Marcus’ jawtightened. “No.”
There was no need for violence. Some men physically punished submissives for stepping out of line, but to Marcus, words were enough. The only pain he cared for was in accompaniment to pleasure, and he did not seek pleasure with Boy. There wasn’t anything appealing about thethought.
Notanymore.
“You will do as I say,” Marcus said with conclusive severity. “That’s all I wantfromyou.”
Boy looked at him with imploring eyes, but Marcus’ decision was final. He handed Boy the fruit salad, and Boy dropped his gaze and startedtoeat.
Fifteen minutes later, he was out the door. The only signs that he’d once been there were the empty bowl in the sink and the lingering scent of omega intheair.
Another meaningless Friday night. Another submissive who was gorgeous, but who lacked the connection that Marcus found himself aching for. Another lonely Saturdaymorning.
Maybe Crawford was right. Maybe it was time that he broke from the formula and went outside his comfort zone. Trained submissives had lost their appeal, and while mindless sex was fun, Marcuscravedmore.
He mulled it over as he sipped at his coffee and observed the city from hiswindow.
What more was there that he could want? His high-pressure career as a criminal defense attorney kept his mind active and his bank account padded. He lived in luxury. There wasn’t a thing in the world that Marcus wanted butcouldn’thave.
Except the genuine, heartfelt touch ofanother.
He pushed the thought aside. When Crawford’s wedding came, he’dreconsiderit.
For now, he’d chase satisfaction through the only channels he’d ever known. Next Friday, he’d show up at The Shepherd just likealways.
And just like always, Marcus knew he’d leavealone.
3
Lucian
By daylight,The Shepherd didn’t dazzle. Lucian squinted up at the neon sign over the door, presently unlit. As far as he could tell, the building was well-maintained—there were no signs of spiderwebs or bird nests between the glass tubes, which suggested that it was better cared for than most places. The establishment was flat-roofed, so Lucian couldn’t get a feel for the integrity of the entire structure, but the facade showed signs of a recentsandblasting.
It wasn’t a dive bar, but it didn’t exactly scream luxury,either.
That was fine by Lucian. If the inside matched the outside, he’d fitrightin.
With one last, grounding breath, Lucian pulled the front door open and stepped inside. He found himself in a tiny lobby facing another set of doors. To the right was a counter,unoccupied.
“Hello?” Lucian cast a quick look at the counter, then made his way to the second door. It was heavier, and he found himself tugging harder than he’d thought necessary to get it tobudge.
The door parted from its frame sluggishly, and as it did, Lucian found himself overlooking a vast, empty dance floor. The lights were dim, and the wide-open space was eerie without anyone around tofillit.
“Ms. Holt?” Lucian called. He wondered if he had the wrong time. “Hello?”
“Hello!” A voice called from somewhere far away. Lucian squinted into the room, trying to see where it was coming from. “Sorry, I’m running a little late. I’ll be with you in a minute. Make yourselfathome.”
‘At home’ didn’t feel possible with a space so wide and dim, but Lucian made the most of it. He left the doorway and crossed the dance floor. Each step he took clacked and echoed. At night, when the place was packed, it was probably a great time. In the middle of the day, all on his own, it fellshort.
As Lucian explored, he discovered a staircase at the far end of the room leading to the second floor. He approached it. The closer he came, the more he was able to see. The stairs were large enough for two to climb side by side without feeling crowded. Its banister was elegant, but understated. Strips of glossy black non-slip material marked the edge of each tread, both to draw the eye to the end of each step and to lend traction to those who made their way upordown.
Lucian came to a stop short of the stairs when a shadow blotted out some of the light reflecting in the black non-slip strips. He glanced toward the upper landing to discover a woman was on her way down. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders, loosely curled and bouncing with each step she took. She wore a smart suit jacket that lent class to her fitted jeans. If Lucian had to guess, he’d say she was in her late twenties—the energy in her step and her style of dress suggested youngprofessional.
Lucian watched as she hurried down the stairs, a folder tucked beneath her arm. When she arrived at the last step, she came to a stop and smiled at him. He smiled back, doing his best to look approachable and open. If he fucked this up, he wouldn’t be able to forgivehimself.
“Mr. Bracknell?” The woman’s voice matched ClarissaHolt’s.
“That’s me.” Lucian stepped forward to meet her. When he was in range, Clarissa offered her hand. Lucian shook it. “Thank you forseeingme.”
