Pink blossomed in Ivy’s cheeks. “It’s where a Dom will, um, touch you. So you get really close to an orgasm, but then they stop before you actually get any relief. And then they keep doing that over and over. It’s the worst thing in the whole world.”
“And Cordelia does that to punish you?”
“Sometimes.” Ivy shrugged. “And sometimes she does it just because she’s mean and I’m hers and she can.”
God, she had so many questions. Because all of that sounded absolutely awful, and yet, Ivy clearly enjoyed being Cordelia’s submissive. And Lottie seemed?—
Nope. Not going there. I am not going to start wondering about what my friend does with my dad in bed. Nope, nope, nope.
The elevator dinged and Ivy led the way to a large room made entirely of windows, giving everyone a clear view of her father’s office. Which meant zero privacy for?—
Stop. It.
Maybe she didn’t want a membership at the club, after all. Surely there had to be other places in Charleston to learn about this kinky stuff. Somewhere she wasn’t constantly reminded that her father and her uncles were doing… that.
Ivy opened the small silver clutch in her hand and pulled out a key to unlock the office door. Stepping inside, she gestured for Aria to follow her. “Blankets and snacks are in that cabinet”—she pointed to a large armoire situated beside a rather ornate wooden desk—“and there’s a tablet in the top right drawer of his desk. He keeps both locked, but the code for the tablet is your birthday and there’s a spare key for the drawer hidden in the bathroom. Lottie keeps an extra in the false bottom on one of the jars in there.”
“I assume if Lottie’s hiding it, my dad doesn’t know about it?”
“It does, and we’re going to keep it that way.”
Eyes widening at the unexpected firmness in Ivy’s tone, Aria nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Grin flashing, Ivy gave her own decisive nod. “Good. Braden keeps a few different kinds of whiskey in here, but if you want wine or something there’s a fully stocked bar out and to your right. Just make sure you wash whatever you use and put it back where you found it or Tara will have my ass.”
“Tara?”
“Our head bartender. She wields a mean crop when she’s pissed.”
Confused and now more overwhelmed than she would ever admit out loud, Aria frowned. “But… you’re Cordelia’s.”
One slender shoulder lifted in a shrug as if to say it didn’t matter. “I am. Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t tie me up herself to let Tara have a go at me, especially if she thought I deserved it.” Head tilted to the side, Ivy smiled dreamily. “Of course, we haven’t played with anyone else since Jacob came along because he’s still so new to all this. We have finally gotten him comfortable with some public play, though. Baby steps, you know?”
She knew, at least a little, about the boy who’d escaped a fundamentalist cult and ended up with two women who absolutely doted on him—when they weren’t busy tormenting him, that was.
“Anyway.” Ivy straightened and waved around the office. “Make yourself at home. Your uncles probably won’t stay more than an hour, if that. If I had to guess, they promised your dad they’d make an appearance to ensure we’re all behaving ourselves. Once they’re satisfied we aren’t going to burn the place down, they’ll head home. Damian and Emily might do a scene but he usually?—”
The horror of hearing any details about her uncle and his pretty wife overrode any lingering curiosity Aria might have had about the club. “Okay, okay, I get it! You can stop now!”
“Sorry.” Ivy’s grin flashed, and Aria was left with the impression she wasn’t actually that sorry at all. “I just mean to say, I’ll be back up soon to let you know the coast is clear.”
“Thanks, Ivy.”
“No problem. Be back in a bit!”
The door shut behind her, leaving Aria alone in her father’s office.
At the sex club he owned.
With her uncles.
Not weird at all.
The curiosity that had brought her here in the first place crept back in, nudging aside her discomfort, at least enough for her to wander over to the armoire Ivy had pointed out earlier. Inside were, as promised, several fluffy blankets as well as buckets of snacks. She recognized the chocolate-covered pistachios Lottie had raved about a few months back, declaring them to be her ‘new favorite food ever’.
Aria smiled as she ran her fingers over the package. It was so like her dad to remember someone’s new hyperfixation food and ensure it was kept on hand. He’d been the same with her, growing up. All she had to do was mention something offhand and the next time she came to visit, there it was. A new poster of her favorite band for her bedroom, a food she’d said she’d liked in the kitchen, a book she’d paused to look at in the store sitting on her bedside table.
Another little prickle of guilt niggled at her as she closed the doors to the armoire and eyed its mate on the other side of the desk. Braden Elliott had never denied his daughter anything unless he had a damn good reason. Which meant he had a good reason for not letting her into his club, or at least what he thought was a good reason.
