There was no judgment here—apart from what she put on herself.
“I’m Angie.” The small, curvy woman sat on a low couch and patted the seat beside her. She looked up at Samantha expectantly as she tucked a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear.
“Samantha.” Knowing that she was acting stiff and awkward didn’t make her any more relaxed. She lowered herself to the couch and forced a friendly smile to her lips.
“I hope you don’t hold it against me, what Charlotte did the other night.” Worry flitted across Angie’s face.
“Never.” Though she’d been a little grumpy when Elijah had pointed her in Angie’s direction for that very reason, her irritation was rapidly vanishing in the face of the woman’s friendliness.
“We all make our own choices. We’re not responsible for what others do.” Shock rocketed through Samantha as she heard her own words.
She’d never said that out loud before, and though she’d been talking about Charlotte . . . well . . . wasn’t that somewhat applicable to her life, too?
The pretty, plump girl who’d brought her a blanket and water after Elijah and Luca had turned her brain to mush arrived at that moment with a sparkling glass full of ruby wine in each hand.
“From Master E and Master Luca,” the girl said, her gaze trailing wistfully back to the bar where the two Doms sat. “Shit, you gals are lucky. Every sub here would kill to trade places with y’all.”
Samantha felt her skin heat even as Angie stiffened beside her.
“I’m not with either of them.” Angie looked at the glass of wine apprehensively, as if it might bite her, before pasting a smile on her face and gesturing her thanks across the room.
“I’m—” Samantha cut herself off before agreeing with the other woman. What was she to Elijah exactly? She’d offered herself to him for a month in an attempt to learn more about the pressing needs that she’d been experiencing. Well, and because the chemistry between them was killer. But she knew he was never going to settle for less than all of her . . . And was that something she was prepared to give?
Samantha waited until the serving submissive had gone, then asked, “Are you— Have you—have you ever had a relationship with a Dom? Like a boyfriend or a husband or something?” She had a hard time picturing Luca the Dom as a doting husband. Elijah was easier, maybe because she wanted him so badly.
“Sure,” Angie said easily, tucking her arms around a knee. The gesture caused her minuscule skirt to ride up, and Samantha and the rest of the bar could see the bright red of her panties. Samantha was beginning to understand that there were different rules here in the club. “A good Dom is hard to find, though. The idea of control attracts a lot of assholes.”
Samantha barked out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think that’s limited to the BDSM world,” she added, sneaking a peek over her shoulder at Elijah. Though he was speaking to Luca and sipping a glass of wine, his gaze was still fixed on her.
It sent a sensual thrill coursing through her body. He was everything she’d ever wanted. How would she be able to live without him after the month was up?
“In a relationship like . . . this,” Samantha started, choosing her words carefully, “do you . . . are you submissive all the time? Is that what a Dom expects?”
The other woman leaned back, tucking her legs up underneath her. While enjoying her drink, she appeared to be thinking long and hard about Samantha’s question.
“There’s no easy answer to that.” Angie looked at Samantha over the rim of her glass, the gaze tinted with sympathy. “It’s different for everyone. Hell, it’s different even with different Doms.”
“What do you mean?” Samantha smoothed palms that were damp with sweat over the silky skirt of her slip.
“Well, some couples have a Master/slave relationship, which is pretty much exactly what it sounds like,” Angie began, causing Samantha to shudder inwardly—she wanted a guy who would take control, but nothing that extreme. “And there are lots of other types—weekenders, people who are just into kinky sex, and people who live it twenty-four/seven. But you have to understand that the dynamic between every couple is different, even if they fall into one of these categories. The important thing is that it works for you and your Dom, not that it can be defined.”
“Right.” Hope was a wild thing rising up inside her. “But . . . it’s not crazy to think that a sub could be with a Dom and not be submissive a hundred percent of the time?”
“Not at all.” Angie smiled. Then, with a friendly gesture that surprised Samantha, she reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.
Samantha looked at her, startled. Angie smiled back, again with that tinge of sympathy.
“It’s rough when you’re just starting out. Wondering what’s wrong with you, why you want what you do. Wading through a million new rules, a million new concepts. Not to mention dealing with headstrong Doms.” Angie rolled her eyes back toward the bar, making Samantha chuckle. “We subs have to stick together.”
“Thanks.” Samantha let the relief wash over her, but it was followed by tension. She needed to bring this up with Elijah somehow—or did she? Was she allowed? How submissive did he expect her to be? Would he be upset if she tried to talk to him about their future past the one month she had given him?
Screw it, she thought, standing suddenly. I’ll ask.
But first she had a more pressing need. “Can you tell me where the bathroom is?”
Angie pointed out the discreet doors in the far corner of the room. Elijah had allowed Samantha to bring her tiny purse with her cell phone to the club, which had surprised her until she realized that he was hoping for another call from Beth. Another chance for him to open the door for her to talk.
Apart from her cell phone, the purse had some lip balm, some breath mints. She felt sorely in need of both, so she snagged the bag, still lying beside Elijah’s toy bag on the spanking bench that they’d used.
