by Ashe Barker
Now, that would be foolhardy.
Where did that ridiculous notion come from? The last thing I’d want to be doing in a BDSM club is running my fingers across a Dom’s silk shirt. Christ, I’d probably be dangled naked from the ceiling… I gather my wits enough to turn to Freya, intent on making one last-ditch attempt to scotch this madness now.
My attempts to dissuade her fall on deaf ears. Freya seems to have completely lost any sense of self-preservation. What she might consider courage, I can only describe as bravado bordering on the utterly reckless. She is placing all her faith in Mr Hardisty’s powers of self-control, a confidence I can detect not a shred of evidence to support.
I try one last time to convince her to leave with me now, but she’s having none of it. She even has the gall to suggest I might like to spend a bit of time with Mr Hardisty’s dark friend. When Hell freezes over!
She touches my hand, her last attempt to reassure me. She draws a deep breath then walks slowly across the room to stop just a yard or so from the men. I can only watch from the doorway as Freya hesitates, clearly wondering how to attract Mr Hardisty’s attention, as he has his back to her. The dark and deadly one helps her out. He notices her, and his mouth moves, as he says something I can’t catch. Then his companion turns, and he looks Freya up and down appraisingly. She bows slightly and steps back from him respectfully. I have to admire her quiet dignity. I hope he does too.
Mr Dark and Deadly says something else then he glances in my direction. Our eyes meet briefly before I drop my gaze. I shuffle on the spot, acutely uncomfortable. Where the fuck have I seen that man before? A few seconds later I look over to the bar again. Nicholas Hardisty is still regarding Freya critically and in my view, at least she’s taking his scrutiny rather well. Somewhat on the small side, Freya is nevertheless pretty and curvy, and I would have thought she’d appeal nicely to a man of his obvious tastes—not like my more angular build. I’m the tall, skinny type, though I do have nice hair. Well, fairly nice. It’s blonde and straight enough not to require too much faffing about in a morning. For this evening’s little excursion, I’ve tied it back in a severe pony tail. That seemed sort of appropriate, though I can’t exactly say why.
Nicholas Hardisty has said something to Freya. Her reply is a simple nod. I assume introductions have been made. He catches the eye of the young man behind the bar and calls him over. They confer briefly before he turns once more to Freya and beckons her to him. She obeys immediately, and as she stands in front of him, I’m struck again by how vulnerable she looks—like a kitten sent out to fight a tiger. Moments later she nods to him, but his attention is already back on his companion.
Freya retraces her steps toward me, stopping only to hug me again.
She straightens and steps back. Her hands free, she has one last go at dismissing me, “Really, you can go. There’s no need for you to be hanging around here all evening.”
Before I can answer, she’s through the door and gone.
I’m left staring at the space where moments earlier Freya stood.
What to do now? How long will she be? How long does it take to spank someone, as a rule?
I glance around me. There are plenty of spare seats, empty tables. I could just find a space in a corner out of the way and wait. I’m sure Freya will think to come back here looking for me, though we didn’t actually arrange anything. Or I could wait in the car… I dismiss that notion immediately—the key card is in Freya’s bag, safely locked up in the cloakroom along with both our phones. I don’t even have any cash on me, so I can’t get a drink from the bar. I wonder if they insist on cash—there might be some sort of tab system.
Feeling totally out of place, I head for a corner from where I can watch the door. I’ll try to spot Freya if she passes on her way out. I know she’s not going to leave without me. Personally, despite her apparent confidence, I doubt she’ll be in any shape to. I take a seat, arrange my long, jeans-clad legs in front of me, and commence a careful and detailed study of the mottled pattern on the carpet.
I see Nicholas Hardisty leaving the bar about five minutes after Freya. At least she won’t be kept waiting long. The other Dom orders another drink and settles down to read a newspaper, spreading the pages across the bar in front of him. I notice that he’s drinking mineral water, not that I’m paying attention. Not really.
