French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) (8 page)

“For now? Are you considering a move to the great state of Texas? That’d be quite a culture shock, I imagine.”

“Moving from one city to the next doesn’t sound so shocking to me,” Sadie murmured softly.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Arturo watched as Ben pressed a kiss to her temple, noticing the matching wedding bands they both wore and figured there was a story there. Everyone he’d met at the club seemed to have a compelling story, especially the six owners, but getting to know the natives in detail would have to wait until after his mission, so he didn’t push for more.

“I’m in town on business,” he said evasively, as he took a sip of his martini. While he did, he surveyed the lounge area and dance floor in the wall to ceiling mirror behind the bar. Decorated in rich burgundy and gold, the lighting set off the interior design to perfection, the furnishings were plush and plentiful, and arranged closely, which was conducive for intimate conversations despite the noise level. The dance floor beyond the bar was large enough to permit couples to sway close or to writhe and gyrate to music supplied by the top notch band performing live on the stage on the far side of the enormous room. Again, he was surprised that this private sex club rivaled the opulence and style of Baroque, in Lisbon, with its 500-euro minimum, the ultra-exclusive 79 Club in Paris, or the hedonistic escape that was Insomnia in Berlin.

His attention was captured by a half-naked nymph of a submissive leashed and being led across the room by her clamped and chained nipples. Surveying the rest of the members in an array of attire from full body latex, to skimpy club wear or requisite leather, to full on designer evening wear with the sub in silk and lace to match their dom in Armani and a silk tie, he knew nothing in Europe had anything on Club Decadence.

“To answer your other question,” Arturo continued, “although the clubs in Europe are more prevalent and may boast royals on their guest lists, I’ve never been to one with quite the, uh, shall we say panache and vibrancy of your charming club.”

A hand clamped on his shoulder as he finished speaking. “Good to hear, my friend. That’s what we were shooting for when we opened.”

Twisting on his stool, he looked up at the mountain of a man who towered over his own above average six-foot-two-inch frame. A grin split his face.

“Cap,
mon vieil ami
!” he exclaimed as he rose and clasped his old friend’s hand. Ordinarily it would end with a handshake, but they were in Texas so he returned his friend’s shoulder bump and firm slap on the back.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Arturo.” Cap was former Special Forces Captain Tony Rossi; a man he’d first met twelve years earlier while they each served their country in response to the 911 attacks. Arturo, who had dual citizenship, also had the same rank in the UK Special Forces and was leading a Special Air Service—SAS troop—deployed in Iraq and subsequently to Afghanistan. As part of the coalition forces, he’d had the opportunity to team up with Cap and his crack unit of highly skilled Green Berets, many of whom he still worked with, Master Dex included, after retiring to San Antonio.

“I hear you’re here for other than recreation. The General filled me in on what he knows. You have all the resources Rossi can provide should you need it.”

“Which is much appreciated and something I’ll readily take you up on.”

Their eyes met, Tony read the seriousness of his situation easily, and nodded. “Let’s go to the office. I’ll gather the rest of my team and you can fill us all in at once on exactly how we can be of help.”

“I was told you have an excellent computer man.”

“Yes, Jonas Mitchell.” Cap glanced down at his watch. “I haven’t seen him tonight, but he should be along any moment, if he hasn’t already come in the back.” He held out an arm indicating the door in the rear of the lounge marked private. “This way.”

The morning light filtering through the window blinds woke her. Her eyes opened, but she didn’t move, trying to find a reason to get up. There was the boutique. She could run by and check on…

No, Adriana was an efficient manager. She’d only be in the way.

Mari racked her brain trying to come up with some other reason to dress and rejoin the living, but failed. Her kids were gone. Jordan, always Jordy since he was born, was in his junior year at Baylor in Waco, a three-hour drive away, and her baby, eighteen-year-old Beth, was a freshman at Texas Wesleyan, another hour and change beyond that in Ft. Worth.

Neither had chosen Rice, her alma mater, which was at home in Houston. God forbid, they should be so close to their mom. She understood, though. It was a chance to spread their wings as they embarked on this new stage in their lives.

Jordy’s leaving, not long after Derek’s sudden passing, had been hard, but Beth heading off for college only a few months ago had been devastating. Suddenly, she was faced with an empty nest and a bleak glimpse into an even emptier future.

She rolled onto her back. The rub of the sheets on her tender behind a stinging reminder of last night and the behavior she’d exhibited monthly for the past year.

After Derek died, she’d gone numb, the horrific car accident taking so much more from her than a husband and father to her children. Going through the motions for her kids’ sake, it was as if she’d donned a mask, and not a very good one she found out later, but that was all she could manage at the time, and for a long while after. She’d gotten stuck in shock, not progressing through any of the other stages of grief she’d learned about in college, in basic Psych 101. Anger would have been good, or bargaining as any normal person would, but she hadn’t broken out of the fog that had overtaken her for more than a year. When she did finally begin to move again, she bypassed stages two and three and found herself immersed into the worst one of all, depression, and she’d taken up residence there ever since.

