Chapter 15 Harper
HARPER
By the time I walk out to Nate’s waiting car at exactly eight p.m. on Saturday, I’m a miserable mess of emotions—aroused, confused, nervous, and frustrated with myself.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks as soon as my ass hits the leather seat cushion.
“Hello to you too,” I mutter.
He ignores my response, reaching over to tilt my chin in his direction so he can look at my face. “Something’s wrong. I can tell.”
I sigh. “Sorry. I’m just…nervous, I guess.” That’s only part of it, but it’s the easiest part. The safest.
Nate nods. “That’s normal.”
“I just feel stupid,” I admit. “To be nervous, I mean. I’ve been to the club twice before.”
He’s quiet for a moment, the thumb still holding my chin tracing little circles on my skin. “Those times you were just coming to watch,” he guesses. “And tonight you’re wondering if you’ll be participating.”
It shouldn’t surprise me that he understands so quickly. He always seems to know what I want and need before I even do. “Yes.”
He nods. “Let me just remind you, you don’t have to do anything.”
I roll my eyes a little. “I know. You tell me enough.”
His fingers tighten on my chin, his voice hardening. “And I will continue to remind you, as long as we’re doing this. That’s my job. I’m going to make sure you’re safe and in control, at all times.”
He sounds genuinely offended. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “You’re right. I appreciate the reminder.”
He watches my face and then nods, releasing my chin. “Good. Then it should go without saying that we only participate tonight if you’re comfortable. Otherwise we watch again.”
“Won’t that get boring for you?”
His eyes flash with humor. “Let me assure you, I enjoy watching.”
A sudden flash of last weekend runs through my mind, him sitting on the couch watching while I touched myself. I feel the heat spread to my chest and he chuckles, noticing it.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Sure,” I murmur, turning my attention to my window so I don’t have to look at him.
He’s not having it, once again grabbing my chin and making me look at him.
“You look gorgeous tonight,” he murmurs.
“I should have said that first.” Then he kisses me, a soft brushing of lips before he increases the pressure, running his tongue along the corners of my mouth. I’m breathless when he pulls away.
“Hi,” I whisper, and he laughs.
“Hello.” He turns back to the steering wheel before he adds, “and just in case you’re wondering, I very much hope that you want to participate. I have a lot of plans for you.”
Well, hell. I was just starting to get a hold of myself and he has to go and tongue fuck my mouth and then say stuff like that. How am I supposed to keep from spontaneously combusting right here in his car?
Just like last time, he’s quiet as he drives.
I run through possible conversation topics in my head, having no idea what to start with.
It doesn’t feel right to ask him about his day—then we’d be talking about school and work, and I don’t really think that’s what he meant by compartmentalizing.
Finally, he puts me out of my misery by suggesting I turn the radio on.
“What kind of music do you like?” I ask him.
“I’ll listen to just about anything,” he says. “Except that pop shit.” I laugh and he looks over. “Let me guess—Miley Cyrus is your idol.”
I snort. “Hardly. Emma is another story.”
“Ah, so you have to put up with her bad taste.”
“Exactly. I would much rather be listening to Jason Mraz or Ingrid Mickelson. I need to be able to think when I have music on.”
He scrunches up his forehead, the expression unexpectedly boyish and adorable on him. “I’m not familiar with them.”
He has satellite radio so I find the coffee house station and familiar, chill guitar strumming fills the car.
“So you don’t like pop or folksy rock,” I say. “What do you listen to?”
He shrugs. “I guess I mostly listen to alternative rock. Stuff from the 90’s.”
“Your glory days?”
He snorts. “Exactly.”
“You’re just like Mason. He’s always listening to Pearl Jam and the Foo Fighters.”
No sooner have the words left my mouth do I regret them. Just what I want to do—remind him of my brother. His friend. One of the many reasons he didn’t want to be in this relationship with me in the first place.
But to my surprise, Nate just smiles. “We saw Pearl Jam in concert together,” he says, smiling at the memory. “Sophomore year of college, I think.”
Since he seems to be in a good mood, I decide to tease him a little. “God, you’re old.”
He tsks under his breath, placing a heavy hand on my bare thigh. “Pretty brave for a girl heading to a building filled with restraints and paddles.” I can’t help but giggle and he smiles at the sound. “Speaking of which…we’re here.”
