The Bondage Club

by Alexandrea Weis

  She walked into the elevator and touched his brow. “You’re sweating.”

  He tilted closer to her. “I’m hot.”

  “If you can’t admit that you’re insecure about your sex life then I—”

  “I am not insecure!” he argued.

  The elevator doors closed while Cary continued to scrutinize him. “Answer one question for me.”

  He frowned at her. “I don’t think I want to.”

  She turned to the elevator doors. “Fine. Where are we going for dinner?”

  “Dinner?”

  “You told Dr. Coleman we had a dinner reservation. So where are we going?”

  The elevator slowed as it came to the lobby. “Do you like sushi?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  When the elevator doors opened, he guided her into the lobby. “I know just the place. Come on, I’ll drive.”

  * * *

  Thrive was a downtown restaurant that offered a mix of American food with sushi not too far from Donovan Books’ offices. As Hunter escorted Cary through the lounge-like dining room with white plush chairs and couches set against chrome tables, she noted the modern décor and the hip crowd of sharply dressed businessmen and women milling around the shiny chrome sushi bar.

  After they slid onto a white bench next to the glass and chrome table, a willowy young woman with arms no bigger than twigs handed them long black menus and gave a gaunt smile. Hunter grinned warmly at the hostess.

  “How often do you come here?” Cary interrogated, after their hostess had stepped away.

  “Every now and then,” he confessed, opening his menu.

  “Do you like the people in here?”

  He lowered his menu. “The people?”

  “You know, the trendy crowd; the kind who like to look good and expect all their friends to look good, too. Personally, I think they lead vacuous lives and realize when they hit forty that they never did anything worthwhile.”

  Hunter cringed. “That’s kind of harsh, Cary.”

  “Is it?”

  “It’s just a restaurant. It’s not a social statement.”

  “But places like this are a statement, just like having the right kind of car or house.” She paused as her dark eyes explored his face. “Have you ever looked at people, Hunter? I would have thought at some point you would have noticed the people around you.”

  He put his menu down on the glass table. “What is wrong with you? You’re fine in a room full of deviants who like tying each other up, but go to a public restaurant to eat dinner like a normal person and you’re the one breaking out in a sweat.”

  “I just don’t do well in places like this. I always feel….” Her voice dropped as her eyes scanned the dining room.

  “Feel what?” He waited, but she said nothing. “Come on. I told you how I felt about your little bondage club. Now you tell me how you feel about this place.”

  Cary’s eyes came together, the irritation apparent on her face. “I don’t belong here, all right? Happy?” she stated in a sullen tone.

  Hunter smiled, entertained by her sour countenance. “That’s silly, Cary. Of course you belong here.”

  “Maybe I’m not good with people.” She shrugged and snapped up her menu. “I’m not like you. I can’t walk into a room and feel like I own it.”

  Hunter burst into a hearty belly laugh. “I assure you that is not me. That sounds more like my brother.” He picked up his menu. “You’re just like anyone else in here.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’m different. There are two kinds of people in the world: those who see other people, and those who see only themselves. In this room, there are only those who see themselves.”

  Hunter took a moment to absorb what she said and observed how she nervously tapped her fingers on the table. “And that makes you different, because you see other people who don’t see you?”

  She gleaned over her menu. “I’ve felt different all my life. I’ve always been one of those people you look over and not at. Like you with the hostess who seated us. You thought she was pretty, didn’t you?”

  He casually nodded his head. “Yes, she was. Thin, but pretty. So?”

  Cary lowered her menu and glared at him. “If I had brought you a menu, you would never have noticed me.”

  “That’s not true,” he objected. “You’re an attractive woman. I’m sure you have had lots of men tell you that.”

  “This isn’t about looks, Hunter. It’s about perception. You saw the hostess, because that’s what you want in a woman. You would never have seen me. I’m not what you want.”

  He snickered at her comment. “But you’re sure what my brother wants.”

