Club Dominus
2
S pring was being held for ransom by a cold, damp fog that blanketed the city. Brynne walked up the steps of the majestic four-story Georgian and took a deep breath. Without Google Maps, she would have walked right past the entrance.
An engraved foundation stone proved the building had been around at the turn of the century, and the imposing black gate made her wonder if it was meant to keep people out or lock them in. Shaking off her nerves, she pressed the buzzer.
She was applying to one of the last private, men-only establishments in London. was a rich man’s fetish club. Exorbitant fees ensured that only the very wealthy or very connected could enjoy the fine cuisine and other more deviant pursuits that membership offered.
Jared tried to talk her out of it, but Brynne ultimately convinced him it was the safest way to get firsthand exposure to the scene, even if she’d only be observing the guests as a server. He helped her fill out the outrageous questionnaire, and three days later, they called her for an interview.
Ringing the call button one more time, Brynne steeled herself for the next step in her erotic education.
“You may enter.”
The gravelly voice made her hair stand up. An audible click released the latch on the gate. The tall oak door swung open, and she admired the grand two-story foyer with its gleaming black-and-white marble floors and miles of polished wood. Ornately framed oil paintings filled the walls of the impressive staircase and reminded Brynne of a museum. It smelled like lemon polish, old books, and leather.
Her gaze landed on the withered butler who was looking at her like an exterminator would a wayward cockroach.
She pasted on a phony beautiful smile and said, “I’m here for an interview. My name is—”
He cut her off with a wave of his white-gloved hand. “I’m quite aware of who you are, Miss Larimore. Now, if you would please follow me.”
“Sure, of course,” she said, then hastily added, “sir.”
She followed closely as he tottered down the stairs to the lower level.
They entered a long, wide hallway with dark paneled walls and many closed doors that begged to be investigated. He opened one such unmarked door to a small windowless room and stepped aside so she could enter. “Your meeting is not for another fifteen minutes, so you will wait here until I fetch you. No wandering off, do you understand?”
“Yes.” She gave his back a mock salute.
Were all English butlers so starched? She wouldn’t know. This was her first encounter. Perhaps only when they were dealing with the riffraff, which she surely was.
Taking advantage of the chance to check her appearance, she kicked off her uncomfortable heels and padded over to the large ornate mirror on the opposite wall. Strands of auburn hair had come out of her messy bun, so she did her best to pin the stray bits back and carefully reapplied her lipstick. When the old man returned, he huffed his impatience as she scrambled to put her shoes on.
He led the way to another closed door and knocked. Brynne noticed a Scottish crest on the opposite wall and was about to ask him about it when the door opened, and all thoughts fled.
A giant of a man filled the opening. Her breath stalled as she took in the massive chest and thick arms bulging beneath a snug navy sweater. Her eyes traveled up in slow motion until she met the man’s amused gaze and blushed. He was the most beautiful Black man she had ever seen. Eyes the color of cognac were framed by lashes most women would kill for. She stood five-foot-six in heels, but he was easily a foot taller than her.
“You must be Brynne,” he said in a deep baritone. “I’m Garrick Hunt, manager of .” His hand dwarfed hers, but his grip was gentle. She couldn’t help but smile back, reddening when his eyes twinkled in amusement at her wide-eyed appraisal.
He gestured to the sitting area. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
“Mount Garrick” disappeared into the hallway, and she sat in the middle of the oversized leather chesterfield. Anxiety made her fidgety. She had to get this right. Jared had been hesitant to give her any details about the club, insisting he was under a strict NDA.
Garrick returned with a sheaf of papers. “I’m a little old-fashioned. I like printouts, so I can jot notes as we go.” He sat in one of the two club chairs bookending the coffee table. “You can sit here. I don’t bite.” He pointed to the seat nearest to him.
Brynne slid across the leather cushions. Her face heated as she struggled to straighten her skirt, which had twisted and ridden up her thighs.
Garrick cleared his throat and leaned back casually, giving the impression it was an informal conversation between friends.
