In the Den Page 7

  “Ergo? No one really uses that word.”

  “Never mind.” Gregorio nodded. “You have been waiting for her to come to you. Only she hasn’t. And that means this is a unique situation for you.” He took another drink then said, “How’d I do?”

  “I’m relieved you’ll be able to get a job as a psychic advisor when I give you your walking papers.”

  He expected Gregorio to be at least a little chastened.

  Instead, the man all but crowed. “I did that well?”

  “It’s time for you to get back to work,” Damien said.

  Gregorio grinned and raised his empty glass in a silent toast before leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

  Contemplatively, Damien ignored all the screens demanding his attention, and instead, stared out of the window.

  With the frost on the trees, it looked fucking cold. And since the atmosphere was so dry, he doubted it would snow. Now, knowing Catrina wasn’t planning to attend, he wished he’d stayed home. He had no desire to interact with anyone. And if he remained in his suite, he knew he’d brood.

  Another sip of the brandy warmed his insides. In selecting the beverage, Gregorio had made an excellent choice.

  Right now, it annoyed the crap out of Damien that Gregorio was right about so many things.

  After Damien had finished the drink, he forced himself to go through Gregorio’s plans and projected revenues for the upcoming month. Master Niles’ former production company was requesting to expand their usage of the Den’s facilities. And Gregorio had proposed buying an adjacent lot so the facilities could add onsite lodging to the five-year plan. Or at least a stable for pony play. Damien wasn’t sure if Gregorio was serious about that one, or whether he’d snuck it in to see if Damien was paying attention.

  An hour later, music blared, all but shaking the empty snifter still on his desk. Tonight’s theme was retro-dance party. He couldn’t wait to see what attendees came up with. Teased hair and leg-warmers? No doubt some would celebrate with high-protocol standards they no longer observed.

  He hadn’t anticipated, though, that Gregorio would hang a disco ball from the living room’s vaulted ceiling. Or that Master Evan C’s magenta scarf would look strangely appropriate for the party.

  Damien realized he should have stayed in Denver.

  He endured the evening, and it had been good to see Master Marcus with Julia on the end of a leash. She’d likely earned a beating for the way she’d wiggled her ass at Gregorio. At the very least, Master Marcus had compelled her to help serve the cupcakes, topped with neon pink or orange frosting.

  * * * *

  At five o’clock the next afternoon, he again checked the reservations list. Because snow hadn’t fallen, at least ten more people had signed up. Catrina was not among them.

  Two hours later, Damien had watched all the television he could tolerate. He’d finished his work and cleaned out his email inbox. Despite a shower, he was unable to settle in with a true-life crime story that had, until recently, engrossed him.

  Restlessness churned at him. He tossed aside the book and strode to the closet. Telling himself he might as well be useful and meet with some of the potential new members—anything was better than dwelling on Catrina—he dressed in business attire and strolled downstairs.

  After last night’s craziness, bright colors, thundering noise, outrageous outfits and big hair, this event was subdued. Gregorio had put together an elegant mixer. Low-key jazz oozed from the sound system. No one had to shout over the band to be heard. Wait staff moved throughout the area with fruity, non-alcoholic beverages and canapés made from ingredients he would never touch but pretended to like.

  He chatted with a few people in the living room, answered a number of questions about membership and various activities and gave one Dom some tips on dealing with a beautiful but very saucy sub.

  Then, seeing Gregorio was occupied in the kitchen with the caterer, Damien excused himself. He went downstairs to check on the play area. The Den employed a number of House Monitors, men and women who knew the rules and enforced them to keep everyone safe. Regardless, Gregorio and Damien tried to make themselves as visible and available as possible.

  He wandered down the hallway, looking in on all the private rooms, checking in on the participants. It had been a long time, years even, since he’d availed himself of the Den’s facilities for a personal scene.

  Until now, he hadn’t missed it.

  But at this moment, the idea of having a woman spread before him in beautifully bound supplication, helpless and writhing in expectation…

  Damien inhaled sharply.

  Maybe he should seek out one of the house subs to slake his sudden need.

  In the open area, some couples sat at tables. A small group of Doms stood in a circle. One put his booted foot on his kneeling sub’s shoulder. Looked uncomfortable for both of them.

  Another’s sub was seated cross-legged on the floor.

  The final gentleman was alone.

  After nodding toward the group, he crossed to the bar for a glass of sparkling water.

  That’s when he saw her.

  Catrina was alone, seated at a high-topped table, swirling a straw in her drink.

  He froze.

  “May I get you anything, Master Damien?” a house sub enquired.

  “No. Thank you, Mary.”

  She was a relatively new employee, having been hired to replace Brandy, whom Master Niles had stolen away and never returned. Even though Mary was tall, willowy, available and agreeable, the idea of taking care of his needs with anyone other than Catrina vanished. Truth was, even if she hadn’t shown up, he wouldn’t have beat another sub. No one but her would do for him.

  She watched him over the rim of her glass, tracking his every move.

  “May I join you?” he asked as he neared her table.

  “Please.”