  “I’m what your brother sees in a woman. An object he can possess. Just like you see someone you can sleep with.”

  “I do not.” Hunter gaped at her. “I see women as they are.”

  “We both know that’s not true.” She raised her menu again. “You’re like most men. What you need in a woman is what you perceive them to be.”

  Hunter reclined in his seat, holding his menu. “I didn’t realize editing erotica made you a guru on men.”

  “It doesn’t. I just think if you would stop looking from the outside in and shift your perspective to the inside out, you would be more successful in relationships.”

  Hunter bristled at the comment. “I don’t see you with a wedding ring, Cary. What makes you any more successful with relationships than me?”

  Her eyes never wavered from her menu. “I never said I was successful. I’m just offering an opinion on why perhaps you keep yourself from having what you want in life.”

  “I have what I want,” he loudly refuted, instantly regretting losing his cool.

  Cary’s dark eyes peered over her menu at him. “If you say so.”

  A young woman donned in black pants and a black T-shirt came to their booth. “Welcome to Thrive. What can I get you two to drink?”

  Hunter slapped his menu down on the table. “Vodka and soda, and make it a double.”

  Cary’s eyebrows went up and then turned to their waitress. “I’ll just have iced tea.”

  “I’ll come back with your drinks and get your order,” the server added with a smile and then left their table.

  Cary placed her menu to the side. “You all right, Hunter?”

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “Everything is just fine.”

  * * *

  After two double vodkas, Hunter was having a hard time pulling his keys from the pocket of his jeans as he and Cary walked out of Thrive.

  “You can’t drive,” Cary told him, grabbing for his keys. “I’ll take you home.”

  Hunter tried to snatch the keys from her hand, but was too slow. “No, I’ll drive you back to your car.”

  “My car will be fine where it is.” She moved ahead on the sidewalk. “I can pick you up in the morning and you can drop me at my car before going to the office. You can’t drive home drunk, Hunter.”

  “I’m not drunk,” he insisted, following her.

  “Oh, you’re drunk, all right. You didn’t touch your sushi, and would have probably ordered a third round of drinks if I hadn’t told you I wanted to leave.”

  He came alongside her. “But my car has a stick shift. Can you even drive a stick?”

  She confidently smiled up at him. “I’ll manage.”

  “Manage?” He shook his head, knowing he had no other choice, and then waved down the street. “Fine. You can drive me home.”

  She glimpsed his crimson red roadster parked along the curb. “Glad to see you’re not too far beyond reason.”

  When she hit the remote lock on his key ring, Hunter went to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. “Be careful with my car. If you wreck it, I will have to fire you.”

  She grinned at him over the top of the car. “Yes, boss.”

  As they drove to his place in Castleberry Hill, Hunter kept his head turned to the open window, hoping the cool night a
ir would help sober him up. He hated to admit it, but Cary had been right, he was drunk. Her words back at the restaurant had made him drink more than usual. There was nothing worse than having someone else show you how wrong you were about yourself. Such moments tended to anger Hunter because he hated seeing his life through the eyes of another. It only made him feel like a bigger failure than he already was.

  “The big one up on the right,” he said to her as they came to his building on Walker Street.

  “There’s a garage entrance just up ahead.”

  After pulling into his designated spot in the garage, Hunter swiped at the keys still in the ignition. “I have to get my front door key.”

  Cary switched off the engine and snapped up the keys. “I’d better take you up to your place to make sure you don’t fall flat on your face.”

  “I’m not that drunk, Cary.”

  She stepped from the car, ignoring him.

  In the elevator, Hunter kept clenching his jaw, holding back his irritation at being treated like a child by his employee. He knew she was only looking out for his interests, but it still goaded him when anyone tried to tell him what to do. When the elevator doors opened, he stumbled out and headed to his front door at the end of the short hallway.

  He was at his polished oak door, rummaging through his pockets for his keys when he remembered that Cary still had them.

