Always (Follow Me #6)

Chapter Eighteen

“Good to see you, Mr. Black,” the security guard, Claude, says to me as I enter my BDSM club, Black Rose Underground.

It’s located in the underground floor of my residential building in Manhattan. It’s in New York for a reason, rather than in my hometown of Boston.

I like to keep this part of my life private.

Very private.

Every member and guest of the club signs a non-disclosure agreement upon entering. They must also surrender their cell phones. No photography is allowed in the club.

I keep my cell phone, though. I’m the owner, after all, and I know better than to capture anyone’s likeness in a photograph. I don’t want it done to me, and I won’t do it to anyone else.

“Thanks, Claude. Always good to see you, too,” I say.

“You alone tonight?”

I nod.

He cocks his head at me but doesn’t make any further inquiry. None of his business, after all, though I can understand his curiosity. The last couple times I’ve been here, Skye has been with me—collared by me.

“Enjoy yourself,” Claude says.

I nod. “I always do.”

I walk into the club. It’s early yet, only nine thirty p.m., and it’s Sunday, which means the crowd will be smaller than normal. Our biggest crowds are Friday and Saturday evenings, of course, but we do okay the other nights as well. We used to be closed on Sundays, but we got enough requests to make it worthwhile to stay open every night of the week except for Christmas Day and New Year’s Day. Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve, however, are huge here.

I walk into the club. Jazz music wafts from the sound system, not too soft and not too loud. Perfect. One thing I dislike about most lifestyle clubs is that the music is often too loud. Communication is key in any kind of BDSM arrangement, and I don’t want it hampered.

Scantily clad couples—and one throuple—move on the dance floor. I head straight back to the bar, where two bartenders are working, one male and one female, both topless. All our bartenders and waitstaff are topless here. It’s a requirement.

“Mr. Black,” Cheryl, one of the bartenders greets me. “The usual?”

“Absolutely.”

She slides a lowball of Wild Turkey, neat, in front of me. I take a slow sip, letting it burn my throat in the perfect way that I love.

“Looking for something special tonight?” she asks.

“Not especially.”

She smiles. “Let me know if you need anything.” She turns to help another member.

Part of me is itching for a scene. The vanilla sex with Skye satisfied me emotionally in a way I never knew I needed.

But the dark part of my soul longs for something more. To exert my dominance over a willing partner. I can find that here, but I need to find someone who will be satisfied with no physical contact. I won’t have sex with another woman. I can’t. Not when I’m in love with Skye. We may not technically be together at the moment, but fucking another woman feels all kinds of wrong to me.

“Hello, Mr. Black.”

I turn to face a woman who slides onto the stool next to mine. She’s a brunette with stunning green eyes. Her hair is cut short, and she’s dressed in silky emerald lingerie that brings out her eyes even more.

I give a slight smile. “Have we met?”

“Once or twice, though I doubt you would remember.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Emily Loring.”

Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. But I’m always polite. “Of course. Nice to see you again.”

“Are you alone tonight?”

“For now,” I reply.

Her smile is immediate but subdued. “Looking for some fun?”

I take another sip of bourbon. “Maybe. What do you have in mind?”

She closes her eyes slowly and then opens them. “I think that’s up to you.”

I take another sip. She’s a good submissive. She knows exactly what to say to get what she’s after.

I breathe in deeply and then exhale. “Anything I want?”

“Of course.”

“What are your hard limits?”

“Fire.”

“We don’t allow fire play here.”

“Then I have no hard limits.”

“What about breath play?”

She closes her eyes, a dreamy look on her face. “I live for breath play.”

Interesting. I’m ready to tell her I’ll take her to my private suite for a scene as long as she understands there will be no sex involved when I recognize a golden opportunity.

“Emily, why do you enjoy breath play?”

Her eyes glint in the dim light, a secretive and almost feline smile gracing her lips. “The control,” she replies, her hushed voice barely audible over the husky tones of the jazz music. “The power you have over my very life. It’s raw and primal. It’s…exhilarating.”

I study her for a moment, intrigued by her response. “What’s your safe word?”

She takes a moment to answer, as though caught off guard by the question. “Freedom,” she finally says.

A peculiar choice, but then again, people choose their safe words based on personal associations. I lean back against the bar counter, considering our conversation and her responses.

A part of me wonders if she truly understands what she’s asking for with breath play. There is an element of danger and significant trust involved in such an act, especially with someone unfamiliar.

Precisely why I won’t engage in it.

“Are you willing to do a scene without breath play, Emily? Because I’m not interested in going that route.”

“Of course. It’s not a requirement.”

“What about sex? Is that a requirement for you in a scene?”

She hesitates, and I can see the uncertainty flash across her eyes.

“No,” she finally says. “While it heightens the experience, it isn’t necessary for me to find satisfaction.”

I run my fingers along the rim of my glass. I’m intrigued by Emily’s directness, her willingness to trust, to give herself over so completely. She might be what I need tonight, a momentary escape.

