Without A Trace: Inside The Lines Part 2

I hear the door close behind him, and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. Deep down, the niggling of my conscience remains-for all the win that tonight represents for Ari, that I am having s.e.x with my clients remains a problem I need to deal with.

Chapter 5.

Girl Talk "Wait, so you mean a hot, polite man just showed up-Scottish, no less-and you didn't get his name and number? Who are you, and where have you taken my best friend?" Ella insists as we soak our feet in scalding, bubbling water.

I sit back in the pedicure chair, closing my eyes and ignoring Ella's disbelief. We'd agreed to meet for pedicures, as between the craziness of her work schedule with Elementary and Mia, we rarely got in any girl time. Now I regret telling her about last night. Well, I only told her about the Fin part of last night.

"You liked him."

I snort. "He was a rented d.i.c.k, Ells. He did the job."

"You've mentioned him several times, including how good-looking he is." She gave me a meaningful look. "I recognize the signs of a Lux Trace crush."

"Please. Like you would even know." It sounds harsh even to my ears, but I'm wildly uncomfortable with her a.s.sumption. Did I say a lot about him? I might have mentioned his physique and accent a few times. A crush? Hardly.

Hmph.

"I daresay I would," she responds dryly. "In the eight years I've known you, there was Rob, Taylor, Guy, Rob number two, Jon, Jonathan, Jason, Justin, Eric, Evan-" She counts them off on her fingers.

I open my eyes and hold up a hand. "Point made." Jesus, have I really dated that many men since college? And those are just the Facebook status-update ones. Because I'm pretty sure there are a few more on top of the ones she mentioned, and that doesn't include recreational s.e.xy times. d.a.m.n. "And all that proves is that I need to swear off dating. I can't make a single relationship work." Evan was the closest I'd come to being happy, and even that hadn't been enough.

She widens her eyes in surprise. "Lux...you just haven't met the right person."

I shrug, then slosh my feet around the hot water. This deluxe pedicure chair offers a light show of colors in the water, so I focus on that rather than respond to Ella.

After a few moments, she lets it go. "So, any more thoughts about Kinked?

The word itself causes a flutter in my gut. "I'm almost done with the business plan. Noah said he'd review it tomorrow. It's still pretty intense, you know?"

"I think it's a great idea. Plus, it would put you more in charge of your career."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm already in charge of my career."

Her blue eyes soften. "That was a bad choice of words, Lux. I'm sorry."

The sincerity in her voice shames me. Am I that hung up and miserable lately that I'm popping off at my best friend when she's just trying to be helpful? "I'm the one who should be sorry. And I am. I'm in a bad head s.p.a.ce right now. It makes me cranky."

She takes my hand and squeezes my fingers. "Anything I can do?"

I return the gesture, then pull my hand from her grasp. "Nope. Just gotta get through it. Tell me about the small one."

Her face lights up. "Which part? About how adorable and delicious she is? Or how exhausted she makes me?" She feigns sleep. "I feel like I could sleep for a month. Oh, but let me show you..." She digs out her phone and pulls up her photo alb.u.m. "Look at Mia's face this morning. Oh my gosh, her dimples are killer. Just like her daddy's."

She shows me at least fifteen photos of the baby. She's adorable, but that's hardly surprising given her parents. I make the appropriate ohs and ahs over her pictures while I fight the envy that comes from seeing my friend's joy; in many ways, it's another reminder of how far away I am from having anything like that.

"You okay?"

I must've been silent for too long. "Of course. I'm just blown away by your beauteous child." I offer a small smile in the hopes that she'll forgive me.

One amazing thing about Ella-she always does. As the pedicurist returns to pretty-up our feet, she leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "I'm here for you, you know."

I nod, once again overcome with emotions I don't have anywhere to go with.

Charles requested a standing appointment with me. While I'm never one to turn down a regular, I'm surprised he made a decision that quickly. Most of my regular clients took a few weeks to warm up to having a regular meeting with a Mistress. Of course, he seems to be a man who understands his preferences and needs, based on our first meeting.

