Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Theoretically. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve taken anyone there privately.
On my way to Tobias’s office, I hear someone call my name.
“Axle!”
I turn to find my friend Marla, another long-term member, the resident bookstore owner. She and I have become good friends over the years, as I spend as much of my free time in Books and Cups, her store, as I do at Club Verge.
“Finally took your advice and hired help,” she says, smiling. Marla’s a petite woman with nondescript brown hair, freckled cheeks, and right now it’s all I can do to refrain from giving her pert nose a little twist. She’s adorable, but I know that would insult her. There was a time when we thought we could be a couple. It became pretty clear we were not dom/sub material, and we cooled things off to friendship-level, but she hates when anyone thinks she’s cute.
“Good—for you,” I say haltingly. I almost call her good girl, but that’s a term for a sub, not a friend. “Tell me about it?”
“I have good news,” she says. “I put in ad online, and pretty quickly found someone willing to take me up on it. You know I really need help stocking the shelves and manning the coffee shop.”
Her store, not too far from Verge, has risen in popularity ever since the local paper did an interview with her. Not only is she known for having the best lemon cake and coffee in NYC, she stocks the most extensive collection of romance novels, particularly those with a decidedly kinky flair. It’s partly why I love her store.
“So I’m pretty excited for her to start. Chandra has been training with me the past week, and she starts tomorrow.”
I ignore the clench in my gut at the name Chandra.
No.
I knew a Chandra once, but she’s nothing more than a ghost, someone I left behind in my old life. I shove the memories that threaten to surface away, out of my mind, focusing myself on the present. But as hard as I try, I can’t banish the memory of smooth, dark skin, deep brown eyes alight looking at me from beneath lowered lashes. I can still hear her voice. Feel her touch. Taste her mouth.
With considerable effort, I push her out of my mind.
That was then. This is now.
It’s just a name. A name that belongs to another woman, not the shadow of a memory that makes me shiver like cold, dead leaves in a vacant park.
“Nice,” I say with a distracted nod, my voice tighter than I intend. “I look forward to meeting her.”
“Might be sooner than later,” she says in a singsong voice.
I look at her curiously. “Oh?”
Marla’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah. It seems my penchant for kinky romance hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
“Definitely not,” I say with a chuckle. “So you not only recruited a new barista-slash book fiend, you recruited a new member for Verge.”
“Yup,” she says with unmistakable pride. “Gotta go. Later!” She heads to the lobby.
I shake my head and take my leave, heading to Tobias’s office. Still, I can’t help but wonder who the new girl is. I’m one of the few dominants here at Verge with no romantic attachments. I watch them come and I watch them go, but no one stirs anything in me. My purpose here is twofold: to meet a need of mine, and to pay for the sins I’ve committed. To offer to others what they need. It’s why I was happy to take on a role of dungeon monitor, give guidance and instruction to those who seek it, even if only temporarily. Though my job as dominant is rewarding, my goal to exercise power and measured pain when necessary, to wield temporary authority with patience and strength, I also seek meekness.
To whom much has been given, much is expected.
The biblical refrain of my youth, a memory from a lifetime ago—no doubt brought back by the memory of Chandra—makes me smile to myself. Yes. A dominant wields power. Cherishes trust. And with that gift comes responsibility.
None of the subs who scene with me mean anything to me, though. None warm my bed at night. None of them ever will. I don’t even know many of their names beyond the names they use when scening.
I knock on the doorframe of Tobias’s office. His door is never closed, but I don’t like to go in unannounced.
“Axle.” Tobias doesn’t look up from the computer but nods to the chair in front of his desk. “How’s your first night going?”
“Good,” I say, taking my seat in front of him. “I just wanted to talk to you about the weather forecast.”
He looks up from his computer then and looks out the window behind him as if he’s just noticed it’s winter. “Sorry, man. I’ve been totally immersed in these new applications.” He takes his job as club owner seriously.