Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

The door to the office was closed. Eric tapped lightly, realizing as he did so that it was actually slightly ajar. He stuck his head in. Olivia, heavily pregnant, was leaning back in the desk chair, one of her bare feet in her husband’s lap. Michael, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was giving her a foot massage.

They both looked over at Eric, Olivia flashing a tired smile. She dangled the strap of a high-heeled shoe in her hand, the other lying beside Michael on the floor.

“Oh, hey,” Michael said. “We’ll be ready in just a few. Olivia’s swollen tootsies are in need of attention. We’ve got an Uber coming in about fifteen minutes. That work?”

“Sure,” Eric said. “We’re in no rush. We’ll hang out till you’re ready.”

He gently closed the door and turned to Rowan, who had stayed in the hallway. “Olivia’s feet are sore, poor baby. Michael’s giving her a quick massage and then they’ll be ready.”

“He’s a good man,” Rowan said.

“He is,” Eric agreed. “Hey,” he suggested, “want to see if anyone’s up on the bondage wheel while we wait?” Eric asked.

“Sure,” Rowan replied.

They started to move past the recovery area, which, Eric now noticed, was occupied by the couple they’d seen earlier using the stocks. The Mistress was seated on the loveseat, her sub boy kneeling on a floor cushion at her feet, his head resting in her lap. She was gently stroking his hair as she murmured something to him.

Rowan stopped so abruptly that Eric nearly stumbled into her. “What is it?” he asked.

She was staring at the couple, her eyes round as plates, her expression shocked. Color was rising in a tide of red over her cheeks. “Oh, my god,” she whispered, her hand coming to her mouth. “It’s…he’s…I can’t believe…”

No doubt feeling their intrusive gazes, the woman lifted her head, fixing them with an imperious gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said somewhat haughtily. “Do we know you?”

Eric looked from the woman to the guy with his head resting in her lap, eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his too-handsome face. As he stared at the last man he ever would have expected to see in that position, he suddenly understood what had Rowan so freaked out.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “Is that…?”

“Your-your sub,” Rowan stammered, addressing the woman. “He’s… I…” She trailed away and turned to look imploringly at Eric. “Help me out here?” she muttered.

His brain functioning once more, Eric said to the woman, “Sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you. We do, in fact, know your, uh, boy. Or we used to.”

John Garfield lifted his head then, his gaze shifting from Eric to Rowan, where it remained. “Oh,” he said slowly, his face paling. “It’s you.”

Rowan leaned into Eric, and he put a comforting arm around her. He’d seen this sort of thing before. While switches weren’t all that common in the scene, they did exist, and apparently this would-be Dom had finally figured out where his true bliss lay, and good for him. Still, this was the last guy he would have figured to make the change. It had to be even more bizarre for Rowan.

“Who are these people to you, Pretty Boy?” the woman asked Garfield.

Pretty Boy? Eric stifled a sudden desire to laugh. It was the perfect moniker.

“That’s her, Mistress Anne,” he replied in a respectful tone. “The one I told you about. Rowan.”

Rowan stiffened a bit at the mention of her name, but didn’t look away.

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Rowan, understanding coming into her face along with what looked like genuine compassion. “He’s told me what happened,” she said, her tone softer now. “Back when he was playing at being a Dom. He’s learned his lesson, I can assure you.”

She gave Garfield a little nudge. “Go on, boy. This is your chance. We’ve talked about this. You know what you need to do.”

“Yes, Mistress Anne,” Garfield whispered. He shifted on the cushion, wincing a little from his recent whipping as he turned to face them, still on his knees. In spite of what he’d done to Rowan, Eric felt a grudging respect for the guy. It had to have taken courage to embrace his inner sub, not something he would have credited John Garfield with being capable of.

“Go on,” Mistress Anne urged quietly. “Make your amends.”

“I…I’m sorry, Rowan,” Garfield blurted. “I’m sorry for how I treated you when I thought I was a Dom.” He swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I get it now. I didn’t listen when you told me what you needed because I didn’t understand what I needed myself. I thought the Dom had to be the boss and call every shot, and that you had no say in it.”

There appeared to be genuine remorse in his eyes as he continued, “I abused your trust. I should have reached out to you sooner to apologize.” An actual tear rolled down the guy’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Rowan, for what I did to you.”