Finn's gaze travelled over to the bank of security monitors, instinctively seeking out the woman in question. This wasn't his business, Marie Antoinette was not his concern, but he couldn't help seeing Ava in her place. Ava embraced her submissive side, found peace in it; Marie couldn't, for whatever reason. He found her on the bottom right screen, slumped dejectedly in a seat by the back wall. Her subs knelt around the table, heads bowed, serene in their submission.
Dillon stood guard in the shadows, not ten feet away, almost out of range of that camera shot.
“I can't tell you what to do here, Spencer. This isn't my club, I'm not a regular. Yet. But look at her. That's not a pissed-off Domme infuriated at being babysat by a DM. I pegged her as a Domme the moment she walked into the locker room, but she's learned how to project what she needs others to see her as. That there,” he murmured, feeling the need to reassure his own sub as she slept, “is a very lonely, very insecure submissive who doesn't know how to be what she is.”
They sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes, studying the woman on-screen. Spencer's dark brows were furrowed in thought, those blue eyes intent. The man was an expert at masking his thoughts. He gave a curt, “Come in,” when there was a tentative knock on the office door. His expression cleared when a tall, willowy figure slipped into the room with a tray. “Thank you, pet.”
“Scotch for you, Sir,” Klara purred, setting a tumbler on the desk in front of Spencer, then another in front of Finn, “and one for you, Master Finnegan. One bottle of water for your submissive.” She inclined her head toward him, just the slightest bit. “Do you require anything else?”
Spencer grunted, cupping her ass through her tight black pants before his fingers curled around her thigh. “I could use your input, Klara, as head bartender. Close the door, there's a good girl.” He didn't take his eyes off the screen until his wife returned, and he pulled her onto the arm of his chair, keeping a possessive grip on her leg. “Marie Antoinette, Klara.”
“You know my opinion on her, Spence.” Klara's tone suggested the woman had been a topic of conversation before. “If you're deciding whether or not to terminate her membership, I'm all for it. She causes a headache from the moment she walks in to the second she leaves.” Her face brightened. “Is tonight the night?”
“That's yet to be determined. Master Finnegan believes there's a case of conflicted identity here. As the aggrieved party, I'd like to hear what he believes would be a fair punishment.”
Finn lifted an eyebrow, raising his hand in surrender. “Like I said, Spencer, this is out of my jurisdiction. I'm just a member, I have no sway here. She obviously has a track record of being a pain in the ass, and I'm not here often enough to understand the full extent of her influence. Although it's not hard to imagine,” he added in a mutter.
“But?”
Fuck, he didn't want to get sucked into another lost soul. Ava took all his energy, his concentration. Burrowing into the roots of another submissive was more than he had left in him. He sighed heavily, aware of the two pairs of eyes observing him quietly. “Fine. I give in. Give her two options. Option one—walk away from Black Light with her subs in tow, terminate her membership, and let her wreak havoc on another club. Sooner or later, she'll get shunned from all but the establishments without any semblance of regulations or concepts of safe, sane, and consensual.”
“Putting herself and others at risk of harm,” Spencer concluded with an exasperated grunt.
“Exactly. If she's desperate enough to submit to a strange Dominant she poaches from a legitimate club, she's going to go to any lengths to submit wherever she can. We all know there are places where BDSM is not what we fight to maintain. She's a grown woman with her own mind, sure, and that doesn't make her Black Light's responsibility. But if she's conflicted about who and what she is...she needs guidance before she falls into the wrong hands.”
Klara's head tilted, her waterfall of blonde hair cascading over her shoulder in the long ponytail she tamed it with. “You believe Marie Antoinette is submissive, not dominant?”
“She introduced herself to me as a Switch. She's not. Her submissive tendencies, to my mind, outweigh her Dominant ones tenfold, she just doesn't know how to lose the Domme facade she hides behind.” Finn felt Ava begin to calm, the harsh shivers passing into quiet relaxation. Part of him relaxed with her. “So that leaves option two. Offer her the chance to explore submission properly. If she wants to keep her membership here, then she cuts her submissives loose, and has to put one hundred and ten percent effort into dropping the attitude. Put her under a strong hand that won't bend if she tries to assert her dominance—which she will, it's her defense. It's reflex. Find her a compatible Dom capable of nurturing the submissive without breaking her.”
