Page 7 of Red

I had a retort locked and ready. Something TV worthy. The truth was, I didn't sleep all that well, unless I had a night of complete abandon. Escape—better than a handful of Ambien. Tonight, my body and my brain were in cahoots, conspiring against me. I decided to just cut my losses and call it a night.

"If you touch me with that hand again, you're gonna lose it."

Not surprisingly, the female, pissed off voice came from the same corner Colin had skulked off to. Maury, the monitor, was already booking it in that direction, but I intercepted him.

"I've got it," I told him firmly. The flash in my belly was probably pointless, but I was intrigued. Excited. Submissives weren't known for their ability to put a man in his place. It was my experience that they excelled at non verbal communication. Saying ‘yes’, ‘more’...but with their bodies. With their sighs. With their moans. So I leashed the thrill that was flooding me with all the sensations I'd been lacking all night, sure that Colin had miscalculated and attempted his brand of charm on one of the Dommes.

When I arrived in the thick of the action, all the submissives were hushed and wide eyed and the Dommes and Dominants stood on the fringes, ready to leap into action the second it was needed.

I stopped hard. All the submissives tonight were instructed to wear a collar for the event, and one glittered around the petite, curvy woman who was standing tall. Even in her mask, I felt her authority, her command, as she glared Colin into submission.

Colin was flustered, not prepared or accepting of yet another decline of his advances. "Clearly, you're new here." He stepped forward, looping a finger through her collar and yanking her forward. "That means you do what I say."

My hand shot out, ready to collar him, then finally kick him out of my club, but the submissive was quicker, doing a maneuver that was so swift, so effective that when I blinked, Colin was on his knees, nursing the very hand she'd warned him about.

She loomed above him, hands on her hips, like a gladiator that had just slain a beast. My eyes swept over her, taking in her bubblegum pink wig and the lacy masquerade mask that had the opposite effect than it should have had. It didn't mask her at all. She shone even brighter in the darkness, her blue eyes pale and intense. Her cheeks were full and soft, rosy with every jagged breath she took. And her dress...she filled out every inch. I should have wanted to rip it off of her, because I knew that she'd look positively delicious in nothing at all, but I wanted to drape my jacket around her shoulders instead. I didn't want anyone else to see how enticing she was. I didn't want her to see anyone else but me. And when her eyes stopped scanning the crowd, sizing up everyone like, 'Who's next?' they rested on me and went no further.

My mask seemed like a silly decoration because she stripped it away with her gaze. She saw the man underneath and when her lips curved into a smile that went straight to my cock, I knew that my night had suddenly become infinitely more interesting.

The circle of people gawking at a cursing, blubbering Colin and the pink haired sub who was standing there like some sultry, female version of Jason Bourne, parted down the middle.

Mary stormed into view. She was the kind of woman you noticed, and tonight was no different. She was dressed in a glittery dress and thigh high boots, wearing a scowl that told me she was in a mood. Her thick, full afro was as fearsome and awe inspiring as her voice.

"Girl, what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

She didn't wait for the pink haired sub to reply, looping her arm and marching her out of the room. Now that the show was over, everyone ignored Colin and got back to dancing and lusting.

I followed Mary's path, pausing in the hall as they made their way past the first floor play rooms, pausing at the elevators.

One of our senior monitors, a feisty Domme named Liza, gave me a little wave and whispered something to her female slave. Her slave immediately dropped to her knees, locking her hands behind her back. Liza was like some gold statuette in a slinky, karat filled dress and an ornate mask that covered her entire face. Not even her mask could muffle the heat wrapped around her every word.

"She's quite something, huh?" Liza mused, following my train of thought as we watched Mary and the sub disappear inside the elevator. "It took me a shift or two before I had enough balls to call people on their shit."

I arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "I can't imagine you ever having a problem calling anyone on anything."

She let out a deep chuckle and a pivotal part of her statement hit me like a ton of bricks.

"Wait,” I said, cautiously optimistic. “She's a monitor?"

"Not yet," Liza clarified. "She's interviewing with Mary tonight."

The excitement whipped into a fury, a cyclone of potential sweeping me up. The legal implications of being entangled with an employee seemed like anthills, nothing compared to the Everest of having her. The last time I felt this way, this damn near instantaneous desire and need, was-

The inferno was snuffed out immediately, the name rising from that dark, hidden place.

Caity.

That darkness wasn't comforting or liberating or safe. It was weight on my chest, my heart suddenly too heavy to bear. Breathing, staying here, was no longer an option. It hit me that the whole mask thing had other functions in addition to hiding my identity until I wanted to be known.

No one but me knew that I was struggling to keep it together.

My first move was towards the front door, but the comings and goings with the low whine as the cars pulled to a stop, was like nails raking down a chalkboard. I kept my composure as I walked down the corridor, blood roaring in my ears. The thunder didn’t stop until I stepped onto the terrace, tugging off my mask. Lights draped around the garden glittered like fireflies and I focused on the glow, the stillness as the breeze lifted my tie. It sent a calm rushing over me as quickly as the first memory wrecked me. When my phone buzzed in my pocket, I brought it to my ear, my fingers barely rattling.

“This is Desmond.”

“Hey Des, it’s Mary.” I knew it was her the moment the first syllable came out. Her rich, jazz singer deep voice was so distinctly her. “I saw you gawking at our girl downstairs, so I’ll get right to it.” Anyone else would have tempered their volume, navigated around the minefield, but Mary didn’t temper or mince anything. “I like her, but there’s something...off.”

I kept my voice measured, unaffected even though I cared too much that this woman had raised a flag. "Off?"

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