Disgrace (21 page)

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sam! Do not finish that sentence! Your mother was insane, and she whored you out to a monster for a shot at jumping up a social class or two. So please, spare me all her parental guidance. The last thing I expected to hear from you was confirmation that she was right.” His anger is palpable. He fires his fury with each word. When I say nothing, he loses it. “Maybe she was right, maybe you are just a whore.”

A silent cry escapes my shocked open mouth, but an instant surge of rage races through me. I pull my hand from his grasp and slap him hard across his face, the force snapping his head to the right. He slowly turns his head to face me, his face impassive, but his eyes darken, and his lips start to tighten into a smug smirk. I slap him again. There is a sharp sting in my palm, but I don’t feel the pain; I just feel warm. I do it again, and his breath hitches. I drop my hand, but he shakes his head.

“Again please, Mistress.”

I did my law degree and even qualified as a solicitor but my true talent was exposed that night. Leon saw it, claims he knew the very first night we met, said that’s why he let me stay. I don’t know if that’s really true but we both received what we needed from the partnership. I gained a willing Guinea Pig and he was able to keep his secret. I don’t agree that he would suffer if he exposed his ‘switch’ tendencies but that is his decision. I spent the next four years training before I accepted my first paying client. Although training never really ends and practice not only makes perfect it’s also lots of fun.

The cab jerks to a stop, abruptly breaking my little reminiscence. Our driver uses some extremely colourful language to critique the other person’s driving skills. Leon’s mouth drops open in mock horror, not remotely offended. His own language is no better than that of a well-seasoned sailor.

“Not that I give a shit, but do you want to tell me why Jason gives me the stink eye every time I come home. I thought we got on before Christmas. He seemed kind of cool and now he, my dear”—he takes my gloved hand in his and pats the tight leather—“is rapidly approaching douche territory. He does know there’s nothing between us right?” He continues to hold my hand but threads his fingers through and squeezes.

I chuckle. “Yeah, he knows. I think it might have more to do with him thinking you’re my pimp,” I add and squeeze one eye shut and peeking to see his incredulity and irritation flare.

“What? You told him I was your pimp?” He pinches the bridge of his nose and puffs out his anger. He doesn’t let me answer but continues to muse. “No, that’s ridiculous, but if he doesn’t think there’s anything going on then…” He draws his bottom lip in, chewing softly, a habit when he is concentrating. “Hmm and he is okay with the Dominatrix gig.” I can almost hear the cogs turning.

“He still thinks I’m a whore,” I blurt but in a hushed tone.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell him the truth? He cares about you, Sam, anyone can see that.” His thick, dark brows knit together to form one intimidating scowl.

“I know.” I sigh and shift uncomfortably under his intense glare. “And he doesn’t even care that I am…or that I said I was…you know.” I shrug because I am struggling to defend my position.

“Look Sam, I know why you tell people
that
. I mean fuck ’em, right? The ones who judge don’t deserve your time. Sure, I get it but I know you use it as a barrier, too. Not just a barrier, you weld it like a weapon. No danger of anything more than a one nighter. No one’s taking a whore home to meet mummy, right?” he adds more softly.

“Yeah,” I exhale.

“But Jason would?” he nudges.

“Yeah.” My voice catches.

“And that’s a problem because?”

“It can’t go anywhere, Leon. We can’t be more than this, so what’s the point?” I can feel a tight pinch behind my nose and I blink the first sign of tears away.

“And why is that?” He won’t give up. He’s relentless.

“Um, he owns a sex club, Leon. How long do you think he will be happy with one woman?” I snap.

“He bought the club for you remember? To keep you safe. Sounds like
more
to me.”

“He was a
regular
long before that, Leon,” I add like that is its own justification.

“And you’re a professional Domme. You’re hardly the poster child for vanilla,” he counters.

“My job, my fantasies, are very different from my reality, Leon. I want a normal relationship.” My exasperation is wasted on him.

“Normal?”

“Well, no, not
that
normal.” I grin and he chuckles before his expression is again all serious.

“You could have that with Jason, but you need to tell him the truth.” His tone is stern, his argument compelling. “You threw a shit fit when he lied to you. Look, I know fuck all about relationships, and he doesn’t even like me, but doesn’t he deserve the same courtesy?” He sits back and crosses his arms, resting his defence.

“I guess.” I won’t meet his gaze. I hate that he’s always right.

“No Sam, you don’t guess. You fucking know! Now stop being such a pussy.” His eyes narrow, but they gleam and spark with a thrill that is indisputable.

“Oh, you did
not
just call me that.” The cab pulls to a smooth halt in front of the canopied entrance to the club. He remains definitely tight lipped. “You will so pay for that,” I murmur. He pushes a twenty through the Plexiglas and opens the door for me.

“I was counting on it.”

“I think you like this bit more than the bullwhip.” I finish smoothing the arnica cream along his broad shoulders and help him slip his t-shirt back over his head. His eyes are soft and dreamy. His body moves with the slightest touch from me, and his lazy smile is adorable. I take his hand and lead him to the sofa in the corner of my favourite playroom. The dark walls are covered in a rich red velour paper, which is enticingly tactile. The wall lights are soft flames, and there is a very comfortable chaise for some relaxing aftercare. The St Andrew’s Cross dominates the room, but most of the playrooms have one. This room, however, has no peephole, no windows, and no way of gaining entry once inside. It is completely private and only available to very few members. Leon lays his head in my lap, and I stroke his long hair, threading it through my fingers, my nails lightly scraping his scalp. He shivers with pleasure and sighs. His eyelids drift closed, and his weight noticeably increases as he falls into a deep sleep.

