Falloir (Passion Noire Book 2) (15 page)

Coffee. I need coffee.

Two cups later and I’m still reeling. It’s after nine and there’s no sign of Veuve yet and The Kid’s a typical teen in one sense—he doesn’t rise before midday if he can help it. What the hell just happened? How had I slept through taking her in my arms? I don’t do the whole cuddling thing ... it’s alien to me but, as well as confusion after we scrambled apart, I felt that I’d lost something. I find myself wishing that I’d woken before her so that I could know what it felt like to hold her as she slept. To know what having something so unexpected and so infinitely precious in your grasp feels like.

I begin to imagine how good it would feel, to hold her sleeping form, to caress that soft skin, to keep her safe, to make her feel ...
what,
exactly?

The ringing of my phone gives me a welcome distraction from some unwelcome realisations. It’s Mack, my contact in the Met and he has some very interesting information for me.

I LET MYSELF IN through the back door of Vouloir and reset the door alarm. I’m early but I need a period of calm, time to myself before Dean arrives for his therapy session. I’ll make myself a strong cup of coffee and just chill in the office.

Yeah, I couldn’t get away from Jones fast enough but, right now, I’m wishing I’d taken him up on his offer of a ride to the club. He and The Kid are heading over to my flat to check it’s still secure. Jones jumped at the chance of spending some time with him, persuading him that he has to experience the joy of a McDonald’s Drive Thru ... and a quarter pounder with cheese meal with a cheeseburger to follow. I guess those muscles need a high calorific intake.

I just hope that he doesn’t push The Kid for more information about his past. It must be as frustrating as hell for Jones—any grieving individual wants answers. But there was no emotional response from The Kid last night when he talked about being thrown in the water and his mother not resurfacing ... that’s worrying the hell out of me but I want us to be back under the roof of my flat and away from Jones before I confront it.

As I walk towards the main hall, I freeze. I can hear noises ... I can’t tell what they are or where they’re coming from ... there it is again! A succession of dull thuds. I turn my head and lean towards where I think the sound is coming from.

A ragged grunt makes my heart skip a beat. That was definitely human. This is why we need a new system in here. When I turn up, out of hours, I never know whether I’m the only person in the building. Gabe and the cleaners have an informal agreement between themselves. If one of them needs to be done early, he’ll let them in early. If he’s got things to do until later in the afternoon, they fit in with him. So there’s no set time to guarantee someone being here in the daytime.

And no set time to guarantee the place is empty ... or should be empty. To protect us, we all reset the door contact alarm when we enter out of hours but, because of that, there’s no way of knowing when you walk through the door whether someone else is here or not. It must be Gabe ... who else would it be? Well, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time that some reveller had collapsed inebriated inside the club and had been overlooked by Gabe and the bouncers—the place is just too large with too much furniture and too many nooks and crannies to check with a cursory sweep. It’s happened half a dozen times to my knowledge. And, despite it being their own fault, they’re mightily pissed off when they wake and find themselves locked inside a cold, empty club. The ‘push bar to open’ fire doors are securely locked overnight; the place is totally locked down.

There it is again. A series of soft thuds, this time punctuated with loud grunts. I’ll bet someone’s locked in here and they’re trying to get out. I tiptoe to the entrance to the room and peer inside cautiously. It’s pitch dark inside, the only illumination is coming from the emergency exit signs and an enormous, red, neon sign that reads ‘Vouloir,’ mounted on one of the walls. I make a mental note to tell Gabe to turn it off overnight—the electricity bill for this place is getting ridiculous.

My eyes adjust to the darkness and, when I hear the thuds start again, I detect movement right on the other side of the room, not far from the front door. Yeah, some stupid twat has fallen asleep and, from the sound of it, is trying to break his way out. I roll my eyes as I contemplate my choices. I need to walk into the room to get to the office. I don’t particularly want a confrontation with an angry, hung-over patron—I’ve already had one shocking experience this morning.

I slide inside the room so that I’m not backlit by the light spilling in from the corridor. Then I decide to text Gabe. I fire off a quick text telling him that I think someone’s trapped inside the club and ask what time he’s coming in. Within half a second, I hear the tell-tale alert of a text message notification. I frown and edge closer to investigate, thanking my dark clothing preference but these boots are crippling me—they’re definitely not made for walking on your toes.

The thudding starts again, this time it’s a prolonged barrage of thuds. Sounds like someone’s getting increasingly agitated. What the ...? I can just make out the movement of a dark shape but it’s not at the front door, where I expected it to be. It’s to the right, in a seating area.