“I quite liked your answers to our interview questions.” He smiled. “You took a rather original approach, particularly with how you would manage a challenging guest.”
“Thank you. I believe it’s about being charming and disarming and never offending a customer.”
“True, however, you haven’t worked in an environment where the customer is not only right, but they might enjoy meting out punishment for a perceived insult or minor mistake.” His eyes never left hers, and it was disquieting.
“No, I haven’t, but I have experience defusing situations when a customer is inebriated or looking to pick a fight.” She added, “I worked in some pretty rowdy places during college in Toronto.”
“Ah, Canada! Of course, I was trying to place your accent and the funny way you say aboot .” He chuckled as he flipped a page over and continued. “What made you relocate to London?”
“I was born in the UK—in Inverness actually—but we moved to Canada when I was eight. Every summer, I used to visit my aunt in the Highlands. By my late twenties, I wanted a change of scene, and London was always at the top of my list.” He didn’t need to know why she abruptly left her promising position at a well-known magazine to grovel for an entry-level copyeditor job at the London Mirror.
“So, Brynne, tell me, when did you first know you were submissive?” His dark eyes met hers and held.
Thank god Jared told her to expect this question. She just prayed he didn’t think her answer was ridiculous.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve known since I was about eleven. I used to tie up my dolls. Harley Davidson Ken would kidnap Barbie and take her away to his lair. He would have his wicked way with her until Malibu Ken came to her rescue. But not before she had been, um, mistreated.”
Garrick was chuckling, and she let out the breath she had been holding.
“How many men, or women, have mastered you, Brynne?”
“Two,” she lied. “I was in a relationship until recently. We broke up a few months ago.” At least that part was true.
“That’s too bad. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you part ways?”
She met his gaze and stretched the truth some more. “He was cheating on me and going to clubs with other women.”
Garrick shook his head. “Unfortunate. You are better off without him.”
“Thanks, I agree. He was a total douche.”
Garrick smiled and flipped to the next page. “There will be plenty of situations, especially during our fetish nights, where you might find yourself lavished with attention. I assure you we take every precaution to ensure the safety of our staff. Our members represent London’s elite and are generally a civilized bunch. You can expect them to flirt and proposition you—harmlessly, of course.”
Brynne nodded and smiled. “I think it’s a pity nobody flirts anymore. Men can’t even give a compliment because it’s politically incorrect and often considered harassment.”
Garrick leaned forward, piercing her with his dark eyes. “Believe me, they will flirt. You must be prepared to dodge, deflect, and flirt back so there are no bruised egos.”
“I can handle that,” she said confidently. There were plenty of times she had to evade wayward hands and unwanted attention while slinging cocktails and chicken wings.
Garrick went on, “During our fetish parties, members will expect absolute obedience, and they may push your buttons to test it.”
Brynne’s eyes widened, and she wondered what would happen if she lost her temper or really fucked something up. “What if I accidentally spill a drink?”
Garrick steepled his fingers and touched his lips as he mulled over the question.
“Master Gage or I would decide on the punishment. If you spilled a drink without breaking glass, you would get on your hands and knees to wipe it up. We might make you pull your skirt up, so your arse is on display as you do it.”
Brynne inhaled sharply and bit her tongue.
“If you broke the glass, someone else would need to clean it up, and you might receive a spanking for being clumsy.”
“Um, I would do my best not to let that happen,” she whispered.
“Does that mean spanking doesn’t turn you on?” Garrick studied her, measuring and assessing. It seemed like an innocent question, but it did not fool her.
“I—I do like being spanked, but being punished in front of your guests would be…” She shivered just thinking about it. “Mortifying.”
Garrick rose and retrieved a folder from his desk. “Our members’ privacy is more important than anything else, as you saw from the comprehensive NDA we emailed.” He placed the three-page document on the coffee table. “Here is a printed copy you can sign for me now.”
Brynne took the fancy pen he offered and signed the last page. She had read it from top to bottom and knew she couldn’t tell anyone what went on in this place.
