She started laughing, feeling her face flush because she was so scrumptiously excited he’d liked what she’d done, something that had been a given for so long for her, she’d lost the thrill of it, and hoping he thought that pink in her cheeks came with her humor.
He held her tighter.
When she sobered, she stilled at the look on his face.
“I fucked up. I was a dick. I blew my stack ’cause I got a temper. Been kickin’ my ass for days, worried as fuck you’d blank me. I’m glad you didn’t, Amélie, because I missed you.”
God, that openness. His honesty.
He was sucking her in, in a way she didn’t want to crawl out.
She kissed him, couldn’t stop herself from kissing him, she let him kiss her back, and she let them both do this for a long time before she lifted up and admitted, “I made my own mistakes to loosen the hold you have on that impressive temper, my chevalier. You were not wrong in what you said, as we both know. How you communicated it, I don’t have to mention because you’ve apologized.” She touched her lips to his briefly before she finished, “But I hope you know, I missed you, too, Olivier.”
At that, he lifted his head and kissed her.
And she let him, his hands in her hair holding her to him and everything.
It took a couple of tugs back to break the kiss before he got the message and they were both breathing a little uneasily when she lifted her head.
“I want you back on Wednesday, Olivier.”
“I’ll be here, Amélie,” he said instantly.
“And I want you to consider a weekend with me up in the mountains at my ranch,” she blurted.
He blinked.
Damn!
Mirabelle had been with Trey for weeks; all her vacillation, not jumping in. Amélie had four sessions with her beast and she was inviting him for a weekend away.
And she meant a weekend away. Not strictly a play weekend. They’d definitely play, but she wanted to know the man who laid under her.
Damn.
When he stared up at her with intensity, like he was trying to see through the windows to her soul, she quickly explained, “I have a setup. It’s nice. I … it’s play. A weekend of play. You’ll like it. Trust me.”
He grinned. “Bet I will.”
She relaxed on him. “You will.”
“You got a ranch?”
“House here, ranch where I can escape the heat in the summer. And where I keep my horses.”
“Now how did I know my Mistress had horses?” he asked her like he wasn’t asking her.
She lifted a hand and stroked his cheek, slid her fingers through his hair at the side, and watched, captivated, as he turned his head and kissed her wrist.
“They’re beautiful beasts,” she whispered.
He looked back at her.
“Yeah,” he replied, but he wasn’t talking about horses.
Good God, if she didn’t stop this, she’d melt all over him.
“I’ll figure out a weekend. Tell you, yeah?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Now, Mistress, am I gonna wear that thing home or are you gonna pull it outta my ass?” he prompted.
“That’s much too big to wear home, chevalier. The ones I’ll send you home in are smaller.”
He looked to the ceiling and muttered, “Great.”
“But tonight, and when you come back to me, wear the harness, please.”
He looked back to her, giving her a squeeze. “Gotcha.”
“And please don’t touch what’s mine, Olivier,” she went on.
His eyes darkened and the tone was deeper when he repeated, “Gotcha.”
“Thank you for my harness, it’s lovely,” she told him.
“I’d say you’re welcome but not sure that’s the way to go,” he replied.
“It bought you less of a cropping,” she shared.
His brows shot up. “Less?”
She nodded.
“Well thank fuck I’m generous with sex shit I buy that I gotta wear but it’s for you.”
She laughed quietly and stroked his jaw with her thumb. “Don’t pretend you don’t like your punishments.”
His hand still in her hair cupped the back of her head and brought her face closer to him.
“That ball paddling shit you did? A light touch with a bite? Fuck, baby. That was inspired.”
Another compliment on something she knew all too well was “inspired” and she fought giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Anything else you’d like to use to flatter me for reasons unknown?” she asked.
“You give phenomenal head.”
She couldn’t stop her laughter at that. “You’re incorrigible.”
He lifted his head up so their faces were a breath away.
“Yeah, Mistress, and don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
She felt herself melting, she just couldn’t stop.
And she did it gliding her hand to cup his jaw and slide her thumb lovingly across his lips.
“I allow you way too many liberties,” she murmured.
“Thinkin’, havin’ some more time to check out the talent out there, it’s time you had a challenge.”
He was not wrong.
“Perhaps before you earn my switch, we should get that plug out of you.”
He nodded but lifted his head farther doing it, brushing his lips against hers.
“Cheeky,” she whispered, following him down and kissing him hard.
They made out like normal people on a torture bed in a public dungeon room until she stopped it, crawled off him, took care of his ass and its straps, and gave him leave to get dressed.
She pulled her dress on as he did and flipped the switch to say the room was vacant as he tucked in his shirt.
He came to her.
“Wednesday,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied.
Then she grabbed his hand and linked her fingers in his. That way, she walked them through the playrooms, through the hunting ground and to the foyer.
She stopped there and curled into him.
He squeezed her hand and dipped his chin deep.
