Rich Tapestry (7 page)

“What do you mean?” I look up at him, alarmed now. It was just a spanking. No more than that. What’s to dawdle over?

He seems to note my concern and offers immediate reassurance. Of a sort. “Please don’t look at me as though I just offered to bite the head off your hamster, Miss Jones. Your friend is in good hands. Maybe it’s time you were too.”

“I don’t think so! I mean…” I don’t want to appear rude. He has just stopped me from being thrown out, after all. But it’s perfectly obvious what he means and I’m having none of it. He’s still making outrageous suggestions. I need to set him straight.

“I’m not here to… I mean, I don’t…”

“Why
are
you here, Miss Jones?” His tone is low, rich, and he leans closer to me as he speaks.

But it’s his eyes that do it. They are dark, as I remembered, a deep, deep brown. I’m put in mind of that brandy once more as I gaze at him, unable to tear my eyes away from his.

I don’t answer. Can’t answer. His mouth curls in a half smile and he gestures toward the drink he put in front of me. “Orange juice, Miss Jones. We prefer our submissives to stay on soft drinks, at least until much later in the evening.”

I redden. I can feel it, the flush going right to the roots of my hair. “What? No, I’m not a submissive.”

His smile never wavers. “No? My apologies. You don’t look much like a Domme though.”

Now that
is
ridiculous. I can’t help grinning myself. “No, that neither. I’m just a guest. A visitor for the evening. I came with Freya.”

“So, I’ll ask you once more. Why
did
you come then, Miss Jones? If you’re neither a sub nor a Domme? What would bring you here?” The question is casual enough on the face of it, but his expression has sharpened in some way. Imperceptibly, he’s hardened before my eyes. And now he’s waiting for an answer.

“I-I came to see her home. After… after…”

“After?”

His voice remains low, controlled, not a hint of menace, but I still shiver. I have no wish at all to discuss this matter with some stranger from my past, a Dom at that, who will be far from sympathetic to Freya’s situation.

“It’s nothing really. Just something personal.” I hesitate, wondering how to get out of this situation. Or failing that, how to divert the topic of conversation to something less private. I reach for the glass of orange juice and take a sip. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll just finish this then I’ll…”

“You’ll what, Miss Jones? Go and wait in the car park? In the rain? We’re a bit off the bus route out here.”

I stare at him across the table. He’s so relaxed, lounging in his chair while I’m coiled forward like a spring, ready to snap at the slightest pressure. Despite his polite words, his soft voice, and his gorgeous smile, this man is beyond terrifying.

“I-I…”
I’ve enough trouble managing my OCD. Don’t say I’m developing a stammer now as well.
I take a deep breath, try again. “Thank you for the drink, Mr Riche. And for helping me out over the guest pass. It was very kind of you. But I’ll be all right now. I’ll just wait here until Freya’s finished then we’ll be getting off. I’m sure she won’t be long. And you must have other things to do…”

He smiles, shrugs, reaches for his glass of water. “No. Nothing pressing.” He takes a sip then replaces the glass on the table. I notice he hasn’t put it on the mat, and I almost reach out to move it, to set it right. But I’m not that stressed. Not quite. Not yet. He leans back again, saying nothing, just watching me.

I squirm, shuffling in my seat, attempting to look calm—and failing, I’m sure.

“Are you all right, Miss Jones? Not too hot in here for you? We do tend to turn the heating up. Our members usually prefer it…especially the subs. Even those who are pretending not to be.” His eyes sweep down my over-dressed form, lingering on my breasts. I don’t care for the attention but I can’t blame him for staring, I suppose. They’re so small he’d have to look quite closely to spot them at all.

“I’m fine. Really.”

He tilts his head, nodding slightly. “That’s good. But you haven’t told me why you’re here. And I really don’t want to have to ask you again. You don’t want that either.”

The thinly veiled threat is there—in his words, in his tone, in his gaze. His voice has sharpened, just a little, but enough. And his eyes are cooler now, glinting as the light catches them. His determination to be obeyed is quite, quite obvious. He’s not going to let me off the hook—he
will
have his answer. From me, whether I want to talk to him or not.

How did this happen? How did he reduce me to this with just a quirk of an eyebrow, a narrowing of his lips?

