Chapter 6 #2
She may not fully recognize it yet, but she just gave herself to me. And I feel it like a punch—heat straight to my groin, the primal satisfaction of her surrender. Mine.
"Good girl." I check the time. "We leave soon. Black dress. Something elegant."
"Yes, Sir."
"And Simone? When we get to Dominion, you'll change into what I tell you to wear. Not what you think looks good. What I choose." I hold her gaze. "Understood?"
"Yes, Sir." Her voice is breathless.
"For tonight. In that room. You belong to me." I let that settle. "That's not negotiation. That's the reality you're agreeing to when you say 'Yes, Sir.'"
She nods, unable to speak.
"Meet me downstairs soon." I turn to leave, then pause at the door. "Simone. Tonight you find out who you are when you stop performing. Be ready."
I leave her standing there, hands trembling, breath uneven. She'll spend the next while questioning whether she can actually surrender. Whether she trusts me enough. Whether the person she's been can give way to who she actually is.
I already know the answer. I felt it at the dinner table when she followed my commands and found steadiness instead of panic. Felt it this morning when she submitted to my authority about telling Henry the truth.
She can surrender. She's just terrified of what happens when she does.
Downstairs, I check weapons, surveillance equipment, communication devices.
The armored SUV is parked in the circular drive, already swept for tracking devices or explosives.
Andy's monitoring feeds from the operations center.
Remy's heading to Dominion separately to position himself among the club's regular members.
Weapons are loaded. Comms are active. Backup is positioned.
I want her submission. Not for the investigation. Not to test her ability to follow commands in a crisis. For myself. Because when she said 'Yes, Sir' this morning, the asset I'm protecting became the woman I'm going to claim.
Mission first. Draw out the stalker, neutralize the threat, keep Simone safe. But after that, she's mine.
Footsteps on the stairs pull my attention. Simone appears in a black dress—fitted, elegant. Her hair falls loose over bare shoulders.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Yes, Sir."
The words settle something in my chest. "Let's go."
We drive through New Orleans streets I've already mapped for threat assessment and escape routes. Simone sits beside me in the back of the armored SUV, silent, hands folded in her lap. Her breathing shifts when we turn onto streets that lead to the Warehouse District.
She’s close enough that I can smell her perfume. Close enough to reach over and put my hand on her thigh, feel her respond. I keep my eyes on the perimeter, but I'm aware of every shift in her breathing, every nervous movement.
"Nervous?" I don't look at her, keep my eyes on the perimeter.
"Yes." Her honesty seems to surprise her.
"Good."
Silence for a beat. Then: "What if I can't do what you're asking?"
"You can." I glance at her. "You're just scared of what happens when you do."
"I've survived by staying in charge."
"That's failing you now." I reach over, cover her hands with mine. The contact sends heat straight through me. "Someone's threatening you in ways that won't stop."
"So I just give up?"
"You trust me to handle what you can't." I squeeze her hands once. "That's the difference."
"What if I like it too much? What if I can't go back after—"
"We'll deal with that when it happens."
The words land heavier than I intend. She goes still, processing.
The SUV pulls up to Dominion's discreet entrance. Warehouse exterior, no signage, just a heavy door with a security camera. Margot's people are in position. I can see them in the shadows, armed, vigilant.
"Ready?" I ask.
Simone takes a breath. "Yes, Sir."
We exit the vehicle. I keep her close, hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the entrance. The door opens before we reach it. Margot stands inside, dark hair in her usual braid, expression calm and assessing.
"Luc. Simone." She steps aside to let us enter. "Security's in place. Private room is ready. Remy's already inside, positioned near the bar."
"Cameras?" I ask.
"Every hallway, every common area. Private rooms have monitoring on doors only—no interior surveillance per club policy." Margot looks at Simone. "The salon's ready for you."
Simone nods, understanding immediately.
Margot gestures down a side corridor. "I'll walk you."
The salon is discreet, tucked away from the main entrance. Simone has her own locker here—two years of membership means custom fet wear, not borrowed pieces.
"I'll be in the men's changing area," I tell her. "Wait here when you're done."
I head down the corridor to change into my own gear. Leather pants, fitted and broken in. A shirt in flowing white fabric, loose enough to move in, open at the collar. New Orleans style with an edge. I forgo the vest—want her to see me, not armor.
When I return, she's already waiting outside the changing area. Black leather—a structured corset that emphasizes her curves, leather pants that hug her legs, stiletto heels that add height and presence. Her hair is loose, makeup perfect. She looks powerful. In control.
Exactly what she's trying to maintain.
"No." I keep my voice level. "Take that off."
Her eyes widen. "What?"
"You heard me. That's not what you're wearing tonight." I step closer. "Black leather corset, fine. But I want a micro-mini. Leather, not latex. Nothing underneath. And you're barefoot."
"I have heels—"
"Barefoot. No underwear. No barriers. No armor." I hold her gaze. "You're going to feel every second of walking through that club knowing you're bare under that skirt. That's what I want."
She inhales sharply, and I watch the realization hit. The vulnerability. The exposure. Exactly what I'm demanding.
