Chapter 12
Ophelia. Then.
That Friday, I entered the club like I belonged there.
I punched in the code at the door. A tiny light flickered green on the handle and the door unlocked for me. I stepped inside and the low, thumping music and the sharp cries from upstairs already felt like home.
The blonde from before sat behind the desk. She had a graphic novel in hand, and she barely looked up when I slid my arms over the desk.
“I’m back.”
“I see that.” She smiled, but it looked forced.
“I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Princess.” She nodded to the stairs. “Phantom is waiting upstairs. You’re late.”
Yikes. Strike against me. I pulled my coat over my shoulders. “Where’s the doorman?”
“You can hang it yourself.” Princess looked back at her novel and turned the page.
Huh. So much for a welcoming committee.
I hung my coat up in the closet. As I did, a body brushed against mine, someone else hanging up his own coat.
“Welcome back, beautiful.” Carver gave me that big, wolfish smile of his.
At least someone was glad I came back.
“Happy to be back.”
When I got upstairs, I found Phantom immediately. He was sitting in the corner on a wide bench. There was an open black duffle bag beside him, and my imagination ran wild at the thought of what might be waiting for me inside.
He glanced up at me and the second those brown eyes met mine, my heart flipped.
I lifted my palms in apology. “I know. I’m late. Mea culpa. There was a pants pooping situation. Not me. My pants are fine. My nephew.”
A small smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. “It’s okay. It’s good for you to have a life outside of here.”
“Tell that to all my ex-boyfriends.”
At the word boyfriend, something shifted in his eyes. “What we do here,” he explained, “it’s not romance. It’s catharsis. This is a hobby. It’s no different from going to the gym. Starting a book club. Therapy.”
“Does your therapist start every session with bondage?”
“Always.” His humor was bone dry, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking or if he actually brought rope to therapy. Somehow, neither would surprise me. He patted the spot on the bench in front of him. “Sit.”
I matched his stance, straddling the bench to face him.
He bent over to reach into his bag. As he rummaged around, I caught a small glimpse of the contents.
A bunch of rope neatly coiled. A paddle.
My heart picked up speed when he removed a thin, long wooden box.
He set it between us. The lid slid back, revealing a game set underneath.
Two rows of pockets, side-by-side, each pocket filled with small stones.
The two ends—his side and mine—had their own, larger pocket.
I looked at the game and frowned.
“I thought we were playing today.”
“We are playing. Mancala. Best game in the world. Do you know how to play?”
“It’s been a minute. But I think I remember. Pick up rocks, put them down.”
I was trying not to sound disappointed, but I’d never been good at hiding my feelings.
He glanced up at me, seeming almost amused by it.
“We will play,” he said, “but first…we’re going to talk for a bit.
I just want to get a sense of where you are.
What you like. There are no right answers.
The only rule here is that you’re honest about what you want. ”
“Okay.”
He motioned to the board. “You may go first.”
I picked up a handful of stones. They were polished and smooth to the touch. I dropped them one-by-one in the cups.
“Did you come up with a scene name?” Phantom asked as we played.
“Ophelia.”
After all, we did recite Shakespeare in our first meeting. It felt right.
He looked pleased by my answer. “Ophelia. Phantom.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Phantom.”
This was fun. It felt like starting a show. We were assuming characters—setting the stage. This part felt familiar.
“When we’re in a scene, I want you to address me as Sir.”
“Yes, Sir.” Well. That rolled off my tongue easily.
Shockingly easily, actually.
“Have you engaged with kink before?”
“I read books. I’ve had kinky sex.”
“Define kinky sex.”
“Rough. Hard. Fast. Choking. Slapping. That sort of thing.”
His mouth thinned, just a little. Was that the wrong answer?
“This is going to be different.”
“So no sex?” I said, jokingly, but—
His eyes met mine. “Some dominants can separate play from sex. I can’t. When you’re in my rope or over my lap, I’m going to want you.”
A shiver rushed through me. The way he talked about sex, lust, so openly…it was a turn on.
“Going to? Future tense?” I tilted my head and parroted his own words back at him. “Be honest about what you want, Sir. Those are the rules.”
His eyebrows lifted in brief surprise; the lion wasn’t used to being challenged. But he took my note and corrected himself. “I want you.” Want. Present tense. His gaze hit me like an arrow, pulling straight to my core. “But I won’t act on it. Not unless you want me to.”
“And…if I do want you to?”
Was I coming on strong? Maybe. But the truth was, I was so curious about this man. I wanted to know if he was going to flinch at my invitation or lean in.
