“Kartane’s a Gorean?”
Martin watched Charlotte’s throat work as she swallowed. Suspicion was confirmed even as he heard her speak the words. “Is Kartane a blond guy with light blue eyes, really good-looking, dresses a bit too formal for most occasions . . . ?”
“Holy shit. You know him?” Amethyst stared at Charlotte. So did Martin. “Oh, you poor girl.”
“We’re kind of friends now. Only friends. Now.” She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, leaning against the table. She wore her jeans and sweater once more. She looked paler than she should.
He went to her. “Are you okay?”
“Checking in on me?” The vulnerable smile she offered him made his heart beat strangely, strong and fierce. He wanted to protect her from everything.
“That’s right.” He looked deeply into her eyes, evaluating. “Amethyst,” he said, turning back to his friend. “You might have a point about Kartane.”
“Hallelujah. The man sees sense.”
“If he’s an irresponsible player, he could be dangerous to the newbies in the fetish scene.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying, if only you’d listen—”
He continued, overriding her. “It’s my responsibility. I’ll talk to him.” He looked forward to talking to him. He’d ask the guy how he could look at himself in the mirror after what he’d done to Charlotte. He’d tell him in no uncertain terms his kind wasn’t welcome here. He’d kick his ass out and then ban him for life. Maybe he’d throw in a parting punch in the face in payment for the brand. That’d be only fair. That’d be—
“Well, this looks cozy.”
Charlotte paled further. She stared past both of them. “Hi . . . Kartane.”
Martin whipped around in time to see Kartane’s blue eyes widen with surprise. “Charlotte? What are you doing here? You told me you never went to these kinds of places.” He stared at her, then shook his head with vigor, as if trying to shake out water. “How do you know my club name? Could I have been so very wrong about you? No, I couldn’t have been.” He visibly recovered even as he spoke, until his expression matched his perfectly tailored clothes: smooth, appropriate, attractive.
She clearly wasn’t recovering as quickly. Seeing Cory/Kartane here, now, obviously didn’t fit with her concept of him. Martin remembered her tale of her ex’s regret, his tears of remorse after the branding. Doubtless she’d been convinced he’d have nothing to do with fetish activities ever again.
She’d been wrong. Of course she’d been wrong. She’d put the guy on the road to S and M, after all. Why be surprised he’d kept exploring it?
Charlotte’s arms wrapped more tightly around her own body. “I’m not exactly a regular.”
Martin edged in front of her, his muscles tensing as if for battle. His loathing for the guy narrowed his eyes and made him hyper-vigilant. He was surprised to feel Charlotte’s slender hand on his arm, a quelling gesture. He looked at her questioningly. She kept her gaze locked on Kartane.
The guy leaned against the doorway. “It’s just so surprising. Charlotte, what do you think you’re doing here?”
“Same thing you are. Kartane.” She said the name slowly, as if tasting it.
Amethyst sneered. “Picking up women by the truckload, dumping them, then coming back to restock?”
“Don’t take it so hard, love.” Kartane gave Amethyst a quick dismissive wink. “Dominant women—like you’re playing at being, at the moment—aren’t my type.”
Amethyst marveled at him. “You have King Kong–sized balls. For the record, you aren’t my type. You use women without the slightest regard for what they want.”
“That describes most guys here. But, not me.” He stared at Charlotte. His voice turned gentle. “Are you okay? This can be a rough place.”
“You’re the expert on rough.” Martin heard the growl in his own voice. Kartane was Cory, the guy who’d hurt Charlotte with a brand. Her ex. What right did he have to speak to her in that lover’s tone? The throb of Martin’s own heartbeat pounded in his ears with barely controlled rage. The strength of his detestation of the man shocked him.
Kartane glanced at Martin. “Rough for its own sake isn’t my area of expertise. I’m not a part-time play sadist. Like you.”
Martin’s fists clenched.
But Amethyst wasn’t done. “You’re completely full of crap. You don’t care what women want in the slightest.”
