“Dad, give me a bloody minute!” King looked momentarily taken aback by Harry’s harshness, but he did as his son said.
“I’ll get your friends,” Harry said.
“Let them stay. Enjoy themselves.” I checked to see that the coast was clear and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’ll get a cab home and go to bed.” I could see that Harry wanted to come too. “Go do your speech. Knock ’em dead.”
“Can I come to you? Later? To your home? I know we haven’t really done that yet, but—”
“Yes,” I said immediately. This man was my personal kryptonite. “I’d love that. Text me when you’re on your way.”
Harry raised his hand and led me to a cab that stopped at the curb. He opened the door, gave the driver my address, and kissed me on my lips. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
As the cab pulled onto the road, I closed my eyes. I had everything I needed for my big feature now. I knew who Maître was. My stomach rolled with nerves wondering what Harry would make of the feature when it was done. He would find out about my time at NOX. But he couldn’t be mad. It was before we were even a thing. But for some reason my heart was in knots the entire journey home, aching in my chest, a dull but persistent pain.
It only worsened when Harry climbed into bed with me two hours later, slipping inside me and breaking me apart into nothing but cells that were desperate to join with his. As Harry fell asleep, holding me tightly to his chest, I knew what I had to do the next night.
Then I’d be Harry’s. Completely. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
An outfit was laid out for me in my private changing room as always. Tonight’s selection was a patent leather bra and panties set with removeable cups. I ran my hand over the material and couldn’t help but smile. I had grown to love this place. It was exactly as Maître had described it, a haven where people could be free. I’d been free here. Under his commands. He had made me want him, but being with Harry, I’d realized what I thought I liked about Maître wasn’t real. I wasn’t sure if any of it had been real, or just a really kinky dream that would stay with me for a lifetime.
Being sure to stick to the rules and understanding why anonymity had to be of the upmost importance, I wore my veil and took the elevator to the top floor. As I entered the room, the melodic sounds of Andrea Bocelli immediately serenaded me. I ran my hands over the stocks and smiled fondly at the birdcage and the St Andrew’s Cross.
I turned to the throne and stopped just before it. I heard the door at the back open, and Maître walked through. It was strange how knowing who he was underneath had changed the dynamic between us, at least on my side. I had no idea if he even knew who I was or that he’d been talking to me last night. If he did, he was probably about to have me sectioned.
“Mon petit chaton?” he asked, moving in front of me, lowering his silver eyes to my trench coat. “You are not wearing what was picked out for you.”
A sense of rightness flushed through me, and I nodded. “Afraid not, Maître.” I took a deep breath. “The thing is…I’ve met someone.”
Maître was silent for so long I didn’t know if he was offended or relieved. Finally, he bowed his head. “He is a very lucky man.” I heard genuine affection in his voice, which helped with entire situation. “And this stops our fun?”
I envisioned bringing Harry here, to this room, and smiled, trying to hold back my laughter at how his eyes would bug out at some of these devices. It was amazing how quickly medieval torture devices could become much-loved items.
“I’m afraid as much as our time here has been eye-opening and enjoyable, and we’ve shared many, many…many, many, many orgasms…” Maître laughed. “But I’m a one-man woman, and I’m afraid where you could stave off my orgasms with one word, my guy has consumed my heart, and that has trumped it all.”
“You have found your gamekeeper,” Maître said. It took me a moment to understand he was referring to Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
I huffed a laugh. “Something like that.”
Maître came closer, his scent no longer holding the same pull for me that Harry’s cologne did. Jesus. I was cock-whipped and I knew it. But I secretly loved it, even though it felt like free falling off a cliff, praying the object of my affection was underneath with a safety net, or at least an oversized fish-net stocking.