Chapter 6 #3
I do the dishes while Logan takes Emily upstairs and gives her what I gather is a pre-emptive paddling. When he returns, he’s in a gray, three-piece suit and brings me a dry-cleaning bag with a navy-blue suit inside, plus a white dress shirt and a checked tie.
“Unofficial dress code,” he explains. “You’ll see everything from full frontal to dungeon leathers at the club tonight, but most of the management committee wears suits in the evening and so do our guests.”
“Thank you.” It’s not a perfect fit since Logan’s a little taller and broader than I am, but it doesn’t hang off me, either. “Can you talk about the inner workings of the club with me or is that off-limits?”
He meets my eyes squarely. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Ever.”
I swallow against the tightness in my throat. Sometimes this man’s faith in me rocks me more than a little. “What the hell is going on at this club that Brenna and the boy feel so abandoned?”
“I don’t have an answer for that,” Logan says as he hands me a pair of plain, silver cufflinks.
“They’ve asked me back as Master of Training.
That means I’d be supervising the house submissives, including Brenna and Cappa.
I could try to get to the bottom of what’s happening.
Why the house subs aren’t getting what they need.
But it’s a huge commitment, Mac. And Emily . . . she has to be my priority.”
“Of course, she does. But something’s seriously wrong, Lo.
Brenna honestly believed she couldn’t submit anymore.
No submissive should be left in that kind of doubt, even if she is a handful.
And what happened to that boy? He wasn’t getting what he needed at the club, so he went out into the big, bad world and found that?
You know something like that should never happen. ”
Logan nods mournfully.
“You always did take too much on your shoulders, Lo. Share the burden. Maybe you don’t have to do everything yourself.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Is it something you’d be willing to help me shoulder?”
The question rocks me back on my heels as I finish a Windsor knot. “You sure?”
“You’d need to become a member. I’ll sponsor you and make sure of the vote, sir, but you’ll need to prove you’re a master before I could delegate anything to you.”
“What is there, an exam?” I ask, wryly.
Logan grins. “Series of scenes. At least you know you’d have a willing victim.”
I hope so, because she didn’t sound very willing at two a.m. But she said she’d had a long day. Hopefully she got some sleep, and some coffee, and she’s in a better mood. Or at least a little less dismissive.
“If Brenna’s dancing tonight, can I still do a scene with her?”
Logan nods. “She’ll be scheduled for an hour on and an hour off so she’s available for scenes.”
“With anyone?” The thought tightens my gut. It shouldn’t. We’ve done one scene. I have no claim on her.
But I want to.
“Any member or their guest,” Logan confirms, leading me towards the door where we slip on coats and shoes.
“Damn.”
“Mac, tell me to fuck off if it’s none of my business, but do you think Brenna’s built for monogamy?”
“Built for it? From what I’ve read, no human animal is built for monogamy.
It’s a choice. One we make every day.” I follow Logan out onto the street to wait for our cab, pulling the door closed behind me firmly, until I’m sure the lock’s engaged.
The idea of leaving Emily and that injured man-boy vulnerable to the predators in this big city makes my stomach churn.
“Do I think Brenna will make that choice if someone actually meets her needs? Yes, I think so. One of the things I was listening for in her fantasies was whether they were single or multiple partner. Even with the abduction, when she wasn’t sure if she was being used by more than one man, it was always single partner.
But, if she has a deep need to be shared that I haven’t seen yet, I can work with it.
So long as her submission always belongs to me. ”
Logan rubs his chin. “You’ve thought about this.”
“Quite a bit.”
“Again, no judgment because I started planning to keep Emily after our first night together, but are you sure you’re not jumping in with both feet because you’re looking to put down roots? Is this about Brenna or is it about wanting a submissive?”
I contemplate his question as our Uber pulls up in front of the house and we climb in.
“It feels like it’s about Brenna,” I say slowly, thinking it through. “She engages something in me I haven’t felt since the early days with Amy. I know I shouldn’t compare them—”
Logan waves his hand. “It’s inevitable. I did it with Miranda and Emily, too.”
