Page 19 of Seth’s Doll

“Spilled my guts about how wrapped around my daughter’s little finger I am,” I correct immediately, because I gave myself the ick as soon as the word ‘obsessed’ came out of my mouth while being directed at my little girl, when I feel that’s the most accurate word to describe what I feel toward my hot-ass wife.

He rolls his eyes. “You were quoting Beauty and the Beast for years before you even had Luna.”

I sink back into the overstuffed leather chair, and just as maturely as sticking my tongue out at Brian earlier, I tell him huffily, “Shut up.”

He chuckles, then uncrosses his legs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his wide-spread knees and clasping his hands together between them. “Well… I think your wife is probably getting worried by now that you’re spending so much time back here with me instead of at your big-boy birthday party,” he coos at me.

“Touché,” I insert.

“So how about we come up with a temporary solution for your identity crisis to get you through the night, and then we can really work on it when we have more time?”

I sigh and look down. “That feels so wrong to do, when it’s something so important. Like we’re just sticking a cartoon-covered Band-Aid on a mortal wound.”

Doc reaches out and swats the side of my knee, and his voice is gentle when he speaks next. “Seth, I’m telling you, just put it out of your mind as much as you can and enjoy the rest of your night. Go along with the surprise without trying to pull hints out of your girl and make her ruin it. Do whatever Twyla has spent the week busting her ass to put together for you. That will mean more to her than anything else—getting to give you a gift she put her heart and soul into. Even if it’s just for tonight, don’t try to do anything more or less than you would’ve before you had your revelation. Just live in the moment of her present. Then you can work on fixing everything else tomorrow.”

When I stare at him blankly, he adds, “Doctor’s orders,” and I roll my eyes.

“Easier said than done,” I reply.

“I’m sure. But I have a feeling that whatever happens tonight might just give you all the answers you need.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me not to brush off what he’s saying. He’s not just giving me a careless “it’ll be okay.” He knows something about Twyla’s gift, something important, and it fills me with motivation to swat away the dark cloud that settled over me and get back to the dining room to wrap up dinner and move on to whatever’s next in my wife’s plan.

CHAPTER 11

Twyla

My heart is racing as we park in the underground garage, then make our way up the cement steps to ground level. Seth takes my hand as we walk along the sidewalk, pulling it up to his lips to kiss my knuckles as we turn the corner of the building, continuing the few yards until we reach the front entrance of Club Alias. We’re here a full hour before the club opens for the night, so we don’t worry about masks or hoods to conceal our identities. Instead, Seth uses his key to unlock the door, and when we’re inside, he spins the lock once again.

Clarice took care of letting whoever is scheduled to open tonight know that Seth and I would be here and in the middle of a scene when they arrived, so we won’t be disturbed inside the private playroom that’s been under a little construction today while I kept him distracted at the museum. All I told Seth once we got in the car after saying our goodbyes at Doc’s was that our last stop for the night would be Club Alias and to head there right then, so we could get inside and have a little alone time before everyone showed up.

He leads me up the tall, narrow staircase until we reach the top, the sprawling club before us—taking up the whole second story of the building that spans the entire block—in total darkness. Depending on where you’re at inside Club Alias, you could be naked and screaming in ecstasy while standing right above the Imperium Security office, Crystal’s former workout studio, a fine arts gallery, or a boba shop, and no one below you would ever know, since the whole second level is a hundred percent soundproof.

My heart gallops behind my ribs as Seth reaches over to the pony wall and flips on just enough switches that the public space glows softly. Visible now is the dance floor, the two bars on either side of it, several platforms used during scenes put on by exhibitionists for anyone who wants to watch, and the DJ booth centered on a stage meant for the occasional live musical performance.