Her mother worried, having been through something similar when Mari’s dad had passed from a heart attack at only fifty-one, as did her older sister, Renee. A physician in private practice on the east coast, she’d flown in at her mother’s urging and convinced Mari to begin grief counseling. Not that it had done much good. But time passed and as everyone moved on with their own lives, especially her kids who were growing up, Mari didn’t.

No wonder they hadn’t wanted to stay close to home after high school. With an emotionally obtunded mother casting a gloom over their lives, who could blame them for taking the opportunity to get out, and running away from her like their hair was on fire?

Oh, she hadn’t totally checked out. She’d still done the PTA thing, the booster fundraisers, and attended all their sporting and extra-curricular events, but she’d done so as if a pall had been cast over her, which it had. If she’d shown up in widow’s weeds, with unrelieved black from head to toe, a lace veil covering her face, no one would have been surprised in the least.

They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. She and Derek had hidden their relationship from them all: her children, both of their families, and all of their friends. But when a submissive loses her master of eighteen years, it is more than devastating, it is catastrophic.

Intellectually, she knew what was wrong. She’d lost more than an ordinary man; she’d lost the center of her universe. He was as big as the sun, and she and her children the planets orbiting his brightness and warmth. Derek was the head of the family and the provider, in death he had continued with the latter, leaving her and the children well off in such a way that none of them would ever want for anything. But money couldn’t hug her when she needed it, or make a decision when she couldn’t, or give her the things that she craved that no one could ever know about: control, dominance, erotic pain.

The children grieved the loss of their larger than life father, but as children often did, they bounced back, and quickly proving their resilience, had moved on. Relying on friends for support, they moved seamlessly through the stages unlike their mother.

The first counselor she saw deemed their marriage co-dependent and unhealthy. Mari hadn’t returned for the next session. She’d gone to another and found her judgmental. After the third called her deviant, referring to her and Derek’s dynamic as paraphilic—he being the sadist to her masochist—Mari had given up. And so she remained to this day, stuck in grief and depression.

But as she thought about last night, she wondered for the first time if the therapists weren’t right. Surely it wasn’t normal for a woman to seek out men, virtual strangers for nothing other than kink and a climax, to not want to bond in any way other than through the base animal instinct of raw, carnal sex. It made her feel dirty, and it worsened after every encounter. Never had she felt that way with Derek.

She threw her arm over her eyes, blocking out the light, wondering where she went from here.

Her phone rang, buzzing as it crawled across the nightstand.

Rolling onto her side, she reached for it, noting it was after one o’clock in the afternoon. She’d slept half the day away. Scanning the screen for the incoming number, she frowned at the area code. San Antonio, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Swiping the screen with her thumb, she answered hesitantly. “Hello?”

“Marilee?”

She didn’t recognize the deep, rumbling male voice, but recognized the distinct aura of authority. She stiffened with unease, answering with a tentative, “Yes?”

“Dexter Russell here, from Club Decadence.”

She choked, practically swallowing her tongue. Why was the Master Dom calling her? What could he possibly want?

“Mari? Are you there?”

“Yes, um, sir. I mean, Master Dex.”

“This is an informal call, darlin’. Dex is fine.”

Her brows drew together. What did that mean? The intercession last night and now a call, what on earth was going on?

“Uh, okay, um… Dex.” Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temple. Calling him by his first name was strange and felt oddly uncomfortable. What the heck did he want? “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I was calling to check in. The attendant last night was worried after you flew out of the front door and zoomed out of the parking lot at Mach V. Was there a problem with Master Arturo? He’s a new member. Say so and I can address any issues with him.”

“Oh, no, Mast—” Submissive etiquette, too long ingrained kept her from calling him by name, despite his permission. “Uh, no, sir. Master Arturo was, uh, wonderful. He was polite and acted like a gentleman. I used my safeword and he honored it without question.”

“I’m glad to hear that, although I’ll keep your comments between us. Calling a sadist polite or a gentleman is damning him with faint praise. I’m not sure Arturo will appreciate that getting around.”

“I didn’t mean— Uh, well, it was very nice, the scene I mean.”

He chuckled and she realized that nice wasn’t much better. “Why the sudden exodus, then? Was it something else?”

“No, I just had to be home at a certain time. I live in Houston, you see.”

“I know that Marilee, I have your file here.” He paused. “If you’re certain there is no issue…”

“Everything is fine, sir.”

“Good, then let’s discuss something that isn’t. It seems we were remiss in getting all the required forms signed when you joined. I’ll need you to stop by administration on your next visit and get that taken care of.”

“What forms would that be, sir?”

