The younger dom tried. Better this time.
The instructor gave a small nod. “Good. Again.”
Rachel moved closer, and said softly, “That’s Master Jonathan. He’s one of the better ones here. Careful. Not flashy. Knows how to read a sub.” She paused. “Still looking for the one, though.”
Julia didn’t answer, just watched.
The older man moved around the kneeling woman, adjusting her posture with a light touch beneath her chin and along her back, encouraging a deeper arch. It was less about putting on a show and more about the quiet authority that came with experience. He controlled the scene without needing to command the room around him.
For a second, temptation tugged at her. This was why she’d come here, wasn’t it? To move on. To feel something again. But he reminded her too much of the man she was trying—and failing—to forget.
Stop it, a voice in her head demanded.
It wouldn’t be the same. Different voice. Different touch. Different instincts.
The flogger rose again. Demonstrating another throw, the mentor snapped the tails lightly over the woman’s thighs. Before the next one, he paused, pushing up his sleeves to his elbows.
Julia’s breath caught. Not because of the stroke. Because of the dark ink winding up his forearm and disappearing beneath the rolled fabric. It was too much. Too familiar.
She looked away, clearing her throat. “I think I’m done for the night.”
Rachel studied her, not pushing. “Fair enough. But before you go, I want to give you something.”
She led her to the bar where she grabbed a cocktail napkin and a pen from behind the counter, jotting something down quickly before sliding it to her.
“There’s a private play party coming up soon,” she said. “Invite-only. Better crowd. I can bring a guest.”
Julia looked at the napkin. Time. Location. A name she didn’t recognize. Even though she already knew she wasn’t going, she nodded as though she might, tucked it into her wristlet wallet, and headed for the exit.
It was raining when she stepped outside. The doors shut behind her with a dull thud, muffling the noise of the club. She paused on the sidewalk, looking around for her ride. A warm rain drifted down from a low blanket of clouds, soaking her instantly.
She closed her eyes and stood there dripping, taking stock. Coming here didn’t make her feel better, but it didn’t make her feel worse, either. That was progress, she supposed.
Maybe Lady Jane had been right. Maybe she was closing herself off. Or maybe the problem wasn’t the clubs, or the doms. What if every road she tried to take led her to the same impossible place? Back to him?
At the honk of a horn, she opened her eyes. An Uber idled at the curb. Julia raised her hand and headed that way.
As she stepped out of the circle of light, she noticed the small camera above the entrance. Its red indicator light blinked steadily through the rain. Tracking and recording.
Self-conscious suddenly, and aware of the way her dress clung to her body, her nipples hard and obvious through the drenched material, she folded her arms over her chest and hurried toward the waiting car.
***
He remained where the shadows allowed him to go unnoticed, beyond the spill of light from the entrance. The rain had started again. Drizzling at first, getting steadier, it kept people from lingering outside. Some hurried toward their cars, heads down, keys already in hand, attention split between the night and whatever waited for them at home. It made them easier to approach. Easier to manage.
Not her.
She was alone when she stepped outside and paused, as if orienting herself. The rain darkened her hair and dress, both clinging to her skin. She didn’t seem to notice. Or didn’t care.
He watched the way she stood there. Not uncertain. Unmoored. A subtle distinction, but an important one.
He recognized the strain beneath her composure. Most people missed it, distracted by surfaces—beauty, charm, and performance. He looked for what people tried to hide. And tonight, something underneath her surface had cracked.
For a moment, he allowed himself to consider the obvious. He was human, after all.
The rain-soaked fabric outlined her body as she stood there. Distracted. Exposed. Accessible. Desire tightened low, uncomfortable enough he adjusted the front of his jeans. Irritation followed immediately. He couldn’t afford to be sloppy or undisciplined. He wasn’t a fool who mistook impulse for instinct.
The waiting and planning mattered. Allowing the anticipation to sharpen before acting. Patience separated predators from amateurs.
