Chapter Five

Kage

E ight years before.

Kage started flipping through the CDs in the glove box when listening to Christmas jingles on the radio became unbearable. "I can't believe I'm the first man you're taking to meet your parents."

"Well, you better. And they can't wait." Rohan smiled, but remained focused on the road ahead, his hands on the wheel. Wipers were working overtime to get rid of the snow that hadn't stopped falling for hours.

It would be Kage's first winter in the North of England, and it was gearing up to be a true white Christmas. The ground was completely covered in snow, or at least the stretch they were able to see thanks to the headlights. The rest was bathed in darkness. The forest on both sides created a tunnel that looked magical, if not a tad eerie at night.

"There was never anyone like you before, so I didn't see the point." Rohan chuckled, the warmth of his tone and words washing over Kage like a blanket of affection. The love he had for this man was insane —something he'd thought himself incapable of before meeting the confident, brown-skinned hottie during his first year at university. Rohan was four years older. It had seemed a lot back then, but now his 29 to Kage's 25 wasn't a big deal.

Kage plucked a CD from its box and slid it into the feeder, reaching out to caress Rohan's short black beard. Oh, how he adored the feel of the coarse hair on the most delicate parts of his skin. Rohan turned to kiss the inside of his palm, his eyes shining with love.

Then he looked back to the road, and his gaze filled with panic. He gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white.

Before Kage realised what was happening, the car swerved as two long streaks of headlights blinded him. When the outline of a trucker trailer's grill appeared in front of him, he opened his mouth to scream. He didn't get a chance to make a sound, though, as the windshield cracked and everything went black.

Kage woke up with a start, clutching his leg as pain shot through it. His lungs refused to take in air until he forced himself to gasp a breath. Eight years had passed since the accident and he still relived the event at least once a month.

With a grunt, Kage dragged himself out of bed and limped to the bathroom, cursing the injury, a permanent reminder of that tragic night. A hot shower and warm up exercises for his leg should help him walk into the Golden Handcuffs without hesitance in his step. He didn't want to limp. He would not. Club patrons thought his occasional appearance with a cane was a dramatic statement, but his employers and close friends knew the truth. On a bad day, he wasn't opposed to using the cane, especially during winter or when it was raining. But not today.

It was not because of the new bartender. Absolutely not. Before every session, Kage checked who would be on security detail on the floor to make sure it was someone he could trust to protect him and the Sub from an overexcited audience. Especially after the tragic break-in fiasco from a few months before that landed his friend Mat in a hospital.

The other night, the new bartender, Finley, had doubled as security for the first time and proven himself in the role. He'd removed the guy who'd attempted to climb the stage and the swift manner and professionalism he'd shown let Kage continue the scene without bigger issues.

But that was not what had spiked Kage's interest. The muscled guy's deep green eyes had been watching Kage whenever they shared space, and the curious stare stroked Kage's ego. The myriad of tattoos on his chest and arms told a story that he was itching to read, and hair the colour of fire lured him to stroke and pull it. Except he didn't know the guy and his reaction to his presence was too intense to make any logical sense. Despite priding himself at being a good judge of character, he couldn't figure Finley out. So maybe it was the mystery that pulled him to the freckled hunk.

Did he enjoy being so close to a scene that night? Watching Dylan squirm under my touch? Were his eyes on me too?

It shouldn't matter. But it did.

The Subs who came to Kage wanted a mind-floating session as much as a show. Good thing he'd had a needy Sub waiting for punishment scheduled for that day. His mistress had been training under Kage for months, but still booked more elaborate scenes for her Sub with him. Her dedication to becoming the perfect Mistress and meeting her sub's demands was commendable, and Kage was happy to help. The thrill of the scene started at the planning stage, then continued throughout the session and beyond. His priority was the submissive, but he took enormous pleasure in the satisfaction of the audience, and their gaze on him. He wanted them to envy his client, to be turned on by everything they saw, heard, and smelt.

So what if he also enjoyed that the security was as aroused as the audience? Finley must have had a permanent dick imprint on his leather trousers after the session.

An unsettling filling stirred in his gut. His unusual reaction to Finley shook his confidence in the ability to remain the Dom he'd chosen to be and the one his clients knew. Someone for one night who cared about the Sub's well-being and pleasure but for the duration of the session only.

Because there was no space in Kage's life or heart for a relationship. There never would be.

Showered and dressed, Kage had scrambled eggs, then reached into the kitchen cupboard where he kept his medicine. Last box left. He needed to hit the pharmacy. He took out the strip which felt familiar in his hand, squeezed out two capsules, and swallowed them.

By the time he'd gone through new applications, the pain in his leg would dissipate. All applicants had to be members of the Golden Handcuffs, so they'd already been screened regarding minimum age and the safety basics. Mat, Jagoda's nephew, and the sole heir to the mafia legacy that included the club, was a long-time friend who had been there for Kage when he'd needed it most. He was close-lipped about club business, but he'd let a thing or two slip to ease Kage's mind, like the policy of refusing memberships to domestic abusers or people charged with violent behaviour. It was no secret the mafia had an in with the police, but at least in this instance, they used the power and intel for the safety of patrons.

Sprawled on the sofa with his laptop, Kage browsed the submissions, rejecting half on the spot. The ones who'd had a recent breakup, been a club member less than a month, or were under 20. Yes, the age of consent was 16 in England but since he could make his own rules, he refused to have anyone that young on his stage.

Many returners were an easy yes, unless they'd broken any of his rules during the scene or aftercare. They could wait their turn, though, as he booked the newbies first.

With a heavy sigh, he declined several applications outright.

I don't have enough tea for this.

Some applicants couldn't understand that he wasn't on the market for a partner, nor a permanent slave to live with him or serve him. His website had a list of specific sites to meet people who were looking for that.

He was working.

Sure, he took pride in his craft and enjoyed bringing people pleasure in a way that required years of practice and an acute eye to people's minute reactions. A person satisfied and happy when walking off his stage was a success in his book. He didn't need to be attracted to his clients, but he found each and everyone of them beautiful in their submission. It was about reaching the height of pleasure and pushing one's boundaries in a safe environment. He appreciated couples who'd come to him, especially beginner Doms of all genders, not only to ask questions, but to willingly place themselves in his hands. Submitting wasn't a requirement, or a rite of passage to becoming a good dominant, but it helped many truly understand a submissive, feel it on their own skin. Literally and figuratively.

Yes to the Dominatrix, yes to the—

He froze mid-scrolling.

Applicants provided a name they wanted to use, but it didn't have to be the one on their ID. So maybe this was just a coincidence.

Heart beating faster, he opened the submission titled ‘Finley, 39'.

Kage didn't require pictures of the applicant's face, but clothed photographs of the body were necessary as he had to prepare equipment based on weight and body type. Kage recognised the posture, Finley's strong build, straight shoulders, and mismatched tattoos on his arms. The leather shorts revealed muscled thighs that would look gorgeous spread apart.

He scrolled through the answers, smirking. Eager but not experienced.

I'll find out what makes you tick. Or at least what makes you moan and come.

Then Finley would avoid Kage's gaze at work for a week or more. Most co-workers did that. Many of Kage's friends and colleagues had graced the stage with him over the years. He offered a damn good service. If he were a baker, would he refuse to make a cake for his colleague? Of course not. Would he take pleasure in creating it and presenting it? He would. Planning and executing a scene was a form of art and Kage wanted to share it.

Now, the question was: should he sate his curiosity and book Finley soon or make him wait?