Applause and a few cheers followed. The dominants moved into the maze to man their stations, or so Emily assumed. Minutes later, the first contestant stepped inside.
She was toward the end of the line. When her turn came, she took a tentative step up to Master Dev. Cari, who was assisting him, smiled as she handed him a scorecard—a simple index card threaded with ribbon, her name printed neatly on one side. Emily dipped her head to accept it, but he hesitated.
His gaze swept her face, lingering on her bottom lip—bitten, as usual—then dropped to her hands, clasped so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
“You’ve never taken part in one of our group games, Emily. Do you understand the rules?”
“I think so. I’m a little nervous, sir. If I’m being honest.”
“You’ve had a rough few weeks,” he said gently. “You could skip the games and still join the after-party. Nervous is fine. Scared isn’t.”
She offered him the same reassurance she’d given Alec. “I don’t want to be singled out. I’ll be all right.”
At least she hoped that was true—but kept her doubts to herself.
Still studying her, he tipped her chin up with two fingers. “You remember our club safewords?”
“Red means stop. Yellow means slow down or I need to talk.”
“Use them if you need to. I won’t be pleased if you don’t.”
Her throat suddenly dry, she all but croaked, “I will, sir. I promise.”
He held her gaze a moment longer then dropped the ribbon over her head. “You’re assigned to path four. Have fun, little subbie.”
Free from his intense scrutiny, she could breathe again. The man had an uncanny ability to see inside others’ heads, which made him an excellent investigator and the perfect dungeon master.
As Emily stepped through the vine-covered arbor, she was grateful she’d been allowed to keep her shoes. No matter how meticulous the landscapers, a twig or stray rock on bare feet would spoil the mood fast.
A small sign identified her route. She followed it, and, twenty feet in, reached her first crossroads. Left or right—under the crescent moon, both paths looked the same.
With no gut instinct to guide her—as spidey senses went, she had zero—Emily fell back on a childhood tactic.
“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, give me a hint on which way to go. And please don’t let the path lead to a sadist.”
She’d never had luck—in cards, in love, in anything. Biggest win of her life? A free scratch-off ticket. She didn’t expect fortune to favor her now. So she did what any unlucky person would do: she did an about-face and walked in the opposite direction from where the rhyme had ended.
With her heart pounding, she moved deeper into the maze, toward whatever lay ahead in the dark.
After another twenty feet in, a soft light appeared between the branches. She slowed, peeking through an opening in the hedge.
An older dom, late forties by her guess, sat in a leather chair better suited to a library than a garden. Beside him, on a small table, a lantern cast a halo that stopped just short of her.
He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she took a moment to study him. He wore a dark-blue suit and tie despite the warmth of the evening, laugh lines framed his mouth, and his hair had silvered at his temples. She hadn’t seen him at the club before. She would have remembered.
When she stepped into the clearing, his head lifted. “Good evening, my dear. I was wondering if you’d be brave enough to show yourself.”
She had the oddest urge to curtsy—he seemed almost regal. Instead, she whispered, “Hello, sir,” and glanced around. “May I ask… are you here to give pleasure or pain?”
“That’s up to you.” He patted his lap. “Come here.”
She approached slowly. When she placed her hands on his thighs to lower herself, he stopped her with a quiet cluck of his tongue.
“Never presume. I want you on my lap, not over it.”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide.
“Yes, you heard right. Hurry now. Our time together is brief.”
