~ ~ Zack ~ ~

Killing time, I stomped around my club and walked into the open dungeon soaking in the scenes... with one scene in particular catching my attention.

Don't do it, don't do it...

But did I ever listen to that whispering voice warning me off?

No.

And like the fucking moron I was, I walked over the scene, folded my arms over my chest. I couldn't the sub's face but I recognised the tattoo over his left shoulder and his ass of course because it wasn't that long ago I'd fucked it my office after watching him jerk off in the bathroom giving him less than a minute to accomplish the task.

And tonight, he was having the same problem that drew my attention last time—he wasn't getting what he needed.

My eyes drifted to the Dom. He looked familiar but still new to this, or at least I hoped he was new because he was doing a piss-poor job at reading his sub. He was hitting hard enough to thud but not nearly enough to leave a mark. The sub's body was rigid, but not from shock or pain.

"What's your colour, sub?" the Dom questioned.

"Green, Sir," the submissive said with a bored monotone drawl that would've been obvious to a child.

"You want more?" the Dom asked.

"Yes, Sir," he replied, with no inflection in his tone.

The Dom swung the tails again and again, over the man's ass, the backs of his thighs. There was no power in his swing, no effort to inflict pain whatsoever. He might as well fucking tickle him.

"Tell me when you've had enough," the Dom told the sub.

Who the hell was this asshole and where did he think he was?

Dominants didn't ask permission, they set up the structure beforehand, had a plan and an end goal. A good Dominant didn't ask them what they wanted. A good Dominant merely gave it to them because that was what they needed.

Yeah, like you did with Sasha, prick!

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks and just one blink and the memory of that night was back.

Bad fucking decisions.

The repercussions.

The hurt.

I'd made her cry, although she hadn't cried in front of me, I had stood outside the bathroom with my hand whitening as I gripped the handle with her on the other side washing away those tears.

Pity no amount of water couldn't wash away my sins or regret.

I briefly closed my eyes, despising myself for the choices I'd made and I couldn't blame anyone for this fuck up or shift the guilt that had settled on more than my body, it had burrowed its way inside and blackened my mood and was slowly eating away at my sanity.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Them going home was supposed to make things better, easier. Get back to my own life.  A life without complications... feelings.

Pushing all that away I dragged myself back to the scene. After a few more swings, the Dom turned and I could see he was covered in sweat. He'd been at this a while from the looks of it.

His eyes met mine as he lowered the flogger. "Master, sorry, Mr Coles," he said, grabbing a bottle of water while he decided to take a break from tickling his sub.

I nodded to the sweaty Dom, before examining the ratty deerskin flogger in his hand and fuck knows how old it was. It wasn't one of Risk's that's for damn sure and it was useless on this particular masochist and an observant Dominant would've known that.

Studying this Dom and his posture, he didn't have a clue how to make this sub beg.

So it left it to me to tell him straight. "Hit him harder," I said, the deep rumble of my voice causing several heads to turn our way.

"What?" The Dom blinked in confusion. "I've been at it for twenty minutes. It's him. He's not in the right mindset tonight."

Pfft. Spare me the excuses. "Mindset, my ass," I muttered under my breath. That was just a Dom's way of dodging responsibility for fucking up a scene.

"You're not hitting him hard enough. He's not a child. Hit. Him. Harder."

Oooh, if only he hit as hard as the look he shot my way.

But I didn't give a fuck if he didn't like the fact I was correcting him. It was a Dominant's obligation to see to the needs of his sub.

This fucker was failing in every respect.

And as if I needed another reminder of my own fuck-ups, that damn voice in my head piped up. Yeah, like, Sasha. it taunted, again. I rolled my eyes, silently cursing my conscience for caring so damn much.

When did I become the poster child for Dom-induced guilt trips?

"What do you suggest?" he bristled.

My eyebrow arched slowly. "The cane," I answered coolly, meeting his gaze head-on.

"The cane?"

His incredulity was like a slap in the face, and my patience was wearing pretty fucking thin. Now, normally, I would shrug it off, but tonight I wanted an outlet to push back. "Is there an echo in here?"

The Dom huffed again, turning as if to walk away.