She pressed up to touch her lips to his.
“Wednesday,” she whispered there.
“Yeah,” he replied.
She let his hand go, he let his eyes linger on hers, then he turned and she watched him walk out the front door.
eight
Soixante Quinze
AMÉLIE
On Wednesday night, Amélie walked into the Honey early, going to the front desk to give them her purse to secure.
She hadn’t told Olivier when to meet her and she half hoped he’d be there, waiting for her, anxious to see her. But it was so early she suspected he would not be and that was good (in a way) as she had another reason for arriving early.
She’d heard word Aryas was back in town and she needed to speak with him about something she’d been rolling around in her head since the thought occurred to her.
When there was any space in her head that wasn’t taken by Olivier, of course.
He was consuming her.
This caused alarm.
She’d twice had toys she’d played with exclusively for long periods of time, as they’d pleased her greatly, but also, they had other attributes—looks, body, but mostly personalities—that called to something deeper.
Fortunately, before she’d dug into that something deeper to explore it, the first had shared he’d started seeing a woman in the mundane world who he’d found was “kinda into this shit” (his words). He did not wish to stop his sessions with her, but it was appropriate for him to tell her he had another partner.
A partner it was not difficult to see he felt could fit in his life in that world, whereas he didn’t feel the same about Amélie.
She hadn’t ended things on the spot, but their next session was a farewell one.
The second nearly hit more dangerous ground. Amélie was getting in deep, and their finale was
much more awkward.
She’d begun to have feelings for him and was gearing up to share she’d like to explore a more expansive relationship when she saw him out to dinner.
With his wife.
He had not told her he was married.
As mentioned, it was appropriate, but also expected, that as their play deepened and the time they spent together lengthened, that he tell her he had another partner.
Therefore when she saw him with his spouse, he’d looked utterly terrified when he caught her eyes, as he should have been.
She’d been hurt, and in order to deal with that feeling, she’d twisted it to rage.
Rage that nearly made her do something highly inappropriate, not to mention tactless and unseemly. This being walking up to their table and exposing him for the cheat he was. For, clearly, he had not told his wife either (as he should) that he had needs that had to be assuaged, and if she could not do that, they had the discussion and his wife had allowed him his extracurricular activities.
Amélie had not exposed him to his wife.
She’d also never spoken another word to him, even when the bastard showed at the Honey looking whipped and obviously desiring an audience.
This kind of information was not shared on their profiles or in their notes. Why they were not there was obvious. What was in their lives outside the club’s walls wasn’t anyone’s business unless a member chose to make it someone’s business.
But it was an unspoken agreement between Master or Mistress and submissive, if their play went beyond casual sessions, to offer transparency.
In the ordinary world, his taking a lover without his wife’s permission was unforgivable.
In their world, it was his life, but in deceiving his Domme, not offering that transparency she would require for a variety of reasons, including the opportunity to keep emotions in check—she had no idea how it was in other clubs, but it was severely frowned on at the Honey.
As was her responsibility (in her mind, not contractually or expected in the scene), she had a quiet word in order to warn the other Dommes.
He had gone uncalled long enough that the last she’d heard, he was prowling places like the Bolt.
This, she knew, the other Dommes had done mostly out of respect (and in some cases affection) for Amélie, and as a show of support. Not all Dominants found transparency to be a requirement (though, if anyone had taken him again, as per the note Amélie placed in his file, it would only be with protection).
He was a high-powered attorney who came from money. The Bolt, he would feel, was beneath him.
A fitting punishment.
Far faster than the two that went before, Olivier had gotten under her skin.
If they were other people, their quick connection would give rise to Amélie staring at wedding magazines in their racks, finding her mind wandering to thoughts of if their children would have his lovely blue eyes and wondering how to find a contractor to build a large wall safe where they could keep their toys.
But they were the people they were, where thoughts like these had to be banished, for protection, until the golden time when connecting and sharing, openness and communication, brought them to the place where Mirabelle was now.
She and Trey had a planned session the next evening.
And if he didn’t take the reins, she was asking him out either before or after she was finished with him.
Amélie was nervous for her friend but more nervous for what was happening with herself, falling deeper and deeper under Olivier’s spell. His humor. His honesty. His warmth. Wanting more and more from him. Thinking of him constantly. Wondering where he worked. Where he lived. If he had any siblings. What he did for fun.
Everything.
She drew in a light breath to calm her thoughts as she walked into the Honey.
She spied Aryas instantly, in the center booth at the wall to her left, a booth that was exclusively his if he was in the hunting ground.
He was sitting on the outside of the booth facing the entryway. A petite, African American toy with wide eyes and bouncing black curls sat close to him, her eyelids fluttering.
He was playing with her.
Aryas noticed Amélie, too, and although seeing him with a sub would normally change her plans for that part of the evening, avoiding him and allowing him his time with his toy, he surprisingly jerked up his chin at her.