  Though he’d seen her on numerous occasions over the years, the more he knew her, the more there was to uncover. Tonight, no pretty man knelt by her side. In fact, there wasn’t a leash in sight.

  As usual at the Den, her makeup was startling. Her eyes appeared enormous, more luminous, thanks to false lashes. Her red-colored lips were full and pouty.

  She’d left her hair loose, though a large clip held a chunk of it back from her face and showcased her stunning cheekbones.

  By any standard, her black dress was demure, but fabulous. The square-cut neckline covered her breasts, but revealed her collarbone and an alluring glimpse of her cleavage. Previously he hadn’t played with her nipples much, but now he itched to explore all of her.

  “Nice event,” she said as he sat.

  “Quite,” he agreed.

  “I heard last night was a little different.”

  “I looked on the dessert table when I was upstairs. There isn’t a single orange cupcake in sight.”

  “Orange?”

  “They were a complement to the neon pink ones, I’m told.”

  “Sounds like fun. I love big hair and hoop earrings. I’ll be here for the next eighties night.” She moved her straw through the ice cubes in her glass. Her filmy shirtsleeve fell back, and he noticed her white wristband.

  Gutted, he stared.

  Any hint of ease between them vanished. Her smile, and her hand, froze.

  To avoid confusion, when a guest checked in for the night, they were issued wristbands. Doms and Dommes wore red ones. Tonight, she wore white, which meant she was heterosexual and looking to scene.

  He took hold of her hand. He kept his voice low and well-modulated as he said, “You’re full of surprises.”

  “I decided to accept your challenge and try to submit,” she said, meeting his gaze.

  Damien rubbed his thumb pad against the flutter of her pulse.

  “To you,” she clarified.

  “Of course it would be to me. This is my domain.” No way would he stand by and watch her interact with anyone else.

  She sighed. “Yo
u know you’re arrogant, don’t you?”

  “Not usually, no.” Confident, convinced of what he wanted, determined to get it…yes. But she brought out intense reactions in him that he wasn’t sure he liked. “I’m not interested in a scene.” He wanted so much more.

  “I understand. That’s why it took me so long to reach a decision.”

  “What convinced you?”

  As if hypnotized, she stared at the small circles he made with his thumb.

  He stopped rubbing and captured her chin and tipped her head back slightly. “No hiding.”

  “Maybe you can help me learn to be a better Domme. Maybe the experience will leave me unchanged. But there’s only one way to know. And…”

  He waited.

  “I’m curious.” She shrugged. “I liked what happened at your house. And the fact I enjoyed it scared me, shook me up. Worse, it made me question everything I’ve assumed over the last few years. Part of me wants to pretend it never happened. But the truth is, I’m also intrigued. It took me a long time to reconcile the different thoughts and feelings. How can I be a strong, independent woman, but then enjoy being in your arms after you spank me? I’ve spent years depending on only myself. The bigger question to me is…do I even want to consider a change? I’ve never met a man who was worthy of trust.” She stared into the bottom of her glass. “And I like my life.”

  He waited, allowing the time to stretch in case she had anything else to say.

  A full thirty seconds passed before she met his gaze. Her eyes were wide, honest. She placed her hands on the table, palms up. “It meant something when you said you’d always want your subs to come to you. I’ll be honest. I thought that was a line. Or maybe a nice fantasy. The more I thought about it, the more I thought it sounded like friendship.”

  “I like that. Or maybe a partnership.”

  “Don’t push it, mister.”

  He grinned. Now that she was near, the tension that had gripped him for two weeks seeped away.

  “So I decided I’d talk to you about it and see what we could work out. I’ll admit I’m intrigued.” She wrinkled her nose. “Damn. And as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve already learnt a thing or two from you.”

  “I’m honored you’d say so. It’s mutual. I’ve learnt not to assume what you’re thinking. And I’m honing my patience skills.”

  “Oh, Damien…” She batted her eyelashes. “You’ve only just begun.”

  “I accept your challenge.”

  Catrina cocked her head to the right and more seriously added, “I want to know what else is out there.”

  “It will be an adventure for both of us.” He realized he’d stopped rubbing her wrist, and he started again. “I want two weeks of your time. When can you arrange to be away from work?”

  Her chest rose as she drank in a deep breath. No doubt this was becoming more real to her. So he continued his reassuring touch.

  “I work from home, but I have to meet with clients periodically.”

  “We should be able to manage that,” he said.

  “My clients matter to me. I won’t abandon them.” She brought her chin up.

  “I’d never ask you to. The things that matter to you matter to me. So let’s figure out a schedule. Gregorio can set up an office for you. Just let him know what you need. I assume you have a notebook computer that you can bring? We have a satellite connection you can use for email.”

  “As long as I can get online, I’ll be fine. I can pack all my files in a box.”

  “You can drive to Denver as needed. Or I can take you. I won’t have you tied to my bedposts all the time.”

  “About that…”

  He remembered her having a similar reaction at his house to his threat. “Scares you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll eventually ask me to.”

  His soon-to-be sub arched one of those sexy dark eyebrows. “I might agree if I tie you up a time or two.”

  “Not happening.”

