Chapter 8
GAGE
“Hush,” I say, gathering Aeryn close to my body. With my arms folded around her, I unwrap the red ribbon from her wrists. “I’ve got you, beautiful. You’re fine, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
She’s sobbing like a child, clutching at my tuxedo jacket, burying her face against my snow-white shirt.
I touch my lips to the crown of her head, then smooth her hair down her back, all the while murmuring words of comfort.
I’d forgotten how she looks when she falls apart.
How she loses all her sharp edges, all her steel.
“Hush,” I say again, pulling her even closer.
The Heart is coming back to life. Anyone who’s spent any time at Kynk knows the importance of respecting a scene, of not interrupting a Dom and his sub. Concentration is vital—a distracted Dom could overstep his sub’s boundaries without any intention to do harm.
But club members are free to move now. Some retreat to the public playrooms where they can try out their Secret Santa gifts. Others head back to the Great Room for a drink and a leer. A few conversations launch with whispers, and someone laughs in the corridor outside the private rooms.
Aeryn buries her face against my chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. I feel her words more than hear them.
“I’m not.” I tighten my arms around her.
“I— I never cry like this. I… I’ve never done that before. In front of people, I mean. It was so…intense.”
“You were magnificent.”
She shifts on my lap, her bare ass riding the hard-on I haven’t managed to deflate. “Oh, Gage,” she sighs, and that’s my Christmas present, hearing my name on her lips.
She reaches between us, but I catch her wrist before she can stroke my cock.
“Let me,” she says.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“I want to—”
I lower her hand to her side with enough force to remind her that I’m the one in charge. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
A wicked glint flashes in her eyes. “Trust me. Your reputation will only be enhanced when they see that thing.”
I curl my finger under her chin. Her smile is a work of art. “Let me take care of you,” I say.
She huffs a little protest, but she drops her attempt to service me. My cock twitches its rebellion. It wouldn’t take much to get relief—those fingers, that mouth, that sweet, sweet pussy…
But I wasn’t lying when I mentioned my rep. I need my customers to respect my authority, to understand that my rules always matter. I’m not one of the crowd. If they ever see me hip-deep in a sub, they won’t think of me the same way again.
“Can you stand?” I ask Aeryn. Obediently, she tries, swaying on legs that have been pushed to their limit. I cup my hands under her elbows, relishing her weight as she steadies herself with fingertips to my shoulders. “Good girl,” I say.
Her blush is like sunrise.
I have a club to manage. A Masquerade to maintain. But the clock is ticking closer to midnight and members will be leaving soon, calling it a night, heading home for more mundane holiday festivities. It’s Sunday, and tomorrow is Christmas Eve.
I wrestle a cell phone out of my pocket. “Flynn,” I say when my chief of security picks up on the first ring. “I’m heading out early. Call if any emergencies come up.”
“There won’t be any emergencies, boss.”
There won’t be. That’s why I pay Flynn like a C-suite executive of a Fortune 500 company.
Aeryn is steadier on her feet now, but she’s starting to shiver. I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She pulls the lapels close, setting her teeth to keep from chattering.
I collect her shoes and the damp black scrap that used to be her panties. She holds out her hands for her things, but I shake my head. The panties go in my pocket, next to my cell phone and keys. I dangle her shoes from two fingers as I lead her out of the Heart.
As I expected, the Secret Santa participants are putting their holiday gifts to good use.
A few of the couples in the public playrooms have garnered spectators, but the crowd is thinning rapidly.
My bartender stands alone in the center of the Great Room.
Over in one of the conversation pits, two men are pumping some ropy Christmas cheer over a woman wearing nothing but a mistletoe collar. The rest of the space is empty.
When we reach the greenroom door, I brush Aeryn’s hair from her face. “Are you okay to get dressed on your own? I can send someone in to help.”
“I’m fine,” she says. As if to prove her words, she leans in for a kiss. Her lips part before mine do. I may own the club, but I’m not made of fucking steel. I cup the back of her neck and draw out the kiss until she moans into my mouth.
“Go,” I say, pulling back enough to catch a lock of her hair around my finger. She tries to steal another kiss, but I force myself to step away. “Take your time. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” I hand over her shoes like a man giving away a fortune.
