Chapter 11

Colette watched as Landon's body went tight and hard in reaction to her response.

"You're…" He turned his head, looking out the window. The muscles in his jaw were jumping under his skin.

"Am I allowed to answer with more than just yes or no?"

"Yes. You are."

"How magnanimous."

He jerked his head to face her. "Colette."

His tone, the warning and anger, was like a physical touch. She shivered, perversely delighted by making him frustrated.

"I enjoy sexual submission. I'm not particularly submissive otherwise, so…" She shrugged.

"Trusting someone enough to give them control is an emotional release."

Now she was the one who jerked, gaze flying up to meet his. That was exactly why she sought out submission.

To hide the truth, she smirked, knowing he couldn't hear her heart pounding. "Actually, I enjoy the kink, and I've found that good kink tastes better with some submission."

He studied her for a long moment. "You're lying."

She shrugged, her hands fists in her pockets.

"Don't lie to me, Colette."

Irritation made her snap at him. "What makes you think you deserve the truth? People think they are entitled to another person's truth, but they're not."

He, unfortunately, was perfectly calm as he continued to study her. "You have a right to privacy."

She uncrossed her legs, then recrossed them with the opposite one on top, but didn't respond.

"But when it comes to submission, you're going to be honest. This isn't the place to lie about how experienced you are when it comes to the lifestyle."

Colette looked out the window, at the non-picturesque roofs of buildings in the industrial area, and beyond that at the pretty lights of the city.

"Enjoying sexual submission, and being a BDSM submissive, are different things. I need to know—not want, but need to know in order to protect you—which one are you?"

Colette was abruptly tired. She hadn't slept well and her side was hurting. She wanted to take some tablets, shower, and lie down.

"I was a member of a club, for a little while," she said softly, still looking out the window.

"What club?"

"I won't tell you." Without looking at him, she shook her head, preemptively denying his impending insistence. "You just agreed that I have a right to some privacy."

In her peripheral vision she watched as he clasped his hands together between his knees and dropped his head. After a moment he sat back.

"True, I did say that."

"My first club… It's not normally a place for novices. I was the exception, allowed to be there, and train there, because the man I was with was very well respected."

"So you have formal training as a submissive."

"Yes."

"And are you still…do you have a top out there somewhere?"

It took her minutes to realize what he meant by the word top.

"A master, you mean?" She turned to look at him.

His eyes were dark and hard, the muscles of his crossed arms tensed. "Yes."

"Does it matter?" she asked softly. "You didn't ask if I have a husband, or a boyfriend, waiting for me."

"Do you?"

"No."

"No to which question?"

"All of them. There is no one waiting for me. No boyfriend, husband, or Dom."

There was someone looking for her. Damien.

Colette pressed her elbow against her side, causing a little jolt of pain.

"The man who trained you, he was your Master?"

"Yes." He'd actually been much more than that.

He'd been her friend, mentor, occasional partner, and eventually her Master.

He'd first proposed training her as a submissive because he needed a sub for a job he was pulling and offered her a cut for her help. Eventually he admitted that he was attracted to her, and wanted her as his submissive. Asking her to pose as his sub to execute a Rembrandt theft had been more about getting her on her knees for him than the painting.

Though they had stolen the Rembrandt.

Once she started her sub training it had both unlocked and relaxed something inside her she hadn't known needed release. Though she'd never been attracted to the man who'd been her first Dom, and only true Master—the age difference was too great for her to see him as a sexual or romantic partner—he'd been an excellent Master. And introducing her to submission was an incredible gift.

She still mourned his passing, but with a soft ache of fondness, not the sharp bite of grief.

"How often are you scening? Either publicly or privately."

She arched a brow. "I've never been spanked in a tube station."

"That's not what I mean by publicly. I mean?—"

"I know what you mean. You mean when was the last time I was in a club and my scene took place on stage, like what you have out there." She tipped her head towards the door.

"Yes."

"It's been a long time."

"How long?"

"Years."

"Before or after you robbed the British Museum?"

"It was before we met," she countered, enunciating the last word.

Now he frowned. "How old were you when you were trained?"

She'd been eighteen, her mentor in his sixties.

"Old enough."

"How old are you?"

"Landon, don't you know it's rude to ask a woman her age?"

"Just trying to establish if your introduction to BDSM was sketchy as fuck."