“I
did
tell you. I’m waiting for Freya. To take her home.”

“Well, assuming of course she actually
did
need taking home, why not just arrange to pick her up later? You didn’t
have
to come inside. You didn’t
have
to spend the last hour hiding in the corner like a scared rabbit. If you didn’t want to be here, you had no need to be. So, one last time, why are you here?”

I stiffen, finding some backbone from somewhere. “Are you threatening me again, Mr Riche?”

“I told you, my name is Dan. Or Sir, but I don’t think we’re quite there yet.” He ignores my startled gasp. “I’m not threatening you. I didn’t threaten you before either, when we met at the zoo. I made you an offer then, as I recall it. But I
am
running out of patience. If you’re to be my guest for this evening, I insist you talk to me. And answer my questions honestly.”

“Or…?” This new-found backbone of mine could get me in serious trouble.

He smiles again, leaning forward to hold my gaze. “Or, Summer, I issue you with a guest pass to keep Gerald off your back and leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening. Which is it to be? Do you want me to stay—or not?”

I don’t answer at first. I can’t. I can only stare, mesmerized by his deep brown eyes, every bit as intoxicating as the brandy they remind me of. At last I hear it. A small voice. Quiet, but firm. My voice. “Yes. I’d like you to stay. But I won’t call you Sir.”

He chuckles. “We’ll see. But Dan’s fine for now.”

Chapter Four

“Well, Summer, I’m waiting.” He reaches for his drink again, watching me over the rim as he takes a sip. He replaces his glass on the table, and this time the urge to straighten the mats is irresistible.

“Sorry…?” I glance up at him as I reach across to turn his coaster so that the straight edge is parallel with the edge of the table, and just six inches in. The exact same position as mine. Mirror images. Perfect.

He watches my movements closely, looks slightly puzzled then clarifies his request. “So we’ve established that Freya’s transport home was your excuse for coming here. What was the real reason, though?”

Ah, right. That again.
And as he ruthlessly peels away my defenses and smokescreens, the underlying truth is starting to emerge. Even I can’t deny it for much longer. I give up trying.

“I was curious.”

“I see. What were you curious about, Summer?”

If he’s surprised by my admission, he doesn’t let that slip. I daresay he’s not in the least surprised—he knew all along.

“About all this.” I wave my hand to indicate the room at large. “This place. What it was that Freya found so fascinating. She loves coming here—I couldn’t even start to imagine why. So…”

“So you thought you’d tag along? Dressed as though you were on your way back from the supermarket, just to set you apart. Well, apart from the shoes. Those are very nice, by the way. But still…you’re dressed to make sure no one could possibly imagine you’d be interested in a bit of healthy kink? I wonder why that is, since we both know you’re aching to try it. You were giving off all the signals two years ago, when we first met, and you’re still doing it now.”

“I am not. And you call this healthy? I hardly think so!”

“How would you know, Miss Jones? And please, don’t pass judgment till you’ve tried it. You never know. You might even like our little games. If you let yourself.”

“Not in this lifetime…” I mutter my reply under my breath.

“Now you’re just being rude. I really can’t advise that.”

So, he did manage to catch what I said.

I
was
rude, and I’m immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, Mr Riche. Dan. I didn’t mean that.”

“I’ll be happy to accept your apology, Summer, but here, saying sorry always comes after the punishment has been administered.” He leans back, his fingers laced together, steepled. He regards me over his hands, his face inscrutable as he waits for my reaction.

He gets it. Unambiguous, defiant. “You are
not
punishing me.”

“No? Well in that case, this conversation seems to be over.” He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small card, about the same size and shape as a bank card. He places it on the table in front of me. “Your guest pass. Enjoy your evening, Miss Jones.”

He starts to get to his feet, and I panic. Suddenly, it’s the most important thing in the world that he stays with me. I don’t want him to leave. I’ll do whatever I have to do, agree to whatever he wants, to make him stay.

“Wait! Please, wait…”

He’s standing now, but he doesn’t walk away. He doesn’t speak either, just waits for me to continue. He doesn’t have to wait long.

“I’d like you to stay. Please.”

