“I’m sorry,” Jordan said, voice raw as he gathered her close. “I got caught up.”
“Did she give you her safeword?” Rhys asked.
“No, Master Rhys,” the sub whispered, voice barely there. “I should have—before I couldn’t.”
“Your name?”
“Cissy, sir.”
“You’re both new. Mentoring would serve you well.”
They nodded.
“Could you do it?” Jordan asked.
“Ordinarily, I would be honored to, but I’m tied up with work and monitoring.” Seeing his disappointment, he added, “I’ll speak with Master Dev and see who’s available.”
“We would appreciate that, sir,” the younger man said.
From a fellow dom, the formal address was unnecessary and made him feel older than he was. "Make sure she drinks plenty of water," he told him. “Chocolate sometimes helps. Talk it through, but no more scenes tonight.”
“Yes, Master Rhys,” they said together.
He gave them an encouraging smile. “We’ll get you where you want to be.”
With Cissy stable and Jordan clear-eyed, he returned to the playroom.
Leland was circulating when he arrived.
“You’re not on duty tonight,” Rhys said.
“Your relief’s running late. Flat tire,” Leland replied. “You’ve been on since six—go get a drink. I’ll cover until Boone gets here.”
Rhys scanned the room. Every station was full. Typical of a Saturday.
“I’ve already intervened twice.”
“Full moon,” Leland said dryly.
As if summoned, Boone appeared in the doorway looking harried.
“I’ll brief him,” Leland offered, “then join you for a whiskey.”
Rhys snorted. “You drink your rotgut. I’ll have a single-malt Scotch, neat.”
He waved off Boone’s rushed apology and headed down the hall into the Florida night. The heat and humidity hit him like a slap after the club’s cool interior, but he was getting used to it.
The bar lay to the left. He took a few steps, maybe four, then he saw her.
Dark curls spilled down her back. Golden skin revealed by a backless halter showcasing the delicate curve of her spine. Long legs that could wrap around a man and pull him in.
He stopped cold, a warning hammering through him. Rhys drew a long breath in and let it out just as slowly.
Focus, Langston.
The pull between them wasn’t the problem. Trust was.
Needing distance from her gravitational pull—and the memory of how she’d melted under his hands, submitting when she wasn’t submissive—he pivoted away from the bar and from her.