That startled a laugh out of her. "I think for most people, finding out what satisfies them sexually involves at least some element that's ‘sketchy as fuck.'"

He let out a huffing laugh of agreement and leaned forward, elbows back on his knees.

"Okay, so when was the last time you scened privately?"

She had to stop and think about that one. It had been before the Louvre asked her to do an authentication, but after she liberated a gorgeous tiara from a private collection in Poland. "Seven months."

"And was it privately in someone's home, or privately in a club?"

"In a club. Safety is so important, you know."

"Yes, I can tell you value safety by your extremely safe career choice."

She smiled.

"Seven months ago, you scened in a private room or space at a club," Landon said slowly, clearly thinking out loud. "Was your Dom someone you knew ahead of time, or a partner you found that night?"

"We met that night."

"You did a private scene with someone you'd just met?"

"At a club," she reminded him. "Because…safety."

"Fuck, Colette."

"We did fuck," she purred, thoroughly enjoying herself now. "Depending on your definition of the word."

"Did you at least get tested?"

"Tested? What's tested?" She blinked slowly. "I've never heard this term before."

Landon scrubbed his hands over his face. "Okay, I'm being an arse."

"Yes, you really are."

"In my defense, I'm trying to figure out how much you know about the lifestyle. Every person, and every club, does it differently."

She shrugged in agreement.

"For safety, I'd like to put you behind the bar so I'll always know where you are, but we have a full roster of bartenders, so I doubt Rolf would agree to it."

"Your friend Andrei seemed to think I'd be a server."

"Andrei enjoys fucking with people. Don't let him get to you."

Colette smiled. "Are you going to give him the same warning about me."

Landon stared at her for a long moment. "No…but only because it's more fun for me to watch you beat him at his own game."

Colette laughed in genuine delight.

"But yes, you'll be a server. We'll present you as my sub?—"

Colette's heart stopped then started up again, beating so fast she felt jittery. "Pardon?" she interrupted.

"We'll present you as my sub," he said slowly, his gaze laser focused on her.

"No. We will not." The idea of being his sub, even as a pretense, was too…

Too everything.

"Colette."

"No. I will be a club sub, or I could even pretend to be a Domme?—"

"Who's also a server?"

"I will be a submissive while we're here," she said firmly. "But I won't be your submissive."

* * *

Colette folded and rolled the soft blanket, tucking the end into one of the diagonal pockets she'd created so that the blanket formed a smooth tube and now resembled a bolster pillow rather than a haphazard pile of fluffy emerald-green fleece.

It was a technique she'd learned while working in a high-end hotel's equally high-end spa, and there was something soothing about that level of perfectionism.

She placed the blanket-turned-pillow on one of the long, low couches in the private club, then jumped when music blasted through the building. For the first few seconds it was loud enough to rattle the windows, even up here, before the volume was turned down.

A DJ was setting up and sound testing down on the first floor. Though the house lights were on, the beat-synced colored lighting occasionally speared up through the opening to paint faint blue, green, and red lines on the underside of the warehouse roof.

"Oh, that's cute." A corseted woman stopped beside Colette, looking at the rolled blanket.

"Thank you."

"You'll show me how you do that later, yeah?"

The woman's accent was charmingly British. Earlier Colette heard her pronounce the word British as "Bri-ish" without the T sound anywhere in evidence.

"Of course."

The woman, who'd introduced herself as "Kitten," shifted the cardboard box she held from one arm to the other.

"I've done all the blankets," Colette said. "I can help you with whatever you're working on."

"Thanks." Kitten turned the "th" at the front of the word into an "f" sound. Colette would have to practice that. A good accent was an incredible disguise.

She followed Kitten over to the bar, watching as she opened the box and took out a dozen packages of baby wipes. "We put these in those black tissue holders so people can wipe down stuff and not be leaving a mess."

Colette accepted the packs Kitten handed her, examining the cute ducks on the packaging. "The holders are a good idea."

"Isn't it? That was Master Landon's idea, I think. He's a smart one."

Colette was glad Kitten had already turned away, because as good as Colette's control was, she wasn't sure her face hadn't changed at the mention of Landon's name.

After their conversation the night before last, Landon had all but ignored her. Given the half-glass wall between their rooms, she should have seen a lot more of him than she had, but it turned out there were curtains on his side of the glass, and he'd closed them after she refused to be his sub.

