Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

She pulled herself up short. What was she doing? People who lost a partner often left things undisturbed, not because they were enshrining the deceased, but because of simpler things like procrastination or avoidance. She would give him the benefit of the doubt, instead of leaping to conclusions.

Cleo left the closet, closing the door behind her. She went into the bathroom with a mind to straighten up there as well. She placed the soiled towels and tossed underpants in the hamper and hung fresh towels from the linen closet on the rack. She poked around until she found the cleaning supplies in a cabinet under one of the sinks and cleaned surfaces until the bathroom shone.

As she was wiping down the mirrors, Cleo examined herself in the reflection. There was a sparkle in her eye and the hint of a smile on her lips. She hugged herself, laughing aloud with a joy that was still so new she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

She ran her hands over her body and legs. She should have time for a quick bath, as she needed to be silky smooth for her Master’s return. She turned on the tap to fill the tub.

Moving toward her cosmetic bag, she found her razor and cream, which she set on the lip of the bathtub. She piled her hair on top of her head in a loose knot. Settling herself in the tub, she shaved herself smooth.

Once toweled dry, hair brushed to a shine and a touch of makeup on her face, Cleo left the bedroom, ready to snoop some more. The first room she entered was a typical guest bedroom. The queen-size bed was beautifully covered in pale yellows and blues, with matching bolsters and pillows. There was a free-standing wardrobe and a matching bureau in black lacquer. The room, like the rest of the house, had a sophisticated, artsy feel.

She made her way down to the last room and turned the knob, recalling he’d mentioned an in-house playroom. What delightful, devious restraint devices and sexy bondage equipment awaited her inside?

The knob wouldn’t turn. The door was locked.

Cleo stood still a moment, wondering why Jack would lock the door. Then she remembered his referencing a housekeeper. Perhaps he kept it locked to keep out vanilla prying eyes? That made sense.

Well, she would just have to find the key. She was way too curious to wait for Master Jack’s return. She glanced around the hallway, looking for a hidden nook or cranny and finding none.

She returned to the bedroom. Making her way to the nightstand on Jack’s side, she opened the drawer. There was the usual bedside collection of a packet of tissues, a small flashlight, a few well-thumbed paperbacks, a tube of lip balm, a jar of welt salve, and some lubricant.

But no key.

The other nightstand had clearly belonged to Annette. Cleo sat on the edge of the bed and pulled open the drawer with some trepidation. She really had no business being such a Nosey Parker, a term Auntie Dorie had used that had always made Cleo laugh as a girl. Nevertheless, her fingers picked through the items, including a pair of very soft, much-worn leather wrist cuffs, and a set of clover clamps.

For a moment, she was overcome with sadness, tears pricking her eyes at the loss of Annette, who, despite Cleo’s secret hankering for Master Jack, had been a friend and sister sub, whom she still missed. No wonder poor Jack hadn’t cleaned out her things. It had to be very hard to let go.

Nevertheless, if Cleo was to remain there in Jack’s home, some changes would have to be made. There were too many ghosts in this place—not only Annette’s departed spirit, but all the shared memories of her and Jack’s life together.

“Okay, focus,” she said aloud. Time was growing shorter. Master Jack might be sending that text at any moment, and she had a key to find.

She went through the bureau drawers in each closet—nothing. It was possible Jack kept the key along with his car keys, and she would just have to wait until he came back to see what was in the playroom.

But damn it, she didn’t want to wait!

She returned to the guest bedroom, her phone still in hand. The wardrobe and bureau drawers were empty. She made her way to the small desk. Moving the chair, she opened the drawer and rummaged through the pens, note paper, envelopes and paperclips.

And there it was.

A single key on a keychain shaped like a whip. That had to be it.

Heart pumping, Cleo raced from the room and down to the locked door. Holding her breath, she slid the key in. The lock turned, smooth as you please.

Opening the door, she stepped inside. The blinds were drawn, the room dim. She flicked on the lights and surveyed the space. Though small, it was chock full of marvelous equipment and toys. There was a bondage web in one corner, a sex sling in the other. A St. Andrew’s cross covered in smooth black leather stood in pride of place in the center of the room.