Chapter 4 #2
“I assumed as much considering your use of a measuring tape.” His French-accented response was dry enough to dehydrate a swamp. “Does the scale of the spiderweb offend your senses? Or perhaps you feel you would not fit and wanted to ensure success?”
This conversational hole kept getting deeper. “Actually, I intend to create a similar piece of furniture and needed an idea of the distance between restraints.”
“Interesting. Yet I doubt a measurement will give you what you need.”
The words in her head jumbled together when his thumb caressed the back of her hand. The inescapable grip combined with the gentle stroking sent quivery sensations humming through her—and derailed her brain completely.
She blinked. “Ah, sorry, what?”
His lips twitched with his amusement. “Would you like to try out the spiderweb—and restraints—to see if you fit?”
“No.” She tried again to take a step back, got nowhere, and panic rose inside her. “No, no.”
“Easy, ma petite.” Releasing her, he shifted back and smoothly gestured her away from the spiderweb.
She hurried around the web, tripped over the bottom rail. Catching her with powerful hands, he set her on her feet again. And let go immediately.
At the front, with plenty of space to escape, she could breathe again.
She turned—and he was right there in front of her.
Her eyes were at the level of his shoulder—and she couldn’t help noticing the width of his chest. And the two top shirt buttons were undone, revealing the beginning of hard pectorals.
Get a grip, Ray. “Well it was nice meeting you. If you’ll excuse me—”
“Non, non. To meet properly, we must exchange names.” His black eyes held laughter. “You are…?”
“Ray. I’m Ray.” Wait, was she supposed to use her real name in a kink club? Didn’t people make up weird monikers like in online video games?
“Ray.” His brows drew together. “This is Saturday, is it not? Gold members only. Why do I not recall a membership for anyone named Ray?”
He definitely had a French accent, although the dark hair, eyes, and olive skin suggested a Latino heritage, except he was at least six feet tall.
Aaand she’d lost track of the conversation again. How embarrassing. She totally didn’t know how to socialize. It’d be best if someone simply locked her in the workshop.
“I’m not a member. I’m a guest,” she said firmly.
“And yet, I see no escort.”
His authoritative tone sent a shiver up her spine…and then she caught what he said. Uh-oh, was Hope supposed to stick close?
When he stayed silent, undoubtedly expecting her to respond with excuses or apologies, annoyance rose. “What are you, the Chains police?”
“Oui, you may think of me as such.” His jaw muscles turned hard, the amusement gone from his gaze.
Ray’s mouth went dry.
The finest of besties, Hope appeared and put an arm around Ray’s waist. “Ray, I see you met Master Drake.” She turned to the overwhelming man. “Did she tell you who she is?”
“We have gotten as far as her name and being a guest. Did you bring her?”
“Yes, Sir.” Hope bounced on her toes like a Disney fairy godmother. “She needed ideas of how to do a pentagram and tantric chair.”
“Pentagram and…” His expression changed. In fact, the man had such a devastating smile, her own lips curved up. “Ray. You’re George’s protégé. Aralia, oui?”
“Yes. Usually it’s just Ray though.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. He is missed here in the club.”
Here in the club. It really did sound as if Faj spent a lot of time here. At a BDSM club. “Right. Um. Thank you.”
Joining them, MacKensie obviously heard. “Ray didn’t know George was a member.”
Drake’s laugh was as compelling as his smile. “But of course not. He wouldn’t share such information with a young foster-daughter.”
“That’s true,” she said slowly. Faj was—had been—a private person. And apparently, she hadn’t known him as well as she believed. How many times when she thought he was out with his buddies had he been here? Doing…things?
And making kinky furniture.
Her gaze traveled over the smooth circle of the spiderweb, now recognizing how George had turned furniture for a BDSM club into a work of art.
But there wouldn’t be any new art for him to share with her. She put the grief aside and turned in a circle, hunting for other pretty craftwork. “Did he make other, ah, furniture or stuff?” Not spotting Faj’s work, she glanced up at the man.
The amusement was back in Drake’s dark eyes—and his voice. “He did. Would you like to see?”
Oh, she would, so much. “Yes. Please.”
His smile widened. “I do enjoy polite submissives.”
The obvious approval in his smooth-as-aged-whiskey voice heated her cheeks. How humiliating. Don’t blush, don’t blush.
Curse you, fair skin.
Then she realized exactly what he’d said. “What—wait. No. I’m not…”
He chuckled and turned to her friends. “MacKensie, Hope, I’ll bring your guest back shortly.”