“Now, all we need is the reference from a Dom or someone known in the scene who will vouch for you.”
Brynne nodded absently, but then realization dawned. Her hands twisted in her lap. Could she have misheard him? “I have—I mean Jared Blackwood has vouched for me. Is that what you mean?”
“No, sweetheart, I mean a legitimate letter of reference that lets us know someone properly trained you to behave with grace and obedience in all circumstances you may experience here at the club.”
Her eyes widened as she struggled to gather her thoughts. “I, um, I will get that for you.”
“Good. Bring it when you come back for the second interview with Master Gage. He owns Dominus, and all candidates must meet his approval before we offer employment.”
Garrick rose and pressed a buzzer by the door. She stood and tugged her wrinkled skirt down, wiping the perspiration off her palms.
He turned and gave Brynne his business card. “Call the main number when you have your reference letter, and they will set up your next appointment.”
“Thank you, will do. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hunt. I really appreciate your time.”
“Same. Take good care, Brynne. Wait right out here for Miles. He will escort you out.”
Brynne was itching to call Jared, but it would have to wait. As she waited for the butler, she overheard raised voices behind the door across the hall.
“I don’t give a fuck about your finances, Sierra. You should have thought of that before you lied to me.”
Brynne held her breath and stood there, curious to hear more.
“If you need money, perhaps you should sell some of your designer handbags—or pawn the ring you decided to keep. I’m sure you could raise a hundred thousand pounds.” The accent was distinctly Scottish, and his voice dripped with contempt.
A woman’s voice pierced the silence. “You are such a bastard! After everything we’ve shared, how can you be so callous?”
“You don’t really want me to answer that, do you? I have work to do. See yourself out.”
Brynne moved quickly down the hall when the conversation ended. The door swung open, and a tall, stunning blonde started toward her.
Her icy scowl pinned Brynne to the spot. “What the hell are you looking at?”
Brynne backed up until she felt the wall at her back. This was one of those times she wished for three more inches of height.
The woman curled her over-injected lips in contempt. “Are you one of those doormat subs who needs to be told what to do every hour of the day?”
“Excuse me?” Brynne recognized that haughty face from somewhere. When a wave of cloying perfume reached her nose, recognition dawned. She was the spokesmodel for a horrid fragrance that was featured all over Harrods last year. That scent always gave her a headache.
Before she could respond, a man appeared in the doorway. “Do yourself a favor, Sierra, and leave now.”
Brynne lost the ability to speak, but her brain catalogued his features one by one and transmitted unadulterated hunger through her bloodstream, straight to her core. He was her darkest fantasies brought to life. His jaw was rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. He looked positively lethal. She had the urge to run but was rooted to the spot.
The woman’s screechy voice interrupted her perusal. “You’re a sick fuck, and I’m going to make sure everyone in our social circle knows it.”
“Go ahead. We’ll see how your pristine reputation weathers the gossip that ensues.”
“I hate you.”
He shook his head, clearly at the end of his patience. “Go.”
She turned on her heel and strode toward the staircase, then turned back, catching Brynne’s eye for a second before she spat, “You will be sorry.”
“I already am.” His barely audible response raised the hair on her neck.
Once the blonde viper was out of sight, he stalked toward her. Brynne didn’t realize she was inching away until she bumped into a table and almost toppled it.
The man reached past her to steady the wobbling lamp. “Why are you loitering in this hall?”
He stood close enough to singe her skin with his heat. His eyes raked over her like shards of green ice with the power to wound. She stammered, “Uh, Garrick told me to wait here for the butler after my interview.”
He made a strange sound in his throat. “Submissive or server?”
“Server.”
“Have you signed the NDA?”
She nodded.
“Good. You’ll do well to forget everything you saw and heard today.” He looked her up and down. “I trust you are bright enough to find your way to the front door?”
Her chin jutted, and she met his disdain with her own. “I was just following Mr. Hunt’s explicit instructions.”
