Chapter Three Rae
CHAPTER THREE
Rae
“GOOD MEETING YOU, SUNNY.” My seventh or eighth Dom of the night slides me a business card as he shakes my hand, and then clasps it in both of his. Very, very heartfelt. “Let me know if your place of employment’s ever in the market for a new printer/copier.”
Right. Okay, then.
With a nod and a smile, I wave goodbye as Master… Frank, was it?… moves on to the next table. I then cross another number off my little cheat sheet. He was fine. Nice. Just not what I had pictured.
None of this is what I imagined when I left home tonight.
I mean, the space is amazing, and there are more than a few interesting people, including Tank, the really handsome guy who’s leading tonight’s event, whip in hand.
He seems nice, friendly, smiley, but then his name tag says that he’s a Daddy and a sadist, and that’s not what I’m looking for.
Bossy, yes. Mean? No, thank you. I get enough of that in the real world.
Then there’s the brooding man standing at the bar in his dark pants and crisp button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to show thick, veined forearms and impatient, long-fingered hands.
His dark hair curls a little long around his ears and his nape.
It looks soft and thick. His face, though youngish, is sort of craggy and worn.
Like he’s lived. He’s seen things. And he’s maybe a little pissed about it all.
His eyes meet mine, and I quickly turn away, only to find myself sneaking glances at him a few seconds later. He’s interesting. More than interesting, actually. Intriguing, intense, mysterious.
Funny how, all night, with every Dom I’ve sat with, I’ve barely been able to muster a meh, but somehow this man gives all the adjectives.
Annoyed. I add that to the list when our eyes meet again.
Maybe he’s just bored.
Which I get. I’d expected a whole lot more excitement when I gathered up the courage to come here tonight. Not quite people hanging naked from the rafters, getting whipped and flogged, but something close to it.
Although there is a definite buzz in the air.
I cast a quick look around. There are a few vinyl- and leather-clad folks not involved in the speed dating, lurking in the corners on sofas or in clusters around funky pieces of furniture.
That bench over there, for instance, is that really a sculptural table, or is it meant for something painfully sexy?
Right now, a couple’s cuddling on a sofa beside it, their drinks resting atop its shiny surface, but I can picture myself stretched over it, ass in the air, ready for a spanking or—
“You’re cute.”
I look up as my newest speed date takes a seat across from me. “Oh, thanks.”
Daddy Brice, his name tag says. Okay, another Daddy.
I’ve met three sadists, a couple of new Doms who, like me, are maybe a little out of their depth.
One guy—Sincaid?—who said all the right things, but just, I don’t know, smelled wrong or something.
He was also a Primal Dom, which I’d never heard of.
The whole time he described his fantasy of chasing a submissive through the woods and having his way with her on the ground, I pictured gnats and mosquitos and just how bad poison ivy would feel on my nether regions.
Huge no. Then there was Master Ev, dressed head to toe in leather, whose ideal partner would submit to him 24/7.
I can almost see the appeal. I mean, making decisions is exhausting.
But nope. There was Pedro, the rope guy, who was attractive and seemed pretty fun.
Maybe I could do the suspension thing if it’s low-key and doesn’t put too much pressure on my knees or cut off my circulation or hurt in any way at all.
Oh, then there was Thor, who called me dear even though I’m pretty sure I’m ten years his elder.
This new man’s nice looking in a straitlaced, older-dentist way. His wire-rimmed glasses don’t exactly go with his mesh top and tight, squeaky vinyl pants, but that’s okay. A Dom’s a Dom, right?
Wrong.
Yeah. I’m learning very quickly that there are a few things the romance novels—not to mention my favorite kinky subreddit—have gotten wrong. First off: most Doms are not sexy. Or smooth. Or even, if I’m being honest, very dominant.
Maybe he’ll—
“You a good girl who wants to kneel for Daddy?” He rifles through the list I put face down on the table.
“Not today.” I slap a hand on my list and tug it away from him.
He tugs back. “Come on. Let’s see it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Awwww, look at you, all rosy-cheeked. You a shy, sweet girl who wants her big Daddy to—”
“You’re done,” says a deep voice. I look up in time to see Broody Bar Guy grab Nasty Dentist Daddy by the spiked collar of his leather jacket. “Out.”
