Chapter 13
Simmons
It was him. How did I not figure that out until after I said hi to him?
Airport guy, the one I’ve imagined in the exact long-sleeved latex gloves he was pulling out of his bag.
He was right there in front of me like a dream of sorts as he laid out each piece of his outfit with so much care.
He looked so happy to be at the event when I’d watched him fresh from my shower; it was why I’d asked if he was working or not.
His pale skin, that accent that was like a siren’s call.
Unsure whether it was the natural gleam in his green eyes that told me he would be perfect as a bratty sub or my imagination.
It was clear, even in the small passing minutes that he stared at my ass as I pretended not to notice, that we wanted each other.
And after the interview, I was a free agent, so I would hunt his whereabouts the second I was done for the day.
Stuck with the need to turn back, my heart is still thumping in my chest. Would he remember me?
Or did he already, and that’s why his smile turned to a frown?
Either way, I want to see him again. Looking down at my vintage watch, I have about 45 minutes before I’ve got to head for the interview.
Burt told me that he would conduct it in one of the small conference rooms to ensure the Flaming Scots’ privacy.
As promised, they had also sent me the questions the night before, and I found them all easy enough to answer.
I knew there was a possibility that the interview could go off script, so to speak, but I don’t mind that.
I’d be getting the chance to finally meet the person behind the blog, a blog I’m slowly becoming obsessed with.
Checking multiple times a day. The mysterious blogger is omniscient when it comes to sex, kink, and the world of communities.
The blogger crafts each blog post to be pellucid and eye-catching. I’ve no doubt they are intelligent as well as hardworking in their chosen field.
It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to someone about kink or the lifestyle outside of agreements with ex-subs. That’s why I’m almost giddy with excitement to meet them. I’ve got my own questions if they would allow them at the end.
With that in mind, my mind wanders about the pull towards the man I’ve bumped into again.
There’s something about him that leaves me lusting for something I can’t quite understand yet.
He’s burrowing his way under my skin, and I’ve only met him twice.
We never even exchanged names on either encounter.
As I stroll along, I admire the exhibits while the staff carry out the finishing touches for opening time.
Some say hello or dip their heads as I look around. There are so many exhibitors this year, which is amazing. The event itself is run by a man called Rennie, a lovely middle-aged man who has taken over from his older brother when he retired a few years ago.
It was a testament to the times how much the kink community has grown not just online or worldwide but in my city.
That Rennie has the support of the event space, hotels, and local food businesses to run the event was nothing short of amazing.
The community faced prejudice not just from homophobic assholes but from others who didn’t understand what kinks were or why people had them.
To me, as long as it’s safe and consensual, who gives a fuck where the kink came from as long as you receive pleasure from it.
Too many people outside the community had opinions on it all, which usually had my blood boiling, but this year I’d yet to see any judgement or comments on the upcoming event, which was a great sign.
I’d opted to wear a combination of an outfit I favoured for the club.
Although I wasn’t a professor today, I still felt the need to be a little professional as I’m there to represent Burt and the club.
Wearing black leather trousers with my Doc Martins, I matched them to my favourite mesh, long-sleeved top.
It shows off my muscles, which I worked hard for, so why not?
And it makes me feel sexy even though I’m completely covered.
It shines in the overhead lights and the scrape of the material on my nipples isn’t an unwelcome one.
The outfit is finished with a custom leather belt that adorns Nyctra’s logo in buckle form.
A black metal Dionysus symbol with an N in the middle to represent the club and its message.
The smell of coffee from the food section of the hall draws me closer, and I stop to grab a flat white to wander with.
The young guy checks me out as he holds out the takeaway cup, biting his lip as his eyes lazily trail down my body and back up.
I smirk, giving him a little extra in the tip I left before heading back towards the exhibits.
It was always good to know it wasn’t my looks that had subs running the other way. Nope, just my personality. Great.