by L. DuBois
Cleo shed the white robe she wore and dropped to her knees before Hadrian. “Master.”
Aram gritted his teeth. Damn it, he wanted Charlie kneeling at his feet. He wanted to slide a collar around her neck.
And I’m not capable of making my own decisions? Of knowing what I want?
Her questions haunted him. Because Charlotte was almost intimidatingly intelligent.
As he watched Hadrian and Cleo’s bonding ceremony, the empty feeling in his stomach seemed to yawn open until he was nothing but a hollow shell.
This was what the coed sub had reduced him to—a sad husk.
He needed to see her. Once more.
Charlie opened the email. It was an official one from Las Palmas. Normally they sent emails about dues, announcements of new pieces of equipment or classes, and special notices. The last email she’d gotten had been about the stupid checklist game.
Your assigned partner for the checklist game requests your presence next Saturday at 10 a.m.
—The Overseers
Oh hell no. He did not.
Charlie snarled at her computer and shot off a reply.
Dear Master Leo, Mistress Faith, and Master Mikel,
Please tell my assigned partner it is with humble regret that I tell him to go fuck himself, and also that I’m not available at that time.
—Charlotte
Chapter Thirteen
She wasn’t going to let him stop her from doing something she loved. That’s why, at noon on Sunday, she walked into the Subs’ Garden. She wasn’t going to let what had happened between her and Aram drive her away from Las Palmas.
She changed into a cute pink baby doll teddy and white lace panties. She opted for white knee-high socks and no shoes. She considered pigtails, then decided not to be ridiculous. All together the outfit made her into the exactly the kind of sub Aram Green didn’t like. It was a big old fuck-you to the man who had mastered her, and whom she’d wanted to be her Master.
She wasn’t going to pretend that she didn’t want him to be here. Wasn’t going to pretend that a part of her—a large part—wasn’t desperate to see him again. She wanted to show him that she was fine. That she didn’t need him.
Yet, as much of an ass as he’d been, the sex was amazing. A good Dom, and great sex, were both very hard to find.
Charlie first stopped at the dining room to get herself a mimosa, then settled on a small ottoman in the Sub Rosa court. Because BDSM meant different things to different people, the club didn’t have hard and fast rules about behavior or attire for subs. She could have taken a seat in a chair, or leaned casually against a support post.
But she didn’t. She took the semi-submissive position seated on the low ottoman and watched the various scenes going on around her. Charlie shook her hair back, and did her best to look relaxed and casual. She was fairly certain she was failing, because every time she heard footsteps she tensed. Watching the sexy scenes of domination and discipline was arousing her and making it harder to remember that she was here to show Master Green what he was missing.
Even if what he was missing was a pudgy girl who forgot why she was mad the more aroused she became.
So, of course, it was at that point that Master Green arrived.
“Charlotte.”
A shiver skittered down her spine and she sucked in her stomach. She took one panicked breath, then shook her hair back and turned to look at him. She smiled coolly and leaned forward in a way that made her boobs look amazing.
“Aram.”
He took a seat in the chair beside her ottoman. “We need to finish our checklist items.”
“No, we don’t. I safe-worded.”
“Out of that particular scene.”
Charlie’s traitorous pussy clenched. Damn it, she still wanted him. “No, I’m done with all of it.”
“If I thought that was true, that you didn’t wish to submit to me any further, I wouldn’t be here.”
He said no more. He didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed on the scene playing out on the small stage. She remembered when they’d been up there.
She waited, but he remained silent.
“You hurt me.” That wasn’t what she’d meant to say, but that’s what came out.
“Physically?”
“No. Don’t be a jerk. You know that’s not what I was talking about.”
The corners of his eyes tightened, and she knew he didn’t like her speaking to him in that way. Tough shit. She didn’t care.
His gaze switched from the scene on the stage to her. She kept her chin stubbornly up. He leaned two inches closer, and Charlie’s heart leapt.
“You’re right. I was a jerk.”
She wasn’t expecting that.
Master Green cleared his throat. “Examination is the last item on our list.”
“We’re not playing anymore.” Her protest was faint.
“Aren’t we?” he asked.
“We’re mad at each other,” she reminded him. “You were a jerk.”
“I’m not angry at you. I have complex feelings for you, but anger isn’t one of them.” His eyes were soft, almost pleading. Something had changed for him since the last time they’d seen each other.
Complex feelings? What the hell did that mean?
“I’ve been waiting for you, since yesterday at 10 a.m.”
“I sent you a message that I wasn’t coming.”
“True. But I still waited for you.”
Damn it, and damn him, because that felt stupidly romantic.
“Why didn’t you come to the club as I requested?”
“Because you’re not my Master. You made that very clear.”
“My own muddled intentions made a difficult situation worse. I’d like to rectify that. I’d like to meet with you to discuss potential outcomes and to complete our final checklist item in another venue.”
