“Did he touch you?” Dane’s lips reach my ears, his voice throaty.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Good.” He releases me and straightens his collar before smoothing his hand down his front breast pocket. “This is a classy establishment, I can assure you of that, but there are some who were grandfathered in and given lifetime memberships. And some of them refuse to adhere to the policies.”
“It’s okay.” I want him to take my hand. Being protected and watched over, like I matter to someone, is a foreign sensation that creeps over and under my skin, simmering and settling like an old friend I never knew I missed. Dane wouldn’t want me reading into it, though, and I’m sure it’s all part of the package, so I force that warmth away like it was never there.
We leave the playroom and turn down another dimly lit hall, stopping before a set of black double doors. Dane swipes a card from his pocket and the lock on the door clicks.
“What’s this?”
Glass shelves line the walls, filled with what I can only assume are sexual toys and oddities. It’s set up like a store, though I’ve yet to see a price tag anywhere. A top-lit glass case displays a myriad of chokers with fabrics ranging from satins and velvets to leathers and lace. Some have sharp metal spikes while others have crystals and gemstones dangling from them.
Dane abandons my side, whooshing across the room to a shelf of see-through phallic objects. Only when I step closer, do I see what he’s looking at. He grabs a clear one and inspects it, for what I’m not sure. He moves to the next shelf, pulling a white package with some c-shaped object off the shelf. It’s still brand new and wrapped in cellophane.
These things are all for me. Obviously. I try to swallow as my nerves get the best of me, but my mouth is cotton.
“You doing okay?” he asks, his eyes scrunched as he scans the rest of the room.
“Of course.”
I stand idle as he crouches down to a glass case, his eyes running the length of the shelves until they hone in on a choker made with black velvet and a prism heart.
“I’ll take that one, Geoffrey,” he says to the attendant, whom I didn’t notice until now. A burly, clean-cut man steps out of the shadows and begins examining the items, making notes in a small ledger book.
“I’ll put these on your tab, Master Townsend,” Geoffrey says. Everything about him is discreet, and I can only imagine the secrets he knows. To anyone else, he’s a cashier in an underground sex toy shop, but his real job is much more important. He’s a keeper of secrets.
Geoffrey pulls out a large white bag, wraps the items in white tissue paper, and ties the bag shut with silky black ribbon. Discreet and elegant.
I’m in a strange land with its own set of cultures and traditions. I’m taking in every detail from the veins in the marble tile to the velvet patterns in the wallpaper. The pretty “swans” who strut around this place are faceless thanks to their masks, and most of the men stagger around like drunken lost souls filled with secrets and longing and deep-seeded needs.
I’d never imagine Dane in a place like this.
Dane takes the bag and juts his elbow out, nodding for me to take his arm. “We have one more stop before we go.”
He leads us back down the dark hall until we stop at the third door on the right. Dane knocks, and a moment later, a beautiful girl dressed in white pulls the door open. Velvet lined walls and a crystal chandelier draw us in. A three-fold mirror rests against the far wall, and a small changing curtain resides next to it.
“Welcome to the dressing room. Please, come in.” She addresses Dane, but her gaze holds the floor.
“We’re only here for measurements,” Dane says, nodding my way. I lift my gaze to the white swan. She reaches for my arm, ushering me to a platform in the middle of the room. A small measuring tape resides on a nearby table, and she whips it out and slips it around my bust.
“Arms up, lovely,” she says with a baby doll voice. “There we go.”
She measures my bust, waist, and hips, all in front of Dane. Her touch isn’t shy.
“What’s your shoe size, sweetie?” Her honeyed tone is more for his benefit than mine.
“Seven and a half,” I say.
She struts to the corner of the room where a small desk is illuminated by a fringed, Victorian lamp that gives off a warm, burgundy glow.
“I think I’ve got all I need,” she says. “Master Townsend, I’ll send these measurements to Elisabeth, and she’ll pull the items once you tell her what you’d like.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Being the quick learner that I am, I take Dane’s arm and follow him out of the dressing room.
“Everyone knows you here.” I slap my hand across my mouth, realizing I’ve just spoken out of turn. My body flinches when his gaze snaps toward me.
Dane reaches for my hand, slowly pulling it off my mouth. He glances up and down the hall and then presses me against the wall by way of stepping into me.
“Bellamy.” He leans in, his mouth grazing my ear. The racing of my heart has nothing on my inability to catch my breath. I wait for him to speak, only I hear him pull in a breath and stop, backing off of me with no explanation as to what that just was.
I get the feeling I’m wearing his patience to the bone.
“Let’s get out of here.” He doesn’t stick his arm out this time, and I make sure I’m walking at least three strides behind him.
When we emerge among the living, the blinding afternoon light sears my eyes. I want to ask if he’s mad at me, but I can’t say a word. We walk in total silence back to Townsend Tower, and when we reach the end of our hallway, I refuse to let him walk away without at least telling me where I stand.
With my hand on the door to my office, I inhale, and say, “If I’m not right for you, tell me now.”
Only he doesn’t answer, and by the time I turn around, he’s gone and his door is shut. I’m not sure he heard me, and I’m not sure I have the courage to march into his office and ask that question one more time.
I plop down in my chair and rest my head in my hand before reaching for a pen. It’s the silver bullet pen I signed the consent form with. I spin it around as fast as I can like I’m playing spin the bottle.
Not that I’ve ever played spin the bottle.
I’m not sure what else there is for me to do until Dane tells me what’s going on.
Two hours pass before my desk phone rings. I clear my throat.
“Bellamy speaking.”
“Do you trust me?” The sound of Dane’s voice sends a pleasant electric current down the center of me that incinerates the bulk of my worries.
Am I already that conditioned to crave his attention?
I teeter a bit, not sure if I should tell him the truth and risk being kicked to the curb or tell him I wholeheartedly trust him.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” he says.
Is this a trick question?
“I don’t know you that well yet,” I say.
“Correct answer.” He ends the call, and within twenty seconds he’s standing in front of my desk. “You don’t trust me yet, Bellamy, and that’s normal. You shouldn’t trust me. That’s something we build over time. Together.”
He steps from the front of my desk to where I’m seated, pulling me up. We’re separated by a couple close inches, our scents mingling.
“What you did earlier,” he says, his jaw clenched. “At the Crystal Swan...”
“What did I do?”
“The fear, Bellamy. You thought I was going to hurt you when you spoke out of turn. You covered your mouth, and I saw it all in your eyes when you flinched. You can’t be afraid of me, or this will never work.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I hold my head up. “I’m afraid to disappoint you.”
“Fear is fear.” He lifts a hand to the side of my face. “I’m not a sadist, Bellamy. Fear and pain don’t mix with pleasure. Not for me. I’ll never degrade you, humiliate you, punish you publicly or painfully, and I’ll never abuse you.”