Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Kitten
The alarm goes off and my body screams, some stiffness and some pain. I check the mirror for bruises, and a mixture of shame and familiarity hits me. I used to do this all the time when I was with Bo. Get up quietly, check to see the damage, take a shower, then make breakfast.
My wrist still hurts, and I slide on a brace I used to wear. I told everyone it was for tendonitis. If they knew I lied, they never asked any follow up questions.
The damage report isn’t as bad as I thought, faded bruising around my neck that can be covered with a turtleneck …
leaning into the mirror and adjusting the light.
Maybe I won’t need to hide it. Fox did a good job treating the injuries.
Hmm, strange, I’m used to the pain but never felt cared for before.
I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ve never had someone else take care of me.
His tenderness lingers on my skin longer than the pain does.
I don’t know what to do with that, so I shove it in the back of my mind and get ready for the day.
Once I’m at work, I like the normality and predictability of the job.
No one asks me how my evening was. I don’t have to explain the potential attack—which I’m grateful for—and no one asks if I went to a sex club with a masked man either.
Or if I am going back tonight. So they’re missing out on all the juicy gossip.
My knees have been bouncing under my desk for an hour now, and I’ve been staring at the clock all day. He texted me this morning with instructions on how to get into the club, who to talk to, how to get a locker key, all that stuff. He also told me to stay hydrated.
I jump when the phone rings, startling me out of my lust-crazed fantasy.
I smirk when I see the Mastodon Security name across the caller ID.
She doesn’t know it, but Alana is my only stable relationship in years.
I look forward to these calls every week, even if they end in rejection.
Should I take a deep dive into that? Nope.
Now isn’t the time for reflective therapy.
She cuts right to the purpose of the call. “Yeah, I’m going to pass on the most recent designs.” Shocker. I knew hang-gliding elephants didn’t give the right vibe. “We pulled the security footage at the garage,” she adds.
My stomach knots. It’s been nicer focusing on my fun, sexy adventures than what could have been. Now the terrible parts of the evening come rushing back to me. My heart rate spikes as I choke out, “Oh, did you report them to the police?”
She huffs, which is the closest thing I’ve ever heard to a laugh from her. “I have other friends who are more effective at justice. They won’t bother you again.”
Not exactly the response I expected, but thinking about how everyone reacted to her, maybe she’s more than a security company’s CEO. “Do you need a shovel?” I ask with a laugh to defuse my inner panic.
“Only amateurs bury bodies.”
Oh fuck. Nope … that didn’t work. Now I’m even more terrified.
She shifts the conversation. “So … you and Fox, huh?”
I blush and dip my head closer to the phone. “Yeah.” The idea strikes me. “Do you know him?”
“I know everyone at the club. I’ve been going there for years. I prefer to control when, how, and to what extent I fuck, and Club Midnight is the best place to do it.”
A few days ago, I might’ve clutched my pearls, but instead, as I scroll through all the new found information, that sounds one hundred percent right.
A scary female boss in a male-dominated field, she can’t let herself be too vulnerable or let her guard down.
But if she knows everyone, she might know more about Fox.
“Do you know who he is without the mask?”
“I know everyone at the club.” She repeats it slower this time.
Every man I pass today at work, I play the “Could you be Fox?” game. It’s like playing Guess Who. Some people are eliminated because of height or body type. “Um, does he use his real voice in the club?” That would help narrow it down.
There's silence on her end of the line. “No. He’s a trained actor, among other things.”
“Other things?”
“He works in finance.”
I giggle. “Oh, he’s an accountant?” No one asks questions when you’re an accountant.
“Among other things,” she repeats. “Be careful with him. He’s friendly with powerful people, and he’s been through his own shit.” Her voice lightens. “But he’s a good guy, and I don’t use that term lightly.”
“That’s a ringing endorsement,” I say. In the past twenty-four hours, I’ve discovered that Alana’s view of morality may be a dark shade of gray.
And yet she helped me last night. Which begs the question, “Why are you doing all of this for me, sending someone to protect me and supporting me on this sexual journey?”
She’s quiet for so long, I think she’s hung up.
“I’ve met thousands of people in my adult life,” she states with a raw honesty in her voice.