“Your limit list isn’t complete, which I find an appalling oversight. You didn’t fill out anything beyond the beginner’s checklist.”

“That wasn’t a mistake, sir. It is as far as I’m willing to go, so I didn’t think—”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not a beginner.”

“No, but…”

“And the section on your experience with BDSM, past relationships, etc. is incomplete, which is very sloppy. Who signed you in, might I ask?”

“Um, I’d hate to get anyone in trouble.”

“You aren’t. I’m asking, darlin’. Who was it?”

“I don’t know her name.”

“Describe her to me.”

He wasn’t going to give up. “A small redhead who was very pregnant at the time, so I’m sure she had other things on her mind.”

“Regan,” he replied. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll address it.”

“Is it necessary that you know all of that?”

“Yes. We know that you’re unattached having lost your previous master, your husband, tragically a few years back. You live in Houston, but travel three hours to play here. Beyond that, there are holes we need to fill in. Your next dom will need to know about past relationships and support systems, which are very important in the lifestyle, particularly for submissives.”

A feeling of dread swept through her. She didn’t want them to know, it wasn’t anyone’s business. And she didn’t want to be matched up with a new dominant. Why did everyone think that was a submissive’s goal? A lot of the doms were single, enjoying a variety of play partners. That’s all she wanted. Why couldn’t she be like them?

It occurred to her that could be a problem. Would they dismiss her if she didn’t conform to what they decided was best for her, or normal? Then she’d have to find somewhere else. Maybe she could avoid him, or better, if she stalled long enough, maybe he’d forget. She didn’t visit often, and he was usually busy by the time she arrived. Yes, that’s it. She’d put it off for as long as she could. She found herself answering with what he wanted to hear. “Yes, sir. I’ll stop by on my next visit.” Adding silently,
but it might be several weeks and hopefully by then you will have forgotten all about me.

Silence fell on the other end of the line.

“Right, um, was there anything else, sir? I’m running late for an appointment.” Another lie rolled easily off her tongue. She’d become adept at it in recent months when before, with Derek, he would have taken her to task for even thinking about lying.

“No, that was it. I just wanted to check on you, to be sure.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“I’ll let you go then and look forward to seeing you Saturday to get your file in order. Be there early so it doesn’t interrupt your play, and little one, a word of caution, this isn’t something I’ll likely forget.”

Her mouth fell open. How had he known? Then the rest of his words clicked. “Oh, but, Master Dex, I wasn’t planning another visit so soon.”

When silence greeted her protest, she looked at the screen and realized that he had already disconnected. Mari collapsed back onto her pillows. Closing her eyes, she blew out a calming breath.

It would be a month before the cravings got so bad that she was drawn back to San Antonio. In a month, she could have come up with a reasonable and credible history, and more lies and deceit, but in a week… A knot formed in her belly, like a fist clenching her stomach and not letting go. Maybe she’d just quit. Give it up, tamp it down, and somehow find a way to deny what she was. It’d be tough, but she’d survived much worse.

Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Master Arturo. He’d occupied them all the way home and had invaded her dreams, making her toss and turn all night. None of the others had such an effect on her—ten in all, including one mistress. The latter had been an experiment, thinking with a woman she could let go, take more and still be safe. But she realized a certain degree of arousal was necessary for her and the test had been an unmitigated disaster. The awkward, uninspiring scene had quickly become painful when her body didn’t respond in the least. The domme, who’d been scarier than all of the men combined, had ended the intense session with the crop, released her nipple clamps, and switched off the wand buzzing relentlessly between her legs. Mari had been so uptight even the Magic Wand, the super charged mother of all vibes, hadn’t come close to sparking her arousal. When she’d turned down any sort of aftercare, the mistress had looked at her with a mixture of irritation and sympathy.

“Girl, if you don’t get your head on straight, you’re just spinning your wheels at a club like this. Take my advice and see a shrink instead and stop wasting your money here, as well as everyone’s time.”

Her words had stung even though they were spot on true. Mistress Celeste had caught up to her later when she was exiting the women’s locker room and pressed a slip of paper into her hand.

“A lifestyle friendly shrink, little sub. Call her.”

Mari had found the wadded up paper while cleaning out her car a few weeks later and discarded it. Not willing to see shrink number four no matter how kink-friendly she was supposed to be.

The phone, which she still clutched in a white knuckled grip vibrated as her boring, old-fashioned telephone ring tone sounded. Her kids made fun of it, lacking originality and personality they said, but it suited her just fine: flat, colorless and lifeless.

Listlessly, she put the phone to hear ear. “Yes?”

“Marilee, thank heavens you answered. It’s Adriana. I’ve got to leave town; my mother is ill.”

Sitting up, she reacted. “I’m so sorry, honey. Not too serious, I hope.”

“She’s eighty-six. Everything is serious at her age.”