“I don’t care what they say they want, because I already know what they really want. Each one of them secretly wants a strong, steady hand. Every woman nurses a biological longing to surrender to a master who makes them feel fully like a woman. It’s the natural order.”
Amethyst made retching sounds.
Kartane gave her a lazy smile. “You know it’s true. Search deeply inside yourself.”
“I’m sick of you trying to get deep inside every available female in a square mile radius and then dumping them hard afterward. Leaving them broken!”
“Both of you, give it a rest.” Martin glowered at him.
“It’s not.” Charlotte’s raised voice made everyone turn to look at her. “It’s not the natural order. Women as slaves? Seriously? You still believe it after what happened with us? That isn’t something from nature. That belief just makes you a garden-variety misogynist.”
“Amen, sister!” shouted Amethyst.
Kartane stared at Charlotte. “Don’t believe the rumors about me. At least one source is highly biased.” He glanced briefly at Amethyst. “Charlotte, your desires got me into the scene. You might not frequent the clubs, but even you know there’s too much gray area inside this world to call me a misogynist.” The very intensity of his look seemed to almost compel her agreement. A creepy sort of charisma radiated from him.
Martin’s skin crawled watching Kartane at work. The jerk was good. Really good. Like a high-dollar lawyer. Or a usedcar salesman.
“Feel the truth of what I’m saying, even if you don’t want to admit it. Might you have a little bit of a slave’s craving, Charlotte? You’re here. You’re playing at submission. You enjoy being dominated and controlled, toyed with and conquered. I failed you there. I still had much to learn. You may not like hearing it, but my research does show that despite this world’s traditional relationships, the evidence is overwhelmingly in favor of natural female servitude to some degree or another. There are occasional exceptions.” He glanced at Amethyst. “Aberrations. Women who remain in deep denial. But normal, healthy earth women like you simply won’t be completely happy lacking a strong master.”
“See!” Amethyst pointed at Kartane, while looking at Martin. “ ‘This world.’ He talks about it as if there really is a planet of Gor. A planet of barbarians and pretty slave girls. An adolescent fantasy of horny little boys. He takes it seriously and inflicts it on naïve submissives.”
“You don’t run with the usual Gorean crowd here,” Martin said. Kartane bothered him for more reasons than he could count, but a new reason began to stand out. “A small Gorean group meets at Subspace each week. I’ve never seen you there.”
Kartane shrugged. “Ceremonial and online role-play Goreans don’t embrace the full spectrum encompassed within John Norman’s novels. Gamers focus on some valid things, but only when it suits them: integrity, honoring the Home Stone, caste loyalty . . . ways for a man to live a truthful and fulfilled existence.” He smiled, warming to his subject. “Of course, they also spend quite a bit more time on issues of slavery, slave etiquette, slave dances, slave punishments. It has a strong BDSM flavor, don’t you think? Masters and servants, dominants and submissives. Their so-called slaves submit but don’t ever fully surrender. Everyone plays the game, then steps out of the role to go on with their lives. It’s false. They aren’t true Goreans.” He gazed for a long moment at Charlotte. “I have you to thank for introducing me to the possibility of a Gorean lifestyle even though it didn’t work out between us. I presented it improperly, and for that I have regrets.”
“All year . . . every week when I visited Hoagie . . .”
“You had no idea I still craved a household full of kajirae, and all that other Gorean nonsense?” He grinned, boyish, and Martin saw Charlotte’s nod and answering smile.
She took a step closer to the guy. “You’re always nice to Hoagie. And to me. You’ve been nothing but supportive and kind.”
Kartane reproved her with a soft voice. “Maybe Goreans aren’t as bad as some people would have you believe?”
Martin intercepted a quick glance from Charlotte that she couldn’t control.
Kartane nodded. “It’s true that for me it’s not a game, it’s a lifestyle. But I respect your discomfort with the subject. I will always regret mishandling that part of our marriage.” Kartane looked at Charlotte with a knowing gaze that had Martin itching to slug the guy. “Maybe one day I’ll convince you of the need for a strong Gorean master to conquer you. That anything less than a slave’s full surrender isn’t authentic and won’t completely satisfy you.”
