Puppet Master

Chapter Sixteen

Well, holy shit!

She’d known that, of course she had, he’d told her in the car that the establishment was his own, except, it didn’t register with her while she was so busy trying to absorb the place, in all its bare assed kinkiness.

Her expression was clouded as she looked around the room, trying to reconcile this club with the Jayden that she knew. She’d always known that he had a talent for business, that he was successful off his own back, but not like this… Not like some lord and Master Dominator, but with fixing cars and stuff! How on Earth did he market the place, “Yes, Sir, that’ll be a new engine for your Ford Focus Estate, and by the way would you be interested in a ball gag and some leathers?!”

And, of course, as she’d so recently discovered, he was more than a little bit bossy ... he was a downright kinky bastard. At least to her limited experiences anyway.

But she’d never quite imagined anything like this. “I didn’t think places like this existed,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head.

“I know.  You still shouldn’t.”

She turned her head back, suddenly to focus on him: This tall, brooding, cocky bastard that she’d been in love with since before she’d grown out of her Spice Girls phase. He suddenly looked lonelier than she’d ever thought he could. And it broke her heart. For one moment, he was letting her into his world, allowing her to meet him on a level, and she couldn’t throw it back in his face. Not if he really wanted to try.

She cleared her throat delicately, discreetly, as a lady does when she’s overlooking the man pet on the stage lubricating his mistress to put to use a plastic phallus that was at least a foot long.

Tori decided to turn her attention elsewhere.

To the man who ran the joint, apparently.

“So you won’t be tying me up over there?” she ventured, “So why are we here?”

His face registered a frisson of shock, just enough that she knew he couldn’t control himself, before he stepped towards her, the face of restraint personified, leaning forward he took her lips in a tiny butterfly kiss, and then trailed his mouth across her cheek, his stubble a rasp to her sensitized skin, to whisper, sensually in her ear, “I have this fantasy, Vittoria. Beyond all of this pain and confusion, there’s one thing I want you to take from me, and my control: One thing that I never want you to forget, regardless of our future, and how this whole scene ends. Come with me.”

With one hand firmly held by the strong, taciturn man in front of her, she left the other swinging by her side, holding her little silver clutch as he pushed through more doors with the words “Private” and “Restricted Access” carved into the wood and lined with gold leaf. She couldn’t deny that, despite the unconventionality of the place, not a single expense had been spared; it was complete decadence in places, beautifully designed. “Who did the interior decor?” she asked intrigued, eyes glued to the walls as he dragged her behind him.

“Pardon?” he stopped walking, and she crashed into his solid back as he turned his head to look back at her, “Did you just ask me about the wallpaper?”