Playing Hard to Master (8 page)

“Do you? Well, I wish you’d explain it to me.”

“You like her too much. I think you’re over Shae, finally, but now you’re shutting people down before they get too close.” He cocked his head to the side, narrowing his dark eyes. “You know that’s why you used to fuck Banner’s exes, right? You thought they were safe because they were on the rebound, and you’d never get serious with a girl one of us had first.”

A pained noise escaped Ambrose, and he banged his forehead on Konstantin’s desk repeatedly. “You do realize I hate you?”

“You hate me most when you know I can see through your bullshit. You, my friend, spend a lot of time in denial.”

“Maybe. So what do I do now?”

“Well, you can either avoid her until she hates you, which is the safe and cowardly thing to do, or you can go apologize and see if you can turn it into a real relationship.” Kon smiled sympathetically, then got up and poured Ambrose a tumbler of something that was probably scotch. It smelled like paint thinner.

Ambrose took a sip. Tasted like paint thinner.

“You seem happy enough in your . . . relationships.” What did he call what Kon had anyway? “You keep them a few months and then give them the boot. You never have time to get attached.” He took another drink, wishing the fumes from it weren’t making his eyes water.

“Ah, but soon things will change. You and Banner need to throw me a party.”

“Why?”

“I’m getting engaged.”

“What?” Ambrose swung his head in the direction the girls had gone but they weren’t in view. “To which one?”

Konstantin smiled grimly. “Neither of those two.” He flicked a dismissive finger at the door. “They’re fun, but I don’t want to marry them. I don’t know who I’m marrying yet. You remember how my babushka has been sending me résumés for different girls, and making me visit there, that sort of thing?”

“Yes?”

“Banner’s wedding got me to thinking. We’re not getting any younger—if we don’t marry soon, many of the girls worth marrying will already be spoken for. I’ve decided to grant my grandmother’s dying wish and marry a girl from her village. I’ve told her to choose one for me.”

“What?” Ambrose realized his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it.

He shrugged. “One’s as good as another. It’s time I had a wife.”

Ambrose sat immobile, staring at his friend. This was crazy talk. The Konstantin he thought he knew would never settle down, let alone with some girl his grandmother chose. She didn’t know anything about his . . . proclivities, so how could she pick him a suitable wife?

“Most of the girls she favors are in school. I have about a year until I can send for one.”

“A year isn’t very long.” A thoughtful silence fell between them. Ambrose didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother.”

“Oh, she’s not really dying. At least not anytime soon, I don’t think. She’s just melodramatic.” Konstantin drained the rest of his glass and set it aside. “So anyway, I need to make the most of my time until then.”

Ambrose ran a hand over his face. “You’re not going to keep a girl on the side or anything?”

Konstantin raised an eyebrow in disgust. “I would never disrespect my wife that way.”

“What if she’s vanilla?”

He shrugged. “Is anyone, really? I’ll lay my cards on the table with her when she arrives. If she can’t bring herself to like what I like, at least in part, I won’t marry her.”

Ambrose mulled over this turn of events. It was hard to picture any of them married—even Banner, but particularly Konstantin. Although Kon never stepped out on the women he was in a sexual relationship with, he got bored quickly and always wanted newer, shinier toys.

“Of course, you and Banner will have to stand up for me at the wedding, and promise not to frighten my new little wife.”

Ambrose was vaguely insulted. “I’m a gentleman.” Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but when it came to girls outside of a consensual D/s relationship he did his best to be the man his mother had raised him to be. Everly, though . . . Everly made it very hard to think like a gentleman.

The way she responded to him, the clever gleam in her eye, the curve of her hip—the way she sucked cock.
Fuck.
He shifted in his chair and realized Kon hadn’t missed a thing.

Konstantin’s smile was salacious. “So . . . when are you bringing Everly by for some fun?”

Territorial hackles rose, surprising even Ambrose. “If you ever so much as
touch
her, I’ll strangle you with your own intestines.”

His friend threw his head back and laughed. “A simple ‘never’ would have sufficed.” He got to his feet. “Interesting how you’ve only had her twice and you’re already acting like a jealous ass. Now get out. I have women to screw, and you need to make up your own mind.” He waved him away. “Talking to me isn’t going to fix what you did. Just make sure you don’t grovel. Masters who grovel give their power to their slaves. Not a good tone to set in a relationship.”

Sanctimonious ass.

Just because Konstantin liked his women completely submissive, didn’t mean every Master did.