Yeah, like that shit was happening. "Oh, no you don't," I snarled. "You don't leave your sub wanting—and if you walk away, you better stay the fuck out of my club." I locked eyes with him and leaned in closer, keeping my voice low so no one else could hear. "And don't you ever disrespect me again? Understood?"

The Dom's eyes widened, but he managed a shaky nod.

I was being a cunt. After all, who was I to judge, given my past mistakes with Sasha and Ellis?

He went and retrieved the cane and I gave him a few pointers. After a few swings, the scene dynamics changed. The sub was getting what he needed and the Dom acknowledged me with a subtle nod of his head.

"Excuse me, Sir..." I turned my head away from the scene. It was Claudia, one of my staff.

"Yes?"

"Your guests have arrived, Sir."

Ah.

Only now I was sure I was diving head-first into another mistake.

But why change the habit of a lifetime?

I made my way to my office to find them waiting with their heads lowered. I shrugged off my jacket and went to sit behind my desk.

Standing in front of me was what I'd convinced myself I needed when I got up this morning. A way to distract myself from the unease scratching beneath my skin. So I'd pulled the file I kept on every fuck-toy I had played with over the past two years. It was like a virtual little black book, of course: full of email addresses and online profiles all tagged together nicely with photos of my encounters.

I'd checked them out one by one, browsing for the perfect Sasha and Ellis antidote.

Several I wouldn't touch because they'd been too clingy—red flagged as emotional no-gos and would be harder to get rid of than a hard-core STD.

Finally, I'd landed on two prospects. Both Male. Lee, aged twenty-two and Sid aged twenty-four. Both had power and stamina, hides as tough as leather, and ass's made to be abused.

But now what?

Oh yeah,  I was trying to resurrect my old life... Relaxing back in my chair, I pointed. "Stand there," I barked and they moved quick-smart.

I hadn't planned out a scene. This was a simple transaction. Domination.

I needed it.

They wanted it.

Being on a first-name basis with them was not on the table. "From here on I will call you boy or fuck-toy, understand?" I had no desire to get reacquainted. I wasn't here to be their friend or their lover.

I could see the fear in their eyes, the terror warring with excitement. I knew they wanted the special brand of domination and pain I could give them.

I took a moment to look them over from head to toe. I liked what I saw, both were as I remembered. I liked my male sub's strong but compliant. And I could tell by the bulges behind their zippers that they were already enjoying the fuck out of this.

Sadly, that wasn't the case for me, my dick wasn't paying any attention, not even a twitch. I would worry about that later as I forced myself to focus on them.

Let's get this started.

"Strip," I demanded. "Right now."

Watching them strip didn't stop my mind from wandering to them and regardless of my past, I hadn't had a submissive draw my attention quite the way Sasha and Ellis had. Not in a long damn time, anyway.

Which clearly said, this right now, wasn't a smart move on my part. Honestly, it felt wrong on every level.

"Look at me." Two sets of brown eyes—one light, one dark—levelled on my face.

"Are you both willing to submit to me today?"

"Yes, Sir." They both answered.

A reply that should inspire some kind of reaction. I waved my hand. "On the sofa and suck each other cock's. You." I pointed at Lee. "On the bottom and neither of you have permission to come."

The subs quickly got into position and I watched with an almost bored indifference until my door flew open. Cocking an eyebrow, I watched Ivy breeze in carrying a small-white bag in her hand without batting an eyelid at the guys busy 69'ing.

It was pointless to have the talk again, about her knocking... or lack of it.

Ivy sauntered over, her gaze flitting around my space before settling on me. "Something's different," she hummed, her brow furrowing in mock concentration. "Hmm. Have you cut your hair?"

I rocked back in my chair. "Nope."

Her eyes flashed as she popped the small white bag on my desk. "New cologne, then?" she teased, trailing her finger along the edge of my desk.

I couldn't resist. "Yes it's new, 'Eau de Existential Crisis," I deadpanned.

"Asshole." She chuckled. "But my next guess was gonna be a midlife crisis."

My scowl was lethal. "I'm not that old, Ivy."

She winked. "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that."

Time to move this along. "What do you want Ivy, as you can see, I'm busy."