“Very well,” I say, meeting her gaze. “We’ll proceed without breath play and without sex. Understand that those are firm boundaries.”

Her eyes spark with anticipation as she nods eagerly. “I understand perfectly, Mr. Black.”

Something about Emily’s eagerness gives me pause again, but I push my doubts aside. As long as she respects my rules, our scene should go smoothly.

I down the remainder of my Wild Turkey and set the glass on the bar. “Then please allow me to show you to my private suite in the back.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Black,” Emily replies, her voice smooth as satin.

We leave our stools, and I guide her through the club, my hand lightly resting on the small of her back. The music continues to fill the air, accompanied by the subtle hum of conversations and rustle of bodies moving in time with the beat.

When we reach the door to my private suite, I input the code to unlock it. The door slides open silently into a room designed for intimacy yet governed by discipline. The walls are lit by dim sconces that provide us with just enough illumination to see each other clearly without being overly revealing. The king-size bed is covered in silk, and an assortment of equipment lines the walls—whips, floggers, cuffs, ropes, all within easy reach.

Emily glances around curiously but doesn’t move from the spot where she stands next to me. I appreciate her restraint and the way she waits for my command. I gauge her reactions to see any hint of fear or anxiety in her eyes, but she keeps her gaze steady.

“Undress, and get on the bed while I prepare,” I command.

She nods, walks to the bed, peels off her lingerie, and sits down on the edge. I watch her for a moment longer before turning to my collection of equipment.

I choose carefully, selecting a set of cuffs, a blindfold, and a soft flogger. With these instruments in hand, I approach Emily on the bed where she sits waiting patiently.

“Comfortable?” I ask.

She smiles up at me, green eyes sparkling in the dim light. “Yes.”

“Good,” I reply. “Then we may begin.”

Emily’s submissive side is clear from the outset. She gives herself over willingly as I secure the cuffs around her wrists and ankles. She shudders when I slide the blindfold over her eyes, plunging her into darkness.

“Do you trust me?” I ask, my voice low.

“Yes,” she answers immediately, the single syllable holding an ocean of submission.

I take a moment to appreciate the sight before me, Emily Loring, bound and blindfolded on my bed. This scene may not involve sex or breath play, but it has an inherent eroticism all its own. I twirl the flogger in my hand, brushing the soft tendrils against her bare skin. She gasps at the contact and shivers again.

“Remember your safe word?”

“Freedom.”

“And you’ll use it if anything is too much?”

“Yes,” she says again, her voice shaking slightly.

The sound of that shaky affirmation fuels my dominance. I draw back the flogger and bring it down lightly on her bare stomach. She jolts from the impact, a soft gasp escaping her lips. I repeat the action again and again, varying the intensity and location each time. The sharp snaps of the flogger against her skin merge with the rhythm of my beating heart.

Emily responds beautifully, her body arching and writhing in equal parts pleasure and pain. Sounds of satisfaction interspersed with occasional gasps as the flogger hits a particularly sensitive spot.

I whip her, and I whip her, and I whip her—

Until the flogger—seemingly of its own accord—stops in midair.

What are you doing?

The words spear themselves into my brain as if put there from an outside source.

If Skye were on the receiving end of this flogging, my cock would be straining for release.

With Emily? Despite her eagerness to please me? Her soft beauty? Her naked and willing body? Her perfect submission?

Nothing.

Even knowing I won’t be fucking her, I should at least be getting turned on.

But not even a little bit.

Damn it!

How is this possible? That I’m not enjoying something that used to give me such pleasure?

I walk to the wall and replace the flogger.

Then I loosen Emily’s bindings and gently massage her wrists.

“Sir?” she asks.

“Do not speak,” I command.

She nods solemnly.

“Rise,” I say.

She obeys.

“You will dress and leave my suite. Return to the club. You will not speak of this. Is that understood?”

She nods again, if possible even more solemnly than the last time.

“Emily, have you ever thought about the underlying reason that you enjoy breath play?”

She doesn’t speak.

“You may answer,” I tell her.

She swallows hard, her eyes darting briefly to the floor before meeting my gaze. “I don’t know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Perhaps you should,” I suggest, keeping my tone neutral.

She nods again, her lower lip trembling slightly. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed,” I say firmly.

Emily dresses and leaves without another word.

Once the door closes behind her, I lean back against the cool wall and let out a deep breath. The room is silent except for the faint echoes of jazz music from the club beyond.

The emptiness descends on me almost immediately, a dull ache gnawing at my insides. I rub a hand over my face, frustrated and confused.

I thought Emily would distract me, but it’s clear where my thoughts are. No one can replace Skye in my mind, no matter how submissive or eager they are to please. It’s not just about the physical act. It’s the connection, the trust, and the intimacy that goes beyond BDSM.

I stare at the empty bed and consider my reflection in a mirror across the room.

And for the first time, I don’t see a whole person.

Something is missing in my reflection.

And I know what it is.