CHAPTER FIVE
Kate’s hands were steady on the wheel. She noticed this with something like surprise. The rest of her didn’t feel steady at all.
Finding Adrian’s profile had been easy. The photo matched: dark hair, neat beard, that same settled quality she’d noticed at the munch. His description was brief. “Experienced. Patient. Not interested in collecting notches.” She’d read it three times before messaging him.
A van cut in front of her. Kate braked, checked her mirrors, breathed.
The message she’d sent had been simple:
We met briefly at the Bristol munch. I’m exploring some things. Would you be open to a conversation?
She’d deleted and rewritten it four times before hitting send.
His response had come the next morning:
I remember you. A drink sometime?
The satnav told her to stay in lane. Eight miles to Bristol.
Daniel had suggested she go alone. They’d been loading the dishwasher, Sunday evening, the ordinary clatter of plates and cutlery. “You’ll speak more freely,” he’d said. “Without me sitting there. And he might, too.”
She’d waited for something else. A flicker of doubt. A request to be kept informed, to approve, to control.
“Text me when you’re on your way home,” he’d said. That was all.
The junction for Clifton approached. Kate indicated, moved into the left lane. The wipers swept again.
She’d told Sophie she was meeting a friend from a conference. Oliver hadn’t asked. Daniel had kissed her at the door, ordinary and unhurried, and she’d driven away from her house to meet a man who tied women up.
The satnav guided her off the motorway, through streets that were starting to look familiar. The same Victorian terraces. The same parade of shops. Not the same pub--Adrian had suggested somewhere quieter, away from the munch crowd.
Kate turned into a side street. Parked. Turned off the engine.
The pub was across the road. Stone fa?ade, hanging baskets empty for winter, a chalkboard sign she couldn’t read from here. Ordinary. A place people went for Sunday lunch with their families.
She checked her face in the mirror. Touched up nothing. Her lipstick was fine. Her hair was fine. She looked like a woman meeting someone for a drink on a Saturday afternoon.
Which was exactly what she was. Nothing more. Just a conversation.
Kate picked up her bag. Opened the car door. The drizzle had stopped but the air was damp, cold against her cheeks.
She crossed the road.
The pub was half-empty. A man at the bar nursing a pint, a couple in the corner with a dog at their feet, someone reading the Guardian by the window. Saturday afternoon quiet.
Adrian was at a table near the back. He stood when he saw her, raised a hand. The same unhurried manner she remembered from the munch.
“Kate, glad you found it.”
“The satnav did most of the work.”
He smiled, gestured to the bar. “Can I get you something?”
“I’ll get it. What are you having?”
“Sparkling water. Driving later.”
Kate went to the bar. Ordered a glass of white wine. “The small one,” she added. She wanted her head clear. The barman poured without comment. She carried it back to the table, slid into the seat across from Adrian.
He had his hands wrapped around his glass, relaxed, watching her settle.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Kate said. She set her bag on the seat beside her, adjusted it, gave her hands something to do.
Adrian tilted his head. “I was a bit surprised your husband didn’t come.”
“Daniel thought I’d speak more freely without him.” Kate picked up her glass, set it down again without drinking. “And that you might, too.”
Adrian was quiet for a moment. Something shifted in his expression.
“It’s wonderful how much you trust each other,” he said.
“Twenty years.” Kate shrugged. “You learn to, or you don’t last.”
“You’d be surprised how rare it is. In this world, especially.” He took a sip of his water. “Sometimes the exploration leads to … fissures.”
“What do you mean?”
“People discover their partners aren’t into what they’ve been fantasising about. Or one partner starts to feel like they aren’t enough.” Adrian set his glass down. “Though I think mostly it’s a catalyst for issues that were already there.”
Kate considered this. “Daniel and I … have really no issues.”
It was true, she realised. Of course they had the occasional argument. A sharp word about housework, a disagreement about the children. But rarely in twenty years had either of them carried bruised feelings for more than a few days before working things out.
The dog in the corner yawned, settled its head on its paws. The man at the bar turned a page of his newspaper.
“So”—Adrian leaned back—“what are you looking for, Kate?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” she started. “I know that’s not very helpful.”
Adrian tilted his head. “Did something lead you to seek the community out? Or is this a long-suppressed desire?”
Kate turned her glass on the table. The wine caught the light from the window.
“Something happened,” she said. “A few weeks ago. At work. I’m a lecturer in—” She stopped. At the munch, she’d noticed how some people offered only first names, kept details vague. Ravyn-with-a-Y probably wasn’t on her birth certificate. “I’m a lecturer. At a university.”
Adrian nodded, waiting. If he noticed the pivot, he didn’t press.
