Page 18 of Forbidden Mistress

“Hey…” I start awkwardly. “I’m C, by the way. Kinda weird to say nice to meet you after…”

She laughs lightly as she slides off the bed. “After you’ve seen everything nature gave me? Sure.”

I nod. As she stands, I notice the flash of light at the base of her throat. She is wearing a necklace similar to mine, with the same Celtic design on it and the same shape. It’s the Celtic stag tattoo that appears on Hart’s chest and shoulder. I wonder what it’s supposed to mean?

Willow steadies herself against the bed post as she steps into the rolled stocking I hold out for her.

Before I have a chance to stay anything she laughs. “We have the same hairstyle. Bangs and all.” I start rolling up the second stocking for her while she adjusts the first one on her curvy thigh. “Of course, mine’s a wig.”

I arch a brow. “Ah, mine’s just me.”

She nods. “I’m naturally blond, but Hart asked me to wear this wig, which I gladly do.”

I hold out her second stocking to help her step into it. “So, um, how long have you two been together?” I ask, pulling the stocking up her leg.

“He’s been my Dom for a year,” she answers as she hikes the top of the second stocking up her thigh. “We met here at Obscura.”

“Ah, okay. So, like, do you date each other outside of the club?” I don’t want to offend her with my questions, but I’m burning with curiosity—particularly with anything to do with Hart.

“He prefers us to meet here.” I hand her the bodysuit—I’m not putting that on for her. I do have limits. She thanks me and begins to shimmy into it.

“Does he have other subs?” I ask.

She lifts a brow. We are nearly the same height and build, but I think she’s prettier than me, same hairstyle or not. She flicks a glance down my form as if similarly sizing me up. Maybe she’s noticed the similarities as well. “Why? Are you interested?”

My eyes widen, and I shake my head vigorously. “Oh! No. I’m not into this scene at all. I was just…curious, you know. About him. And how things work in this world. I honestly don’t have any interest in actually participating.”

She smiles as if pleased with that answer, and she bends to fasten up her suit. “Hart only engages one sub at a time. Some of the guys here will have multiple subs, but Hart isn’t interested in multiple women. Just me. It’s the way I prefer it, too.”

“Oh, cool.” I glance around. “So, uh, I guess I’m done for the evening.”

Willow slips her heels on. “You should enjoy the bar. They have some specialty cocktails that are really good. Try the pear martini.”

I nod and smile at her. “I will, thanks.” Haley also told me how good the cocktails were.

I mean, why not enjoy the place, right? I’ve been here for a total of forty minutes. I don’t really need to rush home to my sitcom reruns. I might as well explore this new environment and learn a little.

When Willow leaves, I head down the main staircase and back into the club below. Lights pulse with the rhythm of the music, and half-naked bodies move to the beat. This place is much more upscale than any regular club I’ve been to. And it’s got an edgier vibe, too. I get the feeling that almost anything goes here, as long as you have access to a room—or even a curtained booth.

I wend my way through the throng and make my way to the bar. There’s one available stool and I take it. The bar is a good distance from the dance floor, so it’s a bit quieter here, thank goodness. A bartender sidles up to me immediately. “What can I get you?”

“Pear martini, please,” I say, prepared to pull my debit card out from my bra. I have exactly forty dollars in my account, but I’ll get paid for this job soon, so I’m not going to sweat it.

The bartender’s eyes fall to my necklace, and he nods. “You got it.”

A minute later, he’s back and sets the martini in front of me. It does look good. “Thanks. I’m just getting this one drink. What do I owe you?”

He waves me off. “It gets charged to your Master.”

“Oh, but—”

Before I can correct him and tell him I don’t have a Master, he’s gone, already helping another customer. I take a sip of the sweet martini and think about what the bartender just said. Being owned by Hart, having him be my Master…that doesn’t freak me out as much as it should. But the harsh realization that I’m not actually his settles like a rock in my chest.

I spin on my seat, turning outward to watch the goings-on as I sip my drink and people-watch. Someone slides into the now empty seat next to me.

“You look lonely,” he says.

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.

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