Chapter 13

Landon leaned against the wall, forcing his shoulder muscles to relax, despite the tension that tried to knot them.

It was nearing midnight, and experience said the mellow introductory part of the evening was almost over. From midnight to three was usually when the most intense play happened.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Rolf close the entry door behind the most recent members to enter. They went immediately to the locker rooms, careful to stay on the carpet runner with their outdoor shoes.

Rolf flipped open a small panel, built into the wall, checking the security camera feed that showed the bottom of the stairs and the hallway. The hallway on the ground floor was full of people. The club below was packed, so the hallways became a retreat location for a breath of cooler air and a slight reduction in the noise—as well as access to bathrooms.

The lights and music from below speared up into the private club, drowning out the sounds of quiet conversations, but not the slap of leather and wood against flesh.

He dutifully scanned the room once more, checking in on each active scene. His scan was perfunctory at best, because the instant he'd made a visual sweep his attention bounced back to Colette.

"Would you pay more attention if I put you at the door?" Rolf asked from beside him.

Landon didn't turn to the other man, keeping his focus on Colette. "I'm paying attention."

"To her."

Now Landon looked over, seeing that Rolf was watching Colette too.

As he'd expected, Colette wasn't awkward or unsure. She was as adept and skilled as any of Rolf's club subs. Her ability to blend in, to seamlessly insert herself was no doubt a skill necessary for a thief.

Currently, Colette was crouched by a low coffee table, unobtrusively collecting empty glasses and bottles of water from a table while a Dom leisurely fucked the mouth of a female submissive less than a yard from her.

The sub's hands and forearms were caught in an arm binding behind her back and while the table somewhat obstructed Landon's view, he'd bet the sub had her knees spread wide on the floor.

Colette filled her small tray, gracefully rising to her feet. The corset lifted her breasts, creating two sweet, plum mounds. The wide expanse of naked upper chest and shoulders was more alluring than it should have been. Her arms and legs were equally bare.

She seemed…naked.

He knew that didn't make objective sense, but he couldn't shake off that thought. Colette wore more clothes than many people in the club, but she was naked in a way others, particularly the club subs, weren't.

Her throat needed a collar.

Her ankles and wrists needed cuffs.

"You should have put a collar on her," Landon told Rolf, even as the idea made he want to smash things.

"No. I would never put a collar on someone who didn't want it."

"You could have made it part of the uniform."

"I could have," Rolf agreed.

"Call it a choker, not a collar."

Rolf was silent, and Landon could feel the other man watching him.

"Just say it," Landon snarled after a tense moment.

"You need to scene."

"I'm working." Landon uncrossed his arms and rolled his shoulders.

He'd worked eighteen of the past twenty-four hours. Yesterday, needing to get away from Colette for a while, he'd made sure Rolf was watching her and had gone in to the London NCB offices to pick up paper files and an encrypted computer with an equally encrypted satellite connection. He turned a storage room on the bottom floor into a makeshift office and buried himself in work, spending nearly sixteen hours on the Heathrow smuggling case.

"You are, but you don't need to," Rolf said. "It's my week as Dom on duty."

"You know I don't mean working as a Dom. I'm working keeping an eye on her."

"You are certainly watching her."

Landon suppressed a snarl.

Colette had dropped her empties, recycled the water bottles, and even grabbed a rag and helped wipe down the bar before picking up her tray and heading back out into the crowd. The soft, sheer black skirt floated around her ass and upper thighs with each movement.

He wanted to strip it off her with his teeth.

"You need to scene," Rolf repeated. "Either with her or find another sub."

"I told you, she's been trained as a sub, but she flat out refused to sub for me."

That had…hurt. It shouldn't have. She had every right to say no, and a D/s scene required an incredibly high level of trust. He already knew she didn't trust him—it was why she was still withholding information.

But fuck it still hurt.

Earlier he'd thought she changed her mind. She'd been the one to slide her wrists into his grip. The one to sigh in relief when he cuffed her with his hands.

But she'd pulled away, and that second rejection had been tough to swallow.

"She's a good worker." There was real admiration in Rolf's voice.

