“Hello.”
Scott jerked to his feet. The metal legs of his chair scraped loudly against the rough concrete floor before it toppled over and clattered to the floor.
If he’d been able to tear his gaze away from Joe, Scott would have checked if Frank, or the other security guy who was enjoying a quiet smoke with him at the back door of the club, had turned to glare at him. But it was no use. Joe held Scott enthralled the moment he saw him. No one else existed in his world.
“Have you been doing what you’re told?” Joe asked.
“Yes, s-sir.”
Joe indicated that Scott should pick up his chair and sit down. Joe pulled up another seat and sat down opposite him. There was no other furniture in the room. It looked more like a storeroom than anything else, except perhaps a prison cell. Since it was tucked away at the back of a leather club, the odds on which it actually was were probably close to even.
“You l-look great, sir,” Scott blurted out. It was nothing less than the truth, but that didn’t mean that Scott had the right to say it. He was reasonably sure that this was the type of club where a sub didn’t have any rights at all.
Damn, he should never have spoken without permission. Scott’s pulse doubled.
“One,” Joe pointed to a fingertip, the same way he had the last time they met up. “Don’t worry about fitting in—I’ve brought something for you to change into.” He moved on to the next finger. “Two, there’s no one here you need to be afraid of. Most of the guys look psychotic, but I can tell you something about every man here that would make you see him in a whole new light.”
Scott hadn’t intended to look sceptical, but maybe his face had a different idea, because Joe raised an eyebrow as if accepting a challenge.
“See that guy talking to Frank, the one with the flame tattoo running up the side of his neck?”
Scott nodded. The guy was certainly memorable.
“His name’s Tony. His favourite hobby is crochet—I think that’s a kind of knitting, or something. He makes these weird little animal, monster things and sells them on the ‘net. Apparently, they make good money.”
Scott blinked and checked the guy out as discretely as possible, just in case there was something un-terrifying about him that he’d missed earlier on.
“And Frank—he’s seriously into breeding Persian cats—you know, the ones Bond villains like to stroke when they’re plotting to take over the world. He has far more cat toys in his place than he has cat-o-nine-tails, and that’s saying something.”
Scott smiled slightly as he tried to picture Frank petting a fluffy little kitten and failed.
“They’re just ordinary guys who happen to like playing with handcuffs—just like you and me. You’re as good as any man in this place, Scottie, and you’ve got as much right to be here as anyone else. Understand?”
Scott nodded. He certainly knew what each of Joe’s individual words meant. Believing what they amounted to when joined together, that was more difficult, but Scott took a deep breath and gave it his best shot.
When the silence became uncomfortable, Scott cleared his throat. “Am I allowed to ask w-w-why we’re here, s-sir?”
“Because, as much as I’d like to keep you to myself forever, we need to be seen together in public properly before you develop some stupid idea about me being ashamed of you or some other bull like that.”
Scott shook his head.
“We’re not going to stay long, but we are going into the club,” Joe said firmly. “We’re going to have a drink. I’ll introduce you to a few people. Everyone will see us together. Then, when I’m sure that you reallybelieveI’m happy for the whole world to know we’re together, we’ll go back to my place and have hot, rough, amazing sex. Sound good?”
Scott nodded. He really liked the last part of the plan, if nothing else.
“Any questions?” Joe asked.
“If I said that I b-b-believe you’re not ashamed of me, can we skip forward to the b-bit where we go back to your place and—?”
“No.” The word wasn’t snapped or shouted. Joe said it perfectly pleasantly, but also with the sure knowledge that he had the last say in the matter—ineverymatter. “But there’s one more thing we have to sort out before we go into the club,” Joe added.
For the first time, Scott took an interest in the sports bag that Joe had brought into the room with him. It lay on the floor at Joe’s feet. As Scott watched, Joe bent forward and unzipped a compartment.
“I have to get ch-ch-changed,” Scott remembered. His heart sank as he saw Joe had only opened a very small partition at the far end of the bag. Whatever costume he considered appropriate for Scott to wear, it couldn’t be much bigger than the cock ring he’d worn at the boots only night.
“No, before that, too,” Joe corrected.
“Oh.” Scott smiled in relief.
