“Reid?” I take a big swallow of my drink. “Who’s Reid?”
Ellie makes a squeaking sound. “I may have forgotten to tell you about that, too. Reid Porter is a friend of…Max’s? Gavin’s? I think they both know him from Vancouver. He owns two clubs there, and in his day job, he runs a security firm.”
My mouth drops open. “Reid Porter of Power Edge Security?”
Runs a security firm is an understatement. He’s rich enough to run in my father’s business circles, and when we expanded our manufacturing into Indonesia, Power Edge Security was a big part of making that transition safe and smooth and profitable.
Corinne leans in and takes a sip of her drink, her eyes wide. “You know him?”
“Not in a kinky way,” I say. My eyes must be equally wide. “But he’s…I mean, I can see it. He’s super dominant. He’s got that vibe.”
Corinne gives us all the run down. Apparently, Max has bought a river-front estate, a big-ass house surrounded by enough grounds that it can be totally private, and Reid Porter’s team is currently retrofitting it with high-tech security. Then his other team—from the club side—will convert it to a lavish dungeon, with multiple rooms set up for parties, as well as some private spaces.
The whole time she’s talking, Ellie is rocking baby Noah back and forth in her arms.
This life is surreal on multiple levels.
But I’m excited for them, even though it’s not really my world—outside of normal curiosity, of course.
After we’re all caught up to date on the progress of Ottawa’s newest and most exclusive BDSM club, the conversation turns to Ellie’s pregnancy, which the PM’s office will be announcing next week, once she’s officially moved into her second trimester. That leads to her decision to take a full year of maternity leave before returning to her doctoral research, which in turn steers to the conversation to me, and my work.
“It’s coming along,” I say. “But I’m sure there will be a lot of re-working it as my advisor digs into what I’ve written so far.”
“You must be close to being done,” Violet says, and the echo of what Tate said hours earlier makes me shift uncomfortably.
I like the idea of moving through life as anonymously as possible. It’s weird to have friends paying such close attention to what I’m doing—and I need to remind myself that’s where their inquiries come from, a place of friendship, and not because they’re spies for my father, or the press, or anyone else who has a vested interest in sabotaging my success.
“Some days it seems like that,” I say lightly. “And then others bring that seriously into question. It’s the way of academia.”
Ellie laughs and nods. “So true.”
Violet disappears into the kitchen to assemble a tray of munchies, and when she returns, the conversation drifts back to the club, and kink, and Corinne’s eternal hunt for the right guy.
“It’s so tricky, because I don’t want a weekend warrior, but I don’t want a 24/7 dynamic, either,” she says. She lifts her martini glass into the air. “Universe, I beg of thee—please deliver me a big, strapping, alpha Dom who wants an alpha sub. Thanks.”
“Are those a thing?” I ask, not caring that my voice is full of shocked awe.
She shrugs. “I keep hoping. I think they might be a bit of a unicorn in the kink community, but one day…” She clears her throat. “And what about you?”
“What about me?” Claw me up all you want. Was that kinky sex that we had? I don’t think so. And I’m not having orgies with anyone, so whatever I have with Tate, he’s not the right guy for me, not in a kinky, forever kind of way.
No, not the way Corinne means it. But…damn it. Get out of my head, Tate.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Beth asks, her eyes dancing as she watches me. She might think I’m freaking out, and I am, but not for that reason.
I drain my glass. “Nope.”
Ellie gives me a curious look. “Nope?”
“What?”
“You always have someone.”
That’s true. Over the two years we were roommates, I always had a fuck buddy. I like sex, and I prefer serial monogamy without any strings. “Guess I’m going through a dry spell. Haven’t got laid in months.” Seven weeks and three days, to be exact.
And before that…
Nope, not thinking about how long Tate occupied my thoughts before I succumbed to my baser instincts.
“There’s a guy in the PMO I should set you up with,” Beth says.
Ellie gives her a curious look. “Who?”
“Craig, the new speechwriter.”
“Ooh, interesting,” my traitorous bestie says.
“No, not interesting,” I say, waving my glass in the air. “Another Lemontini, please.”
“Okay, no pressure on the guy front.”
Ellie has her phone out, though. “Here, look at him.” She holds it out, and there’s his Facebook account.
I take the phone, because I’m not dead inside. And he is cute. I click on his profile picture to make it bigger.
“He’s definitely your type,” Ellie says, and Beth nods.
I give them a curious look. “What’s my type?”
“Smart, quiet, not too flashy,” Ellie says.
“Mmm.” That does sound like most of the guys I’ve dated.
Beth adds, “Like he’d be really considerate in bed.”
I groan. Yeah, that’s familiar, too. Which is why Tate was so damn memorable because he was…well, not inconsiderate. But rough and demanding and…interesting. Not boring sex. He delivered in spades, the bastard.
And this morning, he was more than happy to deliver again, and I pushed him away.
I take another look at the image. Then I scroll right, and groan again. “No.”
“What?”
I hold up the phone so they can all see. His last profile picture was him staring adoringly at Gavin. “We all deserve someone who looks at us like this guy gazes at your husband, Ellie. But anyone who puts a picture of themselves crushing on their boss as their profile picture is a hard nope for the Sasha Dating Game.”