Right away, bodies converge. Massive Tank, a sexy couple from one of the dark corners, Daff from the front desk. Then Harlow, the bouncer from upstairs, swoops in and drags him off single-handedly, which is a level of badassery I absolutely aspire to.
Well, then. That removal—quick and painless—certainly speaks of a well-run establishment.
Broody Bar Guy returns, sets my checklist face down on the table, and smooths it out. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” I reply.
“That man shouldn’t have been here.” He watches me carefully.
“It’s okay.”
“No. A good Dom doesn’t impose his will like that. The club should have vetted him better.”
I blink up at him, noting the hint of hair just visible at the open V of his collar and the sharp angle of his jawline, shadowed by dark stubble. Above it, his face is deadly serious.
“What, um…?” My voice is embarrassingly squeaky. “What is the hallmark of a real Dom?”
“First off, Doms set up ground rules. Make sure they’re on the same page as the sub. A good Dom asks questions and pays attention. Listens to the sub. They’d let you call the shots.” The sharply etched lines between his brows deepen as he leans in. “You, for example, don’t want to be hurt.”
My mouth drops open. How could he possibly know that?
“You saw my checklist?” I lift the now-crumpled pages.
“I wouldn’t read that without your consent.”
“What would you do? With my consent.”
“Maybe a little role play. A little dirty talk.” Somehow, he’s a step closer, his face lower. “Got the feeling you want to be told what to do.” A quick twist of his lips. “And I heard what you told the last guy.”
“Which part?”
His mouth loosens into something close to a grin. “Well, not the part about color copies in your workplace.”
I huff out a laugh. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“I tried not to listen, believe me. Couldn’t help but hear the part where you want someone to take care of you.”
Oh. Did I really say that? I guess I must have. “I didn’t mean, you know, financially. Like that Sugar Daddy from earlier was into.”
“Oh, I know.” His voice is a warm whisper. “You meant take care of your pleasure.”
He’s squatting beside me now, our faces close. He smells like beer with maybe cedar and cloves and hints of something metallic. I want to bottle that scent, spray it all over my sheets, and roll in it.
“Are you a Dom?” I whisper.
Like a rocket, he’s up and about three feet back.
“I’m not in the market for a sub.”
I stand. “Oh… oh, sorry. I just. You seem to know all the things, and I thought—”
“Doms up,” Tank bellows. “Say bye-bye to your current subs and head to the right!”
Someone approaches my table, looks at me, at Broody Bar Guy, and moves on.
“You scared the next Dom away, Gen,” Tank yells from a couple of tables off. “Looks like you owe the woman her speed date.”
For what must be a good fifteen seconds, Broody Bar Guy seriously considers hot-footing it out of here. I’m sure of it. Finally, with a sigh, he casts a narrow-eyed glare at our MC and holds out my chair.
“Honestly, I could use a break anyway.” I stay standing. “Carry on.”
“Carry on?”
“Yep. I’m good. No need to play Dom with me.”
A hint of humor warms his eyes. “Come on.” He sweeps a hand at the chair. “Give me a chance to be less of an asshole.”
“I think I’ll go. This isn’t my scene after all, and—”
“No!”
Everyone stops talking. And dancing and spanking, or whatever that couple in the corner just started doing. In my peripheral vision, I catch Tank folding his massive arms over his chest and giving Broody Bar Guy the kind of raised-eyebrow stare that would make me want to run and hide.
BBG sighs. “Please.”
After a second, I sit and watch him head to the bar and return with the open bottle of champagne and a beer. Around me, people have gone back to their conversations and… yep. That’s just a casual, garden-variety spanking happening over there.
Wow. Okay.
I risk a quick glance and turn back as BBG sets a full glass of champagne in front of me and moves to take the chair opposite.
“I’m truly sorry.” He squeezes his temples before looking at me, head-on. “Let’s start over. People here call me the General.”
“Oh! That seems appropriate. I’m Sunny.”
“I am bossy.” He smiles, and it is… whoa.
Uh-oh. Big, huge uh-oh. The man is handsome and dimpled, his smile bright and white.