Everything is interspersed with tables and chairs, dark and sexy couches upholstered in a material that is both pleasant on the skin but incredibly easy to sanitize and wipe clean between uses, and what seem like random gymnastics mats. That is, until you look way up in the rafters and spot the glinting metal rings that can be lowered and raised with a remote control, which members are able to scan out. Metal rings a willing human’s body can be leashed to by a Rigger—the person who does the tying during rope bondage—if they’ve passed the skills test given by none other than my husband, known only by his Dom name, Seven, inside this sacred space.

And finally, the club’s newest additions to the main public area, a few alcoves with rows of spanking benches, St. Andrew’s crosses, and what look like pergolas, but instead of being covered in fragrant flowering vines, it’s colorful rope that weaves its way through the sturdy wooden beams each night. They were erected for those rope bunnies—the people on the receiving end of riggers’ skills—who enjoy something more stationary than what being suspended from one of the rings offers.

Personally, I could just sit curled up on one of the couches all night and watch the couples who play on the rings, and I’d be perfectly content. It’s mesmerizing, both the tying of the intricate knots and the interaction between the rigger, also known as a rope top, and their rope bottom. It’s so intimate, and yes, makes my temperature rise with embarrassment… but more so, arousal. Knowing they wouldn’t be doing it in the main area unless they wanted to be watched helps smother the uncomfortable feeling I normally get from seeing something so… sexually charged.

I haven’t taken the step of trying it out myself, even though my husband has offered countless times, catching me so often just staring with my mouth hung open while a rope bunny swings high above our heads and contorts their body into whatever positions their specific tie allows. And the times he’s snuck up on me while I’ve been alone, quietly enjoying the show, when he’s ordered me to not move as he angles his body so no one can see mine between him and the couch. He knows it would ruin the moment for me otherwise. His hand then wandering up my skirt one night or down my leggings another, until his fingers reach the slickness we both knew he’d find between my thighs.

So much praise. So many words and kisses and caresses of his approval that I allowed myself to be a voyeur, giving in to my desire to watch those who crave to be watched.

It’s all so theatrical, awe-inspiring, and I think maybe one of the reasons I haven’t taken him up on it—besides the obvious, that I’m not an exhibitionist, since we could easily try it privately—is because I know I’d never look as cool as them. I’d be too focused on the fact that I might look awkward and stupid, and on top of that, I’d be stuck there, unable to run and hide, even if it were just my beloved Dom observing me.

But I’m on a path of remedying those negative thoughts, and maybe someday I might even have the confidence to be one of those brave souls putting on an arousing show for everyone to see. Until then, I just want to be able to impress one person, one man, the one I belong to, without feeling any sense of hesitation.

And with that thought, the last one of the many that ran through my head in the span of what was a mere glance around the empty club, only seconds after Seth flipped the dim lights on, I reach over and flip one more—the switch to Playroom 2—and he raises an eyebrow at me.

“Okay, so, I need a little time to get ready. So, um… I don’t know. Maybe make yourself a drink at the bar or something and set a timer for… ten minutes. Yeah. Ten minutes should be good. If not, I?—”

“Take a breath, doll,” he interrupts, lifting his hand to stroke along my cheek. I look up into his hazel eyes and do what he instructed. “Whatever you have planned, especially if it takes place here and in Playroom 2, which you know is my favorite, there’s no way I won’t love it. I’m excited for my surprise, so take as long as you need, and flip the switch inside the room whenever you’re ready for me to come in, okay? I’ll see the Occupied light, and I’ll give you another minute just in case. Sound good?”

Even though it’s my surprise for him, I’m grateful he knows exactly when I need him to take the lead and pull me in the right direction, making something I hadn’t thought about run much more smoothly than what my overloaded mind could come up with on the spot. One of the dumbbells of anxiety rolls off my shoulder, making room for enough relief I can think a little clearer. “Sounds perfect,” I whisper, and I close my eyes as he bends down to kiss my forehead.

Then, he spins me around, and I yelp as he slaps my ass to get me moving, making me laugh when he says excitedly, “But hurry up, because I’m dying for my present!”

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