Page 101 of To Catch a Sub

“Let me make it simple for you. Don’t ever touch me again.”

Landon stared at her, a hollow feeling opening up behind his ribs.

Colette reached under her hair, and a second later the collar came loose. His hands curled into fists.

She bounced the collar on her palm. “Oh, one more thing. Rembrandt.”

Colette dropped the collar at his feet, shot him a hard smile, and walked away, disappearing into her room.

Landon stared at the bathroom door, mind momentarily blank.

Moving on instinct, he picked up the plug, which smelled like the toy cleaning soap they kept in the bathroom, and then the collar. His throat worked as he remembered the way she’d looked bent over his knee, butt red from a spanking, ass plugged.

But even that erection-inducing image was nothing compared to what it had been like to see her wearing his collar.

And now she’d safe worded out, removed her collar, and told him never to touch her again.

How the fuck had everything gone so wrong?

TWENTY-TWO

Dawn lightened the sky, though given it was overcast, the sun rising meant only a paler shade of gray clouds.

Colette took a careful step, watching the door. She could see a slice of Landon’s room, including half the window, through the glass in the connecting door.

Gingerly she lowered her heel, gradually shifting her weight onto her front foot before lifting the back.

The image of a burglar sneaking around on their toes in all black was part of the zeitgeist, but that was a terrible way to walk, especially in an old building. Keeping all the weight on the balls of the feet compacted the pressure. In modern buildings this rarely mattered, but in older buildings walking like that guaranteed squeaky floors.

She took another step, moving slowly, testing each board before committing and shifting her weight. Her goal was the hall door, and though it wasn’t far from the bed to the wall, it took her nearly ten minutes.

Carefully, she turned the knob, easing the door open.

She told herself not to look back, but she wasn’t strong enough to heed the internal warning.

From her position half out the door, she could see a triangular slice of Landon’s bed through the window in the connecting door. He was sprawled under the covers on his stomach, one knee bent.

He’d fallen asleep about an hour ago. She knew because she’d been lying in bed listening to him move around since their fight in the hall. Landon didn’t know how to move quietly, or possibly he was just so big that no strategic stepping would keep the floor from creaking under him. The bed too had made noise, groaning and squeaking as he settled in it. He’d tossed and turned for a long time before everything went silent.

Colette slid out the door, pulling it mostly closed, but not latching it behind her.

Everything was quiet, Club Alibi officially closed, no faint thump from the DJ’s baseline filtering through. She didn’t know if any of the playrooms were occupied by people who elected to spend the night, but for now it felt deserted.

Colette went to the bathroom, wincing when she sat on the toilet. The cool seat felt good against her ass, the pressure of sitting not so much.

She grabbed her toiletries bag, which she’d stashed in a small cabinet, wedging it in between extra rolls of toilet paper, bottles of toy wash, and a cardboard box of alcohol wipes.

She let muscle memory take over as she popped on a headband and worked through her nighttime skin care. Her mind was blessedly blank now. The hours lying and listening had been torture as she’d run through the full gamut of emotions—rage to fear, betrayal to longing, shame to arousal.

The arousal was the hardest to deal with. She was mildly disgusted with herself for still being turned on after everything that had happed. It was understandable given the intense level of sexual frustration, but still...

Colette brushed her teeth and worked her hair into a loose French braid along the back of her head to keep it from getting tangled or frizzy, careful of the smaller, tight braid she always had in her hair at the nape of her neck.

She wasn’t ready to go back to her bedroom yet, so once she left the bathroom she turned towards the kitchenette. The floor was cool beneath her feet, and her bare arms and legs pebbled with cold. Taking a risk, she gingerly opened the door to one of the playrooms. There was no one inside, so she grabbed one of the carefully rolled blankets tucked into a trunk by the door. One of her prep assignments for tonight had been gathering every blanket in the club—from both the main area and the play rooms—and washing them. Colette and Kitten had carefully rolled them once they were dry and stocked each room.

She wrapped the soft blanket around her shoulders, holding it closed with one hand. The instant warmth was delicious and she snuggled into it as she kept walking.

“Sub drop?”