Charlotte looked shaken. Repugnance and recognition warred on her face, the expressions trading places. “Maybe you’re right,” she whispered.
Enough.
“Kartane. I think it’s time you left. Now.”
Kartane ignored both Martin and Amethyst. He looked at Charlotte thoughtfully. “I should’ve never let you go.”
Martin made a small sound of fury.
Kartane oozed toward Charlotte.
Intolerable. Something snapped in Martin. He took a single step forward, swung his fist at the man’s face. His knuckles connected with the strong chin, driving Kartane back.
“Stop!” Charlotte leapt between them even as Kartane rebounded from the wall with icy fury in his eyes. “If you want to just talk to me, we’ll talk! This isn’t necessary, or civilized. Or legal. This isn’t Gor, Cory!”
“Thank God,” Amethyst said.
“Kartane,” Cory corrected.
“Whatever,” Charlotte said. “We’re all friends here . . .”
Three snorts met that statement.
“. . . and so there’s no need for violence. I’m talking to you, too, Martin.”
Martin’s head snapped toward her. Outrage coursed through his veins. “I’m trying to help you.”
“By punching people? Don’t you think there’s been enough testosterone-fueled aggression tonight?”
“‘Cory’ is past tense,” Kartane insisted. The man breathed hard as he glared at Martin, his control obviously straining.
He wasn’t alone in that. Martin had broken up his share of conflicts, been the one responsible for preventing uncontrolled violence within Subspace and subduing flare-ups. Now he wanted to fight. Had this bloodthirsty lust for battle lurked beneath the surface in him the whole time? He’d never before felt so close to losing himself to rage. “Get out.”
Kartane slowly smiled, touched his own jaw where Martin’s fist had landed. “Your inner warrior wants to play. Gor welcomes strong fighters. Consider it.”
Oh, he was asking for it. Marin ground his teeth. “Out.”
“Gladly. Charlotte? I’ll give you a ride home.”
“You can stay here,” Martin assured her. He touched Charlotte’s arm.
She flinched. Stepped closer to Kartane.
The tiny rejection actually made Martin step back. He scowled, suddenly uncertain who most deserved his anger. For he was still angry. Deeply angry. “Fine. If he’s what you want.”
Amethyst looked at Charlotte with some concern. “You think it’s a good idea to go with him? Are you feeling okay?”
“Peachy.” Charlotte gave a despairing sort of laugh. “I know him better than both of you. He won’t hurt me. But, thanks for your concern.”
Martin didn’t like the sound of Charlotte’s laugh. It sounded a little hysterical.
What was he supposed to do about it? Slap her, like some barbarian Gorean slave master? Force her to stay?
She should want to stay.
He tried to keep the anger stoked high, needing the emotion’s warmth. It held his hurt at bay.
“It’ll be okay,” Charlotte said in a low voice to him. “I just have a lot to think about. I was only here to look for someone and I got distracted.” She spoke as if trying to make sense of her own words. “I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. True, the phone call was dropped. It happens, connections are dropped all the time, right? But she’s still missing. We . . . Kartane knows where I live and he can take me home easily. It’ll be okay,” she repeated more loudly.
“Of course it will.” Kartane looked at her, the very image of a caring friend. His voice radiated sincerity and solicitude.
It was hard not to believe him, even knowing what Martin knew. It was those baby blues and clean-cut blond good looks. No wonder so many women fell for him. No wonder Charlotte had.
Jealousy gnawed. He ignored it as a totally unworthy and inappropriate emotion. If Charlotte still had a thing for her ex, it was her business. He barely knew her. He didn’t want to know her, he told himself.
He ignored the little voice inside that laughed at that. He clung fiercely to the anger instead. “Well? Get out. What are you both waiting for, an escort? That can be arranged.”
He watched a little shudder run through Charlotte. He’d caused that. He’d given her pleasure and pain, and now a different kind of pain.