After our second session, I slip back into my trench coat and situate myself on the sofa in the suite's living room. That is another surprise with Charles-he has no desire to meet at my dungeon. Instead, he pays for an extravagant room at one of the most expensive hotels in the city. Hey, I'm not going to argue with him. Less clean up and room rental for me.

He dries his hands on a towel as he rejoins me in the living area. "Thank you, Mistress Hathaway. Once again, you astound me with your skill."

I bow my head slightly. "Thank you, Charles. You were very well-behaved today. More so than the first session."

His handsome face turns slightly embarra.s.sed. "Yes, I admit, your punishment takes a bit to get used to. You have a firm hand with the whip." When I don't smile, he rushes to finish, "Which I greatly appreciate."

I bestow a small grin, then stand. "It's been my pleasure, Charles."

"Would you mind having a cup of coffee with me? And I'm not propositioning you, Mistress Hathaway. I was wondering if you'd mind, when we meet, enjoying a few moments of conversation afterwards? You may charge me whatever you wish for your time."

His request surprises me, but I don't sense any flirtation from him. He seems to want nothing more than a cup of coffee. It's an odd question, and I'd normally turn such a request down. But I hear myself say, "For a few minutes."

Room service comes within moments. Coffee dispensed, I sit back on the sofa and eye him where he reclines in a chair. "So what did you wish to talk about?"

For the first time, he's a bit self-conscious, and he slides a hand through his wavy hair. "I was hoping you'd tell me more about your work. I was... in a relationship with a Dominatrix years ago, but she... I'm not sure of a polite way to say it, so I'll just be blunt. She wasn't a healthy person. She took it too far, often, to the point that she had a breakdown. I've always wondered how you balance what you do against your relationships? How do you embrace who you are in a world that is less than welcoming?"

His question hits me in an uncomfortable place. I wouldn't call myself the poster child for balancing your proclivities. He's right: some people lose themselves in the BDSM world in an effort to avoid dealing with life. "I'm not sure I have the answer you are looking for, Charles. I've been involved in the BDSM world since I was a teenager. But I didn't find myself there to avoid anything, either. I was drawn to it because it spoke to who I knew I was. Does that make sense?"

With a nod, he takes a sip of his coffee. "Perfectly. I always questioned whether she really was a Dom, or if she chose that road to avoid being hurt."

"That very well may be. She wouldn't be the first person I've heard of who did so." Sadness haunts his eyes. "You loved her."

After a pause, he nods slowly. "I did. Very much."

I sigh. "I'm so sorry. This must have been hard for you-to seek me out."

"It was... the first time I sought out someone to meet my needs in several years, yes."

"I'm glad you did."

"May I ask you one more question?"

The coffee still steams in the cup, so I nod. "Of course."

"I don't mean to be impertinent, and you may tell me it is none of my business. Have you found a way to have this," he motions to the bedroom, "and a healthy relationship at the same time? I've met quite a few people who engage in BDSM, but they've either not lasted as a couple, or they've found partners that allow them to play with others, rather than bring it home."

"That's an excellent question. I have met people who are able to abalance' it, and quite successfully. So I wouldn't give up hope. But I've yet to find that harmony for myself."

"Ah. Yes. Well, that does give me some measure of hope. Thank you, Mistress."

We finish our coffee discussing ba.n.a.l bits of news and culture. When I take my leave, he walks me to the door, then holds his hands out to me. I place my fingers against his large, warm palms.

"Thank you, Mistress Hathaway. I will endeavor to be less naughty for you."

"Very good, Charles. Until the next time."

Many of my clients have little routines they like after a session, so Charles is not unusual in that. But there's an elegance to him that makes him even more attractive as a client. When I get to the lobby, I make a note of his preferences in my roster, then head home.

Chapter 6.

Uncomfortable Truths Not every city has a club devoted to kink, but thankfully, New York City does. Paddled has been around for at least twenty years, if not longer. Inside, it's anything goes, except outright s.e.x. You can pet, fondle, kiss, whip, spank, and/or tie up. As long as all parties are consenting and everyone enjoys their play, no questions are asked.

