Chapter 2
Chapter two
Clayton
I hadn’t set foot in the club for eight months.
I took two showers anyway. Shaved too close, nicked my chin, and dabbed at the spot until it finally stopped bleeding.
Pulled on the best shirt I still owned—the black one that made my hair look darker and my skin less tired—and even ironed it, hands trembling like I was prepping for an interview. Like it mattered.
It did.
The club was the kind of place where appearances counted. Where people remembered you. I’d had friends here once. That first night, I’d come with two coworkers and met Jason. I didn’t know what I was doing back then, and neither did he, but by the time I realized that, I was already hooked.
The alley looked the same. Same flickering red glow above the door, same “PRIVATE MEMBERS ONLY” sign pretending this wasn’t the worst-kept secret in Charlotte. I almost laughed. Almost turned around. Instead, I stood in the parking lot, keys biting into my palm, trying to remember how to breathe.
The last time I’d been here, Jason was at my side. Back when belonging to someone had felt safe instead of suffocating. Now the only thing left tying me to this place was a four-month membership I didn’t have the heart to cancel.
Inside, the desk girl smiled when she recognized me. I smiled back, barely, signed the waiver, and kept moving.
The air hit like memory—leather, sweat, cologne, laughter. The rhythmic clack of high heels on tile. Master Benjamin’s rule came back to me: barefoot or fuck-me heels. A few of the male subs had chosen the latter and looked incredible doing it. I’d have ended up in a cast.
I paused just inside the lounge, letting the noise and heat soak in. For a second, something familiar flickered—a spark of why I used to love it here.
“You made it.”
The voice was too close, too loud. I flinched.
Mark. Of course.
He hugged me one-armed, the way he always had—too casually to fight off. “Haven’t seen you in forever,” he said, and there was an edge under the warmth, like he knew I’d been avoiding him. Maybe I had. “You look good.”
That was generous. I let it slide. “Busy. Life.”
He nodded, his gaze flicking briefly down and back up. “Heard about your mom.”
“Yeah.” My voice tightened. “Thanks.”
Mark didn’t press. He never did. He’d been a friend, even when Jason didn’t like me having any. Jason used to call it protective. I knew better now. “I just want you all to myself,” he’d said once. And I’d thought that was love.
Mark changed the subject. “Even one of the legends is here tonight.” His grin widened.
My pulse tripped. “Who?”
“Reddington.” He said it like it was a test. “Ring a bell?”
My throat went dry.
Mark caught it instantly. “Didn’t think anyone could forget him.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
We drifted to the bar. Mark did the talking; I kept to the edge of the noise, pretending to listen. The crowd pulsed and shimmered around us—leather, chains, laughter, perfume, confidence. Everyone belonged. Everyone except me.
And then I saw him.
Felix Reddington.
He stood by the bar, suit perfectly cut, beard trimmed, blue eyes sharp enough to cut glass. He looked bigger than I remembered, broader, steadier. People moved around him like water parting for stone. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.
My heart thudded once, hard enough to hurt.
I should have looked away. Should have walked out. But I didn’t.
I lingered near a table, pretending interest in the lights, the crowd, anything else. The music pounded through my chest. Felix turned his head, scanning the room—and then his eyes found me.
Everything stopped.
That small, knowing smile curled at his mouth—not cruel, not kind, just intent. Assessing. Like he was remembering exactly where to start.
I looked down fast, but it didn’t matter. I could feel him watching, the weight of it crawling up my skin. My breath caught. My hand tightened around my glass until the condensation slicked my fingers.
Mark reappeared. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
I tried to laugh. It came out thin.
He followed my gaze, smirked. “Subtle as ever. Want me to introduce you?”
I almost spilled my drink. “No. Please. Don’t.”
“Why not? He’s just a Dom.”
Just. Right.
“I’d rather not,” I said.
Mark shrugged. “Your loss. Guys like that don’t wait around.”
He melted back into the crowd, and I was alone again, heartbeat pounding in time with the bass.
Felix hadn’t stopped watching. I told myself to leave. My body didn’t listen. And when he finally set his glass down and started moving, I couldn't drag my eyes away.
He didn’t stride through the crowd so much as glide.
People moved aside without being asked, the space opening around him like he belonged everywhere—and maybe he did.
Then he was there, right in front of me.
Close enough that his cologne hit—clean, expensive, edged with spice—and my lungs forgot what to do.