“Okay. See you in a bit, Ray.” Hope smiled at her and with Mac, took two steps toward the whipping scene.
Drake cleared his throat. “Ladies, did your Masters give you permission to be in the dungeon without them?”
They froze.
Whoa, he really was the Chains cop.
Mac whispered to Hope, “Busted.”
Turning, Hope bowed her head slightly, “No, they didn’t, Master Drake. They’re not here tonight.”
“I guess we’ll wait for you upstairs, Ray.” Mac wrinkled her nose, and the women headed for the staircase.
Leaving her alone in the dungeon.
“No, do not look so abandoned.” Drake put an arm around her and steered her out of the path of a Domme and her bearded lipstick-wearing submissive in high heels and frilly lingerie.
“I don’t. I’m fine.” Ray tried to rearrange her expression as her feelings tangled worse than loose wire in a box.
He frowned, obviously aware she’d lied, but kept walking anyway. They passed a couple of scenes before he stopped at a roped-off area. He smiled at a burly Top with long tied-back brown hair who had his arm around a flushed, sweating naked man. “It appears you had a good scene.”
“We did,” the Top said with a pleased laugh, then motioned to the equipment. “All cleaned up if you want to play.”
Play? Ray stiffened and tried to step back, but the arm around her tightened.
“Thank you, Bastian.” Drake smiled down at Ray. “Relax, ma douce.” He motioned toward the device. “You wanted to see George’s work. He made this spanking bench a few years ago.”
“Ohhhhh.” With a breath of relief, she stepped forward to look.
It was a spanking bench design. She’d seen photos of cheap ones and even homemade ones from sawhorses.
This one was as akin to a rough sawhorse as the Mona Lisa was to a child’s artwork.
Rich, dark walnut gleamed and demanded to be touched.
The dark red cushions incorporated in the design created a functional, comfortable—and beautiful—piece of furniture.
Realizing she’d gotten lost in examining and stroking the bench, she turned.
Drake was leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, totally at ease. “I saw George a few days before he passed on. Tomo said you were asleep, or we’d have met then.”
Unable to speak, she nodded at Drake. When George had grown too weak to leave his bed, she’d volunteered to sleep during the days and sit with him at night. Faj had been awake off and on, and the quiet times with him had been a blessing.
“He let me know the two pieces he’d planned to make would not be completed.” Drake lifted his eyebrows, his unspoken question obvious: Why are you here?
“I didn’t want anything he started to remain unfinished.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “I would’ve called, but his notes had no number or address for Chains.”
The reason being Faj was a damn member. “If the club wants, I can complete the job he already started. Is there a person in charge of purchases I should speak with?”
“I would be that person.” He studied her for a moment, then smiled. “It would be most helpful if you finish the work. Let me show you the room where they’ll go.” Drake motioned for her to walk beside him.
As they crossed the huge room, he seemed to know everyone. Other Dominants nodded. But the submissives…
No matter their gender, they greeted him with a breathy, “Master Drake.” If the Chains cop had indicated any interest, every submissive appeared as if they’d bend and spread ’em. And not for a frisking.
Admittedly, he was shockingly good-looking. No, more than that. His personality was so confident and authoritative any submissive would melt in his presence.
Including me, dammit.
Halfway back across the huge dungeon, he stopped at a closed door. A sign read, “Elfame. No impact or painful play, please.” The door opened into a…very different ambiance.
Decorated in dark rich greens and browns, the room was softly lit as if with moonlight.
It felt as if she’d wandered into Galadriel’s high elf domain.
Or a witches’ forest nook. She turned in a circle.
“This is different from the rest of the place.” Ferns filled the corners. Ivy hung from wood-carved rafters.
“Not everyone wants pain or impact play or a dungeon atmosphere. This is a space for a more sensual experience.”
It didn’t even smell like the rest of the dungeon. She breathed in. The rich scent of sandalwood, green growing things, water. A hint of leather. Definitely sensual.
A flickering candle drew her attention to a woman restrained on a bondage table. The male Top was sliding an ice cube over her breasts.
Mmm. Simply watching it made her tits bunch up.
She turned her gaze elsewhere, to a wall covered with a tapestry of a boulder-strewn forest in the fog. The opposite area had a softly-splashing inlaid pool and fountain with candles tucked into hollows in the stones. The actual floor was aged red-brown tiles.
The room was so soundproofed she couldn’t hear anything except a slow Celtic tune. And…uh…the woman’s moans.
In a corner half-hidden behind ferns, a Domme teased her male submissive with a furry glove and a spiky wheel.