A few other people come and go, though the place is fairly quiet for the first half hour or so I’m there. Then it starts to fill up, and I begin to appreciate how seriously overdressed I am. Most of the men are sedately attired, some in casual clothes and some in smarter outfits—business suits, sharp jackets, crisp shirts. Jeans are common, invariably black. The women, on the other hand, seem to wear very little at all, and what they do have on is either shiny, skimpy, or both. Black and red seem to be the colors of choice. My white vest and olive green skinny jeans stick out like a sore thumb, although my spiky-heeled pillar box red shoes do at least look the part. Despite the fuck-me heels, I’m conscious I’m attracting a few puzzled glances. I shrink farther back into my corner, carefully avoiding anyone’s eyes. I glance at my watch—Christ, Freya’s only been gone forty-five minutes. It seems like hours. Still, the spanking must be in full swing by now, so to speak. Can’t be much longer.
Another ten minutes creep past, and another five.
“Your membership card, please?”
I turn, startled. A middle-aged man in a smart business suit is leaning over me. He is smiling politely, but I don’t get the impression this is a friendly inquiry.
“Sorry, what was that?” I peer up at him, puzzled.
“Please may I see your membership card, miss?” He repeats his request, his hand outstretched to take possession of said card.
“Sorry, I’m not a member. I’m a guest. I came with my friend…”
“I see. Your guest pass then, please?”
Guest pass? If Freya had any such thing, she certainly never gave it to me.
“I’m sorry, my friend must have that. She’s…” I stop, realizing I have absolutely no idea where in the building Freya is.
“All guests have to be signed in and a guest pass issued. And you must be accompanied by a member. This is a private club, you understand…?”
I nod. I do fully appreciate the nature of this establishment. “Yes, of course. I don’t intend to use any of the…” I’m not sure how to describe the many and various delights this place seems to offer but finally settle on the most innocuous word I can come up with. “Facilities. I’ll just wait here, if I may, until my friend comes back.”
The security man seems unimpressed by this suggestion. “I’m sorry, miss, but you’ll have to leave. Members only or guests with properly authorized passes.” He gestures me to precede him to the door. “Now, if you’d please…”
“But…” I have visions of being ejected forcibly from the building, made to sit outside for the next couple of hours or so, not even able to get into Freya’s car. The last I saw, it was raining outside—not my idea of a fun evening. Not that I’m exactly having a barrel of laughs right now, but at least it’s warm and dry in here. I decide to make one last attempt, surely he’ll see reason.
“Could I just wait here? I’m not bothering anyone and I won’t go anywhere else in the building.”
“Sorry, miss. Members only. Now please…” It’s obvious he’s not about to relent.
I start to get up.
“That won’t be necessary, Gerald. This lady is my guest.”
The voice interceding for me is rich, deep and reminds me of a particularly delightful twenty-five-year-old brandy that Connor once brought back when he was home on leave—decadent, expensive, potentially very bad for me. And quite unforgettable. I abandon any further attempt to fool myself. I recognize Daniel Riche, I remember him. His hair may be longer, he may not be sporting his stethoscope this evening, but there’s no mistaking that voice. I turn in the direction of this seductive tone, though I know instinctively what, who,
I’m going to see. Sure enough, Mr Dark and Deadly is lowering himself into the empty chair opposite me. He smiles, his expression warm, friendly. Seductive. And above all, dangerous. He places two drinks on the table, shoving one across in my direction.
“Compliments of the house, Miss…?” He lifts one enquiring eyebrow, clearly waiting for me to introduce myself.
Flustered, I forget to tell him to please leave me alone. Even now, there’s a chance he may not recognize me.
“Jones. Summer Jones.” That’s blown it.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Jones. Again.” He turns to the still hovering security guard. “We’ll be fine, Gerald. I’ll take care of Miss Jones from here.”
