Chapter Five
Boudreaux
While the Mistress was away, Reaux took advantage of the quiet to check in with the various branches of his business. Technically, he was on vacation, but even though he trusted the managers he’d personally selected to run his life’s work, he was not a silent owner.
Baton Rouge, the two clubs in Shreveport, and New Orleans all reported no issues. High footfall, excellent reviews, a minor uptick in membership—nothing less than what he expected from his oldest, most established locations.
He wasn’t pleased, however, to learn that his manager in the Lafayette branch of Amatory had suddenly been hit with the urge to pursue a career in drag, leaving without notice and handing over the reins to the bartender.
No, that did not please him at all.
After a lengthy discussion with Theo, the bartender, Reaux was mildly mollified by the fact the guy seemed to have some wits about him and was valiantly juggling two stressful positions without complaint or a pay rise.
Evidently, he aspired to become more than a drink slinger, and Reaux was—once he’d scanned quickly through the man’s employee file—inclined to give him that opportunity.
The food arrived as he was transplanting one of his more experienced deputy managers from Shreveport as back up for Theo, but Violet was nowhere to be seen.
It wouldn’t come as a shock to discover she’d found something to occupy her time so she could hide and regroup.
She hated the fact he knew her better than herself—or maybe it was the fact he was the only one around here who had intimate knowledge of submissive Violet, which opened up her vulnerabilities.
With Theo’s support on route to Lafayette, one last call to Metairie proved uneventful. Everything was running smoothly, he’d call Theo in a couple days to follow up on what they’d discussed today, and overall, he was satisfied his businesses were in good standing.
When he finally heard the click of heels heading toward the kitchen, he stood and carried the covered plates to the table. His stomach growled, scenting the familiar aroma of Southern cooking, and for a moment he was horribly homesick.
It had been hard, living apart from Violet all this time.
His heart was rooted firmly in Louisiana, the land of his blood, and yet she’d taken a big chunk of it with her.
For two years, he hadn’t felt whole. Now, that missing piece was slotted back where it needed to be, but it would take time to fuse into place.
Once it was healed, he knew he wouldn’t feel complete until he—and Violet—were back where they both belonged.
Uncovering the plates with a flourish, Reaux turned to smile at her, only to stop in his tracks and stare at the diversion his Mistress had brought home. Sneaky, clever, dastardly woman. “Well, hello there.”
Huge, beautiful hazel eyes beamed innocence at him. “Oh, wow.”
Violet huffed and ushered the woman toward the table. “Boudreaux, this is Master Merrick’s submissive, Tamsyn. Tamsyn, Boudreaux. Don’t let him dazzle you.”
“But he’s so pretty.”
Pretty? Reaux supposed he could either be offended or not, and opted for not. The way the woman kept sneaking him glances was more awed than derisive, so pretty was probably a compliment.
Violet’s stare, however, was simply dismissive, as though she hadn’t come all over his cock ninety or so minutes ago. Her shields were firmly back in place, her anger and pain meshed together again to form that impenetrable wall she used so effectively to shelter behind.
He beat them to the table, pulling out a chair for Tamsyn first, then doing the same for Violet.
As she sat gracefully, he set his hands on the back of the seat and leaned down so only she could hear his whisper.
“Bringing home a sweet little stray won’t save you, Bennie.
I’m not done with you yet, not by a long shot. ”
He heard her small, shaky inhale.
Felt a tremor ripple through her before she squared her shoulders.
The side-eyed glare she cast back at him was both censorious and unamused. “Your game, my rules, boy. Just because you set this train in motion does not mean you control how or where it stops.”
God, he loved her. It was some kind of insanity, he was sure, to be so fascinated by the fire inside her even as it scorched him. The glimpses of it he’d seen simmering through her submissive years were no longer contained now the Domme was in full force.
One day, she would listen when he told her how much he loved both halves of her and every inch between. She would believe him when he explained the why of what he’d done and apologized for the distress he’d caused through his… short-sightedness.
He’d seen the long view, the future, and trampled over the present to get there without thinking of how his actions back then might affect them now.
“I’m here for the ride, Mistress.” Keeping the smile off his lips when she scowled at him, he tucked her chair in. “Miss Tamsyn, can I interest you in some crawfish fried rice? A Southern specialty, one of Mistress Violet’s favorites.”