She passes through the door to the greenroom, my tuxedo jacket swaying over the curve of her ass.
The black wool covers my handiwork, but I know her creamy skin must be flushed crimson.
She’ll be bruised by morning, something I’d apologize for if I didn’t know how much she’ll crave the reminder of what she endured.
Aeryn was always brave—letting me be her first, allowing me to gag her, then pushing for so much more.
But she has a quality that makes her even more valuable as a sub: She trusts.
Once she’s committed to a Dom—to me—she shimmers with absolute faith in his commands.
I don’t know another woman who could do what she did tonight—find the nerve to come to the club in the first place after ten long years, then take the full force of an unrestrained spanking in front of strangers.
She did it for me. Because I knew she could.
The door closes, and I curl my fingers into fists to keep from following her into the greenroom.
That would give Kynk an unexpected holiday spectacular—Flynn wrestling me out of my own club’s safe space.
He wouldn’t hold back as he dragged me down to the cell in my own office. Rules are fucking rules.
Aeryn will need a few minutes. That gives me time to swing by said office, to pick up a few necessities and log out of my computer.
Back in the lobby, I text Curtis and tell him to bring around the car.
After that, I chat with Felicia, asking about her holiday plans.
Kynk is closed two days a year—Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
I didn’t set the calendar because of anyone’s religious beliefs.
I’ve just learned over the last eight years that Christmas has a way of locking down even the strongest kinks.
Aeryn finally steps out of the greenroom looking exactly like what she is—a submissive who just experienced the most earthshaking orgasm of her life. Her lips are swollen from our kissing. Her hair is tousled. Her eyes look sleepy, even though she smiles when she sees me.
She’s wearing a dark green sweater dress, covered by her wool coat. My jacket is folded over her arm. Her ankles sway in her stilettos.
I brush my fingers against the torn lace in my pocket. She shivers, as if we’re connected by a live electric wire.
“Have a good night, Felicia,” I say, not taking my eyes off Aeryn.
“Good evening Mr. Rider. Ms. Reardon.”
Both security guards step forward to open the door.
Curtis waits at the curb. Aeryn climbs into the back first, sucking in a sharp breath as she settles on the leather seat. I bite back a gloating grin. I did that. I set her flesh on fire. All because she trusts me.
As Curtis takes his place behind the wheel, he finds my gaze in the rear-view mirror. He’s waiting for instructions, for a destination. I’m waiting too.
Aeryn doesn’t hesitate. She leans into my side and whispers, “Let’s go home.”
I let out a caged breath, surprised to discover how much I care. “Home,” I say to Curtis, and I press the button that raises the privacy screen.
Aeryn needs food and drink, and she needs salve on her bruising skin.
She whines, though, when I lean forward to open the cooler across from our seat.
There’s champagne in there and a bottle of Grey Goose, a bottle of Glenfiddich too.
But I skip over those and crack open a bottle of Voss water, helping her hold it so she can drink.
If we were already home, I’d give her raspberries and Brazil nuts, or I’d break into my stash of free trade dark chocolate.
But she needs something now, so I take out one of the protein bars I grabbed from my office.
I break it into three pieces before I peel open the wrapping.
She opens her mouth like a baby bird and lets me put food on her tongue.
I grabbed a tin of arnica cream, too. The scent of sage and rosemary throws me back ten years—it’s the same stuff the Aces’ trainers used on us after every hockey game. It’s the brand I bought a decade ago, the week after Thanksgiving, when I first tied Aeryn to my bed.
I could wait until we reach my condo, but I don’t want to. Aeryn’s still shivering, despite her coat and her wool dress, despite the water she’s drunk and the food she’s eaten. She’s deep into sub drop now, and I need another way to remind her body that she’s safe.
It’s awkward, pulling her onto my lap in the back of the Rivian, and I’m certain she’s flashing back to the Heart. But I keep my hands gentle as I shift her garments, barely touching her hot, red skin as I discover the extent of her need.
The arnica is cool on my fingertips as I scoop it from the tin. Aeryn’s whimper turns to a sigh as I smooth the cream over her ass, a thin coat at first, giving the herb a chance to sink in.