9. Bridget

brIDGET

I runmy hand down the bolt of burgundy fabric.

The velvet caresses my hand, soft and whispering. This might be perfect. I slide the bolt off the shelf.

Abigail groans. "Another one?"

I smile at her over my shoulder and drop the bolt onto the stack she's already balancing in her arms. They're all moody and dark, a far cry from my original pastels and florals. I have a whole new collection in mind. "This is what you get for being my assistant."

"Begrudging assistant," Abigail mutters.

Laughing, I continue down the rows of bolts, squeezed onto the shelf, a library of fabrics. The fabric store is like my church. The place I can go to worship, to expand, to create.

My mind has been racing with new ideas since the wedding.

All it took was two minutes. Two minutes of playing in the world I've coveted for years. And everything clicked into place. Made sense. Broke open.

I'm a different woman now.

I can't help but wonder how long that will last before I start craving more.

For now, I'm riding the wave of creativity. Picking out fabrics to test with my new design of luxurious sub wear. Edgy designs that will be delicious to tantalize Doms… that may or may not all look like Seth in my head.

"You're really going all out today," Abigail says.

"Yep. I'm inspired, what can I say?" I pull out a bolt of black, wide knit lace.

"Any particular reason?"

I glance at her. Abigail blinks her green eyes almost hidden under her feral red bangs. "That question sounds pointed."

I slide the black lace out and plop it on her stack.

She yelps.

"I'm just saying." She tucks her chin on top of the bolts to look at me. "You and Dory were kind of cozy."

Laughter falls out of me. "You're kidding, right?"

"Well, he was flirting with you, you were dancing–"

I leave the aisle, Abigail at my heels, and head to the front counter. "We were literally paired together, and I had no one to dance with. That's all it was."

"Well, good," she says, the good punctuated as she drops the bolts on the counter in front of the seamstress who runs the shop.

The bolts slide across the counter, creating a mess. The seamstress raises her eyebrow over the thick glasses.

Abigail grits her teeth, trying to smile. She's in her early twenties, still clinging onto that childlike, oops!-Did-I-do-that? mentality. "Sorry," she says.

"Three yards of each please," I ask the seamstress, who gets to measuring and cutting quickly.

I turn my attention back to Abigail, crossing my arms over my chest. "Why are you so concerned with me and Dory anyway?"

Big laugh from Abigail. "Because I'd be concerned about anyone with Dory."

I narrow my eyes. "Why?"

"Because he's such a fraud," she whispers.

"A fraud?" That could mean any number of things.

Abigail blows out an annoyed breath. "He has the whole charming Brit thing going on, but he's got baggage. So, I don't want anyone I love getting involved with him."

"Well, we're not involved," I say. But I can't leave it there. I'm nosy. "But what's his baggage?"

The seamstress continues cutting, but I can see she's interested too, turning an ear toward us.

"Well…" Abigail puts on her gossip columnist face, her lips pursed together, eyes widened. "My dad met him when he was traveling Europe after my brothers were born. And Dad always says that if there was one guy wilder than himself, it was Dory. You know, drugs, partying, the works."

My lips tip down in a frown. I guess I could see it.

"When they're together, my dad is just a different person. Like, I see the guy who has three baby mamas and has never been married. Until now I guess."

"I didn't see that at the wedding," I say, not sure I buy it.

"Of course you didn't, Dad was busy," Abigail says. "Anyway, Dory runs his family's investment firm, which, ew boring, right? But he and his brother are both total assholes. They've done so much shit no random person would get away with. Public indecency, assault, money laundering…" Abigail sneaks a smile. "Of course, that all changed when Dory's wife left him for his brother."

I gape and smack my hand over my mouth.

"Yeah. I know. So, after years of covering up for that piece of shit, he ran off with Dory's wife. Well, ex-wife now. Left him with a little girl too."

"Aww…" I say.

Abigail slaps my arm. "Don't aw that!"

"He's a single dad. That's cute."

"No. He got what was coming to him."

I frown.

"Besides, he leaves his little girl with his parents all the time while he travels and goes to weddings and–"

"I think you're too hard on him."

Abigail's face grows red. "He's a jerk, okay? And no one needs to get involved in his mess. That's all. I'm protecting you."

Saved by the buzz in my pocket. "Alright, alright…" I pull out my phone and open the message.

It's from the automated BDSM Underground concierge. I frown.

Your appointment at two-thirty has been confirmed.

"Huh…"

"What? What is it?" Abigail sticks her nose over my arm to look at the message. She gasps. "Bridget! You're going to finally rip off the band aid?"

I swipe my phone out of her line of sight. "No! I didn't make an appointment. This must be a mistake. Or…" A light bulb goes off in my head. "You're kidding me."

"What? What?" Abigail gabs my arm.