"Now, Simone."
Her lips part. Then she turns and goes back into the changing area.
Margot waits until the door closes, then turns to me. "Luc, that's—"
"The club has rules about interfering between a Dom and their sub." I keep my voice level. "Unless she's in danger or wants to stop and I won't let her. Is either of those things happening?"
She holds my gaze for a moment, then shakes her head. "No."
"Then don't."
Margot's jaw tightens, but she steps back. She knows the rules. She wrote half of them. And Simone hasn't used her safeword.
Minutes later, Simone emerges again. This time wearing what I specified—the corset, a micro-mini that barely covers her, nothing underneath. Her hair is still loose, but the heels are gone. Feet bare on the polished floor.
The difference is stark. No armor. No protection. Just submission.
Fuck. Seeing her in what I chose, marked by my commands, barefoot and bare underneath because I wanted her vulnerable—my cock hardens immediately. She's mine. Dressed for me. Submitted to my choices even when it cost her the control she was grasping for.
"Perfect." I offer my hand, voice rougher than intended. "Ready?"
"Yes, Sir."
We move into the club proper. Low lighting, subtle music, the scent of leather and expensive cologne. Members move through the space with practiced ease. Some are dressed for scenes, others in elegant evening wear.
I feel Simone tense beside me as heads turn. People recognize her. The CEO of LaCroix Petroleum, here with Luc Pascal. New Dom, new dynamic. Questions they won't ask but will speculate about endlessly.
"Eyes on me." My voice is low, commanding. "No one else matters."
She refocuses immediately. "Yes, Sir."
We move through the main floor. I catch sight of Remy at the bar, dressed in dark slacks and a tailored shirt, looking like any other club member. He doesn't acknowledge us, but I know he's tracking every movement, every person who looks at Simone with too much interest.
A man approaches from the left wearing an expensive suit, carrying the kind of confidence that comes from money and social position. I recognize him from the files. Vincent Arceneaux. Simone's former scene partner.
"Simone." His voice is warm, professional. "Good to see you."
"Vincent." She's polite but distant.
His gaze shifts to me, assessing.
"Enjoying your evening?" I don't offer my hand.
"I am. And I hope you both enjoy yours." He looks at Simone again. "You look well. I'm glad."
There's genuine care in his voice. No possessiveness, no resentment.
"Thank you, Vincent." Simone's voice softens slightly.
He nods and moves away.
We continue toward the private rooms. The hallway is quieter, more intimate. Other Doms and subs move past us, some nodding acknowledgment, others lost in their own dynamics.
The room Margot reserved is at the end of the hall. Keycard access, camera positioned to monitor entry but not interior.
The door unlocks. I hold it open. "Inside."
She enters. The door closes behind us, lock engaging.
The room is exactly what I requested. There's a king bed with restraint points, a St. Andrew's cross in the corner, a small table with implements—flogger, crop, rope, blindfold. Lighting is adjustable, currently set to warm and low.
Simone stands in the center of the room, hands at her sides, breath controlled.
I stand in front of her. "This is where you stop the act and start surrendering."
Her eyes widen.
"From this moment forward, you're mine. My commands, my responsibility." I trace my thumb along her jaw. "You say 'Yes, Sir' and mean it. You follow my orders without hesitation. You trust me to take you exactly where you need to go."
"Yes, Sir." The words tremble.
"Good girl." I step back. "Your member file shows you're clean and protected. I don't use condoms."
She inhales sharply. "Yes, Sir."
"When I'm inside you, it's skin to skin. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir." Her voice is barely a whisper.
"Strip." The command cuts through the tension. "Slowly. I want to watch you."
She reaches for the corset, fingers fumbling at the laces.
"Turn around."
She turns. I step behind her, work the laces slowly, deliberately. Each pull loosens the leather, exposes more skin. She's trembling under my hands.
The corset falls away. She catches it, sets it aside, then reaches for the micro-mini. The leather pools at her feet, leaving her completely bare.
Christ. Every curve, every inch of skin exposed for me. My cock strains against the leather pants, and I don't bother hiding it. She needs to see what her submission does to me. What she does to me.
"Beautiful." I circle her slowly, taking in every inch, letting her feel my hunger. "On your knees."
She sinks down gracefully, hands resting on her thighs, eyes lowered.
Fuck. The sight of her kneeling for me, naked and waiting—I have to lock down the urge to free my cock and feel her mouth on me. Not yet. She's not ready for that yet.
"Look at me."
Her gaze lifts.
"Real submission. Not the act." I crouch in front of her. "You're giving me this because you need to let go. Because the woman you've been can't exist in this room."
"I don't know how to be anyone else." Her voice breaks.
"Then tonight you begin to learn." I stroke her cheek. "No more of the act."
Her whole body trembles. The terror and relief of finally being seen.
Standing, I move to the table, pick up the blindfold. "This will help. No visual cues to analyze. Just sensation and my voice."
"Yes, Sir."
The blindfold secures over her eyes. Her breath catches as the world disappears.
"Now," I say, voice low and dark, "let's find out who you really are when you stop lying to yourself."