After using the facilities, which were far fancier than any public restroom she’d ever seen—the counter boasted baskets full of shampoo, lip balm, condoms, even tiny packets of lubricant—Samantha paused for a moment at the sink, looking at her reflection in the mirror.
Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. She looked . . . happy. Happier than she’d been in a long time.
Her mind rejected the notion that Elijah was the sole source of that happiness. But she couldn’t deny that he’d helped her understand herself, or that—if she dared to admit it—he filled something deep inside her that she hadn’t even known was hollow.
From inside her tiny purse, her phone rang. The vibrations startled her and she slapped a hand over her heart, then let out a fleeting laugh when she realized what it was.
“Shit.” She pulled her phone from her purse and saw it was Beth again.
Two calls from her sister in one day? It was unprecedented, and Samantha knew it couldn’t be anything good.
“What’s wrong?” Samantha held the phone up to her ear, adrenaline already beginning to surge through her veins.
“Mom’s getting her stomach pumped.” On the other end of the line, Beth’s voice was weary. Samantha raked her fingers through her hair as her ears pricked up, alerted by a barely recognizable tone in her sister’s voice.
“What’s wrong with you, though?” Samantha realized with a pang that she didn’t have many feelings left where Gemma was concerned. It saddened her that her mother had drunk so much that she had reached this point, but Samantha’s only real concern was Beth.
“Nothing major.” Beth’s voice sounded tired, and Samantha felt concern grip her all over. “Super tired. Thirsty. Vision’s a little blurry.”
“Have you treated it?” Samantha closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples against the sudden wave of stress that washed over her.
She knew that Beth checked her blood sugar faithfully and took the proper amount of insulin. She’d always been good about that, even back when she’d first been diagnosed as a
teen. Sometimes blood sugar levels went wonky for no good reason—insulin wasn’t a perfect treatment and its effectiveness couldn’t always be predicted.
But the danger often rose in response to stress. And Samantha would bet money on what was making her sister sick now.
“Where are you? You’re not driving, are you?” Samantha paced the length of the empty bathroom as her thoughts whirled frantically.
She wouldn’t head back to Colorado on her mother’s account—as far as she was concerned, Gemma had made her own bed, and could lie in it until she died. But Beth . . . she was a different story.
Beth would worry herself sick over their mother, would let herself be manipulated into putting her own life on hold to care for the alcoholic as she recovered. She was already sick from it, and Samantha saw no reason why her younger sister should bear the burden of their mother’s selfishness and idiocy by herself.
“No, I’m about to leave for the hospital,” Beth replied. Again Samantha heard that warning note, that nagging fatigue riding her sister’s words. Panic closed in.
“Don’t you dare drive if you’re not feeling well,” Samantha snapped, raking her fingers through her hair, her heart pounding.
“I don’t have a choice, Sam.” Beth yawned through the phone. “She’s our mother. I have to go.”
Worry pushed Samantha over the edge of the cliff she’d been teetering on.
“Take a taxi. It’s not safe for you or for anyone else on the road if your blood sugars are off.” Samantha’s mind worked frantically. She would prefer her sister just stay put until she could get to her, but knew that that wasn’t likely to happen.
Beth was too kindhearted for her own good. She would feel the need to be at their mother’s side.
At least if Samantha could get to Beth, she could spell her off, give her sister some rest so that she didn’t get seriously sick.
“Are you at Three Sisters?” Samantha named the biggest hospital in the small city in which she’d grown up. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Bethy.” Wedging the phone between her ear and her shoulder, Samantha dug her fingers into her purse. There. The check that Elijah had written her—the one she had felt wrong cashing—was still there, though by now it was creased and slightly tattered along one edge.
Samantha cringed as she thought of how angry Elijah would be when he found out.
But if she told him, he’d insist on going with her. That was just the kind of man he was.
She would rather die than have him see her back in the place where she’d grown up. For someone who valued control so highly, what would he think of her mother’s failings? Beth was the only good thing about that part of her life. Everything else she’d worked hard to leave behind.
“Only if you’re sure.” Beth’s voice held a small note of pleasure, which only solidified Samantha’s resolve.
She would do anything for her sister. Anything.
Even if it meant possibly losing the man she cared for more than she dared to admit.
Hanging up the phone, Samantha bit her teeth into her lower lip and rapidly ran through her options. Though he was going to be pissed beyond belief, she couldn’t tell Elijah. If she did and then tried to leave without him, she wouldn’t put it past him to chain her up until she changed her mind.
He would see her the moment she left the bathroom, would intercept her before she was able to make it out the front doors of Veritas.
She looked around the room, her stare landing on the big window. The window was high, but plenty large enough to get through. It was on the main floor, so she’d be safe jumping out.
Looking down at her bare feet and slinky scrap of dress, she realized that she was more in danger of flashing an innocent passerby than anything else. She cringed as she remembered that not only were most of her belongings back in Cabo, but all of the things Elijah had bought for her were upstairs in his apartment—and she had no key.
“Shit.” With a bracing breath, Samantha tugged the ornate stool that sat in front of a vanity over to the window and climbed up, levering open the glass as she did.