Martin felt a twinge of remorse. Belatedly, worry rose up in him again. But as he searched for the right words to say to make her want to stay, Charlotte went to Kartane. “Let’s go.”
Without saying anything more, Kartane turned and left, seemingly confident she’d follow.
She did. Without a single glance back, she did.
“Well, you handled that one like a champ. Not.”
He glared at Amethyst. “Real mature.”
“How could you let her leave with that creep?”
“Was I supposed to throw her down and sit on her? Tie her up again? Strap her to the St. Andrew’s Cross? Do you want me to beat him senseless and get my ass sued penniless?” He was yelling. With an effort, he got himself under control. “Shit.”
“He is.”
Martin stared at her. “He dumped you hard, didn’t he?”
“Fuck you. If you want her undamaged, emotionally and physically, you’d best keep an eye on them. I’ll handle Subspace. It’ll be good practice for when I own it.”
Martin gave an exasperated sigh, but his mind was on Charlotte. “We’ll discuss it later. I don’t have time to argue with you.” He threw off his white coat, then grabbed his keys and wallet.
He spotted Charlotte’s coat. Good. He had an excuse for following her now.
He rushed, wanting to keep the couple within sight.
He hoped they weren’t a couple.
He nearly slammed into Ratty in the room’s doorway.
“Whoa!” Ratty danced back, nimble, not spilling a drop of his two drinks. “What’s the rush?”
“Later! No time!” Martin ran.
Ratty looked at Amethyst. “Sorry I took so long. I didn’t mean to make you guard the door so long. There was a line at the bar. So, what was that all about?”
Amethyst plucked one drink from his hand. “Charlotte left with a Gorean. That Gorean! And Martin let her. Men can be so stupid,” she snarled. She drained the drink in one long gulp.
She held the empty out to him. “Here.”
Instead of taking it back, Ratty poured his own drink down the front of her tight dress.
“Hey!” She stepped away from him, staring at her sodden dress. “What the fuck did you do that for!”
“Because I’m stupid.” Ratty turned, his cloak flaring in a swirl of color and sequins, and went after Kartane.
15
Kartane made sure to reveal none of his elation as he left Subspace with Charlotte in tow.
Things were going his way.
He saw Charlotte darting surreptitious glances back, as if longing fo
r Martin to give chase. Kartane looked over his shoulder once, but all he saw was that angry older guy still pestering people for news about his missing daughter.
Amethyst would soon be kneeling at his feet. So would Charlotte. Martin would soon be completely irrelevant.
He savored the thought.
Charlotte walked by his side, just like old times. “Dearest, would you mind terribly if I made a quick stop at the office? There’s something I should attend to.”
He noted the way she started at the old term of endearment.
“But the office is all the way across town.”
“Not anymore.” He looked at his ex-wife. It bemused him, how different women could be. How distinct. They truly were treasures, and Charlotte was the treasure he’d let get away. He remembered her writhing, limber little body. He inhaled, savoring. From her scent to her colorless suburban clothes to her plain but long brunette hair starting to frizz in the night mist the way it always used to, she reminded him of how they’d been once upon a time.
Before he’d grown up into the man he was now.
“It’s only a few blocks away. I decided to move headquarters downtown. More traffic, more open minds, more opportunity. Are you cold?” Without waiting for her answer, he pulled off his own jacket and offered it to her.
“Oh! I forgot my coat. I should go back—”
“No.” He walked on when she didn’t take his coat, confident she’d continue walking after him. After only a tiny pause, she did. He smiled inside. She truly was a submissive. And so much more.
Such a shame he’d rushed things. He’d branded her prematurely. That should’ve gone very differently. But, he’d sensed her distance and dissatisfaction. He’d been afraid of losing her if he didn’t dominate her totally, conquer her utterly.
He’d made a mistake. He’d misjudged the proper moment.
Her feelings for him changed irrevocably the night he’d branded her. They cried together, after. They’d remained civil. They’d even remained friends, of a sort, sharing a few hours of time on weekends with Hoagie. But the marriage was over the instant they both smelled her flesh burning.
Rough Play Page 14