Joshua is a co-owner of the club with Madam Lynn. We went into business together with security, and his relationship with Madam Lynn created all of this. They’re good friends and nothing more. The ring on his finger and the collar on his wife make that more than apparent.
“Yeah, Saturday,” I answer. I’ve been hosting the card games the last few weeks now. My cabin’s on the outskirts of the city with no neighbors or wives, or in Joshua’s case, children.
It’s empty, which I used to enjoy. I’m fond of privacy. The only time I hear a voice at home besides my own is poker night. It hasn’t bothered me much before, but now that most of the men seem taken with their partners, the halls seem quieter in a way I find slightly disconcerting. Especially this last week, with Lucian being quieter than usual and preoccupied with his Submissive.
I crack my neck, feeling the stiffness of my muscles. I’ll hit the gym in my basement and take a shower before bed. I need to do something to get out this tension.
“How much you planning on losing this week?” I say and smirk at him.
Joshua’s face scrunches as he focuses on a screen. He visibly winces as he watches one of the red rooms in the dungeon. I’m surprised anything gets to him anymore.
Finally recognizing my words, he answers, “I’m taking every chip you got, Rocci.” I snort a laugh and hold back my yawn.
I stand up and stretch, picking up my worn brown leather coat off the back of my chair. It’s time to go home anyway. I’m going on a fourteen-hour shift here. Derek called out unexpectedly, and I covered for him on his short notice.
I think about what’s waiting for me back at home.
The mess is still on the table in the game room from last week’s poker game. A few bottles and cigar wrappers. Nothing worth bitching about; the maid will clean it up tomorrow anyway.
I watch the monitors in front of Joshua, consumed by the image that’s holding his attention. A Master and a Slave. They’re a rarity here. The red rooms in the dungeon require the most attention, for obvious reasons.
I’ve seen Masters come and go in the club. Many are Sadists and that creates serious problems, so we don’t allow many. I’m one, although my desire to use pain is only to enhance pleasure. And that’s not the situation that’s occurring on the screen at the moment. Joshua looks tense and concerned, but there’s no reason to be. Becca loves the pain. She doesn’t need a safe word because her limits are much higher than her Master’s. She arches her back toward the cane, accepting the blow and greeting it with a look of ecstasy etched on her face. She’s the only Slave here, and she’s collared. I don’t even know why they come here anymore.
It’s been a long time since a Slave has arrived. Someone who’s capable of trusting so wholeheartedly that they’re willing to give herself completely over to a Master. Who’s willing to give over to a 24/7 power exchange.
Maybe that’s why nothing has interested me. My tastes are specific. A Slave. I crave the power being a Master allows me, and the desire to control and provide her every need.
Across the hall from the game room in my home is the door to a room I created for one sole purpose. A room fit for my match.
I shrug the leather jacket on my shoulders, trying to remember when the last time I even opened it was.
Too long. It’s been far too long.
Chapter 2
Katia
I can practically hear the clock ticking as I go about my daily routine. Tick. Tick. Tick. It’s a quarter past five and I’m running behind schedule. I’m usually on time, but I had difficult time sleeping last night, tossing and turning for most of the night. I frown at the memory as I pull on my faded wash jeans over my hips, and tug down my cozy red sweater.
I haven’t had a night that bad in a while. I cover my mouth with a yawn and try to ignore the unsettling feelings as I make my way to the bathroom sink. But I’m hoping it’s just a fluke. It is just a fluke. I won’t let things get back to the way they were.
Pushing the unpleasant memory away, I swipe on my favorite lipstick in a shade reminiscent of crushed rose petals, and smoosh my lips together. Then I peer critically at myself in the mirror. The quick ponytail I coax my hair into is going a long way to hide my disheveled blonde hair, but when you’re the owner of Paws Apartments, a doggy day care and shelter, your hair doesn’t need to be pretty. You just need to show up and be there.
I’ve found dogs only care about two things. Well, three. Food, exploration and companionship. I love it actually. Working and caring for these dogs fills me with purpose and gives my life meaning. It’s the one thing I look forward to every day. Just thinking about the excitement on their fuzzy little faces when I walk in to greet them warms my chest and brings a small smile to my lips as I reach for the small tube of thick concealer.
Another part of my routine.
My smile slowly vanishes as I run my fingertips along the scars littering my neck. No matter how much time passes, they barely seem to fade. It’s been four long years, but they’re still there, reminding me of a darker time in my life. As I stare at my neck in the mirror, a weight presses down on my chest, but after a moment I push it away in defiance.
I survived all that, I think to myself, dotting the concealer on my neck and right shoulder and then reaching for my foundation. And I’m stronger now.
He didn’t ruin me. I won’t let him hold any power over me anymore.
Straightening my back, I swallow thickly and square my shoulders as I delicately press the foundation onto my skin and smooth the concealer on the scars on my neck until they’re all gone. After I’m done with my face, I toss the foundation into the decorative velvet-lined box where I keep my makeup, the memories already fading. Coffee is the next thing on my agenda.
Tick, tick, tick. The small ticks echo in my head, reminding me how far I’m behind already. I grit my teeth. Crap.
I almost call out, “I’m coming, Roxy!” as I make my way to the kitchen, but then I catch myself, a feeling of sadness coursing through me. I take a deep breath and rub under my tired eyes. It’s a habit I have yet to break. I’m so used to Roxy being there every time I turn around that I still haven’t gotten over the fact that she’s gone.
Tears prick my eyes as my bare feet pad on the linoleum and I start the coffee maker. Two clicks, and it’s brewing. I should grab something to eat, but instead I find myself lost in thought as the sounds of the water heating fill the empty space. The quiet space. Quiet because she’s not here anymore.
Roxy, my Golden Retriever, was such a lovable dog. She was always there for me whenever I needed her. She was so happy. I swear dogs can smile, and she was always smiling. We were practically inseparable. And she didn’t give a rat’s ass that I had scars all over my back or that I was scared of things I couldn't see, of dark memories that I desperately wanted to leave in the past.
She just loved me unconditionally and only wanted to comfort me. I clung to that love, fostering it. She was my therapy, and I came to depend on her for so much. I can’t count how many times I woke up out of a night terror, frightened out of my mind, only to find Roxy sitting right there, nuzzling against me and whining with true pain from worrying over me. Her calming presence would almost always soothe my anxiety. It’s times like last night, when I’d been plagued by a particularly dark terror, where I miss her the most.