I shake my head with a chuckle. "Sonia."

Abigail frowns. "Sonia?"

It's as clear as day to me. An unexpected appointment in the Underground? "She's trying to push me to…you know."

"Do a scene?" Abigail looks down her freckled nose at me.

I sigh. "Yeah."

Of course, Sonia would arrange this when she's impossible to contact on her honeymoon island retreat and I can't call her to yell at her.

"I'm sorry, Abs, I have to go deal with this."

Abigail smiles. "No big. I've got to get back to some grad school work anyway. And…maybe you should consider going and enjoying yourself."

I open my mouth to protest but am interrupted when the seamstress drops the bag of my fabric yards in front of me. "On your tab?"

"Please." I swipe the bag. "Thanks."

I give Abigail one last look.

She's smirking.

"Stop thinking about it."

"I'm not," she lies.

When I arriveat the club, it is pretty quiet. Afternoons have a usual lull after the lunch rush and before the it's-almost-five-o'clock-somewhere drinks. The quiet makes it easy to duck into the Underground.

The desk is unmanned at the moment. No big deal. I can wait.

I go over to it and lean on the desk, waiting for someone to show up so I can clear this up.

Only a few seconds pass before I realize how quiet it is.

I look over my shoulder. No subs or Doms are out on the floor. No one is preparing for a scene in the main room. And from the looks of it, most of the lights are off in the private rooms.

All except one.

Strange.

I turn back to the desk and notice the ledger is splayed open. Every page is usually filled to the brim with names scribbled into the time slots in ink, the old-fashioned way.

Sonia has told me they put it all into a computer for posterity, but for aesthetics, masters and mistresses use the ledger.

Today's date, though, is empty past noon.

I furrow my brow and try to look closer.

Not empty. There's an arrow drawn down from the name written beside the twelve o'clock time slot all the way down.

Whoever that is has booked the Underground for the rest of the day.

I guess it should be my name except, if my theory is correct, Sonia can't be so unhinged as to think I would be able to make use of the Underground for an entire half of a day.

I bite my lower lip and look up to the door to backstage. Someone could walk out at any moment, and they'll accuse me of thumbing through private information. But I can't read upside down, especially not when the name is written in cursive.

As quick and as careful as possible, I take the cover of the ledger and spin it toward me until it's at an angle I can read the name.

My heart drops.

It's not my name.

It's Seth's.

No mistaking the swooping curve of the ‘S' or the loop of the lowercase ‘L' in his last name.

"You made it."

Seth's voice sends my blood coursing through my body. I am terrified to turn around and face him. "Seth," I say, the simplest thing, the only thing I can will myself to say.

The heels of his dress shoes clack against the floor. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"I almost didn't." I tuck my chin against my shoulder, preparing myself to face him.

Seth chuckles. "Are you afraid of me, Bridget?"

"Of course, I am," I say without thinking. I've been afraid of him for ten years. Since the moment I met him. Not because of his coldness or his control, but because there is something about him that makes me want him, want him with such a desperation I can't control myself.

Seth sighs, continues walking. "You don't need to be scared of me. That's not what I want."

Before the wedding, I would have told him he could have fooled me. Now I know he is telling the truth.

There is a clicking sound.

I turn toward it.

Seth is standing at the door to the Underground. He's just locked the door, made it impossible for anyone outside to disturb us.

Whatever this is.

Seth looks at me, blue eyes penetrating to my most secret depths. My most coveted wants.

"You brought me here," I say.

"I'm glad you've caught on."

"Why?" I have a guess, but I wouldn't want to make a fool of myself.

Seth pauses, leaves enough of a gap in the conversation for me to fall into. "Why did I bring you here?"

"Why did you trick me? That text, how did you–"

"I had Hazel send that off before dismissing her," he says. "In fact, everyone has been dismissed."

I stare at him and lord, he looks nice. Suit and tie, the kind of Dom that will be a perfect gentleman in the light of day and behind closed doors, tie me up and whip me into submission.

Where did that thought come from?

I've had thoughts like that before, but they've all been paired with mental apologies. This thought drove a stake into my middle, pinning me to my want, making sure I don't back away.

And hell, I'm not backing away.

Not now.

Maybe not ever again.

"We're alone, Bridget."

"Yes, I realize that…" I tighten the bag of fabric to my shoulder.

Seth's brow tenses for a moment.

"Why do you want me alone, Seth?" I'll make him spell it out. I want to know what happened in the library wasn't a fluke of love drunkenness or real drunkenness.

His Adam's apple bobs, the strong defined lump creeping up and back down.

"I'll be brief." Seth walks toward me. "I can't stop thinking about you. Not just since the wedding. I've never been able to stop thinking about you. Since the moment we met."

The gears in my brain gridlock.