8
Tate
A key fob had been waiting for me at my house when I returned to Ottawa, along with a handwritten note with the address of the estate Max has purchased. The invitation is for me and my trusted guests, so Rob drives, and we pick up Trevor and Oliver on the way. All of my friends have played on Gavin’s hockey team and attended get togethers at Max’s place. Heading out for a night of partying like this is even better than them showing up to surprise me in Vancover.
We’re missing Brandon, but it’s too weird to go out with him right now when we’re going to go head-to-head tomorrow night. And I’m going to dominate out there.
It’s a nice thirty-minute drive into the country, and when we pull up to the address, there’s a heavy iron gate blocking the drive—and a high-tech sensor post that, when I hand over my keys and Rob sweeps the fob over it, opens the gate.
Fancy.
The circular drive already has a few cars in it, so Rob pulls around to the side and parks there.
At the front door, we’re greeted by Max, holding Noah.
“Hey there, little man,” I say, tugging on the toe of his cotton sleeper. He gives me a spit-bubble grin. “I thought this place was strictly eighteen and over.”
Max chuckles. “An exception for tonight. Once Violet nurses him to sleep, we’ll join everyone downstairs.” He gestures at the sweeping double staircase behind him, and the hallway beyond. “All the space on this floor is public-friendly. We had caterers in earlier setting up the dinner buffet and they had no idea they were in a den of iniquity. Let’s head on back, everyone else is already here.”
A den of iniquity. Yeah, I’ve needed this. When Max asked me if I’d checked out any clubs in Vancouver, I wasn’t ready. But after yesterday’s blow up with Sasha, fuck it. I need to get back into the scene.
I know almost everyone mingling in the great room.
<
br /> Lachlan Ross, an RCMP officer I’ve known in the kink world since he arrived in Ottawa, and the guy who introduced me to everyone else here via the prime minister’s private hockey team, is leaning against a raised bar in front of the open kitchen. His arm is around his partner, Hugh Evans, who has his arms wrapped around their third, Beth.
I shake all of their hands, and Beth gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“You’re all in on this, eh?” I ask.
“Of course,” Beth says, her eyes twinkling. “Although Lachlan is doing double-duty tonight. He and Max also have to cast Gavin’s vote by proxy.”
In addition to cutting loose tonight, we’re also going to vote on the club by-laws. The prime minister is a founding member in absentia until he retires from public life—so it makes sense he’d get a vote even though he’s not here. I’m sure he and Ellie will find a way to visit on days when the club is officially closed, though.
Next I greet Corinne, another Mountie who plays hockey with us. She’s an evil goalie, but take the pads off her and put her in a club, and she’s a serene submissive. Max’s invitation for dinner said semi-casual, so I’m wearing a blazer over jeans and a dress shirt, but the women all clearly got together and discussed little nods toward fetish in their outfits. Corinne’s dress is fitted and covered in zig-zagging straps that reveal slices of skin. Beth is wearing leather cuffs on her wrists that match a wide leather belt around her waist, and Violet’s black cocktail dress is blinged up in a big way by a diamond choker that I’m sure Max gave her as a public collar.
I wonder what Sasha would wear if she were to come to something like this.
If only she didn’t despise me, we could have a lot of fun here.
Max claps his hand on my shoulder, dragging my attention back to the other guests. Jack Benton raises his glass in a somber acknowledgement of my arrival. In a bittersweet small-world twist, the billionaire lumber tycoon, and former owner of the Lumberjacks, now lives in my hometown and I’m all the way across the country playing for his old team.
“Jack,” I say, holding out my hand.
“I didn’t know they’d make a play for you.” He takes my hand and gives it a firm shake. “But that was a hell of a game against Edmonton. Best of luck tomorrow.”
I give him an easy grin. “The Sens will need it more than me.”
He laughs. “That’s the spirit.” He gestures his glass toward the man approaching us—the only guest I haven’t met before. “Do you know Reid Porter?”
I shift my attention to the other man, and extend my arm as I size him up. Big guy, older than most of us. Maybe in his early forties. “I’m Tate Nilsson. Haven’t had the pleasure.”
“The newest Lumberjack.” Reid shakes my hand. “I definitely know of you. You’re all over my morning news every day.”
“You’re from the west coast?”
“West Van, born and raised.” He points at Max. “It’s how I know the good doctor there, and Jack here.”
“I like your plans for this place.”
“You should come and check out my clubs at home.”
Home. No, this is my home. But yeah, I should try to find a new tribe while I’m out west. Nine months of the year for the next however many years of my life is a long time to not have a space like this, where I can be exactly who I want to be without any need to self-censor. “I’ll do that.”
“The key fob for this estate will work at any of my properties. We have a great club in New York, another in Los Angeles. Denver, Miami, Toronto.”
“Slick.” That also means our members from those cities will get to come here. It was raised as a point of possible concern by Max, but I’m down with it. The more the better, as long as they’re all properly vetted and checked out by Porter’s team.
The conversation swirls through Porter’s standard by-laws for all his clubs, and we add a few extra ones specific to Rapscallion to protect Gavin.