We never enter the room or leave together. Afterward, we meet at the bar, and Leon has my drink waiting. He still has this gorgeous afterglow, which warms me. Even if I do wish he could find someone else to trust enough, I am happy that I can help him in this way.

“So where’s lover boy tonight?” he teases.

“He had some international conference call or something, but my phone’s been playing up, so I actually have no idea what time he’s finishing. He always texts or calls, but I haven’t been able to switch the damn thing on all day. I left it at the flat. Useless piece of crap,” I moan.

“Tell me about it.” Marco appears at the end of the bar where Leon and I are perched. Sofia’s twin brother took over as assistant manager only a few months back. He fancied a break from the family restaurant business and jumped at the chance when I mentioned the vacancy at the summer barbecue at Daniel and Bethany’s family home. “The refurbishment next door cut through our data cables. Our computers have been down all day. It’s like living in the Stone Age having to take down everything manually. Luckily Gus pretty much knows everyone so the door hasn’t been too much of an issue. But checking guest applications has been a nightmare.” He drags his hand through his elegant, styled, short hair and flopping fringe.

Leon’s phone buzzes in his back pocket and he grimaces when Marco scowls. Its club policy that all phones are surrendered at the check-in.

“Sorry Marco, I didn’t realise I still had it. I must have been distracted when we came in.” He winks at me and steps around the back of the bar into the darkness to answer the call. But I can still hear the one sided conversation.

“Jason?” he queries and now I pay a little more attention.

“It’s busted, not worked all day. She’s with me though so if…At the club why? Who?”

I have just held my drink up toward a frazzled looking Marco. “I think you need this.”

“Richard who?” I hear Leon’s concern as the drink I am offering up slips from my fingers and crashes onto the glass top surface of the bar. Smashing spectacularly into a million pieces. Despite the mess and noise I freeze, my eyes are as wide as Leon’s, who still has his phone at his ear.

“Not that I can see but…Look, we’ll leave now.” He swipes to end the call and steps back to me.

“Sam, are you okay?” He cups my cheek, but I barely feel his touch, I just feel icy cold. I have avoided him for years when I learned who Master Alpha really was, because I honestly had no idea how I would react. I know now. Why wasn’t I told? The admin team here are excellent. Why wouldn’t they let me know? Oh, the computers. I nod numbly at my own answered question but reach for the whip I had placed on the stool beside me. I need to leave before—

“Grace?”

The voice isn’t as deep as I remember, but still, the timbre turns my stomach. I fix my smile, fix my mask. I’m not Grace. I’m not Sam. Here I am Mistress Selina. I turn and straighten my shoulders. I stand, my five foot ten, and in six-inch heels, ensuring we are eye level. His eyes flash with uncertainty but only for an instant. His thin lips sneer, distorting his face into something less than human, something evil. That look I do remember.

“Not for a
very
long time.” My icy demeanour is reflected in my tone.

He thinks I am pausing to maybe remember what to call him but I am quiet because I notice for the first time the woman on her knees bent over by his feet. A long chain fixed around a cheap dog collar one end and the other gripped in his fist.

“You may call me Master Alpha,” he sneers and tugs at the chain. The woman whimpers, and I get a sharp burn of acid in my chest.

“Hmm, not in here,
Dick,
” I muse. He flinches at the abbreviation of his name. He always hated it, not that I ever dared to call him that in the past, but some of his friends would, just to rile him. I draw on every ounce of strength my costume and alter ego affords and hold my coiled whip under his chin. He tips his head a little, and I fix him with my most hate-filled stare. His eyes widen, and he stiffens at the contact. “You’re in my playground now,
Dick,
and you get to call me Mistress.” I turn toward the bar. Leon is still at my side and Marco pales significantly at the volatile situation unfolding. I smile at him and wink to try and reassure him. I have no intention of creating more of a scene; we already have enough curious eyes focused on us. I just won’t allow him to affect me. He is nothing to me, and I bask in this revelation. “Marco, make sure
Dick
gets a glass of champagne on me, and that his companion gets the whole bottle. I’d like to make sure she has at least one pleasurable experience this evening.” My smile is sweet with the perfect mix of saccharin and vitriol.

Richard purses his lips, the muscles in his jaw bubble under his
manscaped
blond stubble. His pale blue eyes darken with fury, but he accepts the offered flute. I step up to him, and he pauses for a moment but steps aside. I wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t see the fierce beat of my heart pounding against the skin-tight cat suit. The platform walkway from the bar is clear and I slowly walk toward the exit, Leon is at my side, his fingers twitch to reach for mine but he doesn’t. I can feel the eyes of the room. I almost make it to the curtained doorway…almost. Richard’s voice booms across the room.

“Do you still blush when you are fucked in front of an audience?” I freeze. “Do you still scream for mercy when you take it in the arse?” I turn slowly. He raises his glass and tips to take a sip, his expression full of malice. I shouldn’t be surprised. He was never going to make it easy for me. He never had the whole time we were together. Why would he change that now just because I have?

And I have changed.

I sigh and drop my hip in amused annoyance. I tap my lip as if wondering how to respond. My right hand gips my six-foot bull whip. I know exactly how I’m going to respond. I slowly sashay back along the walkway. I stop when he speaks again.