Patrons could have more than one bracelet as their preferences could be a mix of many, like service tops, power bottoms, and the biggest crowd—freelance subs. They had a neon-green cuff to signal they were inexperienced in the lifestyle and their membership not established enough to wear a gold one.
Finley glanced at the purple steel bracelet on his left wrist. Those were for non-participating subs, or staff who didn’t want to engage because they were on duty, or because they were not in the mood. It didn’t mean he couldn’t participate on his day off though…
“Why does he screen people like that?” Finley asked.
“I don’t know. He made up the rules and the system and sticks to it. The preparation, the anticipation, and the fact that Master chose you, adds to the thrill.” Lucy winked. “It did for me.”
“Right.” The very idea sent a tingling of excitement through Finley’s insides. He had a host of questions swimming in his head like little worms of curiosity. He picked the most harmless one he could fish out. “What happened in the back room with him? Did you… chat after the scene or what?”
“Yes, and no.” Lucy shrugged, clearly not minding sharing any details. “We weren’t close friends back when I had my first scene with him so I talked, he didn’t. From what others told me—and people share a lot with the bar staff—he never talks about himself. He’s as mysterious as they come. I’ve known him for years and he still keeps to himself a lot. But as a Dom, he has a way about him. He knows how to listen and comfort after asession, just like he can tell what you’ll enjoy when you’re on his stage and how far to push you without it being too much. If that makes sense.” Lucy waited for Finley to nod and continued. “I’ve had someone say that experiencing a scene with Master Kage is like going to Disneyland for the first time. You’ve heard about it and you think you know what to expect, but once you’re there—it’s magical beyond belief.” She imitated throwing fairy dust in the air and Finley laughed. “You should apply,” she said in all seriousness, clapping Finley’s shoulder.
“I... no. That’s… No.” Thoughts, images, so many ideas. Master Kage’s hands on him, his gaze focused on Finley’s body… “That would be a bad idea.”
“Suit yourself. His website is called ‘The Light and Darkness of Kink’ in case you change your mind.” She released a high giggle and swivelled on her heel towards a customer.
After Master Kage’s scene, the line to the bar was constant until the end of the evening. Finley took his hands-on-training seriously, trying to glean as much as he could from Lucy’s wisdom.
Knackered after the shift, Finley crossed the threshold of his flat and headed straight for the shower. The single evening was akin to a week of gaining new knowledge, seeing activities he’d never dreamed of, and wanting things done to him in a way that sent blood to his dick at the mere thought. Falling in love had never been in his cards, and he wasn’t planning on staying on this plane of existence long enough to give it a shot again. But enjoying himself in kinky ways could fill his days and his mind enough to make living day-to-day less of a chore. Yes, filling his mind with a sexy Dom was just what he needed.
As the water cascaded down his back, he closed his eyes and saw Master Kage on the stage, his erection clear in the outline of his tight leather trousers, his forearms flexing as he wielded a riding crop.
Finley fisted his cock and used the soap suds to stroke himself. He came hard and fast within seconds, his lips soundlessly forming Master Kage’s name.
He did that again when he lay in bed before falling asleep. Then once more first thing in the morning, after he woke up with a hard-on from a dream of Master Kage—those mesmerising eyes looking at him as Master beckoned him with a crooked finger.
Chapter Three
Finley
Aclatter in the kitchen startled Finley and he dropped his toothbrush into the sink.
“Max? What are you—” He swallowed, shaking his head.
There was no one but him at his new place. Nearly two years passed since he’d lost his son and yet every sound still tricked his brain into thinking Max returned from his trip unharmed. He missed the chaos the boy had brought into his life, for seventeen years.
Every day since then, he missed teasing Max with silly jokes over breakfast, sending him to school when he was just a child, then talking to him about his attraction to a girl, or ironing his shirt for a school disco. The various little details of Max’s growing up were Finley’s most precious memories. Workingfor the mafia and running the distillery for years had given Finley the means to take his son on regular city breaks and even holidays abroad. Finley could never be away from work too long, but the responsibility came with money, so he’d never complained. Thanks to his job, Max could attend the private school on the island. The remoteness of the island amped the exclusivity of the school, and Max attended with kids of movie stars and rich people who needed a quiet place to hide their kids.
The time had passed quickly and the cute curly-haired redhead with big green eyes had become a lanky teenager. Between Max’s puberty hormones and Finley’s constant overwork, they’d argued constantly, but at the end of the day, they’d found the time to watch The Office together. With pain in his heart, Finley had been mentally preparing himself for Max leaving the house, finding a partner, and wanting a life of his own.
Instead Max’s life had been cut short by a gang of teens attacking the truck Max had been in.
Since then, Finley had learnt that grief manifested itself in various ways. At first, he’d thrown himself back into work at the distillery, occupying every waking hour with orders and barrels. The gaps in his knowledge—the ways Max had helped him with the paperwork—became more apparent as time passed, and it hadn’t escaped Don Murphy’s keen eye. Finley had hoped the new employee Don had sent would result in a smoother running distillery, but Peyton had done so much more.
Finley had witnessed how the Don’s son fell in love with Mat, the heir to the London Mafia’s legacy, under the distillery’s roof. Together, they showed Finley how starting a new life could lead to finding yourself.
Thanks to years of loyalty, Finley had the guts to ask Don Murphy if he could leave the island. He couldn’t disappear off the Mafia’s radar completely, but he’d been given theopportunity to work at a place owned by Don’s long-time business partner, Szef Zbigniew Kwiatkowski and his wife Jagoda. Finley had taken it, but had asked to be informed if Don ever found out who’d killed his son. Finley had offered to help bring them to justice, whatever that would mean. So far, he hadn’t heard anything but he knew incessant asking wouldn’t put him in Don’s good graces. He didn’t want the waiting to be his only reason to live, so he was determined to enjoy the time until then, until it was time for him to join his son.
Finley didn’t regret the decision to leave the quiet island in favour of busy London. But his new flat still felt off. It lacked the smell of wood, the sound of a crackling fireplace, the snarky comments of his son. He missed the house he’d helped build with his own hands; a place where he knew every nook and cranny. Most importantly, he missed the home he’d made with his son. Without him, the house had become an empty shell filled with ghosts of memories.
If he wanted to avoid spiralling into a negative headspace again, he had to stick to his plan of leaving the past behind and grabbing fistfuls of his new life.
That was why, after three days at the bar with Lucy, Finley accepted the invitation to go shopping.
Now, he was standing in the heart of London, ticket in hand, waiting for Lucy. He took his phone from his jeans and was about to text her when a hard clap on his shoulder announced her presence.
“Lucy, I thought you’d never—” He swivelled around and his words stuck in his throat when a tall man with short black hair and a familiar smile stood before him.
“It’s Latif today,” he winked. “Good to see you, Finley.”
