The Bondage Club

by Alexandrea Weis

  “And how do you get to be a club member?”

  Her eyes scanned the room. “You need a reference from another member who will vouch that you’re a B/D gamer. That you are safe to play with, and aren’t into bad pain or severe S&M. The owners here like to keep it clean, no rough stuff.”

  “And what you did to me the other night wasn’t rough?”

  She sashayed up to him, grinning. “Not in the least. Rough stuff involves bad pain, the hurtful kind of torture that has got nothing to do with pleasure but has everything to do with destroying an individual’s will. True gamers are into the fun, the play, the experimentation used to arouse the senses.” She played with the buttons on his shirt. “Were you aroused the other night?”

  Ignoring her question, he lowered her hand to her side. “Is this the room where you wanted to shoot the author photo?”

  She took a step back from him. “Yeah, I like the ambience.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her, but refrained from telling her what he really thought. Shifting his focus to the patrons in the room, Hunter was surprised to see that no one was decked out in suggestive leather outfits, black hoods, or wearing spikes through their noses. Most were casually dressed, like him, a few were wearing black leather jackets, skirts, or pants, and the only hint that there was anything related to the bondage scene was their silver chain-link necklaces shimmering in the blue neon lights.

  “So how do hookups happen?”

  “Well, when you see someone you like, you check for the necklace, talk about what you like, and if they are into the same thing you are, you leave,” she illuminated.

  “What if they aren’t wearing a necklace?”

  “People without a necklace can only get in by using a member’s name at the entrance. They have to be referred. It’s a way the owners guarantee that everyone here has been screened.”

  Hunter turned his eyes from her to the bar across the room. “Where in here were you thinking of shooting this photo?”

  She pointed across the room. “By the bar…or perhaps with her in a booth beneath the blue neon lights. I thought the color contrast would be great considering we used the same colors on the cover.”

  He pictured Smut Slut striking a provocative pose by the bar. “I like it. What about the owners? Do you think they would consent to allowing us to shoot here?”

  “Maybe if we mention the club inside the jacket cover. There’s also a scene in the book that takes place in a club like this. I’m sure Smut Slut would be willing to add the club name. She often does that to introduce any of her readers to places they can go for hookups.”

  “So her books cross over into real life?” He nodded with approval. “That’s a good selling point.”

  “Smut Slut always encourages those who are interested to act out their passions in a safe environment.” Cary’s eyes did a turn of the room. “She feels some responsibility for making sure her readers stay safe.”

  “And I thought writing about condoms was enough. Now we have to tell them where to go to meet other like-minded individuals so they don’t end up on the evening news. Hell of a genre you two decided to work in.”

  “Maybe that’s why she wants to cross over to romance,” Cary debated. “Lately the market has changed, and a lot of people are venturing into this world, unprepared for the outcome.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that.” Hunter became distracted by a pretty blonde in a black dress standing by the bar. She was talking to a dark-haired man wearing a black leather jacket, jeans, and black boots. As the young woman flicked back her silky hair from her shoulders, he hungered to talk to her. She had the long legs and lean figure he liked.

  “She’s not your type,” Cary commented beside him. “Too empty-headed.”

  “Who?”

  “The blonde with the legs. Probably your go to type.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You like blondes. You look at them first in a crowd. I figure that’s the kind of woman you like to chase. But once you get to know them, or get what you want out of them, you move on.”

  He looked at her, his mouth ajar. “Where do you get this stuff?”

  “I watch you. You may not realize it, but you’re pretty predictable when you walk in a room filled with people. You first look at the crowd, then start sizing up the women until you find one you like, and then you stare.”

  He nervously touched his shirt collar. “What are you, a shrink?”

  “No, just observant. I like watching people, figuring out what they are thinking, predicting their behavior. Men are a hell of a lot easier to predict than women.”

  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Funny, I thought it was the other way around.”

  “Would you like to meet her?”

  “Who?” he asked, confused.

  “The blonde. Her name is Lenore and she works with a PR firm in town.”

  He gaped at her for a moment. “No, I don’t want to meet her.”

  “She likes to be submissive. She prefers soft ties, but will do handcuffs and rope as long as it doesn’t leave bruises. Lenore is particular about bruises. She can’t have any of that because of where she works.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “She told me. I met her a while back and we spent one night chatting about preferences.”

  He ran his hand over his forehead, suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. “Maybe we should just find the owners and ask if we can do the shoot here.”

  Cary analyzed his handsome features for a moment. “Why does this stuff make you nervous?”

  “Are you always like this with men? If you talk to men like this, they will run for the hills.”

  “Of course I don’t talk to men like this, only you.”

  “Why do I get the special treatment?”

  “You said you wanted to learn about this stuff. This is part of it, talking about preferences. There is nothing wrong with it. In fact, it saves a lot of time in a relationship. You don’t have to guess what a person wants in bed, you already know.” Her eyes eagerly surveyed the room. “Look, I’ll prove my point. The guy alone in the booth at the corner by the bar.” She nodded casually to the corner of the room. “I’ll go over there and show you what I mean.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Don’t you dare leave me!”