I’m wondering whether I should just tiptoe to the front door, unlock it and then throw it open, legging it outside before I can be confronted. Banning a member doesn’t make up for an angry confrontation. Bouncers are employed for a reason ... not everyone who frequents these kind of clubs can be described as a desirable type. Besides, I’m just not in the mood. But, I realise there’s not much chance that I could get the door open without making a sound and it’s too close to the mysterious figure to take the risk. Fuck it to hell and back.

‘Fuck it,’ a voice says and, for a second, I’m too busy worrying that I’ve spoken out loud to recognise the voice. The thudding commences again.

‘Gabe?’ I ask before I can stop myself. My reckless blurting is drowned by the thudding noises, thank the Lord.

I creep closer and catch sight of his face in the pinky reflection of the neon light. It is. It’s Gabe. I stride to the front door, not caring about my heels tapping on the hard floor, and flick on the master light switch. For the second time this morning, my eyes grow wide in confusion. A topless Gabe is punching hell out of one of the leather upholstered seat cushions, having propped it up against the back of a chesterfield sofa. He freezes, his head whipping around. He looks pissed ... more pissed than a trapped pleasure seeker would be after waking up in here.

I raise an eyebrow but he scowls, reminding me of the moody teenagers that I work with. I see frustration, jealousy and anger and I know what’s brought this on. He might have taken a pledge of chastity but his Domme hasn’t.

‘Want to talk about it?’ I ask.

‘No,’ he snaps before smacking hell out the cushion again.

‘Gabe, get your sorry arse to the gym and knock ten shades of shit out of a punch bag or get back in the ring and knock someone unconscious if it makes you feel better. Don’t take it out on the furniture in here. Better still, talk to her. Tell her how you feel. Tell her how much it upsets you. Monogamy isn’t a weakness, Gabe. Some of us just are made that way and some of us aren’t. It’s not a sin. It’s going to make you ill, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Veuve, don’t take this the wrong way, but take your do-gooder crap somewhere else. I’m fine. Honestly.’

I shrug, shake my head and make my way to the office. I’m not happy at the needless delay in topping up my caffeine level. Equipped with a latte for me (with a sneaky espresso thrown in for good measure) and an Americano for him, I return to find out who’s pissed on his bonfire but he’s not there.

I find him at the back door, overseeing a delivery from the brewery. He looks sheepish when I approach and hand him his coffee. I open my mouth to test his mood but Dean walks into the alley.
Great.
So much for a period of calm reflection before I begin my day. I doubt that Dean will like what I have to say—he wasn’t impressed when I dropped his daily sessions so he’s not going to be happy about others getting physical with him instead of me but I’ve decided. There’s too much going on in my private life, right now. I should never have agreed to take him on.

I give him a tight smile and lead the way to my office. Gabe will just have to wait.

‘OKAY, DEAN,’ SHE SAYS. ‘You know my views on your relationship with your mother and what I think you should consider doing about it. That’s entirely up to you, of course. I’ve drawn up a treatment plan for you for the next six weeks. You will have twice weekly sessions and the focus will be on education. Women’s erogenous zones, failsafe foreplay, orgasm masterclasses ... they’re all on the agenda. By the time the six weeks is up, you’ll be the legendary fucker that we talked about.’

Oh yes, bring it on. ‘Orgasm masterclasses?’ I can’t keep a grin from making my face look like The Joker. ‘You’re going to show me how to make you come over and over. Do we get started now?’

She gives me this serious look. ‘We do get started now, yes, but I’m not going to be the one giving you your masterclasses. They will be delivered by a handful of very experienced ladies.’

What?
I scowl and open my mouth to protest but she holds up her hand to cut me off.

‘Dean, you must understand that not all women are the same. I’m very different to most women ... my body reacts differently than the norm. But there will be subtle differences between women. What gets them nice and wet, just how they prefer to be touched, where ... for how long and so on. You need to learn to read the signs her body will be showing you. What she’s enjoying, when she’s ready to move on ... you get the idea. Giving you several women to learn about and practise on is going to stand you in good stead for meeting women outside of Vouloir.’

What is she talking about? ‘Meeting women outside of Vouloir? But I don’t understand. I’m supposed to be learning to be your sub. Why do I need to learn about other women and not you? That doesn’t make any sense.’

She lets out a long slow breath and I can see she’s irritated that I’m challenging her but I’ve a right to ask for clarification.