Between his almost-beard and the shadow of chest hair, the tailored midnight blue shirt and well-fitted pants, he’s the perfect combination of groomed and rough around the edges. “Sunny suits you,” he says.
Though I know it’s meaningless, the compliment hits warm and solid in my center. “Thanks.”
“What brings you to Off the Cuff tonight?”
“Curiosity.” At his look, I go on. “I’ve spent a lot of time reading BDSM romance and how-tos and watching YouTube videos and other fun stuff, so you know.”
“Figured you’d check it out IRL?” His smile becomes a grin. The man is way too gorgeous when he’s not scowling. It’s unsettling.
“Yeah.”
“And? What are you into?”
“You want to read this?”
Though he accepts my list of desires, his eyes stay on me. “Why don’t you tell me?”
I consider, barely registering as my hand moves to cradle my own throat.
He notices, though. His gaze lingers on that hand and moves up my jaw to my mouth.
“I like the idea of… letting go. No power, I guess? I wouldn’t mind being made to do things.” An embarrassed sound huffs from my mouth and lingers between us before rising up, lost to the room’s happy hubbub.
A slow nod.
“But I don’t want to be, like, actually hurt. If that makes sense? Anyway, I haven’t seen too much of that here tonight.” I can’t help but glance over to where a series of light thwacks give way to a long, ragged moan.
When I look back at the General—or as he’ll forever be known in my mind, Broody Bar Guy—he’s watching me, if possible, even more sharply than before.
“So, you’re a sub, not a masochist.”
“Exactly. You get it!” Enthusiasm has me lightly smacking his arm and… holy biceps, that thing is solid. Warm. That tiny bit of contact makes my breath come out in hot little bursts. My vision’s gone a little fuzzy at the edges. From a bicep. Clearly, it’s been a while.
“I want your hands flat on the table,” he says, low and menacing. “Both of them.”
My belly flip-flops, and before I’ve had time to consider his words, my traitorous hands obey.
“Here’s the thing about a good sub, Sunny.” He’s close enough that I can hear every word with crisp clarity despite the ambient noise. The atmosphere’s changed in the last few minutes, and I can’t tell if it’s just me—us—or the entire place that’s sunk into this deep, sensual torpor.
Is that the sound of flesh smacking naked flesh now, instead of vinyl? Are people taking off clothes? I don’t know. And no way am I bursting this bubble of ours to look.
“A good sub listens and learns.” His hands are busy, rolling those sleeves a little higher, tighter, with perfect precision, giving me even more of those pornographically sexy forearms. “But so does…” Another fold.
More of that strong right arm, lightly flexing muscles, a scattering of dark hair. “A good Dom.”
I glance up at his face, which is calm, serious. His rugged features right in a way that twists up my insides and makes me want to say something a young, innocent version of me might have said. Please, please, please like me as much as I like you.
Which I don’t, obviously. I just met the man. And he said himself that he’s not in the market for a sub. He probably has one already. Lots, in fact. A sub for every day of the week. Two on weekends and holidays.
“First of all, a good Dom will ask if you want to scene. Unless it’s part of a preestablished agreement, he’ll never tell you. Got it?”
I nod, my head apparently the only functioning part of my body at this point. The rest is too busy sending hot, syrupy warmth to my nether regions.
“When playing, unless you’re gagged, or your mouth is… otherwise engaged, make sure you say everything out loud, okay?”
My insides rearrange themselves at the idea of exactly what’s got my mouth in that scenario. Then my imagination moves on to serve up a rousing game of Dom/sub charades in which, bound and gagged, I struggle to express all the sexy things using just my eyebrows and some well-placed hip thrusts.
I suppress the giggle trying to work its way out. Pretty sure a guy who calls himself the General would not appreciate it if I laughed mid–Kink 101 lesson.
But he obviously notices and, instead of getting bent out of shape, appears to take it in stride.
“Look, Sunny. We Doms need as much communication help as we can get,” he says, which I don’t believe for a second. This guy doesn’t need help. I’ll bet he can communicate his wants with a single eyebrow. The flick of a lash.
“So…” He leans in, and though I want to look at what his hands are doing, I keep all of my attention focused on his dark eyes, his mouth, and then the dimples playing hide-and-seek in his stubble. “Do you want to see what it’s like, Sunny?”