As we talk, I’m reminded how much I value this community. Only in the kink world have I ever felt truly comfortable in my own skin—well, unless I have skates on my feet.
After dinner, Noah wakes up, and Violet lifts him out of the swing. “I’ll just take him over to the residence,” she says to Max.
“I’ll follow along in a minute after I show everyone downstairs.” He points in the direction of the driveway as he turns back to the group. “We have a nanny waiting in the private apartment above the garage. Parenting logistics.”
That right there sums up the value of this tight-knit group. Max invested in an entire property, a business, just to keep this alive for him and Violet now that they have a child.
Downstairs, we find a dungeon in the works. Most of the space is still open, waiting for custom furniture, but there are the familiar pieces from Max’s basement. A St. Andrew’s Cross, a spanking bench, and some furniture.
But there are new pieces, too—and some built-in cabinetry that lends itself perfectly to storing fun hitty things, like crops and canes and whips and floggers.
I wonder if anyone here tonight would like some impact play. My hands are feeling restless.
Not just your hands. No, all of me is vibrating, anxious to work out some of the shit that’s been clogging up my brain lately.
Hugh and Beth are the first to take the step from exploring to playing. They claim the spanking bench, making Lachlan groan as they roll it into the centre of the main room.
They’re not in any rush, though. There’s so much energy zinging between them as they tease each other and Lachlan about how they should choreograph a three-way pain-and-pleasure romp that everyone else slows down, too.
Lachlan’s a big, tough guy. Watching him blush as Beth wiggles a cock ring at him is a lot of fun.
“You want it on him now?” she asks Hugh as he prowls around the dungeon, picking up and discarding various implements of torture.
He winks at her. “Up to you.”
She closes the gap between her and Lachlan and whispers something to him I don’t catch.
He shudders.
I saunter over to where Rob is leaning against the wall and join him. From this new vantage point, I can see Corinne quietly negotiating a scene with Reid.
Well, damn. I was going to ask if she wanted…
Doesn’t matter now.
For the best.
I’m not in a good head space to dominate anyone tonight.
And really, when Hugh is on like he is tonight, watching is just as good.
He picks up an evil stick, a thin carbon-fibre wand that will pack a nice, biting snap against Lachlan’s skin, and he twirls it in the air as he makes his way back to his lovers.
“Let’s try this,” he purrs at Beth.
She takes it from him, and he holds on, so she pulls him in against her and Lachlan.
The big guy pulls them both into his arms for a back and forth kiss so intimate it’s hard to watch. Luckily we don’t need to, because Max and Violet have returned.
And they aren’t alone.
Everyone else in the room falls quiet when they see who is trailing behind our hosts.
I’m silent, too, but not because Ellie Montague just walked into a kink dungeon.
I couldn’t care less if the prime minister’s wife put on…angel wings, apparently, and a gauzy mini-dress that made her look just like a woodland fairy.
No, all of my attention is on her best friend.
Sasha doesn’t even pretend she’s not here to torment me. She shoots me a don’t even dare look before beaming at Beth. “Don’t let us interrupt.”
Ellie winces as Lachlan scrubs his hand over his face, shifting right back into responsible Mountie.
“What are you doing here?” he demands to know.
I want to ask Sasha the same thing.
“Uh…” Ellie smiles. “Well, Gavin’s out of town. And I was bored.”
“Did you at least discuss this with him?”
Her smile gets even wider. “No.”
&nb
sp; Lachlan swears under his breath, then mutters something about pregnant women and deliberately bratty behavior.
Oh. Interesting.
Maybe the PM hasn’t been kinky enough with his bride since he knocked her up. Well, her visit here tonight will almost certainly earn her some spankings I’m sure they’ll both enjoy.
Her former roommate, on the other hand, isn’t looking for a spanking.
Or biting.
Or any other hold-me-down, fuck-me-up good time.
But I’m not bitter.
It’s a damn shame this dungeon is dry. A swallow or five of bourbon would make that fact she still hasn’t looked at me again a fuck-tonne more bearable.
I’m not making any pretence of not looking at her, though.
I’m looking my fill.
Earlier, I’d wondered what she’d wear to a dressy kink event. Now I know. She’s just as polished and classy tonight as she always is. But there’s something about her dress that makes my blood turn right up to a lusty boil.
At first glance, it’s a sun dress, sort of. It’s made from oversized silk handkerchiefs in jewel tones. Two triangles make a halter top, and the skirt is made up of many pointy swatches of silk.
But then she moves again, and each of the swatches moves independently of each other, and I realize I can see glimpses of her thighs. The whole stretch of thigh.
Her skirt has a slit all the way up to her waist every few inches.
And I can’t touch her.
Can’t slide my hand between those silky wisps of fabric and stroke her to a clutching, satisfying orgasm.
She’s cruel to deny us both that pleasure.
Apparently Lachlan is more generous than her, because he’s decided not to make a federal offence of Ellie’s sneak appearance, and now Hugh’s getting them back on track.
“Where were we, beautiful?” he asks Beth.
She cups his cheek and gives him a soft kiss. “We were about to tie Lachlan up and mark up his ass.”
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