Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Brynn

Mr. Bennett doesn’t close the bathroom door all the way when he leaves. I think it’s his way of letting me know that, although I might have some level of privacy while Stacia works with me, I do not have complete separation from him. That slit in the door serves as a constant reminder that he’s somewhere in the penthouse and might walk back in at any moment because it’s his right.

As my Dom.

“Are you okay?” Stacia asks, drawing my attention back to her. “The first time you get a Brazilian is daunting.”

That’s not even the most daunting thing I’ve done today , I want to tell her. “I’m fine. Thank you, ma’am.”

She smiles at me. “You’re the most natural submissive I’ve ever seen.”

I shudder and wrap my arms around my middle. Am I? I’ve never thought of myself as submissive until a few hours ago. Now, I seem to be living in another dimension. “Are you submissive, too?” I ask, glancing at the door.

Mr. Bennett isn’t in here. Surely, I can drop the formalities while he’s gone.

“Yes. I don’t have my own Dom, so my BDSM play is confined to the club. There are several Doms I play with at Edge. I’ve never been to the third floor, though. You’re so lucky.”

Am I? I can’t even conjure what might be on the third floor. The idea scares me to death.

“Jump down. You’ll be more comfortable in one of the vanity chairs. I’ll cut your hair next.”

I ease off the edge of the table, wincing as my sore pussy protests.

“Yeah, that sting will go away in a few minutes. It won’t hurt as bad the next time.”

“How often will I have to do it?”

“Probably every three weeks. Everyone’s different. You’ll know.” She giggles. “Or Mr. Bennett will know. I’m sure he’ll call me.”

The thought of Mr. Bennett being so intimate with my pussy that he schedules my waxing is mindboggling. The thought of any man ever being that intimate with my pussy is beyond my comprehension. I wouldn’t have expected even my husband to ever look that closely at my sex.

I can sense Mr. Bennett plans to do so often. I saw the way he looked at me. He wanted to put his mouth there.

“Are you okay with me taking a few inches off and styling your hair so it lays in natural waves?”

“Yes.” I haven’t had a haircut in a long time. It wasn’t in my budget.

“How long have you known Mr. Bennett?” she asks as she combs through my hair and then squirts it down to wet it.

“Um, a while.” I’m not sure how much she knows about our arrangement, but if he told Prism and Orlando, maybe he told Stacia, too. “I work at The Grind. He came in for coffee sometimes.”

“Oh, I love The Grind. It’s a bit out of my price range, so I don’t go there often, but the service is amazing.”

“Yeah, that’s how they distinguish themselves from the big chains.”

“Makes sense.” She starts snipping away. “And Mr. Bennett lets you work there even now that you’ve moved in?”

“No. I’ll give my notice on Monday. I don’t want to leave them without notice, though.”

“Ah.” She meets my gaze in the mirror. “He’s awfully intense and…involved for a fake boyfriend.”

Don’t I know it . I chew on my lip. I don’t know what to say. Apparently, she’s as informed about our arrangement as Orlando and Prism.

She just shrugs and keeps cutting. “Your hair is amazing. So soft and thick. I’d love to have even half of it.”

Her own hair is pretty, too. Curls piled up on her head. “I wish I had your curls. I guess we all want what we don’t have.”

She winks at me conspiratorially in the mirror. “There are about a million women who are going to want what you have as soon as they see you on Mr. Bennett’s arm, girl…”

I like Stacia, and I find myself giggling. “It is kind of funny, I guess. I’ve never done anything like this before. Do you think I’ll be believable?”

“I know you will. ”

“How are you so confident?”

“Because the chemistry between you two is off the charts. It’s hot in the room even after he left. The man looks at you like he won the lottery, and you submit to him like you’re the one who won the lottery. With your height and body type, this hair, and those tits, men are going to drool over you. Women are going to cry. Be prepared. They won’t be happy. The first time you step out of this penthouse on his arm, you’ll be in the tabloids within an hour—and it won’t be kind.”

I cringe. I hadn’t thought of that. Shit . She’s right.

I don’t have much of a relationship with my father, but I should probably warn him. In the small town where I grew up, the gossip mill is alive and well. Someone will tell him about me. But what would I even say? Hey, Dad, yeah, I’m dating this rich guy. It’s no big deal. It's just a fling.

That’s so unlike me. He’ll think I’m a slut. I’m sure he already does just because I moved across the country to a big city. Only sluts live in a big city. He said that to me before I left.

I slide into comfortable chatter with Stacia. She’s incredibly kind and offers me all kinds of advice. Since I never even knew Edge's second and third floors existed, I start asking questions.

“So, what’s on the second floor of Edge?”

She’s cutting my hair while we talk. “It’s a BDSM club. There’s a main playroom with all kinds of apparatus in it, as well as private playrooms. The membership fee is five hundred a month.”

I gasp. “Five hundred dollars a month? ”

“Yep.”

“And you pay that?”

“I do. It’s important to me.” She shrugs. “I’m a submissive. I don’t have my own Dom, so the only way I can get some play in every week is at a club. There are a lot of clubs in Seattle with lower membership fees, but Edge is one of the high-end, respectable clubs. I’m more comfortable there because I know the owners, Drake and Easton Riley, vet every member thoroughly. It’s very rare that anyone breaks the rules or gets out of line.”

“And what are the rules?” I ask.

She angles my head to one side. “Well, most importantly, a respected BDSM club adheres to the belief that all play must be risk-aware, consensual kink. That basically means no one can do anything dangerous, no one is allowed to play with an altered mind from alcohol or drugs, and all parties must consent.”

I inhale slowly. Ever since Mr. Bennett first mentioned the club, I’ve been picturing a dungeon with women being dragged to the center of the room and forced into stocks so that the Dominant could take advantage of them. I’m relieved to know my imagination was way off.

“Edge has a dress code,” she continues. “No jeans or tennis shoes. No T-shirts or logos. That kind of thing. Most Doms wear black pants, dress shirts, and loafers.”

“What do the submissives wear?”

She giggles. “It varies. Dresses, skirts, dress pants. Blouses. But the ones who are established and play every week wear leather and latex, which I’ll warn you often ends up on the floor.”

I gasp. “They’re naked?”

She giggles again. “Often, yes. That’s part of the fun. I get a thrill when people gather around to watch someone dominate me. The more of me a Dom exposes, the more people gather. It’s invigorating.”

I can’t begin to imagine taking my clothes off in front of people. But haven’t I done so in front of three strangers already today? Four, if I count Mr. Bennett. He’s so dominant.

“What’s on the third floor of Edge?” I ask Stacia.

“Well, I haven’t been there myself, but I know a select number of elite members have a private room up there. Mr. Bennett has one. The membership for that level is five thousand a month.”

My eyes bug out. “That’s insane.” And Mr. Bennett has a membership .

“Way out of my budget, of course. A member can bring anyone they want up there. I’m pretty sure the rooms are privately rented and have whatever equipment the members like. I’m sure you’ll find out, and you can let me know.”

I shudder. I’m not sure I want to find out. I’m so out of my element. It’s baffling that I’ve agreed to this farce. Fake girlfriend to a billionaire Dominant? What have I gotten myself into?

Stacia switches to my fingernails and, finally, my toes. When she’s done, I barely recognize myself.

“Let’s do your makeup, too,” Stacia declares excitedly. “Might as well knock Mr. Bennett off his feet.”

“I don’t even have much makeup. I have some mascara, that’s probably past its prime, and lip gloss.”

Stacia pulls a box out of her bag and holds it up. “Oh, but I do.”