Taking her elbow, he drew her to her feet as if she was weightless, before she thought to resist. Without another word, he escorted her down the hall toward the member rooms as she tried to frame a protest, knowing better than to try to extricate herself from his hold. He fairly resonated fury, although she wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of what was going to be discussed once they reached the privacy of a member room.
He was wearing his shirt, although unbuttoned, as though he’d hastily thrown it on, and he smelled of musk and Maurice. Against her better judgment, her body responded, going lax and soft, even when the door slammed shut behind them. He pushed her to a sitting position on the bed and paced the room, visibly agitated.
“What the fuck were you doing in the hard dungeon?”
“What were you?”
“Careful, Susan. Manners. I was doing my job.”
“You keep people out of Pleasure who have no business being here!” Like her. “That’s your job.”
“Before you, I helped out in the hard dungeon, too.”
Before her. Susan felt her nose draw up and the tears prickle, but she fought them back. This felt like, after her. She kept her own counsel.
“Why were you there?”
“Because Ivone told me you were helping out. Helping out!” To her dismay, her voice climbed, and she shook.
Her upset calmed him. Maurice knelt at her feet and clasped her hands in his, looking up at her with worry etched on his features.
“Sweetheart. It was…they were stuck. Owyn and Rees—”
“I don’t care about that,” she said fiercely. “I get why you helped out. But I didn’t know you helped out. I didn’t know you did that…that whipping thing. Like that. I can’t do that! And you n–n–need it.”
It seemed Maurice coaxed deluges of tears from her, primarily to release grief, loss, and tension, sexual and otherwise, but these tears were wracked with agonizing pain that crippled her very being. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t slow the sobs or diminish the full-body shudders, even when he wrapped her up and loaned her his strength.
He rocked her for ages and absorbed her pain, murmuring against her hair, and she finally lost the ability to produce moisture and quit crying out of pure exhaustion. The pain didn’t diminish though. It swelled and broke her heart, devoured her soul, and she wished to die. How could she live without him? But how could she live with him when she couldn’t give him what he needed?
“Focus on me.” It was his Dom voice, and she did as she was told.
“I want you to listen to everything I say. No questioning me. No cutting me off. You are to listen.”
She nodded, unable to trust her voice. His eyes narrowed, but he accepted it.
* * * *
Fuck. He had to retrieve this. He’d known that standing in for Owyn, or Rees, had been a mistake, but he’d never let the Club down before, and he’d thought to get the scene done, leave the aftercare to one of the subs, and hope to god it never happened again. In fact, he was going to ensure it didn’t. Working Krystal over had been painful—for him. He found it difficult to focus and was concerned he’d overdo it, really cause her harm. He’d sweated through his shirt, losing his usual control, and for the first time ever, wished for a sub to use her safe word. Of course, Krystal would never do so, a masochist to the bone, so he’d ended the scene the instant she’d entered subspace, inwardly cursing the woman’s ability to take considerable pain.
Seeing Susan across the room, her pallor evident, had galvanized him into immediate action. He’d finished releasing Krystal with unseemly haste and bundled her into a blanket, then handed her off to the sub he’d earlier arranged to care for her. He hadn’t stopped to ensure she was in good hands, trusting to the other members to step up if needed. He’d hustled after his submissive, casting any adherence to protocol aside, not giving a damn how it looked.
Taking a deep breath, he imposed his considerable will on Susan. “I’m known as a hard Dom at Pleasure. I think I drifted into the role because sometimes I did exactly what you saw me doing tonight.”
She flinched and her big eyes hazed over again, so he waited until she met his stare clearly.
“I had nothing in my life other than this Club. I essentially fled my home because of what I’d stupidly thought was the loss of my One, and ended up here. Patrick took me on as doorman and trained me in the finer points of using all the tools available here. It gave me a purpose, something to do, until I decided what to do with my life.
“I’d decided, but there was a problem with that decision, Susan. I wanted, needed, my own sub, and until that happened, I was content to work the door and take a turn with the pain sluts as required. We don’t have a lot of sadists to call on. I’m good at merely stepping in because I don’t get involved. I don’t need to cause a submissive pain, although I’m not averse to administering punishment.
“Tonight was an aberration. People know I’ve signed off working the hard dungeon, and if totally unforeseen circumstances hadn’t dictated it, you wouldn’t have seen me there tonight. But I felt obligated. And as soon as Patrick returns, I’m packing in the doorman position, too. Why do you think I’ve made that decision, sweetheart?”
Air stuttered in his beloved’s chest. He could hear the patchy breathing, and his heart pounded with concern. Her soft mouth opened and then closed. Finally, never taking her eyes from his, she spoke. “For me.”
“For you. Because I love you.” He saw her heart in her eyes as he stated it. “I’ll do something else, find a job that interests me, maybe work from home, and we’ll still attend the Club. But you need more of me, now you’re to become a stay-at-home wife. And I need more of you. You’ll want to start that baby soon, and I’ll need to step up then, too.”
“I wish I’d known about…” She spoke on a whisper.
