Squish, squish, squish.
With each soggy footstep, she wished more and more that she’d worn jeans that night. She might still be getting soaked, but at least her boots wouldn’t be getting waterlogged from the inside out.
“Short-shorts not such a good idea now, huh, Blondie?” Camilla had a habit of talking to herself when she was nervous. It was awfully late to be walking to Grace’s place in the rain, in short-shorts, on a lonely stretch of highway where anything could happen.
She bit her lip as the cold wind forced a gust of rain straight up her light Windbreaker and hit her right on the ass. She’d thought the men had been unreasonable earlier about her shorts. In her mind, they had not been that short. She was thinking differently now. Her butt cheeks were going to be numb before she ever reached the river bridge.
“At least I’m going downhill. And I didn’t have to stay at work until closing. It could’ve been later when this happened.”
Uncharacteristically quiet, Quinten had lifted the tip jar from its spot by the register when business behind the bar had slowed down, and she’d watched as he stacked all the bills up and handed the entire wad to her. They normally split the tips in half between them but he’d refused them.
All he’d said was, “I’m sorry, Camster.”
His penitent tone had softened her heart. She’d wanted to stay mad at him. But he’d given her a shamefaced grin and laughed when she’d punched his arm. She hated that lame nickname. At least that was what she’d told him when he’d come up with it two years before.
“At least he never uses it in front of others,” she said to herself.
Another gust of rain hit her square on the ass, and she growled. “There’s definitely going to be chafing.”
She thought about her nice, long rain slicker, at home on its hook by the back door where it did her absolutely no good at all. “That’s okay. I’m a self-rescuing princess. I can handle this.”
Yeah, right.
She knew she’d most likely huddle in the dark if any cars came along rather than wave someone down for a ride. Divine was a small town and they looked after their own, but bad stuff happened there too. Just a few weeks before, Jayne Sheridan had been abducted right out of Seth Carter’s house along with his son, Toby. And that wasn’t the only instance of trouble. No, she wouldn’t take the chance. She’d make it to the Divine Creek Ranch on her own two feet.
For some reason, her friend and mentor, Joseph Hazelle, a reputable Dominant and the proprietor of Hazelle House, an exclusive BDSM club in nearby Morehead, came to mind. She could hear his baritone voice speaking in clipped tones inside her head.
“You forgot your phone?”
“Yes, by the time I remembered it I was halfway to work.”
“You remembered it and you didn’t go back for it?”
Uh-oh. Busted. “It wasn’t that far. I was going to go back for it…and forgot.”
“And now here you are. Walking in the rain, late at night. Undeniably an unsafe endeavor.” Censure was clear in his tones. “What is your most clear-cut responsibility?”
“To see to my own safety as much as I am able.” She pooched her lip out at how disappointed he would be. She’d technically been able to go back for her phone.
“But here you are, alone and vulnerable. If you were mine, you know what I’d do, don’t you?” Oh boy, did she ever. Joseph took the care and discipline of the submissives in his service very seriously.
“You’d put me right over your lap and turn my booty red.”
“Well put, little sub.” A gleam would no doubt come into his eyes as he enjoyed her discomfiture. But there in the moment, she knew he’d be incredibly worried about her. Joseph held a special place in her heart. While he was very handsome, she’d never been sexually attracted to him. Her feelings for him were completely different and tied to the fact that he understood her as a submissive and gave her what she needed—to feel safe and under someone else’s control.
She hadn’t seen him in several months, since the last time he’d visited The Dancing Pony. She knew this situation would be unacceptable to him. She missed him. She knew where she stood with him, even if she technically wasn’t his submissive, or anybody else’s.
She’d needed a break from the lifestyle after parting from Brandon, leaving him behind in England. They’d both been submissives and had loved each other, but she’d always known that Brandon craved a Mistress. Someone who could give him what he needed most—total power exchange. Camilla hadn’t begrudged him his happiness when he’d finally found it, had been happy for him, but she’d returned home from her summer in Europe in need of a break from all of it. It was then that she’d gone to work for Ben. Gone to work with Quinten. She hadn’t returned to Joseph’s club and from time to time had wondered at that. She hadn’t felt the pull. She’d been very happy working at The Pony, at least until recently.