When she arrives at the club, I am so relieved I exhale and realize I have been holding my breath all day. Waiting. But now she is here, safe. I suppose the next move is mine.
She exits the elevator and crawls directly to our table. I’ve been sitting alone all evening…brooding, unfit for company…but I pat my knee, hoping.
Without a word or a glance, she arranges herself on a pillow at my feet.
Damn stubborn feline.
I didn’t comment to her, but it’s obvious she has returned to wearing my collar and Lord Fyre’s. Once meant to remind her of her constant servitude, I think their presence is now a visual marker to remind me.
“Mr. Lawrence?”
I glance up to see one of my night shift receptionists. She is young, pretty, and very shy. She stands looking at her feet and whispers her message, “You have an appointment waiting upstairs. I rang your cellphone but you didn’t answer.”
Oh
,
hell
.
I’d forgotten I added myself back onto The Attic’s schedule.
With both Thomas and George absent for three weeks now, there just aren’t enough experienced Doms to handle the scheduled number of private sessions, and since this is an important area of income I can’t allow anything less than perfection in service.
I’d forgotten how time consuming The Attic is. Our clients expect elaborately staged scenes, and they are willing to pay for quality. I’m going to have to speak with Kitten about hiring someone to replace Lord Fyre. She won’t be happy. She expects him to return to us every day, and when he doesn’t, she is even more disappointed than the day before. Telling her this will definitely make things worse, but it can’t be avoided any longer.
Looking at her, I can’t tell if she is asleep or faking it. I decide against waking her just to tell her I’m going upstairs.
“The shadows of our own desires stand between us and our better angels, and thus their brightness is eclipsed.”
Charles Dickens,
Barnaby Rudge
Kitten
I awake alone, not really a surprise. Master is always darting here or there to deal with business. I wish I was home sleeping, although it seems for the last few days all I’ve wanted to do is sleep.
Today, I skipped working even though I was at
The Darkness
all day. I locked myself in the office and slept. After putting in eight hours on my office sofa, I would have happily bailed on coming to the club and went home to bed if Garrett would have allowed it. It is ridiculous I am here since he’s obviously left me to entertain myself in The Oasis.
Normally, I would be incredibly pleased. Left alone? Kitten time? I could pose on a tabletop, give myself a tongue bath, and definitely become a nuisance for somebody. Yes. Yes. Yes! But today? No. Not feeling it.
I scan the room and my gaze lands on Jackie. She is sitting alone, sipping wine, no pet on the pillow at her feet. It seems she is alone more often than not of late, and I wonder about that. Curious, I crawl to her and curl up on her vacant pillow.
Predictably, she is in a mood and turns her gaze in the opposite direction. Any other day, I would be pissed off. I would show my displeasure by crawling into her lap and pushing my face into her hand or her neck, or if she was being a real bitch I would rub my face against hers. Today, I curl into a ball and close my eyes. Sleep, sleep, heavenly sleep. That is what I want.
A pointed toe nudges my shoulder. “So you do that sexy sashay crawl all the way across the room to get my attention and now you want to sleep?”
I open an eye. “That wasn’t for you.”
She holds up three fingers to make a
W
then tips it on its side to form an
E
.
I scowl at her
whatever
, opening both eyes to do so.
“Oh, get off your ass, girl, and show me that baby bump.”
I smile, I can’t help it. My baby bump
is
sticking out there, especially when I’m naked. I’m not sure if it makes me sad or happy, but one thing is for certain, there is no denying it. I make a face, half pout and half embarrassment as I stand. “I’m fat.”
She molds her hands around my extended abdomen, her hands deep russet against my creamy white flesh. “Precious life growing in there.
Precious
.” Her eyes tear up. “I never thought I’d see Garrett become a father.”