"Yes. I can see that—new toys?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice. "I thought you might want a cookie to sweeten you up."

I didn't reply or want a fucking cookie, I just cocked a brow and waited for her to get to the point.

"Oh, c'mon they're Ben's cookies—the best London has to offer. Be grateful I'm sharing. Alex and Josh have permanent marks on their hands when they've helped themselves without permission!"

Who the fuck was Ben? I slowly shook my head and wondered what I'd done to deserve such an honour. "You're addicted to those things."

"Nah. It's not an addiction until you've sucked dick for it." She grinned perching herself on the corner of my table, swinging her legs. Again, there was little point in reminding her I had more than enough chairs.

"Soooo," she started. "Is that your happy scowl?"

"Yes."

"Okaaay. I'll cut to the chase." Hallelujah. "I drew the short straw so here I am to find out what the fuck is going on with you!" She paused for a second expecting me to jump in and rolled her eyes when I didn't. "For weeks, you've been like this—" She waved a hand over me. "—In a foul mood, snarling at anyone who even looks your way. No one wants to be around you—even James!  And I can't remember the last time you called a morning meeting."

I rolled my eyes. "Apparently not everyone."

"Nothing scares me off, but could you be any more grumpy?"

Grumpy? Old men were grumpy. I just wanted to wallow in my own misery. In private. Was that too much to ask?  "Sure I can."

Ivy arched a disbelieving brow. "That wasn't a challenge."

I rolled my eyes, again. "I'd love to sit here, chat, swap stories and braid each other's hair..."

"Did you just summon a sarcastic spirit with that eye roll? And I'm gonna warn you. Keep bottling your shit up like a tightly corked wine and eventually, you'll either explode or turn into vinegar," Ivy retorted with a shrug.

"I'm fine. So you can skip on out of here and spread the word."

She pfft'd. "Honey, You talk so much shit I do not know if I should offer a breath mint or toilet paper."

My eyes narrowed as a warning.

"Quit that..." she warned. "Now start talking about what's crawled up your ass and—" she raised a finger. "—before you try and brush me off with some lame-ass crap, remember I can smell bullshit a mile off. It's my gift."

And for the first time in... fuck, I couldn't remember, I laughed.

"See, now we're getting somewhere and to make it easier, picture me as your personal confessional hotline, only with way better hair and a face that won't scare your secrets away," she joked, flashing a playful grin.

I felt a twinge of scepticism about opening up. I rarely shared what was inside my head unless I was three sheets to the wind with a glass of Macallan in hand. But here I was, considering spilling my guts to Ivy. Don't ask me why—maybe it was the absence of judgment in her eyes, or perhaps I was just deluding myself. Either way, I couldn't deny the urge to unburden myself, even if it meant risking a little vulnerability.

But first... "Stop," I commanded my fuck-toys. "Take your clothes and go downstairs into the lounge and wait for me."

I waited until the coast was clear before rising from my chair and crossing the room to the leather sofa. I sank into it with a heavy sigh, feeling the heaviness of my upcoming confession settle on my chest.

"Amsterdam happened," I began, my voice low and tinged with regret.

"Amsterdam?" Ivy echoed, joining me on the sofa and waiting patiently for me to continue.

"I took two subs on a road trip. It started out as fun... until it got serious. I thought I had found what I needed, but then I fucked it up."

"I'm not following," Ivy said, twisting to face me and kicking off her shoes as she settled in. "Two subs? Ellis, I'm guessing is one but is the other a beautiful, blue-eyed woman I've heard rumours about?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at being the subject of office gossip. "Ellis, yes. And the woman, Sasha."

Ivy's expression shifted to one of shock. "Wait, so are you saying this wasn't just a Dom/Sub thing? That there were feelings involved—with both?"

I nodded, feeling the weight of her disbelief. "Yeah, but it's complicated" I wasn't ready to throw words around like 'poly' or 'relationship.' "I was training them. Sasha to be a submissive, and Ellis to be a Dom."

Her eyes widened as she processed the revelation. "How did I not know? Yeah, I figured something was going on with USA, but—" She trailed off, clearly taken aback by the unexpected twist.