Besides, he never groveled. Not even for someone like Everly.

“You need to give up on customizing cars and get a job writing an advice column.” Ambrose flipped him off grumpily and stomped down the hall and out the door.

He got into his car, then sat in Kon’s driveway until he was so cold he couldn’t feel his fingers.

Jackass
. What the hell was he going to do?

It had only been a few hours, and he already ached to have her again.

*   *   *

It was cold out, but at least there was no wind. Floodlights cast a glare on the dark, mostly empty lot, but the Langly Shipping logo on the side of the new truck stood out even in the poor-quality light. He climbed up into the cab and looked around, pleased with how comfortable it was. The long-haul guys did better when their backs weren’t killing them.

Augustine strolled up to the open driver’s door, and gave him a sixty-watt smile. He always said he reserved the hundred-watt ones for business contacts who weren’t his irritating older brother.

“It’s midnight,” Ambrose pointed out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His brother went around to the passenger side and let himself in, closing the door and tucking his hands into his armpits. “The same thing as you, dickweed. Except I’ve actually been getting work done, rather than . . . what? Playing truck driver?”

Ambrose kind of missed driving, but there was usually too much paperwork for him to indulge himself.

“Trucks are cool.”

“So is sleep.”

They appraised each other. There had been a time when they were mortal enemies, but Ambrose hiring his little brother to work for him when he’d started his company had changed all that. Sure Augustine could be an annoying businessman-type sometimes, but now they hung out like they never had as kids. The five-year age gap had given them little in common back when they’d lived under their parents’ roof, but now the difference was no big deal.

“You looking for a signature?” Ambrose asked. The financial shit Augustine juggled often required his approval.

“Why? Are you famous?”

“Damn right.”

“Oh.” Augustine laughed. “That’s why you dress like a sack of shit? To be ironic?”

“It’s either irony or a lack of ironing. Either way, there’s no one here to impress at this time of night except you and the security guards.” Ambrose shrugged. “And you’ve seen me in Batman pajamas.”

“It feels like that was only last year,” he mused. “Oh wait, it was. Christmas, to be exact. You’re a better sport than I am. I’ve never worn the Robin ones. It’s bad enough I have to be your sidekick at work, I’m sure as hell not fighting crime with you too.”

Ambrose sighed. “Damn. I got you a grappling hook for your birthday. I guess I’ll have to return it.”

The younger man held up a staying hand. “Don’t be hasty, now. After all, what guy couldn’t use a grappling hook?” He narrowed his eyes. “Enough with the bullshit. Why the fuck are you here? You look like you’re hiding from the cops.”

Ambrose snorted. “I wish.”

“Either spill it, or be a man and hide your feelings. It’s bad enough I have to deal with Charlotte’s mood swings.” He winked and Ambrose yanked on his tie good-naturedly. Augustine made a show of straightening it. The guy liked looking professional at all times. He probably wore his tie to bed. “You can give up on trying to rumple me. I’m rumple resistant. Now, you have sixty seconds to start talking or I’m heading home to strike out with my girlfriend.”

“Figure out what her kinks are and you’ll never get turned down.”

“She reads guy-on-guy romance. I’m not interested in finding out what her kinks are.”

Ambrose grinned evilly. “I guess you just don’t want her bad enough.”

“We’re not talking about me, Deflection Man.”

After fishing around in his coat pocket, Ambrose pulled out a packet of beef jerky. He shoved a piece in his mouth and sucked on it. The salt was one of his guilty pleasures. Augustine grimaced. So uptight, his brother.

“It’s a woman, of course.” He chewed, feeling like he was trying to gnaw a hole in a leather jacket. Activity was good. It made his stress level go down.

Augustine shook his head in disgust. “If you tell me this is about Shae, I’m going to start sending you to therapy. Enough is enough.”

“No,” he grumbled. Hadn’t he shown people lately that he was over her? Mostly. “This is about someone I just met.”

“And the problem is . . . ?”

He sucked more salt out of the meat-like substance, and looked across the lot at an older truck that he needed to sell. With the level of responsibility he had, he couldn’t let things escape his notice because he was distracted by Everly.

“I slept with her.”

In the gloom, Augustine’s eyebrow almost touched his hairline. “I’m failing to see the issue.” He folded his arms. “Seriously though. Sometimes things aren’t the best the first time or two. Did you have performance issues? Did she use her teeth too much?”

Despite his agitation, Ambrose barked a laugh. “No. I just . . . like her too much.” He closed his door. The wind was picking up, and he could see his breath in the cab.

