She was awakened to the sound of a knife chopping rapid-fire, the sun barely lighting the outside world.
Twenty minutes later, she sat down to a meal ofœufs en cocotte, each in an individual ramekin. Eggs baked in cream with mushrooms, thyme, and an entirely decadent little taste of foie gras.
They ate it with warm bread brushed with melted butter she had a feeling he’d made from raw cream.
Her coffee seemed to have more cream in it than coffee, and was in a handleless cup she thought closer to a bowl than a cup. He dipped his bread into his coffee, so she did the same, and decided this was the best breakfast she’d had since arriving.
She told him so, and the arrogant tilt of his smile said he’d never doubted it for a second. For a happy, fleeting moment she let herself enjoy the simple pleasure of good food and good company.
Then memories returned — the way Knife had fed her steak from his fingers while she hung in his ropes, his enjoyment of the Korean…
The warmth in her chest twisted into something sharp and aching, but she pushed the memory down, took another sip of coffee, and determined to enjoy her morning in Paris withthischarming asshole who also enjoyed good food.
Chapter 35
Miami was all about the seafood, of course. Use what’s fresh and local.
The trick was to provide the normal and boring while also kicking things up to give different and interesting options. A lot of patrons just want fried shrimp and buttery lobster, so you have to provide that, but she had great fun coming up with the perfect ceviche she hoped the marketing team would make this place’s signature dish.
And because she was tasting dishes throughout her days, she had her fill of seafood. And that was fine, but she couldn’t wait to get back home and fix herself a stack of steaks — which of course made her think ofhe-who-would-not-fade-into-the-backgroundlike he damned well should. But she canceled that thought out and enjoyed the marinated stone crab dish she’d come up with.
She ate well and she worked hard. Fourteen-hour days left very little room for anything except exhaustion, and exhaustion was its own kind of mercy.
She didn’t dare run on the beach as a wolf, so she ran on two legs and let the wolf come into her eyes when no one was around. And when they were, the wolf was still high in her psyche, enjoying the smells and sights as much as the human parts of her could allow.
Her wolf hated cities and was always subdued in them, but Tuesday knew this was more, so the beach runs were her way of trying to keep her wolf from being so withdrawn. She knew her inner animal didn’t believe Knife was gone, and thought something would fix the situation when they got home. It wasn’t going to happen, but trying to convince her wolf of that wouldn’t be productive.
She’d hoped to fly home on Friday, but when it looked like she’d be working through the weekend and likely wouldn’t leave until Tuesday, she researched BDSM clubs and found one she could get into based on her contacts in Atlanta.
She arrived late Thursday evening dressed in jeans with casual flats, but changed into a black miniskirt, lacy black bra, and black heels.
She walked around and watched the activity to get the feel of the place, and then introduced herself to a dungeon master who seemed competent and friendly. She explained her desire for super-edgy impact play while blindfolded, and he walked her to an attractive man in his fifties, made an introduction, and left them to figure the rest out.
This dom asked her all the right questions about her experience, how long she’d been in the lifestyle, her expectations for what would happen after, and then finally, what she wanted in the scene. He gave the energy of someone who’d been doing this long enough he had nothing left to prove, and he repeated things back, showing her he’d actually heard what she said.
But telling a Dom what you want can be tricky. On the one hand, they won’t know unless you tell them, but on the other, you can’t dictate the whole scene. You have to respect their position in the power exchange.
“Impact play. My preference is a short and rapid warmup, leading to the edge of what the club allows. Extreme implements — belts, whips, canes — whatever you prefer. I’m not dictating the implements or scene, just trying to let you know I’m looking for edge play and I actually mean it. I hope to have bruises and welts to enjoy as a souvenir for days to come.”
“The house safeword is red, where everything stops. Yellow means back off but I don’t have to stop. I always ask for someone’s personal safeword though, and ask what you wish to happen if you say it.
“It’s ketchup, and that’s a long story, but just check in with me if I say it.”
“Two more questions: How long has it been since you used it, and what was happening when you did?”
Interesting question, and the answer was absolutely going to tell him something about her. “Nearly two years,and he went far past humiliation into degradation. Completely pulled me out of the scene.”
A nod, and he lifted a duffel along with a long tube and motioned for her to follow him. He stopped in front of a Saint Andrew’s Cross in a quieter corner of the main floor. Not private, but away from the main traffic, which made sense because this one had enough space in front of it for a single-tail.
Rather than tell her to strip, he motioned to a cubicle mounted on the wall to the side of the cross, and she undressed down to her lacy black G-string.
He didn’t comment on her choice of how far to strip, merely buckled cuffs onto her wrists and ankles, then connected her to the cross with the efficiency of someone who’d done this ten thousand times and still took the time to do it right.
Then came the blindfold, and her world went dark. It was a good one, with little domes over her eyes so she could open or close them. Didn’t make any difference — she couldn’t see even a sliver of light even with them open.
She breathed out slowly and let the darkness settle into her like something solid. Not absence, but presence. The darkness had weight and texture, and she let it become her whole world while she comfortably leaned against the cross, and refused to let herself wish for discomfort.
Her other senses sharpened immediately. The ambient sounds of the club, a distant impact, someone’s muffled cry. Underneath all of it, the quiet of her own breathing. She focused on her nose, the scents of leather and sweat.