Shooting a wary glance at Violet, then at him, Tamsyn finally dropped her gaze to the table. “I… no, thank you.”
He waited until she risked a peek at him and winked. “Ignore the Mistress. She’s in a bad mood. If you’re hungry, there’s more than enough to feed the three of us. Have you ever had true Southern cooking?”
She perked up. “I like fried chicken.”
“I’ll remember that the next time Violet brings you to visit. Have you been here long?” If Violet didn’t want to entertain a civilized conversation, Reaux decided he’d kickstart one with their guest instead.
“A-A few months.”
He lifted a plate and set it in front of Violet. “You’ve been here all summer then? Bet it’s beautiful with the sun shining and the trees full of leaves. I rarely leave Louisiana, especially not in winter, but I’m maintaining a positive attitude toward the cold season.”
Tamsyn laughed, watching him as he spooned some food from his plate on to a spare one. “A positive attitude won’t save you from the bitterness. I was raised in the mountains and, between the wind chill and the snow, surviving winter here is probably the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced.”
“You were inappropriately dressed, dehydrated and fatigued, as well as being injured. Yet here you are, damn near glowing with health. I’d say you won the challenge.
” Picking up her fork, Violet stirred the rice, releasing a waft of spice-scented steam.
“Eat, sweetheart. On top of being an exceptional pain in my ass, Boudreaux here is a rather strict Dom when he’s not playing at being submissive. ”
That dark head jerked up in surprise, her eyes lifting from their study of the plate. Her shocked whisper made his day. “He’s a Dom?”
Violet’s gaze ticked his way. “Would you like to inflate your own ego?”
“Why would I, when you’ll do a much better job of it?” he countered.
“You’ve had infinitely more practice,” she fired back sweetly.
“But it’s sweeter coming from you, like something else I miss.” Reaux licked his lips suggestively, just in case she didn’t catch his drift.
Heat kissed her cheeks, the tips of her ears.
He watched her jaw wiggle subtly as she fought to snap back, then she simply took a mouthful of rice and proceeded to bring his cock back to full mast with the most sinful, delectable moan he’d ever heard.
“Tamsyn, let me officially introduce you to Boudreaux Fontenot from the esteemed Fontenot family in New Orleans, Louisiana. Old bloodlines, old money… just old.”
Tamsyn giggled, realized it was an insult, and slapped her hand over her mouth.
“His father and brother top the hierarchy in Louisiana real estate, but Boudreaux is the black sheep of the family. Took a little detour,” she drawled in the accent that made him long for home, “bought himself a few buildings here and there, but rather than following the family line, he turned them into BDSM clubs.”
The dark-haired pixie’s eyes rounded. “Like Serenity?”
“No, sweetheart. Serenity is a bit different from most BDSM clubs. Think of them like nightclubs—places where people can go after certain hours to find a partner, partake in a scene, blow off some pent-up steam.”
Reaux frowned as he started to eat his own meal. Why would Violet need to explain the concept of a nightclub to the woman? Sure, she seemed young, but she was at least in her mid-twenties. Did teenagers not try to sneak in clubs anymore?
“So they just visit? They don’t live there?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, okay.” Apparently satisfied by that, Tamsyn used her fork to poke at the rice before taking a mouthful consisting of about six grains.
Something weird was going on under his nose, he thought, and couldn’t explain it. Violet was in mother mode—soft voice, compassionate eyes, quiet gestures with her hands as she spoke—which she only used on certain individuals, usually those who’d been abused or were more timid in nature.
Curiosity growing, he studied Tamsyn more closely.
Quiet, yes, but more, there was an underlying anxiety thrumming through her that she was adept at hiding.
It was lurking behind that innocent gaze, in the slight tremor of her hand, the gentle hunch of her shoulders.
In the overall picture, they meant little, but once he identified each one, they became clear.
The only reason Tamsyn was sitting politely at the table, trying to eat, was Violet.
She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t trust the Domme.
“Boudreaux,” Violet said impatiently, getting his attention. “Are you listening?”
He grinned. “No, Mistress.”
“Nothing unusual there, then,” she muttered. “Tamsyn asked how many clubs you own.”