That meant he wanted her to approach.
She did as he turned his bald head (the only place he was bald; he had a full beard and an unscaped physique) and said something to his toy. Her dreamy expression became petulant. He said something else, her mouth set into a pout, but as Aryas slid out of the booth, she slid with him.
“Mistress Amélie,” she greeted in a soft voice that stated clearly, in song, she’d be a gorgeous soprano.
“Pretty baby,” she replied.
The girl scurried away.
When she did, Aryas caught Amélie’s hand and lifted it to his mouth, brushing his lips against the knuckles, his short eyelashes that curled so perfectly it was impossible not to believe he didn’t use a lash curler covering unusual gray-blue eyes, as he murmured, “Amélie,” against her skin.
He could pull that off, Aryas. The only other man who she’d met in Phoenix who could do something like that without looking like they were trying too hard was Stellan.
“Aryas,” she replied.
Aryas squeezed her fingers, let them go, and reentered the booth, going in deep, but stopped at the side of the curve. He then patted the seat beside him.
Amélie slid in and twisted, touching him cheek to cheek and moving to do the same with the other side as he slid a hand curved at her hip and gave her a squeeze.
She pulled away. “Welcome back.”
“Good to be back, my sweet,” he replied through a grin.
“You didn’t have to stop playing with your toy for me,” she noted.
“My exquisite Amélie showing at my place at eight-thirty looking like she had something on her mind, I disagree.”
That was Aryas Weathers.
He was an utter gentleman. Even with his toys (to an extent).
Amélie had met his mother and knew why this was. The woman had entrenched respect, for men and women, the latter being of the gallant variety, in both her sons. She’d done this with an iron will, the only thing she could have when her husband left her, never to be heard from again, to raise two very big growing boys on the salary of a hotel maid.
She knew this was why Aryas was driven to use where his nature had taken him to build an empire. Starting in Phoenix, he’d expanded and now had clubs in San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Denver, and Vegas. They made him very wealthy. And they allowed him to take care of his momma in the way she always should have been by a man in her life that she loved.
“Your sacrifice is appreciated,” Amélie told him. “And as a return kindness, I won’t take up much of your time.”
He was still grinning. “I don’t have a baby here, Amélie, you can drop the Mistress shit.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
“You’ll still be formal. It’s your way. It’s sweet,” he replied. “Now, give it to me. What’s on your mind?”
“I wanted to talk to you about something that occurred to me in regards to Delia.”
His full lips thinned and his gaze went beyond her and into the club.
Amélie looked, too, an encompassing sweep, and she saw no Delia.
It was early and there weren’t many people there, though at that moment, Penn and Shane were arriving.
Honing in on their arrival, Amélie’s attention wandered.
A beacon of hope, Master Penn and his slave Shane were a couple outside the club, had met there, had been together now for nearly two years, and it was a widespread expectation they’d soon be declaring they were engaged.
Thinking on this, how well it worked, how they were living together and had been for over a year, how they still came to
the club regularly, it took Aryas calling, “Amélie,” for her focus to move from the two men. “Delia,” he prompted when he again got her attention.
“She’s clearly claimed Tiffany,” Amélie informed him of something he probably knew.
He nodded.
“I’ve known Tiffany outside the club since she was young, Aryas. And I’ve kept an eye on her here. I even monitored Pasquel as she was training her. She seemed to settle in and be enjoying herself. Now, she seems pale and afraid. Tentative. It makes me uncomfortable.”
Aryas nodded, he’d noted that too.
Even so, he suggested, “It could be part of her game, a darker side she needs to explore that she didn’t give Pasquel.”
Amélie didn’t move her gaze from her friend.
He knew better. “I’m monitoring Delia, Amélie,” he reminded her.
“Does she trip her occupancy switch when she enters a playroom?” she asked.
An ominous crease of his brows before, “She has to. To get a room, you have to reserve a room.”
“And if the blackout blinds are down, but the lights are on, you can see the lights around the blinds, so another Dom will know that room is reserved and avoid it. But you told me that the hallways have cameras that move on the monitors in the control room, too much hallway with all that needs to be observed to watch constantly. She could be missed slipping into a room. She could easily use it without being observed, her equals avoiding it because they see the lights.”
She got closer to him and continued.
“With all your staff has to monitor, Aryas, it would not be difficult to miss that a room was being used but the occupancy switch not flipped. She could disappear from the hunting ground and they’d lose track of her. Although you track arrivals, you don’t specifically require anyone to check in and check out.”
“Since she’s being monitored, Amélie, my staff in the control room would make a note if she reserved a room and watch closely what happens in it.”
“Her play can seem finished and she can turn off the occupancy and continue the scene, Aryas. A toy knows about the occupancy switch but it isn’t their responsibility. They might not notice it’s been switched off. The lights are still on, Doms avoid the room, your staff thinks the scene is done, and they’re missing something. Does your staff turn off cameras immediately?”