Leland stood alone, a drink in hand, watching the dancers with that still, unreadable focus she’d once mistaken for depth.
He wasn’t classically handsome. He was big, rugged, tattooed, his head smooth-shaven, his presence impossible to ignore. But it wasn’t his looks that made her heart race and her long to be his. It was his presence—commanding, confident, and a little dangerous. With an unshakeable certainty that drew the submissive in her like a magnet.
She knew his reputation. Not a forever dom. A confirmed bachelor who avoided repeat scenes to prevent confusion. But when he approached with an invitation to play, of course, she’d said yes. Every available sub in the club would have. He’d taken her breath away, and they hadn’t even had sex. Just his voice, his hands, his control, had been enough to leave her trembling.
The second time had been a shock. She’d only dreamed of another chance with him. Even the other subs had been surprised.
Her friend Deanna had pulled her aside afterward, eyes wide. “I’ve watched Master Leland for three years,”she’d whispered. “This is the first time I’ve seen him stray from his rigid no-strings rule.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.” Deanna’s hand curled around her forearm. “But as a friend, please be careful with your heart. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
But the warning did the opposite, giving her hope. If he’d broken his rules for her, maybe she was the exception.
Then came the third time.
The intensity in his eyes that night had convinced her she wasn’t imagining it. The scene, riding double on one of the Sybian saddles in the playroom, with sex this time, had rocked her world. They’d parted with a kiss so passionate her knees had shaken.
He’d made no promises, but it had been enough to solidify her hope. Enough to make her believe she mattered.
And then, nothing.
No message. No approach. No acknowledgment.
Only silence.
Cari, Emily, and Greta had all told her he was busy with work. It was all over the news. Sex trafficking. Ugly. Unthinkable. Shut down by Leland and several other doms at the club who also worked for Devil. But a month had passed. In all that time, he couldn’t have texted?
Julia swallowed hard, her chest tightening. She needed to know why. She needed to know if she’d done something wrong. If she’d misread everything. If she’d imagined the connection she thought she felt.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she crossed the patio toward him.
“Master Leland.”
He looked down at her, expression composed. “The club is closed, Julia. It’s just Leland tonight.” His gaze swept over her soft pink dress fluttering in the breeze, and something flickered in his eyes. “You look lovely.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest, but it vanished just as quickly when his attention slid back to the dance floor.
“Aren’t you dancing?” she asked, trying for lightness.
“I don’t dance.”
“You never learned? I could—”
“It’s not that I can’t dance,” he clarified. “I choose not to.”
The music slowed, filling the space between them. She didn’t want to ask, but she had to.
“Did I do something wrong?”
His hand tightened around his glass. “No,” he answered.
It was too fast, too sharp, revealing a crack in his vaunted composure.
“Then why haven’t you spoken to me since?”
He drew a slow breath, eyes fixed on the dancers. “I was up front with you. No strings. No expectations. That was our agreement.”
