Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(18)

The night went on.

Josie hadn’t made more errors—she hoped—and she’d had wonderful conversations with the members. Well, except for a few. From the glares, Amber had friends who blamed the newly hired bartender for her punishment. She had the urge to yell, it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong.

Well, her father had taught her at a young age that protesting never made a difference.

As the hour grew late and the club quieter, she had the time to watch the roped-off scenes. The sessions reminded her of performance art, except…the tops and bottoms rarely seemed aware of observers. They were engrossed in what was happening and in each other.

Each scene was different. She watched canings, spankings, floggings. Dripping wax on bare skin. Tying a person up in elaborate ways. Sparking electrical wands applied to body parts—even intimate places.

One Domme had actually stuck needles into her female submissive. Josie’d kept her back turned until that scene was over. Sheesh. However, most of the other stuff was mesmerizing. And sexy.

Apparently, there weren’t any restrictions on nakedness or on sexual activity. Private parts were fondled—or slapped—or stuck with needles—or… Cullen had mentioned there were private rooms upstairs where members could play—or have sex—without being observed. But some members went ahead and had their sex right out in public.

She had no words. And she grew far too aware of the throbbing of her breasts, the dampness of her thong. Every inch of her skin felt over-sensitive.

But she wasn’t here to play. She was here to serve drinks, and bartending was bartending, no matter where. She enjoyed talking with the club members here as much as she had with her Highlands customers. Once away from their roped-off areas, BDSM people were pretty normal. They, too, had the age-old problem of finding the right person or getting attached to the wrong one. Of breaking up or being cheated on.

As her customers chatted with her, she’d learned about new kinds of problems. Like “wrapping” a flogger, which meant the tips of the leather strands would curve around the target area to whip against the other side—in this case, the submissive’s breasts. Holy hell. As she listened, Josie realized she’d crossed her arms over her chest.

A gay submissive confessed he had burst into giggles during an intense moment and annoyed his Dom.

A Top told her he’d done a suspension scene, twirled the woman in the ropes—and made her so sick to her stomach, she’d thrown up.

Then there was this woman… Josie frowned and studied the only person at the bar who didn’t seem to want to talk.

In her late twenties, the tiny Latina woman sat with her shoulders slumped, drinking from her own bottle of water. Earlier, one of the woman’s friends—another submissive—had come over, then given up when the Latina hunched away.

She wasn’t speaking with her friends. Even though there were comfortable chairs throughout the clubroom, the woman had chosen to sit at the bar. To Josie, that was an invitation to talk or a plea for attention.

Josie walked over and leaned her forearms on the bar top. “Good evening. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No. Thank you. This water is enough.” The lady didn’t look up.

Since the bar was mostly empty, Josie took a glass from the rack Peggy had brought from the utility room. The sweet older woman, who did general cleanup and kept the bar furnished with clean glasses, was the only employee other than Josie during the club’s open hours. Everyone else was a volunteer—including the submissives serving two-hour barmaid shifts.

With a fresh towel, Josie started buffing the wine glass to a gleaming shine—not that it needed it, but it gave her a reason to stand there. Not talking, just staying close.

The woman’s shoulders straightened slightly, and she took another sip of her water. Her brows drew together. “Aren’t those already washed?”

“Mmmhmm. But I like to make them even shinier.”

Brown eyes lifted. “Really?”

“If I have the time, why not?”

There, the lady was breathing easier.

Josie found her own chest relaxing. “It kind of hurts to see someone looking unhappy. Do you need a buffing up, too?”

The woman gave a tiny snort of laughter. Her smile faded quickly. “It’s nothing. I just get s-subdrop sometimes.” The melodic Hispanic-accented voice had a hitch in it, and tears welled in her brown eyes.

“Um. I’m new to the club, and I don’t know what subdrop is.”

The woman’s attempt at a smile broke Josie’s heart. “It’s like after a scene, especially an intense scene, you go from being really high on endorphins and stuff, and then everything drops out and leaves you miserable.”

“That sounds horrible. What can I do to help?”

Another tear slid down her cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

Josie tried not to scowl. “Isn’t the person you played with supposed to, like, stay with you afterward or something?”

“She…she isn’t into aftercare.”

Huh. Someone really needed a hug. What were the boundaries on personal touch in this place? “I’m Josie. Am I allowed to ask your name?”

Another tiny smile. “Sure. Natalia. Don’t worry, Josie. I just need to sit for a few minutes before I drive home.”