  “Why can’t I leave you?”

  “I don’t want anyone in here to think…just stay by my side.”

  “This really makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?” Her eyes became like two dark slits. “What are you so afraid of, Hunter?”

  “I’m not afraid just…uncomfortable with the people in here.” He removed his hand from her arm. “I’m not into being tied up, or tied down and having some stranger…let’s just find the manager and get permission to set up the shoot.”

  “It’s already done.” She slowly grinned. “I talked to Wes today. He’s fine with whatever we want to do as long as the club gets a mention.”

  Hunter glowered at her, the anger teeming in his green eyes. “You manipulative little…why didn’t you tell me that before we came here?”

  “Then you wouldn’t have wanted to come. Scary how well I know you, isn’t it?”

  “Scary is not the word that comes to mind.” He took her elbow. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She let him pull her back to the black curtains at the entrance. At the metallic and slate bar beyond, Cary leaned in closer to him.

  “Why don’t we have a drink?”

  “No thanks.” He kept urging her toward the stairs. “I think we should just get out of here and I will bring you home.”

  Pouting with disappointment, she did not argue but let him escort her down the stairs and through the main bar on the first floor. Only once they had exited the bar did Hunter let go of her arm. Breathing in the cool night air, the tension in him started to dissipate. It wasn’t until he spied his car that Hunter finally relaxed.

  “Maybe we could stop somewhere al
ong the way back to my place and have a drink?” Cary suggested as she went around to her car door.

  Hunter retrieved his car keys from the pocket of his black pants. “I shudder to think where we will end up next.”

  “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad. It’s not like you hooked up with anyone in there.”

  He observed her over the top of the small roadster. “I hooked up with you, didn’t I? That’s enough for one evening.”

  “But you’ve already had me. There is no surprise left for you.”

  “I beg to differ.” He opened his car door. “There is nothing but surprises with you.”

  She opened her car door. “Fine. Don’t let it be said I didn’t try and change you. I guess you’re just too set in your ways.”

  He waited behind the wheel as she shut her car door and then fastened her seat belt. “I am not set in my ways. I know what I like, Cary, and whips, chains, and submission isn’t part of it.” He put the key in the ignition and turned the engine over.

  “I was just trying to open you to new experiences.”

  “I like my old experiences. Less painful.”

  “And way too vanilla,” she countered.

  He put the car into gear. “Exactly.”

  * * *

  After a quiet ride back, Hunter eased his car next to the curb in front of her triangular apartment building. When he turned off the engine, he veered his eyes to her. As she freed the seat belt from around her shoulder, he felt a twinge of regret. Perhaps he had been a tad harsh.

  “I’m sorry about the way I acted back at the club. I should have been a bit more open to your…alternative lifestyle.”

  She collected her purse from the car floor. “What makes you think it’s my alternative lifestyle? It’s my business to stay up-to-date on such things. I can’t be a very good editor if I don’t know what is happening in the bondage scene.”

  “I think you know plenty about the bondage scene. Maybe more than you should. After our night together, I learned you—”

  “You don’t know me, Hunter,” she blurted, cutting him off. “We had sex, not a relationship. So don’t sit there and pretend you have me figured out.”

  He sighed and rocked his head back against the seat rest. “Fine. You’re right and I’m wrong.” He glared at her. “Is that what you needed to hear?” he added.

  “You don’t have to be such an asshole about it.”

  “I’m not being an asshole,” he refuted, raising his voice. “It’s just so hard trying to talk to you. I feel like…forget it.”

  “There you go again. Just when you start to talk and open up, you shut down.”

  “No I don’t. I open up.”

  “Like you opened up at the club?” She reached for the car door. “Good night, Hunter.”

  Feeling exasperated, he slapped his hand on the black leather steering wheel. “Now why do I get the distinct impression you’re mad at me?”

  She climbed from the car without saying anything. After she slammed her door, his hands gripped the steering wheel. Shaking his head, he opened his door.

  “I’m sorry, Cary,” he told her as he stood outside of the car. “Yes, I was an ass at the club.”

  She stopped on the sidewalk just a few feet from the glass entrance to her building. Slowly, she turned to face him.

  “Let me make it up to you,” he posed, sounding cheerful. “I’ll buy you a drink…or better yet, dinner. How does that sound?”

  She stood on the sidewalk, cradling her black purse in her hands and shifting her weight back and forth on her black heels as if she were considering his offer.

  “I’ve got some leftover Chinese food in the fridge if you want to come up,” she eventually called out.

  He saw her standing there, looking like a little girl playing dress up, and knew he could never resist her.

  “Let me just park my car and I’ll come up.”

  She smiled. “I’m in 608.”

  “608. Got it.”

  He stepped back into his car, feeling happy and at the same time nervous about being alone with her. His mind kept reassuring him that there would be no harm in having a bite to eat with his employee. Besides, the idea of leaving her hurt and angry was more than he could bear.