  “Searching for these?” She held up his keys as she came toward the door.

  Hunter nabbed the keys from her hand. After fumbling with the lock, he pushed the door open and hurried inside. He flipped on the lights and headed across the shiny hardwood floor to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he searched for something to drink. After finding a bottle of water, he turned and saw Cary standing in the doorway, holding the keys that he had forgotten in the door.

  “Nice place.” Her eyes explored the open stairwell that offered an unencumbered view all the way to the third floor.

  He gulped back the water, wanting to quell his sudden dry mouth. “Thanks.”

  “How long have you lived here?” She pocketed his keys and shut the front door.

  When the door closed with a loud thud, Hunter became edgy. “Ah, about ten years. I bought it after I took over Donovan Books.” He set his bottle down on the white granite countertop on the bar, silently praying she would turn around and leave.

  Cary ventured further into his home. “Fancy sports car, upscale home…you enjoy your success, don’t you, Hunter?”

  “What is it with you? Are all people who happen to look good and have nice things on your shit list?”

  “No, I just don’t see you here. I would have pictured you in something a little…simpler.”

  His anger ignited, and he went around the bar to confront her. “I like to live well.”

  “No, you like to show people you’re doing well, but liking it?” She shook her head. “That’s not what I see.”

  He lowered his head to her, taking in the cool condescension in her eyes. “You remind me of my brother. He always likes to tell me what a failure I am.”

  “I’m not saying that, Hunter. I’m trying to tell you that this,” she waved her hand about the first floor, “isn’t you.”

  Annoyed with her smug attitude, he edged toward her. “You don’t know me, Cary.”

  “You’re wrong, I do know you.” She tilted her head slightly to the side as her eyes drank in his features. “We’re exactly alike, Hunter. We’re both trying to be something we’re not.”

  Distracted by her full, red mouth, his hostility quickly retreated. “And what are you trying to be?” he whispered.

  Her red lips lifted into a half-grin. “What do you want me to be, Hunter?”

  He did not know if it was her lips, or the way her face looked in the pale light from his kitchen, but there was something so alluring about her in that instant. Before he could register what he was doing, Hunter inched forward and gently kissed her.

  When he realized what he had done, it was too late. The softness of her lips was too tantalizing to refuse. He was committed, and as he wrapped her tiny body in his arms, he felt her kissing him back. His mind kept screaming at him to stop, reminding him that this was an employee and something like this could only end badly for both of them. But instead of heeding the advice, he pulled her closer.

  What was happening to him? He had considered her an adorable girl who was feminine, smart, funny, but never his type. Now in his arms, she had become the passionate, captivating woman he had always longed for but could never find. How could one kiss change everything?

  Opening her mouth, she yielded to him, and the act made Hunter grow hard. His kisses became more insistent. His tongue darted in and out, tempting her. And when Cary moaned, it took everything he had not to lift her from the floor and carry her up the stairs to his bedroom.

  Cary was the first to pull away. Her lips were red and puffy, her eyes wide with disbelief, and her breath was coming hard and fast as she stood in front of him. Lowering her head to the floor, she placed her hand over her mouth, as if comprehending the magnitude of what they had just done.

  “Shit.” He took in a breath and passed his hand over his hair. “I shouldn’t have…I was out of line.”

  “Ah…I should go.” Spinning away from him, she dashed to the door.

  “Don’t go,” he implored.

  But she never stopped, and after wrenching the door open, she rushed down the hall to the elevator.

  Hunter knew he should go after her, but his feet never left his spot in front of the breakfast bar. As she disappeared behind the closing elevator doors, he figured perhaps this was for the best. He could claim he was drunk, laugh it off as one of those awkward moments in life he would always regret, and then start their working relationship anew. But in his gut, he knew it would not be that easy for either one of them. He had liked kissing her; liked the taste of her lips and the feel of her against him, so much so that he did not want it to end. The funny thing was he had felt the same sensation from her. She had wanted him, and Hunter knew that kind of want was going to be dangerous for both of them. That was the problem with desire; if you didn’t pursue it, you ached, and if you did indulge, you eventually spent the rest of your life wondering when everything had gone so horribly wrong.