She would hop in a cab and get the driver to stop at a bank machine. Then somewhere she could buy some decent clothes. She’d look funny until then, but this was Vegas. Surely there would be stranger sights than she.
Bracing her arms on the sill, Samantha hefted herself up and out the window. There was a narrow ledge outside, and she balanced precariously on her knees as she righted herself and prepared to drop down to the ground.
Only her eyes were above the sill when someone entered the bathroom. The stealthiness of the person’s movements caught Samantha’s eye, and she paused for a moment to watch.
The slender woman stopped just inside the door, looking around as though expecting to find something that wasn’t there. She lifted her eyes to the window, locking stares with Samantha for a brief moment.
Rather than surprise, the woman’s face showed sly triumph.
Samantha cursed as she dropped to the ground.
It had been Charlotte, the submissive who had tried to take Elijah away from her the first night they’d come to Veritas. From the look on her face, it seemed she had heard part of Samantha’s conversation with Beth—enough to suspect that Samantha was sneaking out—and she’d have to know that Elijah wouldn’t be happy about it.
Helplessness washed over her as her toes touched the ground and she felt grass scratching the tender soles of her feet.
Her heart hurt—actually hurt—as she thought of the betrayal she was about to undertake. Her feet slowed as she tried to come up with an alternate solution. But her thoughts kept bringing her back around to the same place.
Her mother had drunk more than usual to land herself in the hospital. An upswing in Gemma’s alcohol consumption usually coincided with contact from Stanley. Since he’d called her mother recently, it was a safe enough assumption that the man was sniffing around her again—why, Samantha couldn’t understand, but then, their relationship dynamics had never made any sense to her.
But Stanley was bad news, and Elijah was observant as hell. It would kill her to see the all too familiar combination of pity and disgust in Elijah’s eyes, of all people.
She was going to be with her sister. That was what she did—she took care of Beth. She could only hope that Elijah wouldn’t hate her when she got back.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Master, I beg your pardon, but I have news that I think you will want to know.”
Elijah scowled down at the lithe, nearly naked blonde kneeling on the floor at his feet. His gaze had been so focused on the bathroom door that he hadn’t seen Charlotte approach.
He wasn’t at all pleased to see her before him. He was sure he’d made himself perfectly clear when he’d handed her over to Luca for punishment earlier in the week.
“You’re pushing your luck, Charlotte.” He didn’t hold back, letting his anger color his tone. He had no use for submissives who manipulated and tried to top from the bottom in devious ways. No matter what Charlotte thought she saw in him, it was never going to happen.
And where was Samantha? She’d left Angie and headed to the washroom nearly fifteen minutes earlier.
“I assure you that you’ll want to hear this.” Charlotte looked directly up at him—forbidden behavior for a sub who was supposed to be repentant—and ran her tongue over her lips. Elijah imagined she thought the gesture was seductive, but as it came from her he found it only off-putting.
“You’ve worn out my patience, sub.” Assuming a bored expression—the worst kind of reaction for a sub like Charlotte, who craved attention—Elijah turned back to the bar and reached for his glass of wine.
Charlotte rose from her knees, popping up in front of him with her hands clenched tightly.
“Samantha went out the bathroom window. She’s going to visit her family and didn’t want you there.”
Elijah’s first response was to deal with the inappropriate behavior in front of him, despite th
e feeling of betrayal that coiled in his belly. He curled his fingers around Charlotte’s shoulder, his fingers digging just hard enough to get her attention.
“Luca.” He spoke quietly, but felt his repressed anger and, more than that, hurt welling up. “I do not have the patience to deal with this sub right now. She needs to be punished for disobeying my orders, for spying on another submissive, and for behavior unbecoming to her station.”
Charlotte sputtered as he continued to hold her but otherwise paid her no attention.
“I can’t say I’m overly interested in spending any time with her myself,” Luca said. Elijah watched as Luca narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, studying the woman, considering. Finally he raised his hand and gestured in the air. “Mistress Cathryn.” Luca waved the blond Domme over to the bar area. She approached with a sway to her hips, her exhausted and happy-looking submissive trailing on a leash behind her.
“Master Luca. Master E.” Cathryn cast a wicked grin in Elijah’s direction. “Have a good session?”
“Indeed.” Elijah knew he needed to deal with Charlotte, but his mind kept straying to Samantha. He didn’t doubt Charlotte’s words—the woman wasn’t creative enough to make up a story like that.
She’d left, then. And the only reason she would have snuck out was so that he wouldn’t see her.
He wasn’t concerned that she was embarrassed of him, or what they did together. No, he was quite certain that, if she was being sneaky about going to visit her family, it was to protect the secret that she was trying so desperately to keep hidden.
His mind turned that over as he watched Luca converse with Cathryn.
“This one has developed an unhealthy and harmful interest in Elijah’s submissive, Cathryn.” Luca growled. None of the Dominants looked at Charlotte, and Elijah could feel the anger radiating off her. Well, he was angry too. He would have found out about Samantha regardless, but the way she had run up to him just to tattle had been designed to hurt.
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