Page 10 of For the Night

She smiled politely. “It’s okay. I appreciate all the help.”

Ugh, can we just get married and live happily ever after?

My face felt hot, so I ducked out to the sound of Noa telling Penelope about everything he’d carried.

This wasn’t one of those crushes where I couldn’t put my finger on why I was so drawn to her, because I knew very well. I’d observed her at events before I’d joined their online community. She and her ex, Ella, had participated in demos and parties outside of Mclean from time to time, and I’d always envied Ella for having such an amazing Domme. Penelope was a listener just as much as she was a rebellious doer. She walked her own path, whether that gained her followers or enemies. Her opinions and views ranged from kind to cold, from compassionate and nurturing to “How’s that my problem?” and “Suck it up.” She’d spoken at one event a couple years ago—if I remembered correctly, it’d been about aftercare and safety. She’d stood up to a Dom who’d strongly recommended cuddles, ice cream, and talking extensively, which, let’s face it, many were fans of. Including me. But Penelope had been all, “Well, it’s up to the sub—and the Top. If I’m playing with a sub who’s wary of affection when she’s overwhelmed, I’m not going to suffocate her with hugs. I’m sick of truism and people deluding newbies into thinking there’s a specific route to take.”

I’d been brand-spankin’-new at the time, so that little piece of obviousness had been enough for me to nod in agreement and have a whole new world opening before my eyes. And ever since then, I’d written lists upon lists about what I wanted. What I needed. Leaving behind cookie-cutter protocols of how BDSM was “done right.”

Penelope was an individualist, which shone through in every online debate I’d witnessed too. Whether it was in kink, life, or politics, she was big on civil liberties and freedom—and parachutes, a word she’d used in another speech, this time online.

“I’m all for a robust parachute. When someone falls, we, as a community and a society, need to be there to catch them. So that’s why it’s extra important we don’t impose rules and structures that set someone up for failure.”

She had similar views when it came to safety. She didn’t adhere to safe, sane, and consensual, which I knew Mclean House as a community had rejected as well. “What constitutes sane? Safe?” Once again, she’d preached about the freedoms of Tops and bottoms to choose their own way. At Mclean, they used RACK. Risk-awareness and informed consent, with a side of, “You gotta be over eighteen,” in Reese’s words when he’d given me a scripted speech on their rules.

“Oh, and if you drink and play, you gotta have a spotter or dungeon monitor nearby who knows what the plan is.”

They had one another’s backs out here in a way I’d never experienced before. Being so close-knit allowed them to take more risks, because they set up their own safety procedures to ensure someone would be catching them if they fell.

The primal brat in me really, really, really hoped Mclean House would work out for me.

I winced as I touched my shoulders.

I better not forget sunscreen tomorrow.

I slipped my tee over my head, forgoing a bra, and I was glad I’d packed the softest T-shirt I owned. Which wasn’t a coincidence. Lane had packed his own version. Mine read “On pussy patrol,” and his read “On dick duty.”

We were funny that way.

After stepping into a pair of cotton shorts, I tucked a twenty into the credit card pocket on the back of my phone, grabbed my room key, and walked out of my guest room, smelling like my lemon body wash and shea butter lotion. Not that it mattered. Within twenty minutes, everything was gonna smell of boy cologne.

Once downstairs, I let the music lead the way. The club area was fairly empty, most people ready to enjoy the sunset hour outside. But I did make a stop at the bar, where Shay and Lane were mixing drinks.

“What do you want me to put on Mistress Penelope’s tab, Nora?” Lane asked.

“Nothing, thank you.” I stepped between two barstools. “But I’ll have a Kopparberg pear cider, please.”

It was possible I’d been giddy to learn they carried that brand here, ’cause it was my absolute favorite.

“Swedes gonna Swede,” was Lane’s response.

Shay smirked and eyed my tee. “I’m guessing you and Lane ordered those together.”

“Fuck yeah, we did,” Lane said. “Ty wants me to change mine to include his name.” He was so happy about that too.

I had no such person to get possessive over me, so…

“Stop frowning and make a move on Penelope,” Lane told me.

I frowned even more. “I think she’s made her lack of interest very clear already, but for your information, I was gonna try to talk to her tomorrow.”

“When she’s a DM at the event?” Shay cocked a brow. “She’ll be obligated to talk to you.”

I huffed.

“I’ll start up a tab for you.” Lane finally gave me my cider, and I immediately chugged from the bottle.

Then we heard a voice booming from the doorway to the terrace. “Never mind, the primal shits are scheming at the bar!” It was Reese.

---