Page 18 of The Dark Before Light

He shakes his head quickly. “She hasn’t.”

“Good.”

My reasons for giving up my role as an educator at the club were simple—I was stretched too thin, exhausted all the time, and wanted to focus on my career as a therapist. That I ended up stepping back from the lifestyle at the same time wasn’t premeditated; it just happened that way.

“So you haven’t…?” He trails off, his cheeks reddening.

I lean forward to drop a kiss on his forehead. “No, lovely. You’re my last sub. I can’t see that changing.”

I’d hoped the words would be comforting, but sadness clouds his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Even with all the work I’ve done, I’ll never be able to top you. I just… can’t.”

My heart squeezes. “I never wanted you to change, Nate. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.”

He reaches up and captures my hand. “You didn’t. I guess I’m feeling nostalgic.” His eyes twinkle. “No one edges me like you do.”

I laugh, but it fades quickly.

“Besides,” he adds more softly, “we both know it was mutual. I needed more, too.”

Around the same time I started realizing being strictly a Domme wasn’t fulfilling me anymore, Nate was coming to terms with his desire for polyamory. He wants to be shared and to share. I want monogamy and sex that allows me to explore both dominance and submission.

“We were almost perfect, weren’t we?” he muses, melancholy tainting the words.

I palm his face. “You deserve more than almost. Never forget that.”

His lips curve. “Yes, Mistress.”

A strident knock on the door makes us jump.

“Nate?” calls a male voice. “We have a situation in playroom seven. Non-emergency, but I need some help.”

Nate launches to his feet and tugs on his pants. “Coming!”

I pull my shirt on over my bra, then throw my hair into a quick ponytail. When Nate glances at me for permission to open the door, I nod.

The man on the other side is vaguely familiar. He smirks at the sight of Nate—mussed hair, barefoot, and bare-chested, with visible bite marks peeking out of his waistband—then his eyes flicker to me and widen. He blanches, head lowering.

“Professor,” he says in an awed voice. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”

I wince at the nickname I tried and failed to quell. “It’s fine. We’re done.”

Nate murmurs, “Told you you’re famous.”

Shaking my head, I settle back on the couch to put on my socks and shoes. I listen as the man relays that a scene went off the rails. A sub is crying hysterically. Her Dom is distraught but not violent. He can’t calm her down but also won’t let anyone else try.

Nate scrambles to pull on his shirt. “Jesus, Lionel, you said it wasn’t an emergency!”

“She’s not hurt?—”

“Not physically,” I mutter at the same time Nate scoffs.

“—but the curtains are open and a crowd has gathered.”

“Where the fuck is Adam?” Nate demands.

“Middle of a scene. Playroom four, I think.”

Nate curses as he struggles with a shoe. “What about Irene?”

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