His brother sighed and rubbed a hand over his regal face. Augustine had somehow turned out looking like aristocracy. With his slim build and classic features, he made Ambrose look like even more of a brute by comparison.

He looked out the window for a moment, his gaze following the progress of a security guard who was checking the lot, then glanced back at Ambrose.

“You know I love you, man, but you have to stop sabotaging yourself. Shae blindsided you, but you’ve let it ruin your life for too long. And Kate? I’m not even going to go there.” He sighed, sounding exasperated.

“I’m not sabotaging myself. I just don’t want to rush into anything. The only problem is, she makes me want to rush every time I’m around her.” He grabbed another piece of jerky and shredded it between his fingers. It was probably better for him than eating it.

“If you like her and she likes you, you just need to pull your head out of your ass.” Augustine opened his door and slid to the ground. “Go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow, quit being an idiot.”

He closed the door behind him, and Ambrose stared after him long after he’d gone.

Everly walked into the sandwich shop and spotted her mom in the back corner straightaway. Her hair—a bleached-out curly mess—made her stand out, especially at her age. Lysette was a stubborn woman with her own sense of style and wouldn’t let Everly touch her hair even when she begged. The woman had no class. Then again, Everly should probably have outgrown her purple streaks, or hot pink panels, or whatever current ’do she felt like giving herself too. Like mother, like daughter.

She approached the table then put her hands up in the air. “Victory!”

Her mom’s face lit up. “You won?”

“Yup.” After pulling out the chair from across her mother, she placed her purse on the floor and sat down. “We had close to a hundred protesters. I was shocked.”

“Wow.” Lysette smiled. “Good for you.”

Sighing happily, she shrugged off her coat. “The no-freeze shelter will stay open another season.”

“You have a year until your next fight.”

“Ugh.” She picked up the menu. “Don’t remind me. Did you order?”

“No. I was waiting for you. I’ll pay today. To celebrate.”

She didn’t usually let her mom pay when they went out, but today she would. She knew it made her feel good—like she was making up for a lacking childhood or something. Everly didn’t see it that way, but there was no swaying her mom. That stubborn streak had gone directly to Everly, but it was also the reason she was alive. Pregnant at a young age, pressured by her family and boyfriend to have an abortion, Lysette had lost all financial footing when she’d refused.

It was hard to imagine the strength it took to make that kind of decision, knowing you’d be alone forever. Lysette’s parents had been born privileged and were given every opportunity out there for wealthy white kids, but because her mother had made one mistake, they’d turned her into the black sheep of the family. Because she’d chosen to keep Everly, as was her right as a mom and human being, they’d made their own daughter’s life a living hell.

Lysette may have forgiven them, but that didn’t mean Everly had. When she’d been a child, she’d wanted tangible things like kids at school had—the newest My Little Ponies, fancy light-up sneakers, a bike with tassels. But now that she was an adult, she was grateful things had turned out the way they had. Living in and out of shelters and relying on welfare had been tough, but it’d made
her
tough—and grateful and appreciative. If she’d grown up with her grandparents, where would she be right now? Wall Street? Walking by homeless people with her nose turned up? It disgusted her to think she could have turned out that way.

“I think I’m going to get a salad,” Lysette said, eyes on the menu. “I’m on a diet.”

“Again?” Everly chuckled. Her mom was perpetually on a diet, which she broke on and off as it suited her. “You need to embrace your curves.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone can be as confident as you are. I take no credit for that one.”

She shrugged. “I hate diets. I love food. I really didn’t have much of a choice. Learn to like my body or be unhappy.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” She chuckled. “I remember in high school, all the girls were crash-dieting trying to get dates for the prom, and you kept eating cupcakes in front of them and laughing.”

“Meanwhile, I was asked out by three different guys.”

“Because you have a great personality.”

“No. It’s because I was confident and didn’t give a shit. And anyway, most guys like a little junk in the trunk. They just don’t say it out loud.”

She sighed loudly. “Well, anyway, I have a date next week. I can take the water weight off before then.”

Everly looked at her in surprise. It’d been a long time since her mother even considered dating after Jack had broken her heart. “A date? I didn’t know you were back on the market.”

“I’ve been on Mate.com.” She placed the menu on the table. “Hey, you should join. I’ve met a couple of great men there.”

Letting out a long laugh, Everly shook her head. “Uh, no thanks. I doubt many of them would be . . .” Kinky enough. “. . . my type.”

She clucked her tongue. “You’re too picky.”