“That feels a little like blackmail,” Klara murmured.
“She doesn't have to accept the offer,” Finn pointed out easily. “She loses everything regardless if you don't give her the option. The woman on the screen doesn't look like she has much left to lose. It's not my call, and I can't speak for those of you who have to deal with her whenever she comes in, so that's all I'm gonna say.”
Spencer drummed his fingers on the desk, deep in thought. “Klara? Thoughts? She's been particularly irritating toward the bar staff.”
“Irritating?” She huffed in the regal way her bloodlines had perfected over generations. “She makes the girls cry, and I'm not entirely sure I don't have ulcers from having to deal with the snarky bitch. She treats the wait staff like dogs, and while some of the girls enjoy pet play, I do not. Not with a Domme who thinks herself better than the rest of the population.”
Finn sat back, freezing in place as his chair groaned ominously. When it didn't crumple beneath him, he allowed himself room to breathe, checking Ava beneath the blanket as Spencer and Klara argued out the pros and cons of his suggestion. It didn't matter to him, one way or another. Marie would either stay at Black Light and learn to open herself to her submissive side, or she would find herself banished from the club.
If she was smart, she'd take the offer, but sometimes fear of the unknown could eradicate any hope of rational thinking.
Klara through her hands up in the air. “Okay, okay! One last chance, if you think she deserves it. I'll stand by your decision, Spencer.”
“Wise choice, pet.” But Spencer's hand patted her leg to ease the sting of faint reprimand. “Ask Dillon to escort Madame Antoinette in as soon as Master Finnegan has left. I've still got some questions, so we may be a few more minutes. Be sure to tell him that if she leaves before speaking with me, he can inform her she's no longer welcome here.”
“Yes, Sir.” Graceful as any supermodel, Klara rose from the arm of the chair and, nodding to Finn, glided from the room. The door shut behind her, leaving the men looking at each other expectantly.
“You ever consider selling out of the beef business, you should think about going into sub psychiatry.” Lifting his glass, Spencer sipped from the finger of scotch. “I'll try it your way, McLeod. Do you think she'll take the offer?”
“I'd say that depends on how you put it to her. Go in all guns blazing, she'll shoot you down, react the same way as any Dominant would react if challenged. Find the balance where she'll listen to what you have to say, then hit her with what she wants.”
“Dominance,” Spencer said flatly.
“Dominance,” Finn confirmed. The bundled female in his arms lifted her head, barely able to keep it up or her eyes open. Like a puppet with the main string cut, her head rolled and thumped back onto his shoulder with a moan. “That's my cue to take our leave, Spencer. Do you need anything else?”
“No, I think we're good. Appreciate your input.” Spencer rose.
“Anytime. There was one thing I meant to ask you about before we called it a night; how do we go about signing Ava and I for a joint membership?”
Chapter 15
Ava
“Come on, darlin'. Drink this and you can go back to sleep.
”
Deep in her bones, the echo of the Sybian's vibrations hummed. She could still hear the damn thing like bees around her ears. Her whole body continued to thrum as though hooked up to the nightmare machine. Muscles cried like babies, her throat felt dry and raw, but that was nothing compared to the thick pulse of swollen tissues between her legs.
Fingers cupped her chin tenderly. They felt like soldering irons on her oversensitive skin. Whimpering, she broke free of the gentle hold and flapped a weak hand toward the man who'd essentially pumped her full of pleasure until she popped. “Nuh.”
“Feeling a bit rough, huh? That's okay. Last night was more energetic than anything we've done before. You just need to rehydrate and rest.” Cool glass touched her lips, cold water lapping teasingly. “Take a few sips for me, Ava. Oh, that's my good girl,” Finn crooned when she opened her mouth and accepted the first blessed mouthful. “There's plenty, darlin'. Don't rush or you'll be sick.”