I offered a wry smile. "Guess I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

She nodded, exhaling heavily. "Okay, back it up—you said you found what you needed. What do you need?"

I paused, considering her question carefully. "Someone who made me want to stop everything I was doing."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Fuck, that's deep," she remarked, taking a moment to absorb my words. "So, how did you mess it up?"

I was reluctant to delve into the details. "It doesn't matter."

Ivy's expression softened with concern. "Well, obviously it does because you're not exactly shitting out sunshine and rainbows."

"Don't push it, Ivy. I've already said too much."

Fucking hell. This was a conversation I could've lived my entire life without having.

"Fine. But I can speak from personal experience that my stubbornness almost fucked up my relationship with Alex and Josh." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "We all wear masks, the ones we show the world. But deep down, what we all crave is someone—or in our case, two someones—to see and accept the mess that hides underneath. You get me?"

I was taken aback by Ivy's sudden openness. She was like me, emotionally stunted. Still, I understood her sentiment. "You don't regret letting them in?"

"I won't say it was easy. It freaked me out and still does. But I've stopped looking for a way out, or waiting for the shit to hit the fan."

"And it's serious? Do you see yourself with them in five, ten years—the long haul?"

"Tell anyone this and I'll deny it," she threatened with a grin. "But yeah. And as cheesy as it sounds, I swear I've seen cartoon hearts floating around—either that or I was high." She nodded, as if affirming her own thoughts. "They're good for me. Funny. Patient... Safe."

"Safe?" I scoffed. "Sounds more like footwear than a relationship."

"Don't be a dick," she scolded. "By 'safe,' I mean I trust them. Physically and emotionally."

Trust. I'd shattered Sasha's trust in me. Killed it. Dead.  And Ellis too but in a different way... I didn't trust him to be open and honest.

"Look, I don't know your situation, Zack, and I know you won't share, but my grams always says—devour life without chewing, and just pray that you don't choke."

Before I could respond my phone started buzzing and I reached inside my pocket.

Oh fuck. It was Ryan, Sasha's father.

It was the fourth time he'd called me in two days.

"I need to take this, Ivy."

Ivy pushed up off the sofa. "I think my work here is done."

"Ivy," She slipped on her shoes but lifted her head. "Thank you."

She winked. "Don't worry, I'm billing you for my time. Oh, and you can keep the cookie."

I swiped my phone and pressed it to my ear. "Ryan."

"Where the hell have you been?" he started the call without a greeting. "You haven't got back to me about the invitation I sent you?"

Huh?  "Busy," I looked over at my desk and there was a pile of letters and files I'd not gone through.

"I was starting to think you'd joined the witness protection program," Ryan joked, but his voice had no humour in it.

"Well, you've got my attention. Invite to what?"

"Get your ass on a plane and get over here for Sasha's engagement party."

My spine stiffened.

Engagement?

A shocked gasp whistled into my lungs

Holy fuck.

I had to practically perform CPR on my heart just to get it beating again. Jealousy consumed me like a fog, clouding my vision with its toxic fumes and suffocated my every thought.

"Engagement party?" I repeated like the moron I was. "Who? Who's she marrying?" Was it Ellis? "Ellis?"

"Ellis—Ellis, Max's kid?" He scoffed. "Why would you think that? They hate each other."

Sasha obviously hadn't told him anything about her time in London. Not that I expected her to. But that didn't answer my question. It had three weeks—who the fuck got engaged after three weeks!? "Who is it—the guy?"  Who did I have to kill?

"It doesn't matter."

What the fuck. It didn't matter?

Was he high?

Sasha was his only daughter. He'd threatened men for just looking in her direction. If he knew the shit I'd done with her, he would decapitate me and barbecue my balls and spit-roast my dick.

My knuckles creaked as my fingers slowly fisted. I hated to admit it and I had no right damn right to think it. But there was no way in hell I was gonna let her marry some asshole.

Ryan pulled me from my head. "Look, I need your help with something.  And I don't like asking, but Helena's back."

"What?" Jesus. The ex-wife. "Fuck. What does she want?"

He didn't answer but asked, "When can you get here?"

It was Wednesday night and I had nothing to keep me here. "I should be with you sometime Friday."