He did neither. I could see the gears of his mind working. Considering my offer. The air between us was suddenly so tense, I could barely breathe.
To distract myself, I found myself absently twisting one of the stones between my fingers. I rubbed it against my bottom lip, enjoying the way the cool stone felt.
When I glanced up, Phantom narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you going to play that?”
I grinned. I turned over the emerald stone in my palm. “It’s my lucky stone.”
I finished my turn, then Phantom picked up his stones and dropped them into their cups. I liked watching the small stones pop out from underneath his thumb. “Let’s go over some of the basics first. Are you comfortable with nudity?”
“Yes.”
“Then take off your dress. Leave your bra and panties on.”
“Now?” His gaze lifted from under his eyebrows. I cleared my throat. “I mean…yes, Sir.”
I stood. I pulled my dress up and over my head.
I felt his gaze like fingertips, feather-light across my bare form.
I folded up my dress and he held out his hand for it.
I handed it over and then settled back onto the bench, covered only by my dark bra and panties now.
He set the dress in his bag. The cool air kissed my bare skin.
I was never shy about my form, but the look in his eyes as they admired my body brought a strange heat to my cheeks.
“I’m a dominant,” he said. “That means, for the next couple of hours, you don’t have to think. You don’t have to make decisions. I’ll do all of that for you. If at any point you want it to stop, just say stop or mercy, and we’ll move into aftercare.”
“Aftercare?”
“Resting. Relaxing together. Giving the body and the mind time to recuperate.”
“Mandatory cuddle hour?”
He looked amused by that. “Yes. Mandatory cuddle hour.”
“I can get behind that.”
“I have a few hard limits. I don’t do brats. Being playful is fine, but I don’t enjoy someone intentionally trying to get under my skin. Likewise, I won’t degrade you. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t do no means yes. We’ll have safe words. But if you say stop, I’m going to stop. Physically, I don’t enjoy choking. I may hold you, though. Can I demonstrate?”
“Please.”
“Like this.” He wrapped his hand around my throat. He didn’t squeeze, but the firm grip on my most vulnerable spot made my heartbeat quicken. “Is that okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He dropped his hand. “I check in frequently. What’s most important to me is that you’re enjoying yourself, even when I’m hurting you.
” He paused, reevaluated. “Especially when I’m hurting you.
If anything feels uncomfortable…just tell me.
I won’t be upset. I won’t be disappointed. You’re safe here.”
“Okay.” He spoke at a slow, easy pace, but I still felt my mind reeling to digest all the information.
Those brown eyes met mine again. As though he could tell I was overwhelmed, he boiled it down for me in simple turns. “I want complete surrender. I want you to give up control. I don’t want a single thought to cross your mind unless I put it there.”
Fuck. Why did my throat go tight with want at that?
“Your turn,” he said.
“I…what?”
“Tell me what you want.”
“In every other aspect of my life…I’m kinda a badass. Right? I’m always the first to set. The last to leave. I work hard, but I don’t put up with other people’s shit. And I’m the most ride-or-die friend you’ll ever meet. I’m always like…on. I want to learn how to surrender.”
“Do you remember your words?”
“Give. Pray. Eyes. Drop. Mercy.”
“Good. These are trigger words. When I say them, I’m looking to evoke a certain response. If, after today, you decide you want to continue, I’ll train you to respond to these words. Are you following?”
“Yes.”
He finished his turn at mancala. I scowled at the board.
“You’re good at this game,” I said. I tried not to sound mad about it, but I wasn’t good at losing. “Do you play…a lot?”
I glanced up at him, and I knew he could read between the lines.
What I was really asking was: do you play with other girls like me a lot? Am I special, or am I just another submissive in a long line of submissives?
“I have more years than you. I’ve racked up more games.”
Before I could interrogate him more, we were interrupted by a man in a dog suit. The dog-man didn’t seem to have full control of his fabricated tail yet, because it swiped across our makeshift table, knocking the mancala board.
“Whoops! Sorry, Sir.” A man hooked his fingers around the “dog” collar, yanking him away from us.
“Get your pet under control,” Phantom warned.
But—disaster! The marbles had shifted in their cups, mixing up our plays.
“Saved by the dog,” Phantom said. “I guess it will have to be a tie.”
I huffed. “You’re only saying that because I was winning.”
The edges of his eyes crinkled. I was irritated, but he was amused. “To be continued.”
“But you agree, right? That I was winning? Because I was.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out that coil of rope.