Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Who are you and what have you done with Ray Lanigan? Ray gazed at herself in the window of the hotel. A BDSM convention. Seriously, woman?
Pulling her wheeled carry-on, she walked into the hotel. Signs for FetishFest pointed the way to the convention registration. The large room had small tables scattered in the center with registration tables against the back wall.
Ray selected the one labeled: Last names starting with J-K-L and lined up behind two others.
What a week. Somehow, her life had been completely overturned. Is this what wood feels like when I carve it into something different? From a wood slab to a curvy coffee table?
She’d gone from ending a relationship with Theodore, being so very lonely—and now, she had new and old friends…and Drake.
Especially Drake.
Since her leg injury at Bloedel Gardens last weekend, they’d been together almost every night. And texting off and on during the day.
Thank gods for texting, or she’d never have finished the presentation paddles.
Master Drake could completely derail her thoughts with his dark voice and his too-sexy-for-words French accent.
Let alone his body… So finely sculpted with rippling muscles everywhere.
Wide, strong shoulders tapering to a ridged abdomen. The man was simply drool-worthy.
Ray noticed the line had moved forward and shuffled ahead a few steps.
So…I’m dating and sleeping with a Dom. Yeah, mama, he was definitely dominant.
And he noticed every single time she lost focus on what was going on.
Like last night when they were cooking and she got mesmerized by the bubbling sauce.
Usually it would mean stuff got burned. But instead, his saying her name pulled her back into the real world—and to what she was supposed to be doing.
His white teeth had flashed in a grin, and he’d swatted her on the ass, just hard enough to sting.
“Stay on task, ma petite Ray.” He’d probably been able to see the effect of the swat.
His voice had dropped to a smoky murmur.
“I will reward you suitably if you keep your mind on cooking.”
She sighed. He’d worried she might not like him being a Dom outside the bedroom. But she sure couldn’t find anything to complain about. The “rewards” were amazing.
Like when he’d said, “You were such a good girl making supper. You deserve to come again.”
And now, every time she thought of him and his hands, his mouth, his…ahem, endowments…she had such a craving. Truly the Dom should come with a label—WARNING: Dominant. Risk of overdose and addiction.
“Hello.” A woman’s voice broke into her thoughts.
Ray blinked. Her turn at the reception desk. Oops. “Sorry. Daydreaming.”
“Understandable. Waiting in lines is boring.” The middle-aged brunette volunteer smiled. “Welcome to FetishFest. Can I have your name and an ID, please?”
“Aralia Lanigan.” Ray dug her driver’s license out of her mini backpack.
The woman held the card down for her teammate at the laptop to enter, then handed it back.
Red-haired, freckled, with numerous piercings, the teammate grinned. “Got it. All checked-in.”
Meanwhile the brunette woman searched a box on the table and pulled out an envelope with Ray’s name. She handed it over along with a swag bag.
When Ray snorted, the two volunteers looked startled.
“Sorry. It just seemed funny—I helped fill these.” Ray held up the bag. “And I’ll be back here in”—she glanced at her phone—“yikes, all too soon. To work the next registration shift.”
“Oooh, another volunteering idiot like us.” The redhead laughed. “Go get oriented before we chain you to a desk.”
“Good plan.”
Ray settled at a round table to get organized. The envelope held the conference program, an extra information booklet, a pamphlet with a map of the hotel, and her name badge lanyard showing RAY with her preferred pronouns, she/her.
A shame she didn’t have a cool scene name.
She put on the lanyard. The swag bag went into her carry-on and the booklet into her mini backpack.
Drake had booked a hotel suite here for them and his two San Francisco friends. They’d all stay at his condo at night, but he wanted a room onsite to unwind, clean up, and change clothes during the day and for the dungeon.
Even better, she could leave her carry-on there. Swinging by the hotel registration desk, she gave her name and got a key.
No one was in the suite. After cleaning up, she headed back downstairs. Darn it, she’d hoped for enough time to walk around but nooo. Stupid ferry times.
“Ray!” At a round table, Hope jumped up and pulled Ray in for a bouncy hug.
Like Ray, Hope had dressed in the recommended volunteer attire of jeans and a light-colored polo shirt.
Weren’t button-down shirts the service industry choice in the past. When had polo shirts become the standard? She started to get out her phone for googling, but Hope’s squeal interrupted the beginning of squirrel brain.
“This is going to be so much fun!”
Ray had to laugh at all the enthusiasm. “What part—the reception table or the weekend?”