"I'm pretty sure Colette Beaumont is good at anything she puts her mind to."

Colette had taken a drink order from an older man sitting alone in an armchair, and was now headed back in his direction, a glass tumbler perfectly balanced on her tray.

The man watched her with assessing, predatory interest. Master Red, real name Aquilinus Augustus, was a regular here.

And one of their most important members.

Colette returned with his beverage and crouched down, her free hand resting on the arm of the chair as she found her balance.

Aquilinus put his hand over hers, taking his drink from her tray with the other hand.

Landon pushed away from the wall, taking a half step towards Colette.

Rolf caught his arm. "Stop."

"He's—"

"He's what? Touching her hand?"

In the vanilla world, strangers and new acquaintance rarely deliberately touched one another. Hell, even among friends most people kept to themselves.

Here in the club, it was different—there was lots of casual touching even outside of scenes. They'd debated having a formal rule about any exposed skin being fair game, but in the end opted for minimal rules in the club, the number one rule being that the Dom on duty's word was law. Nothing about what Master Red was doing called for intervention.

But Colette is mine.

To protect. She sure as fuck wasn't his sub.

If he went over there now, it would be a lie, because she didn't need protecting in this situation. Landon knew exactly who Aquilinus was, and he had no connection to art, antiques, gems, or human trafficking.

He wasn't a threat to Colette.

Landon forced himself to relax. She'd made it very clear that she didn't want him topping her, and she was as safe as she could be as long as she was inside the private club.

Ten meters away, Master Red took Colette's tray, setting it aside. Colette shifted from a crouch to kneel on the floor at Master Red's feet.

Fuck.

Landon turned away. "I'll watch the door."

He had no claim on her, she'd made that perfectly fucking clear.

But he couldn't bear to watch her scene with someone else.

* * *

"You're new here, aren't you?"

Colette's calves and thighs were screaming after hours of crouching, so she knelt, her hand trapped in place under the Dom's.

"Yes, it's my first night, Sir." She hadn't been given any formal instructions about how to address members, but it felt wrong not to add a title when addressing the Doms. She'd accidentally addressed a few subs as Sir or Ma'am too, but better safe than sorry.

"I'm Master Red. I was one of their first members."

At that, Colette studied his face. Was he Interpol too? She would never ask, and his expression gave her no hints.

He had gray hair with just a few traces of brown remaining, and the thick build of a man who'd been heavily muscled when younger. Rather than leather, he wore expensive looking slacks and a button-down shirt open at the throat.

He reminded her of Nilus.

The only real similarities were age and being dominant, but given the internal war she was waging, that was enough.

She'd known at the start of the night that being around BDSM play would make her crave to experience it herself. She wasn't voyeur enough to derive pleasure and satisfaction from watching alone.

It was harder than she'd imagined. Every time a Dom or Domme—though this club leaned heavily towards masculine tops and feminine bottoms—looked at her, she fought the urge to kneel and beg them to use her.

The only thing that had stopped her so far was the discomfort that thought brought, because while her needs demanded that she submit to anyone who would use her, her mind rejected the idea of anyone but Landon as her Master.

She looked over, briefly panicking when she saw Rolf standing where Landon had been. Rolf as a Dom was a revelation—intense and hot, rather than cold and calm. She'd seen him casually haul a woman up onto the bar the way he had with Baby, then force her to lie back, head hanging over the bar, as he spread her thighs and buried his face in her pussy. When Rolf was on the floor, he was constantly touching everyone—a hand on a Dom's shoulder, a stroke to a sub's head or bare breasts.

Seeing that hadn't changed her mind about wearing one of Rolf's collars, but her throat felt distressingly bare.

"Thief," Master Red said, pulling her attention back to him.

"Sir?"

He pointed at her neck.

Kitten had followed through on her suggestion and run into the back and made her name necklace—a thin stretchy cord with small beads spelling out "thief." Name necklaces were more common among swingers than in kink communities—though there was plenty of crossover—but Colette had accepted it gratefully. It made her feel slightly less alone to have something around her neck.

