Page 13 of The Masquerade: Room 2

With my last trainee ready for a Dom, I should be interviewing new potential subs, but I’ve been putting it off, waiting for her.

The club is busy tonight as I nurse my third scotch. I lost a patient today, and I just couldn’t stay home all night replaying it on a loop. Their chance of survival was in the single-digit percentile, but it never gets easier. I take on the almost impossible cases, and sometimes there’s nothing I can do, but I always take the losses to heart. People say the best surgeons leave their feelings at the door. For me, I believe the opposite. I may not outwardly show my compassion, but it’s in every stitch and every surgery. I’m at the top of my field because I care about every patient. Their families look to me for hope, and I give it where I can, offering my deepest condolences when I can’t prolong the inevitable.

Flex is sitting at the bar with his latest sub, his expression turning to a shit-eating grin at the sight of me. “The man of the hour! Welcome, my friend. You’re going to love me, the bearer of good tidings.” He never fails to make me laugh.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why are you so happy tonight?”

“A woman in a mask was here earlier.” My pulse starts whooshing in my ears.

“Is she still here? What did she say? What did she look like?”

Flex takes a long swig of his drink. “Calm down. The answers are no, not much, and she was wearing a purple mask.”

I rake my hands through my hair. Fuck. “Great. Just fucking great.”

“She left something for you. Not specifically. She said she wanted to leave it for a masked Dom. That narrows it down to ninety percent of the guys who attended the masquerade.”

“What did she leave?”

He reaches into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a lavender mask—the one she was wearing that night. He holds it out to me, taunting me with his conspiratorial grin. “Check the back.”

I snatch it out of his hand, lifting it to my face, inhaling the soft scent of her perfume that still lingers. My dick twitches at the memory of her coming all over my tongue, and I quickly turn it over to find a phone number scrawled on the inside of the mask.

That’s it, little one.

I immediately pull out my phone and input the number, saving it under Lavender. She came back. I’d almost given up hope of seeing her again or finding out who she is and what she needs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy look happier about getting some random girl’s number. Was the sex that good?”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“Exactly. How good was it?”

“I’ve got a few things to do in my room.”

“Seriously, bro? Don’t become another Dalton. You guys are killing all the fun with your obsessive fawning.”

“Not the same thing. I train, I fuck, and it’s done.”

“Tell yourself whatever you need to, Pierce. You’re a goner.” He shouts after me as I head to my private room.

Once inside, I take out my phone and start typing, writing and deleting the message repeatedly.

Me: Hello, little one.

The elusive dancing dots don’t appear, so I start pacing the room, my mind going over every moment of that night as I run my fingers over the intricate lines of the mask. After a few minutes, my phone vibrates with a message from her.

Lavender: Hello, Sir.

God, my cock gets hard at the sight of what a good girl she is.

Me: Why did you leave your number for me? You made your feelings clear when you left.

Lavender: I’m sorry. I have no right to ask, but I want to see you again. If that’s something you would be open to.

Me: I had to take myself in hand after you left.

Lavender: I know.

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