She drank slowly, carefully. The weight of her eyelids was unbearably heavy. She kept them closed, relying on her distorted senses to figure out her surroundings. Her skin rested on uber-soft sheets, clean and fresh. The room smelled of the perfume she'd spritzed on before meeting Madeline, and Finn's delicious aftershave. Stronger than it should have been if the source was the man himself.
Hotel room. Not Black Light.
She couldn't remember leaving the club. Couldn't remember anything, actually after...what was the last memory she had? She recalled her near breakdown, thinking she was going to wet herself in front of the entire club, and Finn's voice soothing away the anxiety. The divine bite of his fingernail on her clit heightening the sensation of being so, so full. Then the sudden, devastating surge of vibration attacking and devouring every nerve ending, beyond anything she'd felt before...
The very last thing that came to mind was the two dildos, sitting so snug and comfortable in her pussy and ass, turning into raging, writhing monsters thrashing around inside her. Had she screamed? She thought she must have. They'd hit all the spots inside her begging for more and reduced her mind to nothing but brilliant white light.
“Time s'it?” she slurred between sips.
“Just after two a.m., darlin'. You've been awake a few times since the scene ended, but it knocked you for six.” The empty glass vanished, much to her disappointment, but a cold cloth pressed against her forehead. “Took some serious skills to get you dressed without making you look like I'd kidnapped and ravaged you in some dark alley. The cab driver gave me some funny looks as it was. I've been expecting the cops to show up.”
Her laugh seeped out in three half-hearted huffs. She didn't have the energy to keep it going as one long sound. “Driver.”
“We walked to the coffee shop, and then to Black Light,” he reminded her quietly, smoothing the cloth over her cheeks and down her throat. “It was quicker and easier to hail a cab to bring us back to the hotel.”
The coolness of the cloth against her skin felt so freaking good. The abrasion of the fibers over her skin was well worth the relief they brought. She heard water pouring, instinctively licked her lips. She wanted to drink and drink until this insatiable thirst was quenched. “It's so hot.”
The backs of his fingers touched her forehead. “You feel warm, but not too hot.” The sheet covering her was drawn down to her waist, cool air wafting over her skin. Everything felt cool aside from her, and that really didn't seem fair. She winced against the brush of his hands. “No sweating, darlin'. I think you're dehydrated.”
“Oh, that's bad,” she told him irritably.
“It just means a long night for me,” Finn replied, laying the cloth over her forehead again. “Open your eyes, Ava.”
Sighing, she did as he asked, squinting at him. “Yes, oh mighty master?”
“You'll live,” he announced. “Sass like that lives forever. Drink some more, then let's get you tucked up and back to sleep.” The glass returned to her lips; Ava grabbed onto it with two shaky hands, slurping noisily in her haste. Droplets escaped, sliding down her chin and dripping onto her bare chest. “I'll send Rosie a message, tell her you won't make it tomorrow. See if we can change the spa day to Sunday.”
“No. Just want to go home.”
His expression changed to one of concern. Carefully, so carefully she could appreciate the effort it took, he slipped his hand behind her back, easing her up into a sitting position. He held her there while he took the glass from her hand and set it on the bedside table, then rearranged her pillows one-handed. When he laid her down, she was flatter than she'd been before. “It sucks thinking about making plans when you don't feel well.”
It wasn't that, not entirely. The time spent away from the city had nudged a wedge between Ava and her best friend. Ava's life was in Montana now, and Rosie understood that. Part of Ava thought her friend was just relieved to have the burden of a self-harmer off her shoulders, the responsibility of taking care of her passed over to Finn. Their communication had waned after the first few weeks of being in separate states. Phone calls dwindled, messages trailed off.
Rosie was relishing her newfound freedom, loving life in D.C. with the gusto of a woman released from marriage. Without Ava as her ball and chain, her social life was back to being fun and carefree.