I’ll bet. Over my dead body! On reflection, I daresay that could be arranged…
“Very good, sir.” Gerald starts to back away, casting one last, suspicious look in my direction, not convinced I’m entirely harmless.
Alone at last—if you can be alone in a three-quarters full bar—my unnerving companion directs the full glare of his attention to me. He holds out his hand. It would be rude to refuse the gesture, so I take it and shake briefly. He smiles at me again.
“You may remember me. I’m Daniel Riche. Dan. We met previously.”
There’s absolutely no point now in pretending otherwise. I give in gracefully. “I, yes. You helped me. You were very kind. Did Bryan get better?” I’ve often wondered what happened to the poor badger. I suppose I could have phoned the zoo to ask, but I could never muster up the courage to contact Daniel Riche again. Now, it seems, the matter is out of my hands.
“He did. Bryan made a full recovery. I set him loose about a week later.” He settles back in his chair to regard me for a few moments. Then, “You’re a friend of Miss Stone’s, I understand?”
“Do you know Freya?” I have a sudden awful vision of Daniel Riche brandishing a ruler and instructing Freya to hold out her hands.
“Not personally. I know of her. You were just telling Gerald that you’re waiting for her, yes?”
I nod, fierce as I resist the urge to reach out and straighten the beer mats on the table. “Yes, I, she’s… I mean…” My voice trails off. I have no idea how to explain my presence here. In fairness, I’m having trouble explaining it to myself right now.
My companion’s lip quirks in a wry smile. “She might be a while yet. I doubt if Nick will be in any hurry to send her back to you.”
“What do you mean?” I look up at him, alarmed now. It was just a spanking. No more than that. What’s to dawdle over?
He seems to note my concern and offers immediate reassurance. Of a sort. “Please don’t look at me as though I just offered to bite the head off your hamster, Miss Jones. Your friend is in good hands. Maybe it’s time you were too.”
“I don’t think so! I mean…” I don’t want to appear rude. He has just stopped me from being thrown out, after all. But it’s perfectly obvious what he means and I’m having none of it. He’s still making outrageous suggestions. I need to set him straight.
“I’m not here to… I mean, I don’t…”
“Why are you here, Miss Jones?” His tone is low, rich, and he leans closer to me as he speaks.
But it’s his eyes that do it. They are dark, as I remembered, a deep, deep brown. I’m put in mind of that brandy once more as I gaze at him, unable to tear my eyes away from his.
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. His mouth curls in a half smile and he gestures toward the drink he put in front of me. “Orange juice, Miss Jones. We prefer our submissives to stay on soft drinks, at least until much later in the evening.”
I redden. I can feel it, the flush going right to the roots of my hair. “What? No, I’m not a submissive.”
His smile never wavers. “No? My apologies. You don’t look much like a Domme though.”
Now that is ridiculous. I can’t help grinning myself. “No, that neither. I’m just a guest. A visitor for the evening. I came with Freya.”
“So, I’ll ask you once more. Why did you come then, Miss Jones? If you’re neither a sub nor a Domme? What would bring you here?” The question is casual enough on the face of it, but his expression has sharpened in some way. Imperceptibly, he’s hardened before my eyes. And now he’s waiting for an answer.
“I-I came to see her home. After… after…”
“After?”
His voice remains low, controlled, not a hint of menace, but I still shiver. I have no wish at all to discuss this matter with some stranger from my past, a Dom at that, who will be far from sympathetic to Freya’s situation.
“It’s nothing really. Just something personal.” I hesitate, wondering how to get out of this situation. Or failing that, how to divert the topic of conversation to something less private. I reach for the glass of orange juice and take a sip. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll just finish this then I’ll…”
“You’ll what, Miss Jones? Go and wait in the car park? In the rain? We’re a bit off the bus route out here.”
I stare at him across the table. He’s so relaxed, lounging in his chair while I’m coiled forward like a spring, ready to snap at the slightest pressure. Despite his polite words, his soft voice, and his gorgeous smile, this man is beyond terrifying.
