Owned [Club Pleasure 6] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 8