Doll Parts (The Game 4)

“Whoa. I was gonna meet Kingsley today.”

Cameron smirked. “That makes sense. They have an open relationship, and Kingsley goes above and beyond to find subs Tate can take out his tiny inner SadoDom on.”

Sounded about right.

“But with KC—I don’t know,” he went on pensively. “I’ve never seen him with anyone who might be a steady partner. Plenty of public play, no strings. He’s just always there. He and River—one of the twins you saw today—have put together fucking amazing displays of interrogation play and mind games.”

Shit, for real? Well, I guessed since KC was a lawyer… But he was so nice! And warm and gentle and Daddy-like. I couldn’t picture him as a Sadist of any kind.

It was an…exciting idea, though. Sadists were fun. Primal Sadists were my crack.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “The last thing I need is another fantasy starring KC.”

Cameron grinned and gripped the handlebar above him as the train skidded along the tracks. “He’s nice to fantasize about. I can’t blame you.”

I lifted a brow and smirked slyly. “Have you fantasized about him?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve played with him too—but it was nonsexual.”

Motherfucker. I was jealous. I felt the rock of obsidian envy drop to my gut, and I couldn’t hide it for crap. It wasn’t necessarily the play—okay, that too—but the simple fact that Cameron existed in the world KC had chosen as his own. One where I wasn’t welcome.

It hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Cameron said with a wince. “Next time I see him, I will tell him he’s a dick for shutting you out.”

I snorted, seeing the humor but not feeling well enough to laugh. “Thanks, but don’t. In fact, it’s better you don’t mention me at all. He’s made his choices.”

He grimaced.

Was I broken? Was there something wrong with my genetic makeup?

On the one hand, I was still checking out Doms and Sadists at every event I attended, and I explored plenty.

On the other hand, every time I met up with Cameron… Getting to know him was beginning to be painful because I wanted stuff. With him. He was so funny and smart and sweet.

The first week after we met, I invited him to come watch my band, and he lit up and hugged me tightly after the show. Then we had a bunch of beers and shots together before we went to a club and danced all night.

The second week, I caught the end of his dance squad rehearsal, and he was so fucking amazing that I lost my words. Afterward, we went back to my place, he cooked dinner, and we played video games till four in the morning.

Two months after that, he landed his dream job at some agency that happened to be three blocks from the Hollister where I worked, and we started going to lunch together. Sometimes, he brought his own creations in Tupperware containers. Sometimes, we grabbed a burger. Sometimes, I brought sandwiches.

He was quickly becoming a permanent fixture in my life, one I craved hearing from as much as possible. Whether we went to a club or spent hours playing video games, or whether we talked about Doms we wanted to play with or we discussed taking a road trip to Florida together, I loved every minute I spent with Cameron.

But how did that work? How was it even possible for me to be so attracted to someone who shared the same desire for a kinky lifestyle as me? AKA, we both wanted BDSM to play a significant role in our everyday lives, and we both craved dominance. He didn’t have a bossy bone in him.

After stepping out of the shower, I toweled off and checked my phone. Shit, I was late. I’d have to overthink about Cameron another time. I was meeting up with him at a gay bar in twenty-seven minutes to introduce him to a new Dom I’d been playing casually with for a few weeks. Sloan was a tattoo artist who had recently given me my first tattoo. Well, several tattoos that made up a sleeve. It’d been six painful sessions, but I was in love with the punk rock theme.

“You hooking up with gorgeous Doms all over DC is kind of fucking with my plan to recruit you to House Mclean,” Cameron noted.

I laughed and absently drummed my fingers against the table. He was right; Sloan was fucking gorgeous—and easygoing and so masculine and rugged. And right now, he was buying us drinks.

It was a buzzing place, small and intimate yet full and lively. Tealights on the tables, dimmed lighting, live music, bunch of rockabilly posters on the walls, and mismatched furniture. It was my kind of bar, and we’d managed to snag a table in the back where a bench seat lined the wall.

“How many have you been with in the months I’ve known you?” Cameron asked curiously.