I step into the dark s.p.a.ce, and some of my defenses fall away. When you spend your life living on the fringe of society's preferences, it gets lonely. Here, no one asks why my preferred clothing is black patent and ties in the back. Or why I like my eyeliner dark and my lipstick intense. I can simply be.

I nod to a couple of friends as I find my way to the juice bar-some s.e.x clubs shy away from even considering a liquor license. When you are involved in activities that involve risk and pain, you need all your wits. I order a cranberry juice and smile at the barista.

"How's it going, Tice?"

She grins back me, her beautiful face a mask of delight. "f.u.c.kin' amazing, jelly bean. How's you?" She pumps the cranberry juice from a soda gun, looking for all the world like a real bartender.

"Not bad. Remember that business idea I talked to you about?"

"You got something for me?" Her dark eyes rake over me with intensity. Tice-also referred to as "Entice"-manages Paddled, and she's pretty confident that the owners and investors of the s.e.x club will be interested in Kinked.

My stomach leaps into my throat. "I have a business consultant looking over it now. I can email it to you tomorrow."

"That's my girl!" She reaches over to high-five me. "Let's get this s.h.i.t on the road, baby!"

I smile at her confidence. "Here's hoping your bosses like it."

She waves a hand with ridiculously long, bright blue fingernails. "I will sell that s.h.i.t, baby. Don't you worry about it." She hands me my drink.

"Thanks, Tice." I've known Tice since she was a man, and I don't take her words lightly even though they're said with her flippant style. She's shrewd, and she's never been one to blow smoke.

I head for the balcony, my nerves jangling at the thought of handing over my business plan and seeing if it can finagle the financial support I'll need to get my idea off the ground. A haunting beat pumps through the s.p.a.ce, the black walls with silver and muted magenta accents seeming to pulse with the vibe. One thing that most folks don't know about s.e.x clubs is that you can go and just watch. Many players enjoy the taboo of onlookers, and as long as you're complimentary and not rude, your attention is often very welcome.

From my favorite perch up top, I can look down on all the activity and choose what pleasure I wish to watch. In the far corner, someone engages in rope play. A slim Asian girl closes her eyes in obvious rapture as her master ties intricate knots around her naked body. When the craft is finished, the girl has ropes pinning her arms to her sides and forming a design over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and torso. The ropes are attached to the ceiling, though she isn't suspended. Her Dom draws two ends of rope between the girl's legs and begins to pleasure her.

Along the walls are alcoves with barred entrances, where people can perform a wealth of different activities. In one, a lover strikes her submissive into a frenzied o.r.g.a.s.m using a rubber whip. Center stage is a caning already in progress. Not an activity of the faint of heart, it's the true measure of a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t. A man lies facedown on a padded table, similar to something you might see in a ma.s.sage therapy room. His wrists are bound to the head of the table, and each ankle to a corner. A long, firm rattan cane forcefully strikes his back and b.u.t.tocks in measured strokes. Each hit should be separate, s.p.a.ced apart, so the sub can endure the pain. A sheen of sweat covers both the sub and his Dom, and I recognize both of them. Ethan, the man tied to the table, is a long-time friend, and his Dom is his wife. It's as much work for her as a s.a.d.i.s.t as it is for Ethan, if not more so. She must watch his expressions, evaluate her pattern, make sure she gives him just enough pain, but not too much. And he can lose himself in it, focus on the bliss the pain offers, and disappear into the experience.

When they are finished, Ethan's back is covered in raw, red lines, but she did not break his skin, a true sign of a master. As he recovers, she presses a wet cloth to his face, kisses him pa.s.sionately, and soon they'll disappear into the crowd, probably leave to find a private place to f.u.c.k.