“I was in the staff toilet. Two students came in, didn’t know I was there, and …” Kate gave him the short version. The stall. What she heard. What she did while she listened.
Adrian’s expression didn’t change. No judgement. No prurient interest. Just attention.
“It was the way she sounded,” Kate said. “That’s what I can’t stop thinking about. She wasn’t reluctant. She was completely surrendered. Free. Saying things I couldn’t imagine saying.”
“And you want to feel that.”
“I want to feel that.” Kate looked at her wine. “Daniel and I tried. On our own. He was wonderful about it. But we’re both too careful with each other. Too considerate.”
“Hence the munch.”
“Hence the munch.”
Adrian picked up his glass, took a sip. Set it down again. “Your situation isn’t unusual, you know. Plenty of couples find their way here the same way. Something sparks. They start asking questions.”
“That’s … reassuring, I suppose.”
They talked for a while longer. Adrian explained about parties, about protocols, about the difference between public play and private arrangements. Kate listened, asked questions, felt the strangeness of discussing these things in a quiet pub on a Saturday afternoon.
“You’ve answered so many questions,” she said eventually. “But I’m realising I don’t know anything about why you were there.”
“Ah.” Adrian smiled. “Well, I was just saying hello to friends, really. But I’ve been around the community for a while.”
“And …” Kate hesitated. She didn’t quite know how to phrase it. “What are you … interested in?”
Adrian chuckled. “I enjoy all of the things you’ve talked about.”
“All of them?”
“Yes. And more.” He turned his glass slowly on the table. “Restraining. Using. Commanding. All of that. And the community gives me the latitude to find women who enjoy it, as well.”
Kate felt the words land. Using. The word she’d thought in the bedroom with Daniel. The thing she’d wanted and he couldn’t quite give her.
“So, you’re not married,” she said. “Not attached to just … um, restraining your wife or anything.”
Adrian laughed. A real laugh, warm and unhurried. “No. I’m single and free to restrain whomever I please.”
Kate set her glass down. Picked it up again. Her mouth had gone dry.
“I … I don’t know how to ask this,” she said, “or even what precisely I’m asking. But my husband and I would be very interested in … ugh.” She shook her head. “Exploration.”
Adrian regarded her. That same steady attention. No rush.
“To be precise,” he said, “are you asking me to help him do things to you? Or are you asking me to do things to you while he’s watching?”
Kate’s stomach dropped. Heat flooded through her, sudden and unwelcome. She was aware of her pulse in her throat, her hands gripping the stem of her glass. Even the offer. Even the hypothetical. Just hearing it said aloud, in Adrian’s calm voice, in this ordinary pub.
“We’re still navigating our, um, boundaries,” she managed. “But I think we’d be potentially open to … um … each of those things.”
Adrian nodded slowly. He didn’t smile. Didn’t push.
“That’s something you and Daniel should discuss,” he said. “Thoroughly. Before anyone does anything.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“But if it’s something you both wanted”—he paused—“I wouldn’t be opposed.”
Kate looked at him. The steadiness of his gaze. The calm.
“I’ll talk to him,” she said.
“Good.” Adrian finished his water. “No rush. These things work best when everyone’s certain.”
The house was quiet when she got home. Oliver at a friend’s. Sophie studying upstairs. Daniel in the kitchen, chopping something, a glass of red on the counter beside him.
He looked up when she came in. Didn’t ask immediately. Just watched her set down her bag, take off her coat, pour herself a glass from the open bottle.
“How was it?” he finally asked.
Kate leaned against the counter. The kitchen smelled of garlic and onions. Ordinary Saturday evening. Dinner being made.
“Good,” she said. “Strange. Good.”
Daniel swept the chopped onions into a pan. They sizzled. He didn’t turn around. “Tell me.”
So she did. The pub. The conversation. Adrian’s manner—calm, unhurried, direct. How he’d listened. What he’d said about couples, about exploration, about fissures.
Daniel stirred the pan. Added garlic. Still not looking at her. “And?”
Kate took a drink of wine. Set the glass down. “He asked me a question,” she said. “A clarifying question. About what we were looking for.”
Daniel turned down the heat. Turned to face her. “What question?”
“He asked whether we wanted him to help you do things to me. Or whether we wanted him to do things to me while you watched.”
The pan sizzled. Somewhere upstairs, Sophie’s music played through the floor.
“What did you say?”
“That we’d be potentially open to either.” Kate took a breath. “He offered … both of those things.”
“Both?”
“Yes. So, I suppose before I contact him again, we should decide if you would want … if you’d like to …”
“Watch.”
“Yes.” Kate swallowed. “Watch him use me.”
Daniel stared at her. “Blimey.”