  She tugged her hand away from him.

  “Talk to me, Catrina, always. About everything. We can resolve anything as long as we keep the lines of communication open.”

  “That all makes sense. And it’s great. In theory. But I’m not good at it. My first response, always, is to protect myself.”

  Damien was taken aback by how small and delicate she seemed. He’d always seen her as larger than life, a dominant, powerful force. Not that she wasn’t still, but the hesitant side of her drew him. “Not all people are trustworthy,” he said. “So it would be ridiculous to ask you to trust me.” He covered her hand but didn’t squeeze. Rather, he tried to convey his reassurance. “But I promise I will work to earn yours, every day, every moment.”

  “Let’s start with one week,” she said.

  Damien shook his head. Certain things, he was willing to compromise. On others, he’d remain steadfast. The trick for him was in knowing which to choose when. “Two weeks is hardly enough time for you to explore what it means to live and breathe submission. A month would be better.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “I never thought it would.” He’d only thrown it out there to make his dictate easier to swallow. He fingered her wristband. “You wanted to start tonight?”

  “Yes. But I wasn’t sure what your reaction to me would be since I hadn’t called.”

  He would have waited forever.

  “I didn’t want to presume too much, and…” She paused. “I was a bit afraid of being rejected. I figured I could find someone to play with me.” She shrugged fatalistically. “If not, I’d planned to trade it back in for a red one.”

  “Let me be clear about one thing.” His gut was tight in an unfamiliar and unwelcome way. He looked at her hard. “As I’ve already informed you, my rules for you are slightly different than they are for others. If you’re at the Den and you’re subbing, it will be to me.”

  “That sounds a bit possessive.”

  “It is. Deal with it. So that we’re clear, I will refund your membership fee.”

  She shivered.

  “Problem?”

  “Um.” She exhaled. “I guess not. After two weeks, I’m going back to being a dominant, so arguing about the details is pointless.”

  “Well said. Now that I have you here, Catrina, I’d like to keep you.”

  “I didn’t bring any toiletries or even a change of clothes.”

  “Jeff can pick them up. Just give me a list of what you need.”

  “You have a solution for everything,” she said.

  “Only the things I truly want.”

  To her credit, she kept her gaze on him, and she didn’t look away, even though he noticed her shift uncomfortably. “As for clothes,” he added. “You won’t need many. I intend to keep you naked.”

  “Sounds cold.”

  “I’ll turn up the heat. Anything else you want to discuss before I take you to a private room and make you scream?”

  Chapter Five

  Catrina’s mouth dried.

  Over the last couple of weeks, she’d played out a dozen scenarios in her head. She’d show up and he’d reject her. Or he’d frown and scold her. Best case, he’d fall at her feet. Still, she hadn’t been prepared for this Damien, tender and simultaneously unyielding. It scared her when she thought of how easily she’d fallen under his spell.

  His touch reassured, his voice soothed.

  Sexual desire knitted her insides when he was close.

  Earlier, she’d watched him come down the stairs. The first sight of him had stolen her breath.

  As was customary, he wore all black. Tonight, though, his clothes had a more refined cut, and the fabric seemed richer, as befitted the elegance of the night. His trousers were tailored, his wing-tipped shoes polished. His sweater, she guessed, was cashmere. He looked every inch the owner and master of the place.

  He’d swept his gaze over the gathered crowd, but he hadn’t noticed her. He’d nodded toward several guests before
continuing confidently down the hallway to check out the private rooms.

  Everything about him oozed success and confidence.

  She’d slipped over to the bar and secured a cola, knowing she needed to occupy her hands and her time until he saw her.

  And she’d known the moment he had.

  When he’d locked his gaze on her, she’d shaken, as if electricity had zapped down her spine. Courage had almost deserted her.

  The way he’d moved toward her, with undeterred purpose, proved how much he wanted to dominate her.

  And damn it, she’d spent two weeks denying the obvious. She wanted him to.

  A sub had interrupted him for a moment, and she’d been momentarily afraid he would be needed elsewhere.

  But he’d continued toward her.

  Drawing on skills she’d learnt in an acting class, she’d pretended to be relaxed. She’d swirled her drink, thinking it was a metaphor for what was going on inside her.

  And now that the rules were in place, he stood and offered his hand.

  It was more than a polite gesture, she knew. It was his first demand. He was claiming her in one of the house’s most public spots.

  After only a moment’s hesitation, she placed her palm against his. She accepted his strength as she slid from the high stool.

  “Milady.” He nodded, indicating she should precede him down the hallway.

  That surprised her. He could have instructed her to follow him. He might have asked her to crawl. She should have realized that nothing about him was predictable. “Any particular room?” While each was furnished with a counter, sink and a few toys, none were identical.

  Because a production company rented space here, she knew there was a storage area that contained an amazing array of furniture and contraptions.

  Almost every fantasy could be fulfilled with enough notice.

  Some rooms had no doors so that participants could be watched by anyone who wandered past. Others could be sealed off, except for a small window. All scenes were looked-in on at some point by either Gregorio, Damien or a designated House Monitor.

  “Last one on the right is vacant.”