I tried.
I put everything I had into it.
I played Mary once in a church Christmas play. All I had to do was hold a plastic baby doll wrapped in muslin and stare at it like it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Three or four lines were all I had, but everyone came up afterward and told me my performance gave them chills.
Guess people need to get out of Whispering Hills more often.
When I rise, I brush my skirt and pull it straight around my waist. Dane seems to look at me as if he's got x-ray vision that goes clear through to my soul.
"As much as I would love for you to take my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours, I don't want to rush this. It wouldn't be right, and I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing my impatience ruined your training."
That's a relief.
"So you'll give me another chance?" I clasp my hands together in prayer formation though I'm quite certain God has no intentions of stopping whatever he's doing right now to ensure Dane will still keep me as his submissive-in-training.
"Let's see how the rest of the week goes." He sets his empty glass on the bar and slinks toward me, never releasing me from his stony gaze. "Grab your bag, Angel, we're getting out of here for a bit."
I don't ask questions. I don't think a submissive would do that. I simply scamper out of his double doors and duck into my office to grab my purse. He waits as I do it, and when I return, we walk side by side to the elevator.
After a few steps, I slow my pace, stepping behind him.
"What are you doing?" He stops short. I nearly pummel into his backside until the rough carpet catches my heels.
"I thought since you're the dominant one that I should be walking behind you?"
His mouth curls halfway and he reaches for my hand, pulling me next to him once more. "When we're out together, whether it's for work or recreation, you're to be at my right hand. You belong next to me unless I indicate otherwise."
"Oh."
He leans into my ear once we approach the elevator. "There are three places in which you will be expected to submit to me unconditionally: my office, my bedroom, and the Crystal Swan."
"What's the Crystal Swan?"
"That's where I'm taking you right now."
When we reach the main floor, Dane places his hand on the small of my back and escorts me through the swinging doors to the city sidewalk. I take long strides, matching his and elongating my posture.
Queen of England. Okay. I can do that.
We stop a block away, outside the bar in which we met on that fateful Tuesday last week. I don't take him to be a sentimental man, but I'm not sure why else he'd bring me here.
Dane pulls the door open and ushers me into the cozy space, only the second he brushes past me, he hooks my elbow with his hand and pulls me toward a black lacquered door in the back. I'm not sure how I didn't notice it before. There's a clear glass knocker below a peep hole but no other indication that this door leads to some rabbit hole.
He lifts the glass and knocks it back into the wood in a distinct, five-knock pattern. Seconds later, the door pulls open.
"Master Townsend, good to see you." A man in a tux pulls the door wide. "Ah, I see you're bringing a guest this afternoon. Shall we find a suite for you and your swan?"
"She's not a swan, and we won't be staying long." His fingers press possessively deep into my flesh though I don't think he means to hurt me.
It takes a bit for my eyes to adjust when something bright in the center of the room sends a sharp sting to my gaze. The floors are black and white marble, reminding me of a game of chess, and a glass swan sculpture rests on a large table in the center of a circular foyer. It's lit from below and above with a soft, incandescent glow that shows off the facets and rainbow glimmers in the angles of the sculpted creature. It's not glass it's crystal.
Of course.
"I'll be showing her around, and then we'll finish in the gallery," Dane says to the greeter.
"Enjoy." The man holds up a white-gloved hand and points down a long corridor.
This place isn't visible from the street, and I'm willing to bet money it's not in any phone book or directory. My palms moisten, and I pray he doesn't try to take my hand. He can never know how intimidating this place is.
Exotic lounge music pipes down hidden speakers, growing louder as we reach a large room at the end of a hall. Men's laughter echoes off the high ceilings.
"Hi, Master Dane." A woman slinks by in pure white lingerie wearing an eye mask with white feathers splaying out from the sides. Her head is held low as she addresses him. Lengthy white feathers drip down her backside, dragging on the floor while she walks in five inch, Swarovski-crystal-encrusted stilettos.
"Lauren," he says, giving her a nod. He still holds onto me though I'm a half step behind him, and when we enter the room with the music and the men and the laughter, I finally see why.
All eyes fall on me the second we stand in the doorway. Dane's hand slips to my waist, hooking me and pulling me against him. I breathe him in like he's the oxygen I need to survive this warped little world I've just set foot in.
"This room is for open play," he says. "The Swans in white are submissives and the Swans in black are the Dominatrices."
A svelte woman in a shiny leather bustier with a matching g-string and a whip flashes me a red-lipped smile. I don't see her eyes because they're covered in a black-feathered mask. She, too, wears a floor-grazing tail.
"Well, well, well." The drunken slur of a man's voice originates from behind us. We turn to see an older patron with a greasy forehead and a tumbler of gin and tonic staring at me with a stupid grin on his crooked mouth. "Are we initiating today or what's the deal with this one? Is she a free for all or what?"
Dane's open palm presses into my hip followed by the dig of his fingertips.
"She's with me, Donny. Move along." The low growl of his words elicits an eyebrow raise from the drunkard.
Donny pushes between us, and for a second I'm sure he's going to cop a feel on his way through, but to my relief he doesn't. He's just smashed.
"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.