  As she walked inside the glass doors to her building, his stomach jumbled into a thick knot. “I’d better hurry up and find out why she has this effect on me before I lose it completely.”

  Chapter 11

  Cary answered her white front door wearing faded blue jeans and an extra-large, white T-shirt, but had not removed her dark gray eye shadow or deep red lipstick. Hunter found the contrast between her innocent attire and seductive makeup alluring as hell.

  “You changed,” he commented, fighting to keep the apprehension from his voice.

  “Just getting comfortable,” she assured him.

  The knot in his stomach twisted even tighter.

  “Come on in,” she drawled. “I hope you don’t mind cats.”

  “Why, do you have one?” As soon as he spoke the words, he felt something wind around his right ankle.

  Cary pointed to the fluffy orange and white cat at Hunter’s feet. “That is Sex Kitten.”

  “Sex Kitten? You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “It suits him. He’s the biggest flirt in the building.”

  It was a tastefully decorated apartment with shiny oak hardwood floors, muted tones of beige, copper, and sienna painted on the walls, high ceilings, and tall windows that overlooked the surrounding downtown buildings. The furniture was a hodgepodge of modern, sleek leather and chrome chairs, a pine coffee table, and an oversized, plush white sofa stuffed with a colorful assortment of throw pillows. The living area was triangular in shape with a small kitchen in an adjoining alcove, and dining area just beyond the kitchen. Posters of famous French Quarter attractions, such as Café Du Monde and Jackson Square adorned the walls.

  “You like to keep pictures of New Orleans close by?”

  “Always.” She shut the front door. “It keeps me sane.”

  “How many bedrooms do you have?” he asked, admiring a poster of the entrance to The Court of Two Sisters Restaurant.

  “Two,” she replied, waving to an archway past the kitchen. “I use one as an office.”

  He walked over to a window that faced the thirty-three foot neon Coca Cola sign on top of the Olympia building near Woodruff Park. “Great view.”

  She came up beside him. “Yeah, nothing like gazing out your window and seeing a great big advertisement for a soft drink. Wait until the lights go on. My living room glows red.”

  “If you hate it that much, you could move.”

  “Believe it or not, I’ve gotten used to it. It’s kind of comforting in a way. Always there flashing its bright red neon display. Anyway, downtown is convenient for me. Close to my job.”

  “I hear your boss is a real jerk though.”

  “He’s not that bad once you get to know him.” She started for the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind wine. It’s all I have.”

  “Wine is great.” He grinned as Sex Kitten trotted into the kitchen alongside him.

  “I never pictured you being into wine.” She directed her gaze to the cat at her feet. “Go sit on the couch.”

  “Actually I used to drink it all the time when I was writing.” Hunter stared in amazement as the big white and orange cat ran back into the living room and jumped on the white sofa. “Does he always listen like that?”

  “Yeah, I know it’s weird. Ever since I brought him home, he seems to understand everything I say.” She went to a white refrigerator. “I thought you only drank vodka,” she added.

  “I didn’t get into drinking chilled vodka until after I took over the company. I never touched hard liquor before then.”

  She pulled out a few white cartons from the refrigerator. “That’s not good. Makes it sound like you hate what you do.”

  “Not hate.” He came up to her and took the
cartons from her hands. “Just not real crazy about it.” He carried the cartons to the table.

  Cary opened a polished oak cabinet and retrieved two white dinner plates, then she gathered forks and spoons from a drawer. “So how long do you plan on doing this job you’re ‘not real crazy about’?”

  “I don’t know. Might have to stick with it for a while.” He rested his hand on the arched back of a wooden chair against the table. “I don’t have anything else to fall back on.”

  After putting the plates and utensils on the table, she raised her eyes to him. “You still have your writing.” She went to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of wine. After stopping by a drawer to get a wine opener, she came back to the table. “I read your manuscript, Hunter. You have a great shot at making it as a writer.” Handing the wine bottle and opener to him, she returned to the kitchen.

  “But that’s not a career, Cary. Not a career I can eat with anyway.” He peeled the foil back from the wine bottle and placed the opener in the cork. “I have to be practical.”

  She collected two wine glasses from a cabinet above the sink. “Practical?” She shook her head. “Now you sound like your father. Is that why he insisted you take over the business? You had to be practical and go to work at the publishing house.”

  He popped the cork from the bottle. “No, my bank account made me practical. I got tired of asking my father for money, squeaking by on my measly allowance, and living in general squalor so I could fulfill some silly dream of being a writer. After my mother died…I decided enough was enough.”

  “So now you have a lucrative job, but are you happy, Hunter?”

  “I’m happy,” he assured her, filling a wine glass on the table. “I’ll be even happier when we launch this book. Having Smut Slut as my debut author for the Hot Nights line was a stroke of luck.” He handed her the glass of wine.

  “She’s pretty excited about it, too.” She took a sip of the wine.

  He filled the other glass. “With her on board, things might finally start picking up at Donovan Books.” Putting the bottle down, he pulled out a chair.

  “Has business been that bad?” Cary probed, taking a seat next to him.