“All of it. Especially the dungeon.”
The dungeon, right. Ray shifted her weight, then shoved her hands in her pockets. “Um, is it like Chains? The activities and everything?”
“Activities?” Hope’s eyebrows lifted, then she smiled. “Ooooh, you mean like sex?”
Ray scowled. “Go ahead and shout the word for everyone to hear. But yes, it’s what I mean.”
“I guess you know not all clubs or conventions permit sex—aka penetration. Depends on the various state, county, city rules, and what the club wants to deal with. But!” Hope grinned. “You’re going to have so much fun. Like Chains, sex is allowed in the con dungeon.”
Oh…boy. Her heart started skipping inside her chest. Because Master Drake said she’d enjoy the scene he was planning, and she couldn’t tell if she was terrified or thrilled. Even worse, he’d said it when they were having anal sex.
He wouldn’t, would he? The thought sent a zing of heat through her.
“You’ll have to go to some workshops—and then tell Drake what you’re interested in trying.” Hope pulled her lanyard ID out of her jeans pocket and put it on.
“Right. Sure. I’ll do just that.”
After a look at Ray’s undoubtedly flushed face, Hope was laughing her ass off as she dragged her to the volunteer table.
Thank goodness for work.
Two hours passed quickly. They were assigned the letters: S-T-U at one of the reception tables. Thankfully, Hope had chosen to man the laptop…because boring. Ray had the more interesting job of collecting names, IDs, and handing out stuff.
Finished registering, an older Dominant nodded to her and strolled away.
Standing behind the box of swag, Ray watched him—and blinked at the vision entering the room. Whoa, the person looked almost like Prince in skintight blue pants, a yellow tank, and a vivid red-and-blue striped short jacket.
Ray glanced at her friend. “I’ve never felt quite so bland before.”
“I know.” Hope wrinkled her nose at her clothes. “We’ll dress up tonight. Promise.”
As a woman stopped at their table, Ray launched into her spiel. “Welcome to FetishFest. Might I have your name and an ID, please?”
“Justine Tepper.” The woman was tall, tan, and nicely built with overly plump lips that didn’t look quite natural. Why did she look familiar?
Justine handed over the ID.
Ray held the ID in Hope’s view in case she needed to see the spelling…and noticed Hope had tensed slightly.
“Thanks, Ray, got it.”
Justine turned. “Hope, how nice to see you here. How are you?”
Hope finished typing and looked up. “I’m good, thank you. Uh, have you met Ray? She’s a new member at Chains. Ray, Justine is also a member.”
Ray handed back the ID. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” Smile gone, Justine gave Ray a chilly nod and returned her attention to Hope. “This looks to be a great convention, don’t you think?” Her Boston accent reminded Ray of the Kennedys.
“It should be a lot of fun.” Still looking uncomfortable, Hope tilted her head. “I think at least half the club will be here. And the workshops and classes look great.”
When Hope stopped speaking, Ray set Justine’s registration envelope and a swag bag on the table. “Here’s everything you need. Have a great weekend.”
Taking her stuff, the woman walked away.
“Brrr.” Ray pretended to shiver. “I don’t think she liked my looks or something.”
“Or something is definitely the case.” Hope stood and stretched her arms over her head, then frowned. “You didn’t recognize her name?”
“What, is she famous or something?”
“Not outside the club.” Hope turned and gave Ray a serious look. “She and Drake were dating for a while.”
Oh, Justine was his ex? The one who wanted him to smother his dominance. She was certainly beautiful, but that didn’t really matter when it came to ending things. And he’d said the breakup was ugly. Poor Master Drake.
Hope pursed her lips. “I bet she’s heard Drake’s interested in you.”
“She sure did get cold fast. But I thought they broke up ages ago.” No one was in line so Ray sat down and stretched out her legs. Her feet were throbbing.
“Mmmhmm, the breakup was last winter, but she’s trying to win him back.”
A sharp pang stabbed Ray under her ribs. Her voice came out hard. “She can’t have him.”
He’s mine.
Only he wasn’t really. They’d only known each other a month. Been seriously sleeping together for a week. They hadn’t even talked about other people and monogamy—or what the community called fluid-bonding.
Does Drake consider me his girlfriend?
Ray rubbed her chest where an odd ache had taken hold. After this weekend, if nothing changed, they needed to talk about expectations. He’d probably call them boundaries.
“Hey, I’m pretty sure Drake wouldn’t take her back—even if he wasn’t involved with you.” Hope patted Ray’s arm.