Page 38 of Broken

I’m too late. They don’t need me anymore.

Pulling a shot from my coat jacket, I throw it back with one hand and hail a taxi with the other.

SEVENTEEN

REMINGTON

Madam Maxine’s.

It’s like a maze, four stories high. No matter which corner you turn, you never know what you’re going to get.

I’ve been here every night for the last five days. Since I quit my job and discovered that Justin and Julia don’t need me anymore. I’ve fallen into a nice comfortable rhythm, actually. Sleep until noon or whenever I wake up. Sit in the Starbucks across from JJ’s apartment until they’re both home for the night, punishing myself by staring at their smiles. Then I come here to watch the scenes and jerk off in my private room.

Private room is a bit of a misnomer. It’s basically just a closet with a bed. Someplace secluded to change and finish your business if you don’t want to come in front of an audience. There isn’t any liquor allowed on the premises, so everyone can play with a clear head, but that’s one of the reasons you pay extra for the private space. I learned weeks ago that tiny bottles make for easy sneaking.

Tonight’s the night I play.

I can’t take it anymore. My phone is filled with Julia’s daily messages, reminding me that she loves me. But I’m broken, and every glance I steal of her shows her with a smile.

They don’t need me.

For the first time since I started coming here, the Dominant I’ve been studying is alone. I watched him play a scene earlier today involving a flogger and a stockade, and all I could think about is the way Julia would look in that position—ass in the air, wrists between her ankles, and all of her extremities locked in place.

I take a shuddering breath and rip my mind from what I can’t have and take in the man in front of me.

Brown hair, brown eyes. He’s wearing leather pants and a hideous leather vest that Justin would never be caught dead in. But his build is similar to Justin’s, and he has a no-nonsense way about him that reminds me of Justin when he’s ordering me to my knees. I miss being at someone’s mercy. I miss melting under their touch.

I gather my courage and take the seat opposite him on the couch.

“I’ve been watching you,” I say, skipping right to the point.

He double-takes at me, then looks around the room as if checking to see if I could be speaking to anybody else. He smirks at me good-naturedly and reaches for his drink.

“Sorry, man. I’m a top.”

“I know,” I confirm, rubbing at the back of my neck. “Like I said. I’ve been watching you. You look like you know what you’re doing with a whip.”

The Dominant smiles at that, preening under the praise.

“I’m pretty good, yeah. I’ve had lots of practice. Are you interested in learning? I don’t usually take on students, but I don’t mind giving you a pointer or two.”

I shake my head and fight down the blush building at the base of my throat, wishing I could drink out in the open.

“No. I prefer to bottom. I was wondering if you’d do a scene with me.”

He gives me a bemused expression, looking around for a second time. Maybe this time he’s checking for hidden cameras. I stand my ground, though, and don’t get up when what I want to do is flee. If I learned anything from my time working under my father, it’s how to stand up to pressure.

“You want to sub?” he asks me with his eyebrows in his hairline.

“Does that bother you?” I ask him. “Topping a male submissive?”

The man with the brown eyes ogles me, top to bottom, stopping at the thickness of my thighs and admiring the width of my shoulders. I’m not wearing anything special. Nikes, snug jeans, and a Henley, because Henleys were Julia’s favorite.

“No,” he says finally, meeting my eyes. “It doesn’t. I was just surprised, is all. Most male submissives prefer a Fem-Dom.”

“I prefer a firmer touch,” I say quietly, and the Dominant’s eyes light up in excitement and desire.

“I’m Samuel,” he says, offering me his hand.

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