“Good for you. We like that in our employees.” His mouth turned up slightly at the corners, causing her to stare at it. “What we don’t like…is impertinence.”
Her face was hot, and she hated how her body cowered under his stare. The old man reappeared and cleared his throat, saving her from saying something stupid. He wrung his hands and bowed. “My apologies, sir. Multiple deliveries came to the front entrance and delayed me. I will see the lady out.”
“It was no trouble at all, Miles.”
She watched him gently pat the man on the shoulder, the harsh tone gone from his voice.
“Don’t hurry on the steps. You’ve got to take it easy until that hip is back in fighting form.”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”
He turned with a curt nod to Brynne and disappeared down the hall. Miles led her back to the entrance. She had barely stepped onto the portico when the door slammed shut at her back and freezing rain stung her cheeks.
What the actual fuck? Who was that guy? Why was her heart pounding in her ears? And what was the deal with that woman?
No doubt the tall, obnoxious Scotsman was the owner and Master of Dominus.
Nice work, Brynne. You made a lousy first impression.
The encounter almost made her forget the other disaster. The small matter of a reference letter from someone in the scene!
Brynne dug her cell phone out of her bag and started down the street. Jared picked up after half a ring. “How did it go? Did you get the job?”
“No, not even close! I’m trying not to get hysterical here in the middle of Covent fucking Garden.” She stopped and put her hand over her mouth so no one passing by would hear her. “Apparently, I need a reference from a real Dom!”
“What? You can’t be serious?”
“Oh, I’m deadly serious,” she growled into the phone.
“Wait, did you do what I told you? Did you act reserved and submissive ?”
Jared had warned her not to get prickly, but how dare he assume she failed?
“Dammit, I acted the right way!” Her voice was drawing attention from passersby. “Garrick put me at ease. He was very nice, but that’s not enough. He needs this letter. Without it, I’m screwed.” Sighing heavily, she added, “I also had a run-in with a gorgeous but horrible man.”
“Geez, girl. What did he look like?”
“Tall, dark hair, chiseled jaw, chilling green eyes… And he probably has pointy teeth.”
“That would be Master Gage.”
“Yeah, I figured. He made me weak at the knees—until he opened his mouth. I’m disgusted to say I probably would have stripped naked if he’d told me to.”
“Too bad he didn’t. Then you might have gotten the job without going to a local dungeon for a reference.”
She heard him chuckling into the phone and wanted to throttle him. “Jared, this is not funny. What the hell am I going to do?”
“I know someone. She is wonderful, and if I tell her you’re a novice, I am sure she will go easy on you.”
Brynne felt herself go pale. “Are you joking? Who is she? Wait, are you suggesting I go see your dominatrix friend?” Her mouth went dry at the idea of experiencing a real-life scene, after thinking about it for so long.
“Yes. It’s better than paying a stranger.”
“Bloody hell. Can’t I pay for the service and get a letter, without, you know?” she couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“Oh sweetie, that’s not how it works. A proper Domme won’t fake this kind of thing. Mistress Patricia is well known across Europe—a reference from her will guarantee you the job. The only thing is, she won’t say she instructed you unless she did.”
“Fuck. Me.”
“No, not unless she’s attracted to you, and it’s not one of your hard limits.”
“Christ, Jared, that’s not what I meant, and you know it!” Brynne groaned loudly. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m drenched and heading underground. We’ll talk tomorrow at work, okay?”
“Don’t worry, Bree, it will be fine. You’ll see. Bye.”
She punched the end call icon and stomped down the steps. She could not believe her luck. It wasn’t like she expected success without hard work, but without , she would have to venture into the creepier fetish nightclubs. The thought of going to an actual dominatrix made her stomach flutter…and something else she refused to acknowledge.
Her thoughts returned to Gage. The man was annoyingly gorgeous and so bloody rude. When he was towering over her, she felt like a rabbit in the sights of a hawk. What did it say about her, that she wondered what it would be like to be caught?