Riveted

Small World

Outward appearances were important, no matter what anyone said. Being calm and in control started as a suit of armor for Mason at a young age, even when it was a lie. Eventually, it became his truth, second nature.

It had all just reverted to a charade. Under the surface, he was a raging storm of anxiety and lust. Mason hadn't felt a single ounce of control since Desi fucking Carlisle stepped foot under that spotlight, declaring herself a willing submissive to all of his dirty, perverted needs just by being there.

His mind and body clashed; logic and emotions warring with dangerous lust. There was no peace within, calm and collected were long fucking gone. And it was bound to get worse when he took Desi to Riveted, but his desires were too intense to allow any delays.

His club was going to be a swarm of unrest and intrigue, whispered speculations running rampant. Mason didn't want any of it to touch Desi, but there was no way to stop it. In the past five years since opening Riveted's doors, he'd never once vouched for a newbie, let alone taken on a personal sub.

There had been no need nor want for one. He enjoyed the freedom that came with walking the floors of his club, visiting with the members, and partaking in scenes that caught his interest. The House subs were available whenever the mood struck, so he'd never brought a woman through the front doors and introduced her to all of the wickedness his members paid so dearly to experience.

Mason needed to give Deston a head's up. He owed the man that much respect. With a heavy sigh, he made the call while cruising through downtown traffic.

"Make it fast." Deston's voice came through the car speakers.

A glance at the clock had Mason frowning. There was no reason why the man should be too busy to talk at one o'clock in the afternoon unless he was working on a new project.

"I have a new contract," he announced. "Trial membership."

"Really? Who's vouching?" Deston asked.

It took him a moment to form the simple answer. "I am."

The sound of Deston covering the mouthpiece of his phone was followed by his muffled voice speaking to someone else in the room. Mason nearly laughed. His friend hadn't been working on anything other than getting a kinky piece of ass. The sounds through the phone became clear again, indicating the mouthpiece was uncovered, at last.

"Repeat that one more time."

"Don't be a dick," Mason warned.

"I've known you since high school. I have the right to question abnormal behavior," Deston countered sincerely.

"It's her," Mason confessed.

"Her who?"

"The only one I've ever told you about, it really shouldn't be that hard to—"

"The Hungarian?" Deston cut him off, sounding just as surprised as Mason had felt when he'd first seen Desi.

"Bulgarian," Mason corrected.

"That's what I said," Deston replied without the usual humor. Mason swallowed, unable to give him a direct answer, but Deston had all the confirmation he needed. "Shit. Fucking shit, Mace."

He waited while the man worked through the shock of it and all the implications it entailed.

"You're bringing her here tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Fuck," Deston swore again. "It's going to be a goddamn madhouse."

"I know."