“They’re called standards, Mom. You should be happy I have them.”

“I can’t imagine how you’ve been celibate so long.” She didn’t even bother to whisper. “Unless you’re having casual sex. If so, good for you, but make sure you use protection.”

“Oh my God, Mom. Shut up.” Her cheeks heated, and she glanced at the table next to them, but the restaurant was too loud for anyone to hear.

Lysette shrugged. “I’m just saying . . .”

“Okay, well, don’t. I’m so not talking to you about this.” Thank the Lord the waiter appeared.

They ordered their lunch—Everly went with a salad, too—then the waiter left. Thankfully, Lysette didn’t bring up her sex life again. She needed to learn the meaning of boundaries. They were close, but talking about dating and sex was a little
too
close. This was her mother, even if they were also friends. Though Everly felt a little like giving her a safe-internet-dating lecture, but she held back. Hopefully, her mother had enough common sense to be careful.

Lysette had been with her boyfriend Jack since before the internet, but when he’d picked up and left for a ranch job in Montana, it’d sent Everly and her mother reeling with shock. Lysette had offered to go with him, but he’d seemed so indifferent about her going, and she’d still felt obligated to stick nearby for Everly, so they’d split up. After ten years together, it’d been a hell of a heartbreak.

Everly felt it too. Jack hadn’t been so much of a father, but more like a sweet uncle that doted on her. For the last few months, Lysette had been especially lonely. Everly could feel it whenever she was around her. That was why she’d made it a priority to meet her for lunch twice a week. Her mom was prone to depression and her job at the hospital was only getting more and more stressful. They demanded more hours from their nursing staff with less benefits, and she kept getting passed up for advancement by younger employees, which had to hurt.

Maybe internet dating would be good for her.

Now if only she could find someone that easily. KinkWorld was sorta the same idea but was sometimes creepier. And when you dealt with S&M in a relationship it brought a whole other level of risk into the mix.

There’d been potential with Ambrose if he hadn’t spooked the other night. It was clear he had issues. The jury was still out on whether they were surmountable or not. Still angry about the brush-off, she’d decided to head to the club tonight. It felt good to be back in the scene, and after playing with Ambrose, she realized how much she missed it. Maybe she’d find another Dom to play with, even if it was temporary.

“Maybe you’re destined to be chronically single, like me,” her mom said around a bite of salad. “You didn’t have a great role model for family life.”

“You know I don’t blame you for that. You did the best you could with what you had.”

“I just wonder what it means for your future.” She sipped her iced tea. “Do you even want a husband and kids?”

Everly stared down at her salad, turning the question over in her mind. She didn’t go gaga over babies or pregnant bellies, but when she thought about herself ten years from now, she pictured marriage, kids, maybe a house. Nothing fancy. Not a million kids. Just . . . simple. She’d still work, of course. There wasn’t an ounce of stay-at-home-mom instinct in her.

“I do want kids.” She gazed out the window, watching the families walk by. “I do.”

*   *   *

The heavy beat of the music vibrated the soles of her feet. Why did they play it so loudly anyway? Maybe to drown out the screaming. But wasn’t that part of the whole dungeon experience?

Everly sighed and shifted her weight to her other foot. The fuck-me boots were already uncomfortable. About as uncomfortable as hugging the wall, avoiding eye contact.

What the fuck was wrong with her? She was no wallflower. She’d come here to play, so why was she shying away from every prospective Dom like some kink virgin? Frustrated, she extracted herself from the dark corner she’d been hiding in and walked up to the bar.

“Hello, miss,” the man behind the counter said, smiling but not making eye contact. A sub.

Did she look like a Domme or was he just being polite? Sometimes her fetish wear came off a little intimidating, but it was just her style. Tonight, the short black skirt, hot pink tank top, and stockings shouldn’t read one way or the other. Maybe if she’d worn pigtails she’d have been approached by now.

“How can I service you today?” he asked, eyes still lowered, his lashes so long they seemed to brush his cheekbones.

Maybe he was a service sub and got off on treating everyone like they were above him. Some people were into that. “Just a Diet Coke, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A moment later, he handed her a plastic cup. She put a few bills on the counter and sipped her drink. A man walked in the door, catching her eye. Long, dark hair, sinfully handsome, he was trailed by two women who looked like they were fighting over who stood closest to him.

She recognized him. Ambrose’s friend Konstantin. Eyes narrowed, she fought the urge to approach him and demand answers. Why had his friend acted like such a chickenshit the other night? But she resisted. It wasn’t any of her business. If Ambrose didn’t want her, she wasn’t about to get all desperate and clingy about it.