Nate has skipped the parking lot in favor of the valet out front and I look up at the now-familiar brick building, my nerves returning. He makes small circles on my thigh with his thumb. “Nothing to worry about,” he reminds me. “We’re going to have fun.”
I nod as the valet opens his door. Nate hands off the keys then comes around to my side, taking my arm. “Remember what I said? The first night we were here?” I think back. He’d said a lot that night. “About my rules.”
Rules. Right. It’s always about rules with him. “You said not to talk to anyone but you and to tell you if I have questions.”
“Good girl.”
I’m not sure what it is about those words coming from him, but I love it every time. Does that make me strange? It’s a patronizing phrase, something you would say to a small child. But when Nate says it to me, especially during sex, it fills me with a happy little glow. It makes me feel proud.
Before I can wonder too much about how fucked up that makes me, he’s pulling me through those heavy front doors and into the lobby. Nate doesn’t have to produce a gold card—he merely nods at the receptionist, the same gorgeous willowy blond I saw before, and leads me into the club.
I had wondered if it would look different tonight, now that it’s members only, but it’s mostly the same.
There is slightly more bared skin, and the dark corners seem more occupied than usual.
I turn towards the bar but Nate leads me in the opposite direction.
“No time,” he says apologetically. “It’s about to start. ”
“What is?”
He grins, the expression so wolfish I have to suppress a shiver. “Something I want to show you.”
We go through the steel door and down the hallway, passing the unmarked doors to private rooms that I’ve seen before. Then we’re through another door, into a narrower, dimly lit hallway. “Are these the super private rooms?” I ask, and Nate laughs.
“Something like that.”
“Nate, there you are.”
I look up to see a familiar man in front of us.
Philip, I think. The British one who was with Nate last weekend and had seen Emma home.
I was too agitated to really take him in that night.
Now I’m struck by his almost severe good looks.
His hair is blonde, his closely trimmed beard a shade darker.
He has icy blue eyes that could take a girl’s breath away, and he’s even taller than Nate, though his build is more lanky.
He looks a bit like Tom Hiddleston. No wonder Emma had been excited to have him show her around.
He’s looking at Nate with a slightly amused expression. “You seem awfully chipper.”
Nate rolls his eyes. “I am always the model of mirth and good humor.”
Philip snorts at that before his eyes travel to me, the smirk on his face growing. “I didn’t know you were bringing a guest.”
I shift, uncomfortable, wondering if Nate’s told his friend about me and whether or not I should care.
“Philip, this is Harper. Harper, my old friend Philip.”
“Nice to meet you,” he says, expression appraising as his eyes wander over my body.
Remembering what Nate said about talking to other people, I nod then look down at my feet, feeling very uncomfortable by the way this man is looking me over.
“She’s a natural,” Philip murmurs.
“Enough of that,” Nate says, his voice somewhat sharp. “I had assumed you’d be getting ready by now?”
Philip spreads his arms wide. “I’m ready now. Just going to have a word with Andres before I get started.” He gestures behind him. “Please, go get settled.”
“We will.” Nate tugs on my arm, pulling me past his friend, who gives me a broad smile.
“Enjoy yourself, Harper.”
Once we’re a few feet away Nate blows out a breath. “Ignore him,” he says. “I always do.”
I try to put Philip out of my mind. I’m worked up and nervous enough as it is. And apparently my nerves won’t get a break. Just as we’re about to pass through an unmarked wooden door, another man comes out, his face lighting up when he sees Nate.
“Dr. Chase,” he says, clapping Nate on the shoulder. “Long time no see.”
“Evening, Ward.” Nate doesn’t introduce me, but that doesn’t stop the man from looking me over.
“She’s a pretty one,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand as if to brush across my arm. “Interested in sharing later?”
Nate has me pulled behind his back so fast my head spins. “Absolutely not,” he growls, and the man’s eyes go wide.
“Well, well,” he says, tone both surprised and amused. “I hadn’t heard you’d gotten a new sub. This is the first new girl you’ve brought in since Renee, isn’t it?”
Renee. That’s the second time I’ve heard that name mentioned here. I still have no idea who she is.
Nate doesn’t seem eager to talk about her, though. He grabs my hand and pushes past the man. “Excuse me,” he says, voice cold enough to bring goosebumps to my arms. “We don’t want to miss the beginning.”
He pulls me through the doorway into what seems to be a small theater, the man’s soft chuckle echoing in my ear. Nate’s odd reaction is forced from my mind as the scene in front of us begins to register.