Page 46 of Volatile

“Yeah. Thanks, Nico.”

“No problem. Anything else?”

Jon shook his head. That should cover it. If Max couldn’t do it, he’d find someone else, but he’d rather work with someone he knew.

“I’ll be getting back then. Have a drink, stick around for a while.”

As soon as the office door opened, the energy poured back in. The place was a living entity that pumped his chest and breathed for him. He could easily slip back like he’d never left. He’d been content the past years just to attend Jacque's parties, and in many ways, he preferred it over the club scene, but who said he couldn’t have both?

He walked through the hall past one of the private rooms. If he remembered correctly, it contained a St. Andrew’s Cross and enough implements on the walls to necessitate an entire night of aftercare. He could dive right back in. Regain some control over his life. Find a nice sub to spend his time with, one who welcomed his care and protection. Not a sharp-tongued hellcat who spit fire at him whenever she didn’t get her way. And certainly not a dark curly-haired woman who refused to even consider that a different world existed beyond her own.

Fuck.

He kept going, bypassing the bar, and out the front door. He should stay, start the process of getting his shit back in order after all those long months of sitting back and doing nothing. He was fucking done with love, didn’t need that anymore. But he did miss the connection he received when playing with the right submissive.

He could find that here; he didn’t need to wait for Jacque’s next party. And he didn’t need to find a Julia look-alike either. Ivy had broken him of that.

Goddamnit. He stepped into the elevator and punched the button, the doors slamming closed in front of him. He should go back, but he knew he wouldn’t. Instead, he’d go to his car and drive home. Why? Because he was wrong.

What he was looking for wasn’t inside the club, and she never would be.

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