She pats the chair beside her, definitely against house rules. Call me intrigued
and
it’s a chance to be naughty. Kitten is not allowed to sit on the furniture. I smile mischievously and crawl onto the upholstered seat beside her, tucking arms and legs to pose cat-like and regal. I lift my nose at the security already headed toward the table but Jackie gives them an evil eye, making them stop in their tracks. The two stand watchful and ready should I break out my bag of kitty-tricks, I assume because I have a reputation for trouble. I’m not sure why her glare stops them. I am breaking the rules. Perhaps it is because Jackie gets special privileges since she is Garrett’s oldest and dearest friend or maybe because she is a huge financial contributor to The Oasis. But then there is no overlooking that she is a six-and-a-half feet tall, probably closer to seven feet with her sharp edged stilettos, she-male with attitude.
I rub my cheek against hers—kitty hello—and she tousles my hair playfully. I give the security guys a big ’ole theatrical wink.
Jackie rolls her eyes. “You have to tease them, don’t you?”
“I have to have some fun.” I pout, reciting all the can’t-do’s because I’m pregnant. “No bondage, no whipping, no caning, no electricity, no breath-play.”
“At least he’s taking good care of you and isn’t putting that baby in harm’s way. I’ll stop worrying now.” She takes my hand in hers, then pats it with the other.
“Hmmph. These babies are in like a gallon of water, swimming around all warm and happy. They are not going to care one way or another if I’m getting whacked on the outside.”
“You’d be surprised,” she says, and then her eyes go wide. “You said babies?”
Garrett didn’t tell her?
And here I thought Garrett confided everything to her.
She doesn’t release my hand. She squeezes it harder. “Well, damn. So now you expect Garrett to help raise two of Lord Fyre’s brats.”
“Excuse me?”
“Have you even considered how much this is hurting Garrett?”
I jerk my hand from hers, feeling hurt.
Attacked
.
A feeling that isn’t lessened when she hurries from the table. What had I expected? I know how she feels about Thomas. Hate doesn’t even begin to explain it.
Seeing security start toward me again, I wiggle out of the chair and resettle on the floor cushion. Arching my back, I bare my teeth and hiss in their direction before curling up tight. They don’t come closer.
I almost wish they had. Punishment of any kind would be a distraction from Jackie’s response. I don’t want to think about Garrett’s feelings. Yes, I’m carrying Thomas’s twins, but we’re a ménage, there was a fifty-fifty chance. Still, Thomas has children already, Garrett hasn’t.
Damn it, Jackie!
And of course she’d been there when Garrett had his Cincinnati-meltdown, suddenly proposing, pitching his idea for babies and suburbia, so she knows exactly how badly he wants children.
Why couldn’t these babies have just been
his
?
Oh, that’s right, he had a
vas
! I don’t share my sarcasm with Jackie.
I am still irritated at Jackie for messing with my head when she returns. She squats in front of me, precarious on her platformed spikes. Although her makeup is perfect, her eyes are red and puffy. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying I overreacted, but you are my friend and I am here to support you, regardless of who the father is.”
I tear up, no reason for it, but suddenly I am crying. “No more brat comments.”
“Not one.” She holds out her arms, and I let her hug me. After a few more tears, she pulls me into a chair and reaches into her oversized leather tote to withdraw colorful brochures. She spreads the leaflets out on the table and points at each in turn. “Lamaze. Primal Birth. Bradley Method. Hypnobirth.”
“Where’s the info on drugs? Lots of drugs. As in I do not want to know what is happening at all.”
Jackie titters but as quickly realizes I am completely serious. She pats my hand. “You’re just scared.”
I nod rapidly and she laughs. Picking up one of the brochures she reads, “Women’s bodies are designed to create life, and giving birth is a natural process. We guide a woman to embrace her instincts.”
“My instinct is to use lots of drugs,” I insist.
I am not joking.
Ignoring me, she keeps reading. “The emotions a woman experiences throughout her pregnancy will affect her birthing experience. A woman must be allowed to express her feelings completely.”
She meets my gaze over the top of the brochure and asks quite dramatically, “Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”
Really?
“I don’t know. I’m tired. All. The. Time.”
She looks at me like she is hanging on my every word, and the attention makes me tear up unexpectedly…again. She reaches out her hand and I grab it, tears flowing freely.
“I’ve been exhausted ever since the ultrasound. I don’t know why, except that this—” I cup my baby bump in my hands for emphasis. “—suddenly feels so real. So important.”
