Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
In his condo tower’s fitness area, Drake finished his early morning workout and was stretching out. The equipment in the room was state of the art with a variety of cardio machines and strength-training equipment. There was good natural lighting and ample floor space.
This early on a Saturday, there were only three others working out.
And at the far end of the room, Simon was shadow boxing, displaying his usual fine footwork.
It was difficult to believe he was a decade or so older.
Of course, staying fit was high on his priority list. Simon owned an international security company and often sparred with his ex-military and ex-mercenary employees.
“Old man,” Drake called, even though the insult would garner bruises. “I designed this gym so the end can be roped off for sparring. Care to indulge?”
“Yes, I want to see how out of shape you are. Along with the usual caveats, today the head is also off limits.”
Drake laughed. “You don’t want to lecture with a black eye and fat lip?”
Simon only grinned.
Drake set up the sparring ring ropes to keep idiots from blundering into a fist. “Let’s glove up—I have an extra pair.”
Ready to go, they squared off, moving in a slow rotation, each searching for an opening. Smiling slightly, Simon led with a fast punch, got blocked, and his other fist hit Drake’s ribs. Not full force, but hard enough.
His mentor definitely hadn’t slowed down.
“Is your Rona enjoying the convention?” Drake threw a flurry of punches.
Simon knocked him sideways with a knee to the flank followed by a side punch. “She is. She says the classes for the submissives are the best she’s attended.”
“Good to hear.” Drake feinted a roundhouse and twisted to throw a body shot. Got it in although Simon turned enough to lessen the blow. “All too often, conventions focus on skills for topping. We’re trying for a better balance—and trying to ensure those new to BDSM feel welcome.”
Drake blocked Simon’s crisp jab and returned a right hook.
“What does your young woman think of the classes?” Simon asked.
Even while thinking, Drake avoided a foot sweep. Considering how reticent Ray had been about her panic attack, she probably didn’t want others to know. “She’s enjoying herself, which probably means we haven’t let the newbies down.”
“And the dungeon? Did she enjoy it?”
“We haven’t been yet. Last night, I gave her a taste of power exchange dynamics in the pre-function area.”
“Interesting.” Simon raised his eyebrows—and grunted in annoyance when Drake didn’t fall for a rear low-kick feint. “Newbies usually want to play in the dungeon.”
“We will tonight.” It was something to look forward to.
“She can get overwhelmed by too much activity and noise, and the convention dungeon is pure chaos.” Starting out in BDSM was unsettling enough without adding in a frenetic dungeon filled with kinksters from everywhere, all wanting to try out new equipment.
Private clubs were different, Most developed their own flow and culture over time, and Chains was less hectic than many others.
Simon moved in. The give and take of blows and kicks was as invigorating as a hearty tennis exchange.
Stepping back to recover, they circled again.
“I like her,” Simon said after a minute. “I’m pleased by the way you are together.”
Drake’s concentration faltered, and he took a step back. “You met Justine. And Ramona when she was my slave. I don’t recall you giving any opinion on them.”
“I wasn’t impressed by either, but maligning a person’s lover is short-sighted—and tactless.” He punctuated that opinion with a side kick that almost took Drake out.
“Batard.” Drake’s forearm burned from deflecting the kick. He countered with a quick reverse punch.
“You never looked at either woman the way you look at Ray.” Blocking, Simon stepped off the line of attack and punched toward Drake’s ribs.
“As it happens, I love this one.” And she loves me. How could he concentrate on fighting when he simply wanted to smile? With a step back, he broke off for a moment.
Unusually for his mentor, Simon let him, a smile on his hard face. “I look forward to getting to know her better.”
“Oh. My. Gods.” Ray stood inside the fitness center and stared at Simon and Drake. A fist hit a muscular abdomen with a meaty slap. “Are they trying to kill each other?”
Rona laughed. “Seems to be a pretty relaxed sparring session. They’re having fun.”
Simon punched Drake’s ribs hard enough to make him grunt. Grabbing Simon, Drake tossed him over a hip onto the floor.
“Ow,” Rona said in sympathy. “They’re going to have some bruises.”
“But they’re having fun?” Ray blew out a breath. She’d thought sparring with Tomo was rough; apparently, the Marine had gone easy on her. A quiver of worry ran up her spine. “Drake said Simon likes to grease his fists with blood?”
