“The jazz club downtown?”
“That’s the one.” I’d never heard of it, so I researched it online. “I’m pulling in now. I’ve gotta go.”
“Call. Me. Immediately. After,” she orders.
Rolling my eyes at her overzealous tone, I promise her again. “The minute I’m done.”
I pull into a parking spot near the entrance and cut the engine on my practical sedan. Glancing up into the rearview mirror, I meet my own eyes and giggle.
Julie’s excitement is totally warranted. Normally we are both so calm and levelheaded, this is by far the craziest thing either of us has ever done. I’m glad she’s sharing in my excitement over this plan. Then again, I’m just happy to have my buddy system in place—someone ready to dial the authorities if I turn up missing. It’s not a comforting thought, and my belly tenses.
Without the radio or Julie’s voice in my ear, the interior of my car is silent, all except for my pounding heart. God, this is truly crazy, isn’t it?
I flip down my visor to check my hair and makeup in the mirror. I took extra time and care this morning getting ready, straightening my hair until the glossy brown tresses fell in a long, straight line down my back, choosing my black sweater dress and knee-high boots with tights, wearing all black just like he instructed, and applying light makeup.
But now, it’s almost six o’clock, and after shuffling around the snowy Chicago streets and showing apartments and homes to eager couples all day, I look every bit as tired as I feel. I dab a bit of powder under my eyes, hoping to brighten my complexion, and reapply soft pink lipstick.
Once done, I smile at my reflection. I look marginally better.
I can’t believe how fast the week went by, that it’s somehow Thursday already. I had no further communication with the Gentleman Mentor all week, other than an e-mail he sent last night when he confirmed our appointment and the location.
Seeing that I only have five minutes until our meeting, I grab my purse and exit the car. I want to be inside and seated at the bar as he instructed before he arrives. Striding across the parking lot, I notice the sky is painted in pink and orange hues at that point just before the sun sets.
It’s pretty and romantic, I think, then correct myself with a shake of my head.
This isn’t romance. It’s business. I have to keep my head clear.
Chapter Three
Hale
There’s a certain energy that runs through my veins the first time I meet a new client. Tonight is no different. On the outside, I’m collected and calm, but inside, I’m filled with anticipation.
I’ve never brought a woman so close to my home turf, but of course my little bookworm has no way of knowing the underground BDSM club, Crave, I hold a membership to is located directly next door to the jazz club where she should be arriving at any minute. I can practically smell the fear and excitement on her skin.
From an armchair near the fireplace, I watch the scene playing out in front of me—a woman strapped to a leather bench while a Domme teases her, trailing a flogger along the back of her thighs.
I watch the women with mild interest. Floggers and whips aren’t my thing. I prefer my own two hands. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as the crack of my flesh against hers, the feel of heat radiating from warmed skin. As I watch her squirm and try to be quiet, I appreciate the amount of courage her public submission takes.
From across the room I see Reece, and based on the look of satisfaction on his face, I’d guess he’s returning from one of the private rooms. He’s the owner of the club, but so laid-back, most people wouldn’t suspect that.
I’ve visited a couple of other clubs, and Reece’s club is by far the best. The others felt cold and more like a gymnasium, with sterile equipment and wide-open spaces, yet this place feels dark, moody, and sensual. The play spaces are built for quiet, sensuous scenes, leaving the more risqué kinks for the private rooms. Sconces provide dim lighting and low bass-filled beats thrum in the background, creating a soft hum of anticipation. There’s no wonder it’s grown into the biggest fetish club in Chicago in three short years.
When Reece gets closer, I tip my head in silent greeting. The big man lumbers up, squinting at me curiously. “Cameron Fucking Hale. I haven’t seen you in, what…at least a month, brother?”
“Sounds about right.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling oddly defensive. This lifestyle is lived out differently for each person in it, but Reece doesn’t seem to get that. He doesn’t understand why I’m not here every night enjoying a different sub.
I’m really not one for a meet-n-fuck. Sure, I’ve done it before, when necessity calls for it, but I much prefer the slow, sensual exploration of a partner’s naughtiest desires, and then exploit the fuck out of them. Pushing a woman to her limit is as gratifying to me as the sexual release itself.