What did he just say?

Seth stares at me. "Say something, Bridget."

This can't be real. I've either stepped into an alternate universe or Seth is screwing with me.

I don't mean to laugh, but I do. A weak one. A defense mechanism. "You're playing a joke on me."

His dark brows scrape down his forehead and his gaze intensifies. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

My muscles all want to turn to jelly but I remain resolute.

I spin around, trying to spy hidden cameras or anyone watching from the sidelines holding in laughter. "This…if you're trying to make a fool of me–" My eyes well with tears. "This will be the worst thing you've ever done to me. This will–"

Seth stops a foot away from me. That foot is a dangerous space for us. It is far enough to maintain a distance and close enough to destroy it. "What happened the other day, that wasn't a mistake."

He doesn't ask. He states it as a fact.

I open my mouth to rebut, a squeak coming out of the back of my throat. But no words. None.

Because…he's right. It is a fact. Am I don't regret it.

I've been replaying it in my head over and over, refining the moment to use for the next time I touch myself.

Am I so easy to see through?

"You want me too."

That's a fact too, one I don't have the wherewithal to attempt to argue.

My cheeks burn with shame that it's been so obvious. "Seth–"

"And now that I know that, I'm not going to be able to survive until I have you as my sub, Bridget."

My body is made of one thousand matches, and Seth has just set me alight.

What does a person say to a request like that? A demand like that?

"How did you…" I trail off.

Seriously, Bridget? Can't manage anything but questions about the hows and the whys when the man you've wanted to be your Dom all this time has decided he wants you?

"I pulled some strings with Nate."

My eyes widen. "He–"

"Doesn't know why," Seth finishes, reading my mind. Of course, he can. He's a Dom. Wants to be my Dom. He should know what's best for me.

It hasn't been even a full minute of Seth asking me to be his sub, and I've already given into the role. Into the dynamic.

However, that's not shocking. I've been waiting for this. Craving this.

For ten years. Since I was sixteen, when a relationship between us would have been even more perverse than it is now.

"We have the Underground to ourselves until midnight."

"Then my carriage will turn into a pumpkin, I guess," I mutter to myself.

Seth smirks.

And though that was a stupid thing to say, a childish thing to say, I don't feel childish in his eyes. Not anymore.

"You don't want me," I say in a small voice.

"You don't think I know what I want?" he asks, not with unkindness, but a firmness that reminds me his want should always go unquestioned if I am going to be a good sub for him.

"I just mean…" I dip my head down, avoiding eye contact. I know from the reading I've done and the scenes I've watched that I must be invited to do something like that. "You have experience. And I don't. You will grow tired of me."

Seth's hand envelops my chin. His fingers are softer than I've ever noticed. He tilts my head upward, so our eyes meet. His are glowing. "On the contrary, I would love to have the honor of training you, Bridget."

I am not sure I exist anymore. I have floated out of my own body. This must be a dream.

"I've watched you go through life trying to be brave," he says. "Trying to match yourself with the person you know you are, always falling short. And I know why."

My lips part.

"You need direction. You need someone who can protect you. Who can control you."

"I need a Dom."

Shit, I should never speak without prompting.

The scene hasn't begun, yet. We haven't set a contract in place, limits, anything of what I heard happens between subs and Doms. But I wanted to be his perfect sub from the start.

I don't want to give Seth any reason to change his mind.

Seth chuckles, a dark and luscious roll in his mouth. "Yes, Bridget. You need a Dom. And I want it to be me."

God. Letting the thought that I might get a Dom, and he might be the one, wash over me releases tensions I didn't know existed in my body.

I have been holding, bracing, trying to be a good girl and a professional young woman, attempting to navigate life.

I have been forced to live in a world where I need to be assertive, decisive, confident. In control.

I'm not in control. Ever. I hate it.

And to know I might not have had to for so many years if Seth had only said something.

But maybe I was not good enough before. Maybe I'm not now. But I will try my best to show him what a good girl I am.

"Will you accept my offer?" he asks. "If only for the night?"

The last thing I want is for him to mistake my eagerness for immaturity. But to be his. To submit to him every night. This is a need. Not a want.

"I will. I mean, yes, I'll be your sub."

A smile spreads across his face, a bold one. A proud one.

I've given him what he's wanted.

And to know that I have pleased him pleases me. Pleases me so much I already feel blood rushing to my core and swelling my lower lips. I know once I take a step, I'll notice how wet he's made me.

I don't know if I'll be able to handle how good it will feel to submit to Seth.

"Good." He drops his hand from my chin. "Follow me."

Seth strides toward the open chamber at the other side of the hall.

I watch as he goes, his tight ass in black slacks looking so fucking good. And with no one around, I don't have to worry about being caught looking.

I drop my bags and rush after him.