“You understand how that would happen? What you’d need to do?” His voice is calm, matter of fact.

“I… Yes, I think so…”

“You’d let me spank you?”

I can’t actually bring myself to say yes, but I nod. He sits down again, but says nothing for a few moments, wisely allowing me the time I need to compose myself. I can’t believe I agreed. I have absolutely no idea where that came from, how it emerged. How he drew that shocking admission from me. But he did, and here we are now.

“Will you do it here? In front of people?” From what I’ve picked up from Freya, privacy does not seem to be a prerequisite for what he clearly intends. I’m surprised then when he shakes his head.

“No. Scening in public is definitely a step too far for you, this time. We’ll use a private room. First, though, would you like to look around? See some of what your friend finds so fascinating?”

A private room. Christ!
A public spanking would be awful, but a private room is just as terrifying in its own way. Still, the lesser of two evils… But instead of being sensible and running for my life, I find myself accepting his kind invitation to a grand tour.

A few minutes later, we’re walking side by side down the thickly carpeted corridor. I’m worried about Freya, and in particular about the possibility that she may come back and be looking for me. She might need me and I won’t be there because I’m off gallivanting with some handsome Dom. I mention my concern to Dan, leaving out the bit about the handsome Dom naturally. He pulls his phone from his pocket and quickly fires off a text.

“There. I’ve let Nick know that you’re with me and he’ll tell Freya. Problem solved. Now you can relax.”

“Essentially, apart from the bar which you’re no doubt very familiar with by now, the Collared and Tied club consists of a shared playroom, though we usually call it the dungeon, and several smaller private rooms where couples or small groups can enjoy more privacy if that’s what they want. That said, some of the small rooms have one-way glass windows—observers can see in, but the people inside can’t see out so they won’t know if anyone is watching. All the rooms are fitted with closed-circuit television, with an audio link, so club staff can monitor what’s going on. For safety reasons.”

As Dan provides his quick overview of the club, I have to lift my chin to look up at him, noting that despite my own five-foot-six height, taller than average, he still has a good few inches on me. “Safety?”

His sideways glance is sardonic. “Yes, Miss Jones. Safety. We take the health and wellbeing of our submissives very seriously. Safe, sane, consensual. The Dungeon Master sees to that down in the communal area—the CCTV makes sure of it upstairs.”

I immediately remember Freya’s poor, caned hands. Surely that wasn’t consensual—or safe. And the jury’s out on sane. Dan picks up on my skeptical expression.

“You clearly have your doubts, Miss Jones. Why would that be?”

I find myself telling him about what happened to Freya, how her hands were sore for days after that mean bastard had finished with her, interfering even with her ability to sign. Dan listens to me carefully, his slight frown suggesting he does not like what he’s hearing.

“Why didn’t she refuse to play? Or complain afterwards?”

“If you know of Freya, you must realize it isn’t easy for her to communicate always. She was upset—she just came home. It was all I could do to get her to tell
me
what had happened. Your safety cameras didn’t help her. And the audio link wouldn’t be any use at all.”

He looks thoughtful and suitably concerned. “We let her down. It shouldn’t have happened. It won’t happen again—you have my word on that.”

“Why? What do you mean? What will
you
be able to do?”

“I expect Freya will tell Nick about it, and he’ll deal with the Dom in question. If she doesn’t tell Nick, I’ll deal with it. Now that I know.”

I stop, turn to him. “Why on earth would she tell this Nick? She’s terrified of him.”

He smiles. “I seriously doubt that. Nervous, maybe. Apprehensive, possibly. A healthy respect—without doubt. But she won’t be frightened of him. Not in the way you mean.”

“But, he’s going to, to…” I hesitate, not sure what Nicholas Hardisty’s plans for Freya might consist of. I hardly dare think. “I don’t exactly know what he’s going to do, but I know she expected it to hurt.”

“She was probably right. But it’ll be done with by now. And neither of them has come back down to the bar. What does that suggest, do you think?”

I have no idea. My expression must have betrayed my confusion. He smiles, shaking his head. “Either they’re still in room nine upstairs—that’s where Nick told her to go and wait for him,” he adds helpfully, “or they might be in one of the public areas. My money’s on the dungeon. Shall we start there?”