“I-I…” I’ve enough trouble managing my OCD. Don’t say I’m developing a stammer now as well. I take a deep breath, try again. “Thank you for the drink, Mr Riche. And for helping me out over the guest pass. It was very kind of you. But I’ll be all right now. I’ll just wait here until Freya’s finished then we’ll be getting off. I’m sure she won’t be long. And you must have other things to do…”
He smiles, shrugs, reaches for his glass of water. “No. Nothing pressing.” He takes a sip then replaces the glass on the table. I notice he hasn’t put it on the mat, and I almost reach out to move it, to set it right. But I’m not that stressed. Not quite. Not yet. He leans back again, saying nothing, just watching me.
I squirm, shuffling in my seat, attempting to look calm—and failing, I’m sure.
“Are you all right, Miss Jones? Not too hot in here for you? We do tend to turn the heating up. Our members usually prefer it…especially the subs. Even those who are pretending not to be.” His eyes sweep down my over-dressed form, lingering on my breasts. I don’t care for the attention but I can’t blame him for staring, I suppose. They’re so small he’d have to look quite closely to spot them at all.
“I’m fine. Really.”
He tilts his head, nodding slightly. “That’s good. But you haven’t told me why you’re here. And I really don’t want to have to ask you again. You don’t want that either.”
The thinly veiled threat is there—in his words, in his tone, in his gaze. His voice has sharpened, just a little, but enough. And his eyes are cooler now, glinting as the light catches them. His determination to be obeyed is quite, quite obvious. He’s not going to let me off the hook—he will have his answer. From me, whether I want to talk to him or not.
How did this happen? How did he reduce me to this with just a quirk of an eyebrow, a narrowing of his lips?
“I did tell you. I’m waiting for Freya. To take her home.”
“Well, assuming of course she actually did need taking home, why not just arrange to pick her up later? You didn’t have to come inside. You didn’t have to spend the last hour hiding in the corner like a scared rabbit. If you didn’t want to be here, you had no need to be. So, one last time, why are you here?”
I stiffen, finding some backbone from somewhere. “Are you threatening me again, Mr Riche?”
“I told you, my name is Dan. Or Sir, but I don’t think we’re quite there yet.” He ignores my startled gasp. “I’m not threatening you. I didn’t threaten you before either, when we met at the zoo. I made you an offer then, as I recall it. But I am running out of patience. If you’re to be my guest for this evening, I insist you talk to me. And answer my questions honestly.”
“Or…?” This new-found backbone of mine
could get me in serious trouble.
He smiles again, leaning forward to hold my gaze. “Or, Summer, I issue you with a guest pass to keep Gerald off your back and leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening. Which is it to be? Do you want me to stay—or not?”
I don’t answer at first. I can’t. I can only stare, mesmerized by his deep brown eyes, every bit as intoxicating as the brandy they remind me of. At last I hear it. A small voice. Quiet, but firm. My voice. “Yes. I’d like you to stay. But I won’t call you Sir.”
He chuckles. “We’ll see. But Dan’s fine for now.”
Chapter Four
“Well, Summer, I’m waiting.” He reaches for his drink again, watching me over the rim as he takes a sip. He replaces his glass on the table, and this time the urge to straighten the mats is irresistible.
“Sorry…?” I glance up at him as I reach across to turn his coaster so that the straight edge is parallel with the edge of the table, and just six inches in. The exact same position as mine. Mirror images. Perfect.
He watches my movements closely, looks slightly puzzled then clarifies his request. “So we’ve established that Freya’s transport home was your excuse for coming here. What was the real reason, though?”
Ah, right. That again. And as he ruthlessly peels away my defenses and smokescreens, the underlying truth is starting to emerge. Even I can’t deny it for much longer. I give up trying.
“I was curious.”
“I see. What were you curious about, Summer?”