Both the night of their conversation and last night, she'd lain awake, waiting and watching for the door to open. It never did, though she heard the occasional rustle or footfall, and saw his shadow on thin curtains once or twice.

Today too, she'd been mostly on her own, until just before lunch, when Rolf came to find her and declared that since the public club was open tonight, tonight was also her first day of work in the private club.

Maybe Landon had intended the day and a half alone in her room as some sort of solitary confinement punishment, but honestly, she'd needed the rest. The stress of being on the run had eaten at her, and the past two nights, with Landon on the other side of a connecting door, were the safest she'd felt in a long time.

Rest and regular meals that had magically appeared outside her door went a long way towards restoring her both mentally and physically. The cut on her side was healing nicely. She'd refreshed the glue in two places, but it had knit in most spots.

Colette hadn't been surprised it was Rolf, not Landon, who knocked on her door earlier. She hadn't been surprised, but she had been disappointed.

He'd taken her to the small kitchenette tucked among the sleeping rooms, and when he only stood there, she got the hint and made lunch. It wasn't her first time in the kitchenette—she'd explored a little bit, and had found the small room which was well-stocked for what it was.

She'd choked down some British bread, made palatable with good French jam, as Rolf explained what was expected of her.

There were no server positions at Club Alibi, at least not in the traditional sense. What the club did have were club subs.

And the club subs did anything and everything, "within reason."

She'd asked Rolf to elaborate on "within reason" but he'd hadn't directly answered the question. The duties he'd specifically listed were taking drink orders, fetching toys and tools, and alerting the Dom on duty if there were any problems. Club subs had the option of participating in scenes if needed, but should try to limit their participation to no more than thirty minutes.

Colette reassured herself that she had no reason to be worried. If a club member tried to pull her into a scene and she said no, they'd let her go. Consent was foundational to BDSM, plus Rolf was the Dom on duty this week, and he seemed like a stickler for rules and protocol.

She finished filling the rectangular black tissue holders with freshly opened packs of baby wipes, returning to the bar at the same time Kitten did.

"Kitten?" Colette asked.

"All right?"

Colette eyed the other woman and resisted the urge to tug at her own uniform. "I was wondering…is that a necklace collar, or a Master's collar?"

Kitten touched the bright pink leather around her neck. Rather than a straight strap that formed a circle, the leather had been shaped and molded so it lay perfectly on her neck, dipping a little in the front. "Kitten" was spelled out in embossed black letters on the left side.

"It's Master Rolf's collar. Most of us club subs are his." Kitten's eyes unfocused, and a little shiver shook her bare shoulders.

Colette looked away, unexpectedly jealous. Not jealous that Kitten was Master Rolf's sub—or more precisely one of his subs.

She was jealous that Kitten was in a position to submit and get her needs met.

Colette didn't have that option, no matter how much she craved it. She would be the best club sub they had, but she wouldn't scene.

She couldn't afford to let herself be vulnerable.

Kitten looked Colette up and down, gaze lingering on her bare neck. "Master Rolf didn't offer you a collar?" Kitten asked. "That right git, I'll?—"

"No." Colette was unexpectedly touched by the other woman's outrage on her behalf. "I…I don't know Master Rolf well enough to wear his collar."

That was certainly true, but it wasn't the full truth.

"Ah, that's all right then. You're wearing the uniform, so people will know who you are." Kitten gestured back and forth between their bodies.

Colette wore a black corset with neon purple piping and laces. The matching purple underwear came up to her natural waist, so there was no gap of flesh between the bottom of the corset and the underwear. But the panties were also cut high in the back, exposing most of her butt cheeks.

Kitten was dressed in the same corset and underwear, but her accent color was a shocking pink. A headband with furry black and pink ears was perched on her head, and she had matching fuzzy cuffs on her wrists and ankles.

Unlike Kitten, Colette had opted to wear the third piece of the uniform Rolf had offered her—a ballet-style black wraparound skirt that tied on one side. It was sheer, and in bright light left nothing to the imagination. Once the house lights were off, the skirt would conceal more than it currently did.

They were both barefoot, and surprisingly, Colette's feet weren't dirty.

Kitten had explained that the club was fastidious about the floor. That showed a level of caring for the subs that Colette found unexpectedly touching. At the club she'd been trained in, she'd often ended the night with dirty hands, knees, and feet.

When members entered, they either had to wear shoe covers, change into clean shoes, or go barefoot.