What?
“What?”
He sighed, then said, “For our last scene I want to play outside the club.”
“Okay.”
“Perhaps at your house.”
Oh. Oh. “Oh. Okay.”
He looked down at her, waiting for her to elaborate, but she’d said all she intended to say. It sounded like he wanted more than to just finish the list.
“Very well. Enjoy your day, Charlotte.”
Master Green stood and walked away. Charlie watching him go, mouth agape. What the hell had just happened? Were they on or off? When were they going to meet?
Despite the inconclusive nature of their conversation, hope fluttered fragile wings deep inside her.
The elevator dinged.
It took Charlie a minute to realize what that noise was. The tiny elevator in her house had been installed by the previous owners, an older couple who’d bought the place back when Manhattan Beach was a sleepy little beach getaway. They’d installed the elevator when they could no longer handle the stairs, and Charlie had to admit that she was lazy enough that she used it far more than she should. But the only way to access the elevator was from inside the garage. There were two ways into the garage, and both those ways were locked.
She didn’t have a car—she preferred to use ride share services—so her garage was rarely used, and she was the only one with the code to open the gate. The other option was her front door.
The ground floor of her house consisted of the garage area and a small hall that connected the front door to the “sand room”—no point in calling it a mud room when you lived on the beach. Her bike, beach chairs, and a million pairs of flip-flops were in the sand room. There was also a locked door that allowed access to the garage. So, in theory, if someone came in her front door they could slip through the sand room into the garage and then into the elevator—assuming they had a full set of keys and codes to her house.
Charlie’s heart started to thud. Someone was in her house.
She slipped out of her office, phone in hand. From here she couldn’t see the door that hid the elevator entrance on this
floor.
“Hello?” she called out.
Brilliant, Charlie. I’m sure the bad guy who just broke into your house will be intimidated by that.
She hovered her thumb over the emergency call button.
“Charlotte.” Aram stepped around the corner.
She sagged against the wall. “Holy crap, you scared me.”
“That was not my intention.” His voice was cool and stern. He wore slacks and a pale blue dress shirt. No waistcoat today, but he had a white jacket folded over his arm.
The adrenaline was still jangling her nerves, but her heart was no longer thudding in her chest. She straightened. “Wait a minute, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m here to complete our checklist items.”
“Huh? It’s eight o’clock on Monday night.”
“We agreed yesterday we would play at your house. I created several social media accounts specifically for my, uh Dom-self, as opposed to my professional ones and followed all your various platforms—is that the correct verbiage? —and determined you would be home this evening.” He calmly shook out the jacket he held, then slid it on. Not a jacket. A doctor’s white lab coat.
Examinations.
Holy crap.
Arousal choked her. Damn it, that was hot—scary, intimidating, taboo. All things that she liked and wanted.
“How did you get in here?”
“I remembered the code to enter your garage.”
“You didn’t think to call?”
Charlie took a step back. He took a step forward.
“I told you I intended to finish out items in a venue other than the club.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say you were planning to break in to my house.”
“This does not fit the legal definition of breaking and entering. Possibly it could be construed as unlawful entry.”
Another step. As she retreated, he advanced.
“Good, now I know what to tell the cops when I call them.”
“You’re not going to call them.”
“I’m not?” Now she sort of wanted to call them just to see him panic and freak out. Then again, he probably didn’t even know how to panic and freak out.
“No. Because you very much want to be examined. And you’re my sub.”
“I’m not your sub.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You made it very clear that I’m not.”
Yet she was very deliberately walking backward toward her bedroom. Because as hurt and confused as she was, she still wanted him. It was hard—or in her case apparently impossible—to turn down the best sex she’d ever had.
“I am, as you pointed out, something of a jerk.”
“Glad you agree.”
“Charlotte, we’re still using the stoplight system for a safe word.”
She nodded in acknowledgment.
“Before I take another step, I need you to say it.”
“Say what?”
“Red, yellow, or green.”
Red and he would stop and walk out the door. He was a good Dom; he’d respect her safe word—even if he’d gotten all lawyery about it since she’d last used it. Yellow would let him know that she wasn’t ready, but he could make her ready.
And green meant she wanted this and was ready to go.
He’d stomped on her heart, made her feel stupid.
“You hurt me,” she said. It was, in a way, an answer to his implied question.
“Yes, I did. Because I thought I knew what was best for you.”
“That’s a dick move.”
“Yes, I fully understand that.”
“You made me feel stupid.” Her voice wobbled and she swallowed hard. “Like everything I felt was wrong, and one-sided. Like I was some crazy girl who read too much into our interactions. But I didn’t. You—you—”
“I very much want you to be mine.” His eyes darkened and he took a long step forward. “I took our interactions outside the club. I deliberately pushed you until you were in the headspace where you called me Master.” Another step. “I did it because I want to be your Master.”