“Clayton, right?” His voice was lower up close, smooth as polished wood.
My throat locked. “Yes, sir.” For a heartbeat, I almost dropped to my knees. Panic stopped me. If I knelt and he walked away, I’d never recover.
He studied me, quiet, and I forced myself to breathe.
“I remember you from before,” he said. “You're in a relationship.”
“Was, sir.” My voice came out thin. “Not for some time.”
He let the silence stretch just long enough to make me squirm. “You’re not with anyone now.” It wasn’t a question.
I felt the heat rise in my face. “No, sir.”
He tilted his head, considering. “You should be.”
A startled laugh caught in my throat. “Why?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.Felix’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite not.
“Because it’s obvious you need it.”
I dropped my gaze. The floor blurred. Every nerve in my body was tuned to the weight of his attention, the way it crawled across my skin and left me aching for more.
“You think nobody sees you,” he murmured. “You’re wrong.”
The words landed too close. I wanted to step back or drop to my knees—anything—but I couldn’t move. My whole body was strung tight.
He leaned in, unhurried, heat rolling off him. “I noticed you last week,” he said softly. “You do good work with kids.” His eyes swept over me, precise, assessing. “But you don't know where you belong.”
I shook my head before I could think. I didn’t belong anywhere.
He hummed, a sound of quiet understanding. “You know who I am?”
“Yes, sir.”
Something flickered in his eyes—pleasure, maybe approval. “Good boy.”
The words hit like a touch. My breath caught. My hands itched to move, to twist together, but I kept them behind my back. The way I used to, when obedience had been the only thing holding me together.
“Why are you here, Clayton?”
A lie would’ve been easy. I’d had practice. But the truth was sitting right there in my chest, heavy and small. “I don’t know. My friend made me come. I shouldn’t have.”
I waited for the laugh, the brush-off. It didn’t come.
He just studied me, head tilted slightly. “You’re obedient.” Not a question.
The word loosened something in me. “Yes, sir.”
His eyes sharpened. “It’s not a weakness to need structure.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.” I didn’t even know what I was agreeing to anymore.
He stepped closer. His scent filled the space between us—citrus, spice, power. “And you want to be seen. Taken in hand.”
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, heat crawling up my neck.
He made a low sound, approval threaded through it. “You’re older than most here. Experienced. But nobody’s ever really taken care of you, have they?”
I flinched. The truth stung. “No, sir. Not for a long time.”
“Do you want to play tonight?”
The word play barely registered. My brain was static. My body answered first—a nod, small, helpless.
“Use your words,” he said quietly.
“Yes, sir. I want to play.”
The faint smile that followed wasn’t kind. It was approving. Controlled. “We’ll keep it simple. You’ve been out of the scene. You need routine. Someone to take charge.”
He was right. Every part of me screamed that he was right.
He reached for my chin, fingers firm but not cruel, tilting my face up until I met his gaze. His touch burned.
“You’re nervous,” he said, amused. “Good. That means you’ll listen.”
The room behind him blurred into color and noise. All I could see was him.
“Where’s your collar?”
The question cut through me. I swallowed. “Don’t have one. Not anymore.”
His thumb traced the line of my jaw, right over the frantic pulse there. “Shame,” he murmured. “You’d wear black well. What are your safe words?”
“Traffic lights, sir.”
He released me slowly, and the absence of his touch felt like cold air rushing in. “You’ll follow.”
I did. Because of course I did.
He led me upstairs, away from the music and the heat, to a quieter space. My heartbeat filled the silence between us. When he opened the small room off the landing, he didn’t bother to look back before saying, “Inside.”
I went.
The door shut behind us, cutting out the club. The room was dim, soft light from a single lamp. He turned, steady and sure.
“Take off your shirt.”
My hands shook before I even reached the buttons. I fumbled them one by one, clumsy under his gaze. When the shirt finally came off, goosebumps chased across my skin.
He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. The air itself felt like a touch.
He watched. Taking in everything. The way my chest moved, the way my stomach was soft—not toned, not that I braced myself for it, the way I always did, but it still hit hard when Felix’s hands actually landed on my skin.
He started with my arms, hands strong and sure, like he was running some kind of inventory.
He ran his thumb down the inside of my left elbow and paused, pressing just enough to make me shiver.
“Stiff here,” he murmured. “Old injury?”
I swallowed, too aware of every point of contact. “Carpal tunnel. Desk job,” I admitted.