"What do you steal?" he asked.

"Nothing, Sir."

"Really? I doubt this would be your name if you were innocent." He reached out, hand gently curling around her neck.

Colette froze, submissive need washing over and then pulling her under. Like a wave she couldn't ride, but instead would drown in.

The pressure around her throat, light as it was, felt so good.

Good, but not right, because he wasn't the right man.

Still, the vague resemblance to Nilus kept her on her knees, kept her submissive as the long-dormant behaviors and commands her Master had trained into her resurfaced.

Master Red pulled her up until her ass was no longer resting on her heels, his hand digging painfully into the underside of her jaw.

"Are you plugged?" Without waiting for her to answer, he ran his hand down her back to her ass. His fingertips dug between her ass cheeks, forcing the fabric of the panties between them.

"No, Master Red," she stammered after a frozen moment.

"No plug?"

"No, Sir. I'm working."

He raised a brow. "Normally the club subs are plugged."

His hand slid off her ass, the skirt falling back into place, but only for a moment. Master Red untied the bow at her hip, the skirt falling around her knees.

"Then again, the club subs belong to Rolf, though he's happy to share."

Master Red forced her chin up, until she was looking at the ceiling.

She loved this. She hated it.

She loved being handled. She hated that it wasn't Landon handling her.

She tried to lower her chin to look for him, but Master Red pressed his thumb against the soft underside of her jaw.

"You don't belong to anyone, do you?" He slid his hand down her neck to the tops of her breasts.

"I do, Sir."

The words were out before she thought through all the implications and ramifications.

Master Red stilled, his hand resting on her breasts. "Oh?"

Slowly, Colette lowered her chin, forcing herself to meet his eyes though her sub training was screaming at her to drop her gaze.

"Who?" he demanded.

Colette gently shook her head rather than answer.

"If he hasn't seen fit to claim you yet, then you're available to be played with."

Again, she shook her head. Something flashed on Master Red's face, but it was quickly squelched as he sat back, taking his hand off her.

"A pity, you have such a pretty mouth."

Colette had to take a few breaths before she was able to speak.

"Do you want anything else, Sir?"

"No, but when I do find my companion for the evening, I'd like you to assist with the scene."

"If I'm available, Sir." Colette rose, picking up her tray.

Master Red caught her arm. "Make yourself available."

Now that she was on her feet, Colette had no problem arching one brow and smiling. "It would certainly be your privilege."

With that she turned and walked away.

Colette dropped her tray off at the bar and headed for the door to the playroom suite.

She cast one quick glance over her shoulder, scanning the room for Landon, but still didn't see him. Not that she could see everything from here—especially with red and neon blue lights spearing up through the opening in the floor making it hard to see anything beyond that.

Colette slipped through the door, immersed in shocking quiet once she closed it behind herself. She hurried down the short hall, but when she reached the junction, she paused. Her room was to the right, but the kitchenette and storage room were to the left.

Colette turned left.

She stuck her head into the kitchen to check the time. Only a little past midnight, so nearly five more hours.

She wasn't going to make it to closing without giving in either to a Dom's invitation, or her own nearly desperate need.

The storage room was cool and dark. For a moment, after she closed the door, she simply stood there, thinking maybe the absence of stimulation would calm the mounting desperation.

Instead, she became highly aware of how wet her pussy was and of the air moving over her lower lip with each breath she took.

Cursing, she tapped the wall until she found the light. Calling it a storage room was a disservice, since it was elegant and tidy. Rather than industrial shelving and heavy bins, the items were stored in elegant wardrobes, dressers, and chests. The armoire that contained the club sub outfits was across from the door. Beside it was a cube shelving unit with wooden box inserts. Her clothes were in one of those boxes, and she assumed the others contained Toy's, Baby's, Kitten's, and Naughty's street clothes.

Tempting as it was to strip out of the corset and go hide in her room, she had to see this through. If she couldn't make it through one night working here, Landon would tell his boss, and either they'd revoke her protection, or make them move to a new location.

As hard as it was to be in Club Alibi, she didn't want to go to a new location—she felt safe here.