  Chapter 6

  When Hunter awoke the next morning, the pounding in his temples felt like a five-year-old had been using his head as a drum. His mouth was parched, his body throbbed, but his mind was instantly flooded with visions of Cary. After she had run out the door, he went to the refrigerator and tried to blot out the memory of their kiss with gulps of vodka. But that did not help to quell the burning in his gut for her. It was as if her kiss had ignited something in him, a sudden need he had never realized he possessed.

  Climbing from the bed, he groaned at the change in altitude and spied the wrinkled blue jeans and the half-opened, button-down shirt he had slept in. Taking in a few deep breaths, he stood up and wobbled for a moment before catching his balance. Pointing his body in the direction of his bathroom, he willed his feet forward, anxious to wash the crummy feeling from his bones.

  After a hot shower and two very black cups of coffee, he felt somewhat better, but far from normal. He was running around his first floor living room, frantically searching for his keys, when he remembered that Cary had taken his car and his keys with her last night. Flopping down on his sofa, he dreaded calling her, but then recalled the spare set of keys to his condo that he kept in his kitchen drawer. Figuring he could catch a cab to work and settle things with her after his head had cleared, Hunter was comforted by the fact that he could postpone their eventual confrontation about that dreaded kiss.

  By the time he caught the elevator, he was already coming up with explanations to give Cary about the previous evening. While hitting the button for the main lobby, Hunter decided he would admit he was drunk, profusely apologize, and give her the opportunity to quit her position. He hoped she would feel the s
ame way and want to leave Donovan Books. The idea of working closely with her every day on his new book line scared the hell out of him, and if he couldn’t make the launch of the new line work, then he would hire someone else who could. How hard could it be? Everyone was replaceable, right?

  “Hey, there, Hunter.” George Lansky from the floor below his stepped into the elevator. “Off to work?”

  Hunter eyed George’s pressed suit and shiny dress shoes, feeling blessed that he didn’t have to don such attire for work.

  “Yeah, heading to the office,” Hunter remarked as George hit the button for the garage right above the main lobby button on the console.

  “How is the publishing world?” George inquired, switching his black briefcase from one hand to the other.

  “Fine, George, fine.”

  “Got any more Fifty Shades of Gray hitting the bookstores soon? My wife loved that book.” He winked at Hunter. “I loved it, too, if you know what I mean.”

  Hunter suppressed his desire to cringe at the older man’s suggestion. “Ah, no. I think that was a one-time fluke.”

  When the elevator stopped on the garage floor, George stepped out the doors. As Hunter waited for the doors to close again, he saw George turn to him.

  “You’re not driving in?”

  Hunter held the elevator doors. “No, ah, my car isn’t here. I left it somewhere—”

  “What are you talking about?” George butted in. He pointed to Hunter’s parking spot by the elevators. “It’s right there.”

  Hunter burst through the open doors. Sitting in his reserved spot was his red roadster.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Must have been a hell of a night if you can’t even remember driving home, Hunter.” George walked up to him and patted his shoulder. “Take a bit of advice from this old attorney, next time take a cab.”

  As George ambled to his blue Jaguar in a spot close by, Hunter headed toward his car. He tried the door handle, and to his surprise, the car door opened. He slid inside and spied his leather briefcase in the back seat. Looking around, he quickly found his keys in the ignition.

  He was astounded. She had not taken his car last night. But then as he considered the consequences, he became angry. How did she get home? Was she safe? Questions one after the other barraged his mind. Turning the ignition, he revved the engine and all but peeled out of his parking spot, anxious to get to work. He became consumed with images of Cary making her way alone on the downtown streets of Atlanta late at night.