Konstantin stopped just inside the door and surveyed the room, like he owned the place, then his eyes landed on her. He walked toward her, his girls following behind him. His stride was cocky, like most Doms’, but it didn’t do much for her. He was too pretty. She liked Ambrose’s rough edge better.

“Hi,” he said when he reached her. “Nice to see you, Everly.”

“You too.”

He ran his gaze over her, but not in a lustful way. More like he was taking notes about her. “Are you here with Ambrose?”

“No. He made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested,” she said bitterly. The sudden anger surprised her. But there it was. And now Konstantin knew.

He nodded slowly. “You should know, he was . . . hurt in the past.”

“Yeah, I don’t have time for guys who have shit to deal with. By my age, you gotta work that stuff out.”

“I see.” He frowned, and for some reason, guilt speared her.

She scoffed at herself. Why should she care what this guy thought of her? She wasn’t about to let him get into her head and make her doubt herself. She’d given Ambrose a chance.

“So you are here looking for another Dom?”

“Just someone to play with tonight.” She tilted her chin up to hide that he’d made her question herself.

After another long, assessing stare, he said, “Well, good luck and be safe. And if you run into any trouble, let me know.”

“I will.” She smiled slightly. Okay, that was kind of sweet. Maybe Ambrose had good taste in friends. Didn’t mean he had good taste in subs.

Konstantin and his girls retreated to a booth in the corner, and Everly returned to her pity party. She must’ve been giving off some major pouty vibes, because a man appeared at the seat next to her and gave her a sinister look. Pouting always attracted the predatory types.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing over here all by yourself?” he purred.

Unashamedly, she ran her gaze over him. Brown eyes, warm and trustworthy. Plain hair cut short and styled in spikes. Fitted black T-shirt that showed off a decent body. Leather pants. Ugh. That was almost a hard limit. Still, she didn’t get dolled up and drag herself here to give up already.

She batted her lashes. “Waiting for someone to call me pretty.”

He chuckled. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.”

After perching on the bar stool next to her, he grinned, revealing a gorgeous smile. “I’m Troy.”

“Everly.”

“Cool name.”

“Thanks.”

He rested his elbow on the counter and leaned in. “So what are you into, Everly?”

“Jeez. Not even going to buy me a drink first?”

He looked at her cup and arched a brow. “Yours is full, but I’d be happy to when you finish.”

She took a sip as she assessed him. “Are you a Dom?” He looked like one—had that confident presence.

“I’m a sadist top with a thing for sensation play.”

“Are you a baby sadist?” Newbies weren’t her thing. She didn’t have the patience to babysit. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“No. I’ve been playing for years. I moved to town a year ago and only found out about this club recently.”

She peered around them, checking to see what equipment was available. She’d been coming here long enough to know the club was safe. Plus, Kon had been watching her on and off, even while his subs made out next to him. Somehow, she knew he was looking out for her, and though she didn’t need a babysitter, it did make her feel safer. Maybe not
all
rich guys were assholes.

“I’m a brat masochist,” she said, letting the warning hang in the air.

He nodded. “I’m more a sadist than a Dom, but I can give you pain if that’s what you want.”

She thought for a moment. Ambrose had left her wanting more. If not with him, why not with this guy? Her body ached for release. The built-up stress of covering for Morgan, the upcoming protest, and coming off the high after the best sex ever needed to be released somehow. And here was a sadist, ready to hurt her.

“Do you like canes?” she asked.

He grinned wickedly, and she shuddered.

She finished the last gulp of her soda then declined when Troy offered her another. Instead, she pointed to an empty Saint Andrew’s Cross.

“Jeez. Not even going to buy me a drink first?” he teased.

Laughing, she rose and started toward the equipment. “Come on. It won’t stay open for long. I’ll buy you a drink after.”

He followed her, heading right to the rack of canes hanging on the wall. His eyes darkened as he looked them over. She had to admit the expression was sexy, even if he wasn’t Ambrose.

She remembered Ambrose saying he wouldn’t use a cane on her until he knew her tolerance.

Well, fuck him.

Troy led her to the cross and she took position, her back to the room, front up against the hard wood. He began the process of strapping her wrists into the cuffs, then her ankles. Usually she got pleasure from the process, when it involved the power dynamic. This felt hollow. Like they were just doing a job, fulfilling meaningless roles, and that was it.