“Then why did you say all that stuff?”
Aram sighed. “I didn’t want to be the cynical never-married divorce lawyer who has a midlife crisis after he turns forty and starts dating a pretty young blonde YouTube star, and oh by the way, he’s not just dating her, but he’d a sexual deviant who enjoys spanking the pretty little girl.”
Charlie’s heart lurched. “Oh, Aram.”
“Exactly. You deserve so much more than that.” He cleared his throat. “You’re full of contradictions, but I’m a stereotype.”
Charlie tried. She really tried. But she couldn’t hold it in. She started to laugh, and the cold ball that had been in her stomach since she’d walked away from him started to melt.
“Your laughter is not appreciated,” he grumped.
Charlie laughed harder, leaning against the wall. “I’ve got to remember that. What was it? ‘Cynical never-married divorce lawyer who has a midlife crisis’? And I get to be your midlife crisis girlfriend.” She tossed her hair and did her best airhead accent. “I’m, like, totally into that.” Real midlife crisis girlfriends should be skinny and dress way better than Charlie did, but the fact that he thought she was cute enough to be his sweet young thing made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
“You’re not helping.”
“I don’t care. You made me feel awful. Your turn.”
The stiffness left his shoulders. “I hate that I did that to you, Charlotte. I really did think it best to end our relationship.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I saw Hadrian and Cleo’s bonding ceremony. I watched him collar her.” Aram’s eyes went dark, his tone dropping to a growl. “I wanted that. I wanted you on your knees. I wanted to make my ownership and control of your body permanent.”
Charlie shivered and sucked on her lip.
“A Master should put his sub’s needs first. And I can’t shake the fear that you would waste important years of your life with me. That it would be a mistake—for you, not for me.”
“And you need to trust me to know what I want. If you aren’t enough for me I’ll just have to dump you. Or maybe I’ll take a lover on the side.”
“No, Charlotte.” His voice was deliciously stern. “Once you wear my collar, you are mine.”
“For, what was it, two years? Or three?”
“Until we’re done.”
“And what if we still want to be together after three years?”
He faltered. “Well…I mean, you might want to have a normal relationship.”
Charlie turned and walked into her bedroom. She plopped down on the bed and crossed her legs. She was wearing only fuzzy socks and a sweatshirt. Aram appeared in the doorway, and she watched his gaze drop to her crotch. If she had to bet, she’d say he was trying to peer into the shadow the hem of her sweatshirt made, to see if she was wearing underwear.
She was. He’d probably spank her for that. Yum.
“I just want to clarify a few things.”
He nodded, then glanced around her room. He perched on a stool that looked like a whimsical pink mushroom. He looked so out of place it was cute.
“So we’re going to be Master and sub. Officially.”
His gaze swept her, and she felt it, as if it had been his hands. “Yes. We will be bonded. You will wear my collar.”
“It has to be cute,” Charlie warned. “If it’s ugly, I’m out.”
“I already picked it. A ridiculously expensive piece made of gold with pink gems.”
“You had me at ridiculously expensive.” She grinned cheekily and he snorted. “And in addition to you being my Master, you’re going to be my boyfriend.”
He flinched a little at the word boyfriend. “Yes, we’ll be in a relationship.”
“You’ll be my boyfriend. Say it.”
“That word is so—”
“Appropriate for this situation.�
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He glared at her. “I will be your boyfriend.” He hung his head. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Oh, I know what’s wrong with you.” Charlie couldn’t hold back her smile. She had so many issues of her own she hadn’t ever thought that maybe it was his issues, his contradictions, that were the problem.
“And what’s wrong with me?” One eyebrow rose.
“You looove me.” She batted her eyelashes.
“That is a distinct and horrifying possibility.”
She didn’t get offended. She laughed. She’d been teasing, but the way he looked at her told her she was right on.
“If you date me, you have to really date me,” she warned.
“Exactly what does that mean?”
“You have to go to stuff with me.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“My friends’ birthday parties.”
“God help me.”
“You have to stand in line with me for new restaurant openings, and at food trucks.”
“Or we could eat at places that don’t have a line, and are actual restaurants.”
“Nope.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Fine, then you have to wear a conservative black cocktail dress and attend firm functions with me.”
“Sure thing, honey bun.” She made a kiss face. “I can’t wait to mingle with all the other lawyers’ wives.”
“Sweet God.”
Charlie laughed. “You’re too much fun to tease…” She looked him square in the eye, a smile flirting at the corners of her mouth, as she finished the sentence, “…Green.”
Aram was up like a shot. Charlie yelped as he pushed her onto her back. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of her head.
“Finally,” he murmured.
“Finally what?” Charlie squeaked in mock protest.
“You said ‘green’.”
“Well, maybe I meant Green like your last name. Capital G.”