Not Safe for Work(68)

He met my gaze, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I’m counting on it.”

Are we there yet?

I schooled my expression, though. Calm. Cool. Controlled. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m…” He paused, the mischievousness faltering for a split second. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” I put a hand on his shoulder. “We can stay home. There’s a dungeon right here in the house.”

“No, I—” Rick blew out a breath. “Today was kind of rough. Just a lot of shit hitting a lot of fans.” He swept his tongue across his lips as he met my gaze. “To be honest, I need this tonight.” He smiled, and after a second, it seemed less forced. “I want to do this. And total immersion into that world sounds like the perfect way to forget about this one for a little while.”

I studied him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He gestured dismissively. “It’s just been a long week.”

“Longer than normal?”

“Much.” He rolled his shoulders, revealing the very tension he was probably trying to get rid of. “Butting heads with city planners, trying to avoid a media circus about some toxic shit that was found—and cleaned up—in one of the factories we bought.” He waved his hand. “It’s par for the course, but it’d be nice if it didn’t all hit the fan at once.”

I nodded. “I’m with you on that. One thing at a time would be nice.”

“Very.”

“Well, tonight”—I slid my hand across his stomach and around to his side, drawing him to me—“I fully intend to distract you from anything that isn’t in the same room.”

He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

“Just remember, safe words still apply. You can use it at any time.”

Rick nodded.

I grinned. “I’ll get my keys.”

*

The club was actually an enormous house outside of town. Ironically, it was a place that Mitchell & Forsythe had designed years ago. I still had to chuckle sometimes whenever I walked past our display cases in the lobby. There was a beautiful photo on the wall, and below that, the model I’d built ten or twelve years ago. If the partners only knew what the mansion’s east wing was used for.

Or, for that matter, who was beside me tonight as I walked in through the immense French doors, not to mention what was in the backpack I’d made him carry. What they didn’t know didn’t hurt us.

New arrivals were required to attend an orientation unless they were attending with a member who’d been with the club for at least three years. I’d been here for seven, so Rick was exempt. He signed the waiver, agreed to stay with me his entire first evening, and we went inside.

First stop, the ballroom. Rumor had it, the owner held parties in here where the state’s richest and most influential gathered to talk politics, but wouldn’t they be shocked if they knew this was the social area for a thriving BDSM club?

At the moment, a couple dozen leather-clad people were sipping drinks—nonalcoholic, of course—and socializing. Three Doms chatted on an antique sofa while their subs sat on the floor by their feet. On the other side of the room was a small group of guys who looked like bikers but were probably just everyday average joes in real life. Behind them, two women and two men gestured at collars and leashes. They were, it appeared, the submissives of the bikers, and were having an animated, in-depth conversation about their various accoutrements.

Next to me, Rick scanned his surroundings. Eyes wide, features taut… This wasn’t the man I was used to seeing at work. I’d never seen him nervous in a group of people. Usually, he was calm and cool, but now he was looking around warily.

I wrapped my arm around his waist. “You all right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s, uh, definitely new.”

“It’s not too late to turn around.”

“No.” Still watching everyone around us, he shook his head. “I don’t want to turn around. I want to do this.”

I searched his expression. He was edgy tonight, and the tension from his job was palpable. Yeah, he needed this. I definitely understood that. “Are you ready?”

He cast one more sweeping glance around and then whispered, “Yes.”

“Look at me.”

He faced me, and we locked eyes.

“I’m in charge tonight,” I said, hardening my voice. “Anything I say, goes. Understood?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and good God, he really did need this, didn’t he? The tightness visibly melted out of his neck and shoulders. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, and rolled his shoulders. Exhaling, he nodded. “Yes. Anything you say goes.”

“Good. And your safe word?”

“Red.”

“Use it any time. No questions asked.”

“Understood.”

I kissed his cheek and slipped my hand into his. “For now, let’s look around and see what everyone else is doing. Maybe get some…ideas.”

A grin curled his lips. “I’ll follow you.”

I led him out of the ballroom and into the maze of hallways extending deeper into the house. Here, there were three large play areas out in the open where people could watch others play. This was exhibitionist and voyeur paradise—people were not only allowed to gather and watch, but were encouraged to do so. The other rooms were semi-open—they could be closed off for privacy or left open for the occasional voyeur or for the comfort of a submissive who wanted to be reassured that there were others nearby.