“Did you feel this constant . . . I don’t even know what to call it, Lo. I want to be with her all the time. These past two days have been hell, not just because of Naomi, but because the whole time I’ve been dealing with my daughter, I’ve been thinking about Brenna.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I know that feeling. I hate to tell you, but it doesn’t really get any better.”
“Fuck,” I grumble. “I’m doomed.”
“You are.” He elbows me.
We ride the rest of the way in companionable silence.
Logan’s taken me to his club a few times.
I’ve worked out at the state-of-the-art gym with him, swum laps in the indoor pool, enjoyed a hot towel shave in the spa, and eaten several meals worthy of a Michelin star in the restaurant.
Ironically, for a sex club, I haven’t had any sex there yet, although I’ve watched some very hot scenes, including a menage which happened poolside that still fuels my dreams.
But I haven’t been to the club at night. And I haven’t been to the club’s nightclub.
Logan directs the cab driver around to a different door, at the other end of the huge building from the restaurant.
There’s a line to enter and there’s none of the heavy security of the entrance into the main club, just a burly, black-suited bouncer guarding the door.
Logan doesn’t bother with the line. He walks right up to the bouncer, who immediately nods and unclips a red rope, beckoning us forward.
I follow Logan through a huge, steel door the bouncer opens for us.
Before we’re even a step down the wide stairs, I’m assaulted by sound.
The air fills with a pounding, electronic beat that immediately makes my temples throb.
Brenna’s dancing better be damn good if I have to endure that racket while I’m watching her.
It’s warm, too. A humid warmth that can only come from sweating bodies packed together.
Way too warm for what I’m wearing. Logan sheds his coat and suit jacket, folding them over one arm, and I follow his lead.
“There’s a coat check for members by the bar,” he says, his voice nearly drowned by the music. “We don’t use that one.” He nods at a coat check booth as we pass it.
The stairs open into a huge space. It must run half the length of a city block, stretching back through a dance floor crammed with at least two hundred people, ringed with private booths, towards a massive glass and chrome bar.
A dozen cages are suspended above the dance floor, as is a DJ booth.
The whole area is lit with strobing purple and white lights, which pick out the four dancers currently in the cages.
Although there are a lot of wild hair colors in the bouncing, whirling crowd, there are no blue dreadlocks anywhere.
Logan leads me along a path between the dance floor and a row of private booths. The walkway is lit from underneath and whether it’s an unspoken accord or some posted rule I missed, the dancers stay off the thick, white tiles.
When we reach the bar, Logan walks to the far end which is roped off with another red rope.
Logan unclips the rope, motions me to the bar, and clips the rope back behind us.
It’s quieter here at the bar, whether because we’re away from the DJ’s booth or because the bar area is soundproofed, I don’t know, but I can hear the individual voices of the crowd at the other end of the bar.
A bald man almost as big as the bouncer outside immediately moves down the bar and holds his hand across the polished wood expanse to Logan, who shakes.
“Tee, this is Mac.”
The big bartender reaches his hand to me. After we shake, he takes our coats and jackets. They disappear behind the bar.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
Logan knows what I drink, so I let him order and am pleasantly surprised when the bartender reaches up to the top shelf and pulls down a bottle of High West Bourye.
He pours us generous measures into tapered bourbon sippers and sets them down in front of us.
Logan shakes the bartender’s hand again and he ambles off back up the bar to serve the three-deep waiting crowd.
Logan lifts his glass and I tap it with mine before taking an appreciative sip. Mmm, spice, straight up. It fills my palate and wrinkles my nose. Logan grumbles with pleasure. I savor the berry and vanilla flavors as they develop across my tongue and fade into a nutty sweetness.
Logan sighs after setting his glass back on the bar. “I need to buy a bottle of that for the house.”
“My treat,” I say. “Least I can do, Lo.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “You’re doing me the favor.”
“How do you figure?” I ask before taking another sip of nirvana.
“Perfect excuse to get an eighty-five-inch telly. Emmy can’t expect us to each have less than forty inches.”
I snort. “That’s an excuse you’ve been working on for a while.”
“Damn straight,” he responds as two men open the red rope and elbow up to the bar next to him.
“Rob, Harry,” Logan greets them.