I pause, hoping she will say something, anything, because I feel so stupid talking about this. It isn’t like I am the first woman to ever give birth.
Brightening, she demands, “Tell me the thought going through your head this very second.”
“The part where I feel stupid for crying? Or the part where I feel this pregnancy is sacred?”
“The sacred part,” she encourages, making me snort.
“That’s what’s so ridiculous. It’s not like I’m
the virgin
, but I just feel like these babies are meant to be. I mean, I went to the doctor, still trying to convince myself I wanted an abortion. I was on the pill for a reason, you know? But then I saw their little faces and heard their little heartbeats and I swear I felt like the first woman ever to experience this miracle. Is that the most insane thing you’ve ever heard?”
She doesn’t answer me; she just looks at me drop-jawed.
The abortion thing. I just freaked her out. I really should learn to keep my mouth shut. I assure her, “I never seriously considered an abortion. I was just terrified.”
“Good. Because I couldn’t have supported you in that, even if I do hate these babies’ father. Everything happens for a reason. Even this. And I believe you have been
chosen
to be a mother.” She passes me the brochure. “Read this one.”
Congratulations. You are embarking on the greatest challenge and most rewarding experience you will ever face as a woman. Do not shy away from a single moment of the profound life-changing experience you will soon face: BIRTH.
My heart starts racing. I feel as if this brochure was sent directly to me.
At Primal Birth, the birth of your child will be a mind, body, and spirit experience. We are here to lend guidance and support as you embrace the natural instinct already residing inside of you to birth your child naturally and effortlessly.
There is a photo of a pregnant woman, sitting cross-legged in the middle of a field of wildflowers, meditating. Another photo shows a pregnant woman jogging barefoot on the beach, water lapping at the trail of her footprints. They look peace-filled, happy.
“I want you to know, I’m here for you. Need a birth partner? You got one.”
I wonder suddenly if Thomas will be able to attend the birth. Seeing my look of distress, she thinks I’m worried about hurting her feelings. “I know, I know, you already have two men, one for each hand, I’m just saying.”
“You’re a good friend, Jackie.” I just wish I could confide in her my fears for Thomas’s safety. I don’t make a big deal of it, but I crawl onto the cushion at her feet, taking the brochure with me. I don’t have to pretend I’m reading. It is a welcome distraction, one leaving me enthralled.
In the wild, a mammal releases adrenaline to delay labor if a predator is near, leaving the soon
-
to
-
be mother prepared for fight or flight. It is only natural that a human mammal will have the same reaction to a stress-filled or dangerous environment. Adrenaline is the enemy of labor, making the use of drugs during the process so prevalent. No doctor wants to wait around for a mother to feel safe. At Primal Birth you will learn to prepare your birthing nest for a drug-free and stress-free natural birth
.
I glance up from the brochure to see Master. Finally.
Garrett sees me and lifts his chin in a barely perceptible greeting before turning his back to me. He is watching a scene play out on the punishment dais. Morgana topping a man. She is small, petite, and also thin as a reed. All of her weight rests solidly in her double-D cups. Her bright auburn hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, exaggerating her naturally high cheekbones, and her cupid lips are painted a startling shade of red. She is layered in belts, one over her breasts, barely covering her nipples. Several are criss-crossed around her waist. Upper arms. Thighs. It seems like a medieval fashion statement until my eyes land on the big black strap-on jutting from her crotch.
She is beautiful and powerful in a way I will never be. Knee-high, lace-up black commando boots complete her look. It is her boots that have her slave’s undivided attention as he licks them clean.
“Not good enough.” She strikes his ass with a riding crop, leaving a bright red line on his pale buttocks cheek. I have to close my eyes against the beauty of it.
I want bound and whipped.
I can’t imagine waiting six months to experience the sting again and decide that for the rest of the evening Master and I really need to focus on
us
.
He gives Morgana a long look of approval before turning away from the scene. Our gazes meet as he strides toward me, and I lick my lips in anticipation. I wish he could read my mind. If he could he would see a replay of the scene we played out in his library.