A day of rest had helped her expunge some of the stress and fear she'd been carrying, but not all of it. The core of it was still there, rooted in the trauma of what had happened with Damien and her subsequent desperate flight.

The emotions were a hard knot behind her breastbone, pressing against her from within. Making her desperate for release.

A release submission could give her.

Colette brought her hands to her face, gritting her teeth and swallowing to stop herself from crying. The moment passed and she took a shivery breath, finger-combing her hair.

Then she started opening and closing drawers, looking for the thing she hoped would help her make it through the rest of the night.

She found what she needed on velvet lined trays in a bottom drawer of a tall dresser. Glancing quickly at the door, Colette pulled out two trays, setting them on a steamer trunk.

The collars ranged in size, color, material, and functionality. Most were made of leather, but a few were canvas or nylon.

She dismissed the white and pink one with inset hearts, as well as the turquoise double-layered collar with gem-encrusted letters spelling out "slut."

There were two elegant, fey-like collars that had a unique shape, coming to a point at the bottom center. Both were made of layered leather. The outer layer of black leather had been laser cut in a vaguely Celtic design that allowed the inner layer of colored leather to show through. Beside those was a bulky brown leather collar with a hefty gold buckle and multiple attachment points.

She wavered over the fey collars, liking the artistry that had gone into them, but this wasn't about style.

Colette picked an all-black martingale collar of leather and metal, then replaced the trays in the drawer.

The collar was two strips of leather that buckled together at the back of the neck. On the front, a short length of matte black chain looped through the D rings at the end of each leather strip.

Colette carefully buckled it around her neck. It hung loose, until she tugged at the large O-ring on the chain, tightening it.

Black leather curved around the sides of her neck, while the chain formed an inverted triangle at the front. The top of the upside-down triangle stretched across her neck, while the O-ring rested on her upper chest. The name necklace with its tiny letter beads was framed within the triangle made by the chain.

Colette tugged on the chain, closing her eyes to savor the experience as the collar pressed against her. It wasn't enough to choke her, just enough to make her feel safe and dominated.

For a moment she let herself indulge, and pretend it wasn't her hand tugging on the collar.

Opening her eyes, Colette took a steady breath, feeling more centered than she had before. Hopefully wearing the collar would both deter anyone from thinking she was actively looking for a partner the way Master Red had, and take the edge off her need to submit.

Now wearing a collar, she slipped back into the club, the music from below so loud it felt like a physical touch. Hoping no one had noticed she was gone, Colette went to collect her tray from the bar.

She fell into the bar when someone tackle hugged her from behind.

"Oof."

"Sorry!" Kitten sang out. "It's time for shots!"

"Shots?" Colette turned in time to see Baby sashay over, Toy right behind her carrying a bunch of black towels in one gloved hand. He dumped the towels in a laundry bin, threw away the glove, then joined them at the bar.

"Shots," Baby confirmed.

"Normally we do one before our shift, but Master Rolf took longer getting us ready tonight, so we'll do them now." Kitten turned and smiled at Naughty, who already had four shot glasses lined up on the bar.

"Screaming orgasms." Naughty slid the brown and white layered shots over to them.

"Not that we're having any." Toy heaved an exaggerated sigh.

"Har har, don't remind us." Baby raised her glass. "Cheers, sluts."

Colette clinked glasses, and tossed back the shot, which tasted like a vodka-laced almond-milk latte.

It was warm and creamy going down her throat, and when she swallowed, she felt the pressure of the chain against her neck.

"I heard Rose ask for heavy impact." Kitten licked the inside of her glass. "Something about a bad day at work."

"Is someone going to scene with her?" Baby asked.

"I heard Master Rolf say he couldn't do it, but would find someone."

Colette set her glass down with a contented sigh—the collar and alcohol together had her feeling a lot better than she had twenty minutes ago.

The others gossiped for a few more minutes, but Colette was getting restless. She grabbed her tray. "I'm going to go serve the shit out of some drinks."

The others whooped and hollered as she walked away, so Colette added a little butt wiggle, the collar secure around her neck.