His fingers traced the bone, slow, and then he moved down to my wrist. “How long did you leave it untreated?”
“Too long,” I breathed. He hummed, not unkind, just matter of fact.
His touch was warm and steady, so different from the fluorescent-lit, latex-glove indifference of doctors. He moved to my right arm, searching, and I realized I was holding my breath.
“Relax,” he said. His thumb glided over the faint bump at my knuckles, and then he turned my hand over, palm up. I couldn’t look away from the way his big hand dwarfed mine.
“Scar here.” He stroked the silvery line at the base of my thumb. “Tell me.”
“Box cutter. Stockroom,” I blurted. My face burned. “Stupid mistake.”
He kept rubbing, gentle now. “You heal slow?”
I shook my head. “Just…clumsy.”
He didn’t argue. Just let his gaze move over my shoulders, down my chest. I tried not to tense when his fingers drifted over my ribs. I knew what he’d find. The muscle there was gone, replaced by something softer. I didn’t even like looking at myself anymore.
But he didn’t flinch.
He thumbed a spot just under my left pectoral, and I jerked.
“Sensitive.” He sounded pleased. His hand splayed wide, covering my entire chest, and I could feel his heat burning through me.
His fingers traced the skin over my ribs, pausing over each hollow spot, then drifting to the pale line just above my groin. “Surgery?”
I nodded. “Appendix. Years ago.”
He ran the back of his knuckles down my stomach, and I had to grab the edge of the table to stay upright. The touch wasn’t rough. It just felt like he owned every inch he touched. Like I couldn’t keep a single thing from him.
He let the silence linger, fingers tracing patterns over my skin. He hooked a finger under the waistband of my dress pants, tugged me half a step closer. “Have you got more scars?”
I nodded, but it took me a second to remember how to speak. His eyes on me short-circuited everything else.
“My knee,” I finally managed. “Surgery again. Tore it in college.” My stomach flipped.
I waited for him to start lecturing me, or just shake his head and walk out.
Instead, Felix’s undid my pants and his thumb traced an old scar at my hip, slow and careful, and I shivered.
I couldn't even remember how I'd gotten that one. He made a circular motion with his finger, and I turned obediently. I knew he’d see the scar on my back.
“That wasn’t an accident,” he murmured, voice flat. “This was made by a cane or a crop.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes, sir.”
“Distinct linear scars that cross directly over the spine—a place every trained Dom avoids due to risk of nerve or bone injury.”
Shame flooded me, even though I knew it hadn’t been my fault. I nodded, even though it made my throat close up. “He…sometimes the scenes got rough. I told him, but…it’s fine.”
Felix’s hand stilled.
“No,” he said, and it was sharp, final, not up for argument. “It’s not fine.”
I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. I stared at the spot on the floor, heat flooding my face. Felix reached out and smoothed a hand between my shoulder blades, just once. Then, almost gently, he lifted my arm and turned me so he could see the line that dragged across my lower back.
“It was an accident.” My voice sounded thin, desperate. I wanted Felix to believe that. I didn’t want to think every year with Jason was a mistake. No, I needed to believe every year with Jason wasn’t a mistake.
Felix’s fingers traced the scar, callused and warm, an endless slow press that made my breath catch. “It’s on him, not you.”
I waited for anger. Instead, he just kept my arm firm in his grip, thumb rubbing over the scar until I could almost forget what it was.
“Did you heal fully?” The words were low, pitched for me alone.
“Fine,” I whispered. “He put ointment on it. We waited. I…” I swallowed. What could I say?
He slid both hands up my sides, slow, mapping all the places that hurt. He found the bruise at the base of my spine and pressed around it, careful, no hint of roughness.
“Are you hurting here?”
“A little. It’s old. I slipped on the stupid porch steps last week.” I tried to laugh but it sounded pathetic.
He didn’t let it go. “You live alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyone check on you?”
I didn’t answer because I sounded pathetic enough.
He hummed, and his hands kept moving, slipping my pants down so they pooled on the floor, down my thighs, to the scar on my right knee. He bent, suit creasing, and tipped my knee so he could see the long, pale line.
“ACL,” I told him, voice barely above a whisper. “College soccer.”
He examined the joint, gentle but thorough, and nodded like he’d expected it. “Does it bother you?”
“In the winter. Not much else.” I almost apologized but caught myself.
He stood, eyes level with mine. “I think you’ve been on your feet long enough today.” He extended his hand and I stepped out of my pants.