It’s a little unnerving. “I don’t like most of them.
You put up with my shit, and our phone calls center me for the rest of the day.
Don’t know why, don’t ask any follow-ups. ”
“I don’t know what to say.” Because I don’t. Should I tell her I like our phone calls too? Maybe we could hang out sometime. But she doesn't seem like the kind of person who hangs out.
Her voice becomes light and dismissive, “This thing with Fox is going to blow up in both of your faces, but no matter what, you’ll have fun for a little while. Talk to you next week when I reject your next set of designs.”
She hangs up. Alana doesn’t know it, but her weekly phone calls are the closest thing I have to moral support. Or maybe she does, and that’s why she keeps calling.
The day ticks on until it’s time to leave.
I’m in a haze as I get into my Uber. My car is still being searched for bugs and shit.
If the driver knows he’s dropping me off at a sex club, he’s not saying anything.
I’m too nervous to think about anything other than the directions to the club on the GPS.
This time, I walk through the front door and enter the lobby, which is much nicer than the employee entrance. My anxiety builds and I’m not sure if I can do this. Is my Uber driver still there? I should go.
“Hi!” A sweet voice interrupts the early onset of my panic attack. “Can I help you?” There’s a woman standing behind the counter with colorful hair and a huge smile.
The words don’t want to work at first, but then burst out all at once. “Hi, I’m supposed to see Fox today. I don’t think that’s his real name, but that’s what he told me to call him. I think he works here. Maybe? I don’t know, I don’t have his resume memorized.”
The woman rushes from behind the counter and wraps her arms around me.
“You’re Kitten! Yay!” Ok. Not what I was expecting at all.
“It’s so great to meet you. The boys have been talking about you all day.
I’m Jade.” She grabs my hand and leads me to a door.
“Let me show you where you can put your stuff, change if you want to, and do anything you need to before you go into the club.” She pushes open the mahogany door with a little heart on it.
“People who identify as female use this locker room. Pick an open locker, follow the directions for creating your own code. No cell phones are allowed past the lobby, so be sure to lock that away.”
She has a giddy frenzy to her I can normally match, but right now I’m too nervous, and it’s all a little overwhelming. Maybe she can sense that, because she squeezes my hand.
“It’s going to be fine. Fox is really popular, but he never asks for a guest pass.
It’s like a big deal.” Not really helping me to not feel overwhelmed, but it is reassuring.
“When you’re ready, walk through those doors.
” She points to two big black doors at the back of the locker room.
“Then go to your left. Fox is waiting for you in Room five.”
I nod and get ready sort of on autopilot.
I’m all nervous, and my hands are shaking.
I can do this. I was the one who asked for it.
This is what I’ve fantasized about for years.
Maybe I’m worried that it won’t live up to expectations, or maybe it will and I will be changed forever.
But as my mind swirls with reasons why I should leave, my body walks to the double doors and then down the hallway.
This time, when I enter the room, I’m nervous, not scared for my life.
He’s sitting on the couch, dressed all in black, and his mask has Xs over his eyes and a smile made of matching Xs.
It shouldn’t be doing something to me, but it does.
My body instantly feels awake and the nerves heighten the sensation.
He pats the cushion next to him on the couch and says, “I’m glad you came. ”
I sit down next to him and his hand slides onto my thigh. His touch makes me feel safe and special.
“Oh—I get it now. The mask is for your safety, so women don’t show up at your day job demanding you get them off.” I nod. “Yeah, those spreadsheets aren’t going to fill themselves.”
He huffs, and it’s the first sign he thinks I’m funny—and that does the same thing for me as his deep voice calling me a good girl.
“Are you ready to get started?” He makes little circles on my thigh, each rotation going deeper between my legs. Never touching where I want him to, so I shift my weight and spread my legs, clues to tell him what I want.
His hand slides down toward my knees and slams them closed. “Sorry, Kitten, you’re not in charge here.”
I groan and lean against his chest, hoping he doesn’t take it that I’m being rude—I don’t know if I can handle another strike.
He lets me stay there until I’ve completely relaxed, my breathing returning to normal and I’m in that hazy, sleepy state between comfort and exhaustion.
He pushes me up slightly, and tells me to stand against the table.