I smile at their affection and remember Charles's question. Is it too much to ask to find someone who not only gets you, but is willing to give of themselves to make you happy? Don't get me wrong-I'm realistic. I know that there's no perfect match. I also recognize that I need to be with someone who understands me, at my core. I've dated really nice guys; I've never lasted with someone who didn't respect me. But they couldn't understand what made me tick and what turned me on after the initial novelty had pa.s.sed. I don't need crazy scenes and intense setups to enjoy s.e.x. But I do need to be in control, to be me.

Some days, I'd give anything to be "vanilla," like so many others.

I work my way through two cranberry juices before I check the time on my phone. I should head home. The confusing thoughts in my head and recent moodiness that has overtaken me are exhausting. I'm mildly distracted by a threesome setting up on the center stage: crops, clamps, and clothes pins ensuring a very intense display, but I've had enough. As I slip off my stool, I land on a foot.

"Oh, G.o.d, sorry. Are you okay?" I say as I turn to see a familiar face.

Fin smiles down at me. "Aye, it's all right. Ye're a wee thing, anyway. Hardly heavy enough to do much damage."

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" I ask, surprise turning to wariness.

"Lookin' for ye, as it turns out." He's dressed in jeans and a b.u.t.ton-down shirt that hangs loose from his broad shoulders. His auburn hair curls around his collar, still damp from a recent shower, and he smells like the same yummy cologne from our last meeting, as well as fresh gra.s.s.

My throat dries out as I look up at him, the pure s.e.xiness of him a bit overwhelming, which only serves to irritate me more. "Really? Oh, I guess I do owe you money, come to think about it." I'd promised Stephen a cut of Ari's payment, but since he didn't show up, I hadn't sent him the cash. I create a note on my phone. "Just give me your PayPal information, and I can send it."

"Oh. Well, that's okay, then. That's not what I'm here about."

He p.r.o.nounces "about" like "a-boot," and I smile despite myself. "Then what can I do for you?"

His large hand rubs the back of his neck in a familiar motion. "Aye, well, I wondered if, ye know, I could book ye?"

"Book me?" I arch an eyebrow. "For what, pray tell?"

"Weel, ye know, for services, like. Er, whatever ye call it."

s.h.i.t. The downside to not following my own rules means this guy now thinks I'm a f.u.c.king prost.i.tute. "Yeah, well, I'm not available." I push past him, my embarra.s.sment complete. I hear him call my name-another mistake, as all my clients know me as Mistress Hathaway, not Lux-but I keep walking. While I love a s.e.xy high-heeled boot, you don't have the same traction as you would with, say, sneakers. I focus on the back exit that only regulars know about, and when the cool evening air hits my face, I take a deep, cleansing breath.

"Lux?"

And Scotty followed me. "Do you seriously not know when to back off? Or is being obnoxious part of your charm?"

My fury forces him back a step, his confusion evident. "I-look, I've clearly said something to upset ye, and that wasna my goal. I just wanted to see ye again, and I didn't want ye to think I was cheap. I apologize if I've offended ye."

I glare at him, but his logic seeps past my rage. "So this is you trying to ask me out?" The back alley surrounds us with cement and asphalt, our voices echoing in the cramped s.p.a.ce.

He holds back an uncomfortable smile, looking appropriately chastised. "Aye, I guess it was, though I've made a fair mess of it." He drops his arms to his sides and blows out a breath. "Can I try again? Will ye let me, Mistress?" His eyes twinkle with renewed humor.

Those greenish blue orbs and his easy manner are appealing, in addition to his raw, seemingly innocent, s.e.xiness. It doesn't hurt that I also know what he's got under those jeans, and I wouldn't mind test-driving it myself. "I'll give you one get-out-of-jail-free card. Ruin it, and there's no hope for you."

He laughs. "Fair anough." He sobers and meets my challenging gaze. "Mistress-Lux, rather, may I take ye to dinner?"

I'm surprised to find my mouth curving up at the invitation. And there's an odd trill in my stomach as I accept. I feel like I'm back in high school, and the guy I've had a crush on is finally looking my way.

"Friday night, then? Around seven?"

I agree to the time, as well as where to meet.