“That was my fault. I never thought to tell you because as far as I was concerned it was a former part of my job, and a small one at that. And you never questioned why I worked the door, despite knowing I was educated and not without financial resources.”
“I thought you were doing what you liked. There’s no shame in any job if you like it.”
“Oh, sweetheart. That’s my girl.” Rising to his feet, he sat beside her on the bed and rejoiced when she relaxed into him trustingly as he placed an arm around her.
“Maurice? I love you, too. But I’m not having my nipples pierced.”
He froze at both the wonderful assertion and the insubordination, delivered in a defiant tone, so unlike his Susan. He caught her lips with his to seal her vow, before frowning at her, but she matched his determination.
“I want to breastfeed, and I’m not taking jewelry out and putting it back in every three hours.”
“I’d help you with that,” he volunteered, then cracked a smile at the flush of outrage. “Okay, no nipple piercing. But that leaves your clit.”
Epilogue
Susan fingered the choker around her neck, although that was maybe a misnomer. The multi-strand platinum chains, connected at intervals by a tiny bar-like arrangement, made up a necklace just a tad looser than a choker. Bezel cut tourmalines decorated the connectors and caught the available light. It was a beautiful symbol of Maurice’s connection to her, over her, and she cherished it. He bestowed it on her in a ceremony at Club Pleasure just over a week ago, with the members they felt closest to present.
Aware that the ceremony had been the talk of the Club for days, and probably even now, Susan didn’t regret any part of it. If Maurice had no need to exhibit her or fuck her publically, then everyone else could go stuff themselves. He was secure in her love and submission, their complete power exchange. Kneeling, clad only in a filmy confection of silk and lace the exact color of her eyes, and chosen by her Master personally, she’d accepted his collar and spoke a simple line of agreeing to be his full-time submissive, forever, to love, honor, and obey. Maurice spoke much the same words, but without promising to obey, of course.
They’d celebrated with their friends in the lounge, sharing food and drink, and the other Doms ribbed Maurice in much the same manner as any groom might expect, and their subs were simply happy for her. Ivone couldn’t apologize enough, even now, and Susan wondered what punishment Master Jamison had delivered when he’d heard of the events of that evening, despite Ivone’s lack of complicity. She hadn’t known. However, Susan suspected Ivone had liked the consequence.
The sweetheart neckline of the strapless wedding gown she’d selected—without Maurice’s input—was perfect with the choker, displaying it admirably, especially with her hair swept up into an intricate style. A pair of round gemstones adorned her ears. The bodice was simple, gathered to fit her bust closely, but the skirt billowed into yards and yards of fabric, meeting every secret fantasy Susan had entertained about her wedding day when she was little. The only thing missing was her mom, and it took some blinking and determination not to spoil her eye makeup.
Another large tourmaline set in a wide platinum band graced her right ring finger, until it could be transferred to her left, to fit over the matching wedding band. She had another piece of jewelry, too, this one not obvious to anyone but her and Maurice. He’d coached her through it, holding her hand and supporting her during what was a remarkably quick and painless process. The piercer had been extremely professional, numbing her clit hood before pinching it aloft and doing the deed. The little platinum circlet also boasted a tourmaline, this one also substantial, the better to remind her of its presence. The piercing increased her pleasure twofold, if that was even possible. Waiting for it to heal had taken a far worse toll on Maurice as he wouldn’t allow himself any satisfaction until he could be assured of hers.
“Ready, honey?” Felicity looked softer and less the businesswoman in her pale-blue suit, a gauzy blouse spilling from the lapels in a drift of silver edged with navy blue.
With a final look in the mirror, Susan smiled and nodded her assent. She thought she might weep if she spoke, and that would never do. Maurice didn’t need to deal with any more tears for a long while, unless they were tears of passion. Joyful tears were probably okay, too, but she knew he’d realize she was missing her mom and feeling some ambivalence.
Her former boss opened the door of the small church her Dom had found for the ceremony, the pews dotted with Maurice’s family and their friends as well as Ray, his wife, and other people from the bar and the floral shop. All heads turned her way, but she was intent on her husband-to-be.
Susan took her first steps alongside Felicity, down the short aisle to where her future waited. He wore a beautifully tailored suit, handmade to accommodate his broad, muscled torso, and his eyes were trained on her, full of that same regard she’d never tire of, ever. It reached out and wrapped her up, owning all that she was, and despite the studied beat of the music, her feet picked up the pace.
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Allyson Young lives in cottage country in Manitoba, Canada with her husband of many years and numerous pets. She worked in the human services all across Canada and has seen the best and worst of what people bring to the table. Allyson has written for years, mostly short stories and poetry, published in small newspapers and the like, although her work appeared in her high school yearbooks, too! After reading an erotic romance, quite by accident, she decided to try her hand at penning erotica.
Allyson will write until whatever she has inside her is satisfied— when all the heroes man up and all the heroines get what they deserve. Love isn’t always sweet, and Allyson favours the dark side of romance.
For all titles by Allyson Young, please visit
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Owned [Club Pleasure 6] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 16