"Baby, all right, yeah?" Kitten called out, jerking Colette's attention away from her own bare toes.

A plump brunette with streaks of neon in her hair emerged through the playroom hallway door. She too wore the club-sub uniform of a corset and ass-showing underwear. Her accent color was neon green, which matched some of the streaks in her hair.

Her collar was black, with a gold O-ring weighing down the front and a small metal tag danging from the ring.

"Heya, Kitten." Baby looked back over her shoulder, to where she was still holding the door open.

Two more people emerged, now wearing fet-wear. Colette had seen all three of them enter earlier, and after taking off their shoes head right for what they all called the "playroom suite."

Suite made it sound smaller than it was. In addition to the rooms she and Landon were sleeping in, there were nearly a dozen other rooms, most of which were either empty or featured only a bed. One was the tiny kitchenette, and another was a storage room that also served as a changing room for staff. Her uniform had come from a large wardrobe in the elegant storage room.

The three newcomers wandered over to join Kitten and Colette at the bar.

"We have a new club sub," Kitten announced, wrapping one arm around Colette and giving her a squeeze.

"Nice to meet you," Baby said, pulling Colette out of Kitten's embrace for a hug of her own. Colette felt the soft, bare skin of the upper curves of the other woman's breasts press against her own bare chest and shivered in arousal. Baby was all soft curves and warm flesh. She smelled good too.

Colette returned the hug, arching into the other woman a little.

There was a speculative look in Baby's eyes when they broke apart, and Colette flashed her a grin.

"This is Toy." Kitten gestured to a man wearing a black chest harness with neon yellow accents and matching yellow briefs. Unlike her own underwear, his was a thong that completely exposed his ass, but it was made out a thicker material than the stretchy spandex barely covering Colette's pussy. His collar was leather with metal mesh overlay.

The man grinned at her, and she returned the smile.

"And this is Naughty, our bartender."

Naughty was a tall woman with shocking red hair pulled up on the top of her head. The base of her ponytail was wrapped in black leather, ensuring her hair stuck straight up before spilling down her back. Colette was sure that when she'd entered the club in a business suit, she'd had short black hair.

Naughty wasn't wearing a club sub uniform, but instead a black bandeau top under a black fishnet dress.

"You can have two drinks for every five hours you work," Naughty said without looking up from her prep work behind the bar. "Minimum one hour apart unless it's wine or beer. Those you can have back to back."

"How long do the nights usually last?" Colette asked, shooting a glance out the window at the early evening sky.

"Downstairs closes at three," Naughty said, finally looking up. "We have a special license up here; we don't officially close until six."

Colette raised a brow. That was a very long night.

"You worked set up," Kitten said, "and you're new, so you'll probably be released to play first."

Colette kept her expression calm and curious. "And that's what you do, when you're done officially working? You scene?"

"Yes, though of course if you're asked to serve in a scene, you can," Baby added. "Depending on what Master Rolf decides for you for the night."

Colette self-consciously touched her neck. Rolf had made it clear that a collar wasn't part of the uniform, and she'd opted not to wear the one he offered her. But now Colette felt vulnerable and oddly naked compared to the others.

Toy blinked as if just now realizing that Colette wasn't wearing a collar.

"Did you forget your collar…I'm sorry, what's your name?" Toy asked.

"No, I didn't forget. Wearing a collar is…" Colette waved one hand in the air, letting them draw their own conclusions. Sympathetic and knowing expressions crossed their faces. "And my name is Colette. I don't have a club name," she added softly.

"Let's pick one!" Kitten announced. "Or do you want a top to do it?"

"I'm a switch," Naughty offered, leaning on the bar. "How about Pet?"

"What about Bébé, since you're French? We could be twins." Baby clapped her hands together.

"Honey," Toy suggested. "Or Puppy, since we have a Kitten."

Kitten went over and snuggled against Toy, affectionately playing with his nipple rings until he shivered.

"I know what her name should be."

The thumping music from below had covered the sound of footsteps, causing Colette to jump in surprise at the sound of Landon's voice.

She whirled to see Landon standing beside Rolf, his arms crossed on his chest.

Landon's gaze skimmed down her, his jaw tight. His eyes held hers for a brief moment, and then darted away.

"You have a suggestion for her club name?" Rolf asked neutrally.

"Yes, I do." A smirk quirked the corner of Landon's mouth. This time when he looked at her, his gaze met and held hers.

"Thief."