Ava didn't mind, not really. Rosie had taken care of her for long enough, saved her life, and given her a boot up the ass to go to Black Light for the Roulette night. Without Rosie, there would be no Ava, no life with Finn, no home and happiness. Her friend deserved her freedom, and Ava wasn't going to barge back into Rosie's life and expect her to drop everything to welcome her home for a day. She wasn't high on the priority list, and that was just fine by her.
“She won't care, Finn. Just tell her...I'll catch her another time. I miss home.”
“Guess you're a country girl at heart now, huh? The big bright lights of the city not calling you back?” Finn stroked her hair away from her face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He had the best eyes, especially when she looked into them and saw love. Sometimes, when she looked at him, his heart was in his eyes and she fell deeper into them, sucked down into forever with one man.
“Ugh. Too many people. Too many voices. I like the quiet.”
“Me too, darlin'. Me too.” He bent and kissed her forehead, standing straight and stretching out his shoulders. He laid the sheet back over her lightly, creating a beautiful waft of air that swept over her torso. “I'll deal with Rosie, little dove. Close your eyes and go to sleep. If you still want to go home in the morning, then home we go.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, sleep tugging at her. “Oh, Sir?”
“Yeah, darlin'.”
“That machine is the devil.”
* * *
Finn
It was indeed a long night. When dawn rolled around, Finn was watching some random infomercial on skin tag removers, wondering if he could use it to remove warts off a cow's hide. Debating whether or not the little gadget would work on a thick hide rather than frail human skin passed enough minutes that his watch beeped quietly, signaling it was time to nudge Ava awake and make her drink.
Every half an hour, on the dot.
Shoving out of the armchair beside the bed, he rolled his neck to ease the tension gathering at the base of his skull. A sick submissive wasn't part of his plans for the weekend, and he blamed himself. He was sure he'd kept a close enough eye on her to track what she was imbibing, but evidently, he'd dropped the ball over the last few days.
He scrubbed his hand over his bare chest, yawned widely. Padding over to the bed in just his boxers, he refilled the empty glass from the pitcher he'd ordered from room service. Packed with ice, the water was still refreshingly cold. He hated waking her; she hadn't moved an inch all night, which wasn't like her. He hadn't been joking when he said she kicked like a mule in her sleep—sometimes it was like sleeping next to a ninja. But as dawn touched the city with first light, she was peaceful.
She nearly took his n
ose off with a slap when he touched her shoulder.
Finn checked all his features were still in their correct places, highly amused by her quick reflexes. She babbled nonsense at him, snuffled, then smacked herself in the face with her own hand as it dropped limply onto the pillow. Someone was feeling better, he thought with relief, even if she didn't know it yet. “Let's have you, little dove. The more you drink, the more you'll feel—”
“Need to pee,” she mumbled suddenly. Her eyes popped wide, the blue hazy and unfocused. She flailed with the sheet, tangling herself up in it, then almost fell out of bed. Half-hopping, half-stumbling, she scurried toward the bathroom, her body in the same half-awake state as her brain. She came close to bashing into the doorjamb, skimmed past it by a scant centimeter, and dove into the room.
Shaking his head, Finn followed in her wake. Hearing her long, heartfelt groan and the accompanying telltale tinkle of a certain bodily function, he waited outside the door. It tickled him that he'd seen her naked, had his fingers inside her at every opportunity, his mouth on that perfect pussy, and she still had a meltdown if he caught her using the facilities. The one time she'd walked into the room when he'd been taking a leak, she'd damn near swallowed her tongue, turned the color of a strangled strawberry, and fled—not to be seen for over an hour.
The toilet flushed; the tap switched on.
Figuring it was safe to enter, he knocked a finger on the door and walked inside. The sheet was in a heap on the tiles and his sub stood on shaky legs by the sink, trying to prop herself up and wash her hands. The muscles in her thighs trembled, probably sore from the exertion of their scene. “You okay, darlin'?”
“My legs hate me,” she said slowly, lathering her hands with soap and washing them off.
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