Rona laughed. “He’s not blood-thirsty. Really. But he was one of the top fighters on the MMA circuit. Before my time, thank goodness.”
Whoa. She’d seen clips from MMA fights. There had been blood. “He-he shouldn’t be fighting Drake.” My Drake. She took a step forward, intending…what? To yank Master Drake out of the ring?
Only Drake landed a solid fist in Simon’s gut—and blocked a roundhouse kick, saying something that made Simon laugh.
Ray frowned. “He’s not getting stomped into the ground.”
“Hardly,” Rona said. “Simon taught him everything he knew in exchange for the dirty fighting techniques Drake grew up using in France.”
Wait, what? “Dirty fighting?”
“Mmmhmm.” Rona’s gaze was on the fight. “Under all that French polish, there’s a sad history and a steel backbone.”
“Huh. I know his parents died when he was a teen, and he came to the US to be with his uncle.” Ray frowned. “Getting the rest of the story might be difficult.”
“Definitely. Although that can be nice.” Rona rolled her eyes. “Some people will spill their entire life story over a beer.”
“Or in the restroom. I swear, I’ve heard the strangest tales in nightclub restrooms.”
“Crom, I know exactly what you mean. But—” She paused at Ray’s upraised hand.
“One question. What is a Crom?”
“Oh, right. When my sons were young, their school was death on swearing. But kids, right?” Rona shrugged. “The kids and I talked it over and started swearing by a different god—from Conan the Barbarian. They still use it too.”
“Love it! I tend to swear by Lovecraft’s elder gods myself.” This is a very cool woman. “Okay, I’m sorry I interrupted. Go on?”
“Ah… oh, I was going to say neither Simon nor Drake are the kind of men to share sad stories. You might get snippets, here and there.”
“Snippets, huh.”
“Eventually, you’ll hear the whole of it.” Rona smiled, her gaze on Drake. “Because he cares for you. A lot.”
Ray…eventually…managed to close her mouth.
Tightening the belt on her wrap-around dress, Ray stepped into the rapidly filling elevator. The ballroom floor button was already lit, so she tucked herself into a back corner.
From the number of people obviously wearing street clothing over fetwear, the awards presentations must be over. As the door shut, she tried not to feel guilty for bailing out of attending the evening’s big event.
But after a day of workshops and classes, she’d returned to the hotel room exhausted and stressed-out from the crowds and noise.
Other than that, the day had been a good one. Great workshops. Spending time off and on with three women she really liked.
With Hope, it was as if they’d never been apart, and it was wonderful to have someone to share old memories with.
Her new friend MacKensie was amazing. The scary-smart veterinarian was a crazy science fiction and fantasy fan, and since Ray adored every genre ever created, she could frakking talk Battlestar Galactica with her.
And Mac was keen on bare-handed spankings. She was open about it—said so right out in the vendor room.
I shouldn’t have commented on how I felt, not where Alex could hear. He wouldn’t tell Drake…would he?
Rona was the third woman she’d spent time with.
Maybe ten or more years older and an incredibly compassionate person.
And submissive like Ray. Although…when Rona’s hospital-administrator personality took over, she sounded almost dominant.
But when Simon was around, the two of them were a prime example of living D/s, and so hot together, they could melt ice.
Watching the three women with their partners provided a good idea of how it would be to live with a Dom.
As the elevator stopped at another floor, and more people entered, Ray squeezed tighter into her corner. Thank goodness she’d had some time to restore her equilibrium…although she still felt like a loser, unable to deal with people and noise.
Drake had seen how stressed she was, hugged her, and ordered her to stay and relax in the room until time to meet him outside the dungeon.
Gods, how could such a bossy person be so…
nice. He’d tucked her into the oversized bathtub with a charcuterie tray to nibble on while she soaked.
After fondling her breasts for a moment—and she’d seen his erection bulging his pants—he kissed her.
“I need to leave and go do Official Convention Stuff.”
All aroused, she figured she’d rub one out as soon as he left. Only after studying her for a moment, he’d said, “Aralia, I intend to enjoy your body in the dungeon tonight. You will save your orgasms for me, am I clear?” The look in his dark eyes was a warning and a promise.
She’d almost melted into the water.
Damn the man. The Dom. Whatever.
The elevator door opened to the ballroom floor, and everyone flowed out. Along with the others, she passed through security, walked around the screens, and left her dress at the “coat” check. Heh, it should be called the clothing check.