He found his own name card three tables away. For a split second, he actually contemplated switching out Stanton’s card with his own. He stopped himself, repeating his mantra. Separate worlds.
He’d haunted the Masters Club all week in the vain hope that Jess would show up. He’d been sure she’d at least make an appearance Friday night, and he’d already envisioned their encounter. He’d take her to a private scene room for some intensive bondage. Maybe he’d have her practice her oral skills on him again. That had been heaven on earth.
While waiting for her arrival, he’d scened with two other subs. Each was lovely and obedient, but he couldn’t seem to get into it. When she still hadn’t showed by eleven thirty, he’d gone home, dispirited.
He’d thought about her way too much since the previous Friday. He’d relived the spanking scene a dozen times in his mind. It had gone beautifully, right up until the end.
He shouldn’t have let Grayson pull him away. Though it was done commonly enough at the club, it had never been Cameron’s way to leave a sub’s aftercare to someone else. He should have said no.
He should have stayed with her until she came gently down from her erotic pain-induced high. He should have been the one smiling down at her when her eyes slowly opened, that sweet smile still playing over her lovely face. He should have been the one to tend to her red, blistered bottom, and to hold her head as she sipped cool water.
He should have taken control of the situation. Instead, he’d let his own feelings control him. He’d taken the coward’s way out.
Alone in his bed, cock fisted in his hand, he’d allowed himself to fantasize a different ending to that scene. One where he grabbed her hips from behind and slowly, deliciously, eased himself inside her, her hot ass against his groin as he claimed her. Once he’d climaxed, however, he’d upbraided himself. What the hell was he doing?
Falling in love?
Who needed the complication and the drama?
His parents had supposedly been in love, at least at some point in their lives, and they’d ended up despising each other. He still had nightmares of breaking glass, angry shouting and slamming doors. He still sometimes woke in a sweat, cowering in a huddle beneath the sheets in an effort to stay out of the crossfire of their rage. How many people did he know who were divorced, or wished they were?
No, he wasn’t about to fall into that trap. He didn’t do love. He didn’t do relationships.
The band took a break, and dinner was finally served. The fare was delicious and beautifully presented. Cameron had been seated next to Janice Beal, the CEO of Veranda Esplanade, a very attractive and rather flirtatious brunette in her early fifties. She touched Cameron often over the course of the meal. The diamond wedding ring set flashed on her finger as she placed her hand suggestively on his thigh. Pretending not to notice, Cameron shifted in his seat, crossing his legs so her hand fell away.
As the meal dragged on, he tried to focus on the conversations going on around him. But he remained all too aware of Jess, whom he could see in his peripheral vision if he turned his head just so. She was animated, laughing and chatting with her table mates, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.
Finally, the plates were cleared, dessert and coffee brought out. Speeches were made and dutifully applauded, self-congratulations the order of the evening. The jazz band returned. People moved to the small dance floor, stepping into each other’s arms as they swayed to the music.
Cameron didn’t particularly feel like dancing. But when Janice rose and pulled at his arm, saying, “Come dance with me,” he couldn’t very well refuse. She clung to him as they made their way around the floor, her breasts pressed against his chest, her cloying perfume tickling his nose.
He saw Jess in the arms of some kid who barely looked old enough to shave. In spite of himself, a stab of jealousy shot through his gut.
Okay. This was nuts. His neat, orderly life had been turned upside down and inside out, and it was her fault. No. Not her fault. His fault. He was acting like an idiot. He never should have invited her to join the Masters Club. He should have categorically refused to be her mentor.
When the dance was over, Janice took a step back, fanning her face with a flapping hand. “Whew,” she said. “I’m so hot all of a sudden. I need some fresh air.” She placed her hand on his arm, moving so close their faces almost touched, her ample breasts again brushing against him. “You’re simply too delicious for me to let get away,” she purred seductively. “Come up to my penthouse suite. Gary’s out of town and I have all night. We can have nightcaps on my veranda. I have a lovely view of the ocean.”