Page 16 of Brave
Not ten seconds from her arrival, here came Spencer, emerging from his office with his dark stare fixed on her like a hawk on a rabbit. He started toward her, kicking every one of Carlson’s protective instincts into overdrive. He had no idea why or even what Spencer might have said to her had he not beat his boss and reached Puppy first.
“Hello again,” he greeted, pasting on a smile that wasn’t hard to find or to maintain, especially not when she offered a very hesitant smile of her own and willingly took those last few steps that closed the distance between them herself.
“Hi.” She seemed happy to see him, which was nice. He also liked that she was in a heavier shirt than she had been last night, it wasn’t a coat and that struck him as a little concerning. The color of her hands was off, showing how cold she was. After last night, she’d have known she would be, so did she not have a coat?
Now he was really looking at her. As ill-suited as her outfit was for this time of year in D.C., it was equally unsuited for a place like Black Light. This was an upscale environment. Most—not everyone—but most people, whether they came to play or watch, came dressed as they identified. Submissives wore less—seductive club dresses that could easily be trimmed down to underwear, or bedroom lingerie and heels. Doms wore leather, especially those who identified as ‘Old Guard’ or who affiliated themselves with the Bloods, Leather, Wolf, or other such primal groups. Those who didn’t still wore pleather, latex, or something black and tight-fitting, and they carried their playbags with them. Even if all they had was a toy or two, they still carried a bag to show they could and were interested in playing.
Not only did she have no bag with her, but nothing about her clothes really belonged in a BDSM dungeon. They didn’t even fit her well. Several sizes too big, her shirt hung on her and her jeans were actually baggy. She was really thin to his eye, and those dark circles under hers showed she wasn’t sleeping well.
She didn’t need to be here, Carlson suddenly realized, much as he’d been hoping all night to see her. She needed to be someplace that served a good, hot meal. She needed to be in warm clothes, including a coat, and she needed to be tucked into bed so she could sleep. Exactly what was her situation? Surely she wasn’t homeless; she couldn’t possibly be a member here if she were.
And why was he even thinking along these lines? He’d known this girl for twenty-four hours, and now he was, what? Setting himself up as her pity Dom? Unlike everyone else here, he knew next to nothing about her and judging by how they were all acting —including Spencer who was, hands down, one of the most caring Doms he’d ever known when it came to the members of this club. Something in the back of his head was whispering he might want to re-think getting involved.
And yet, his gut kept him rooted where he was, ticking off all the little things he was noticing, her wind tussled hair which might not have seen a brush today, the contrast of the dark circles under her eyes against the paleness of her complexion, and he already knew he wasn’t prepared to walk away. She wasn’t his submissive—he didn’t know if she was anybody’s submissive—but she needed somebody. Right now, he was the only one standing here.
“I was about to grab my bag and find a quiet spot on the floor,” he offered.
“Oh.” She pulled her reddened hands into her shirt sleeves, rubbing them together as she looked around the busy play area. In sharp contrast to the night before, almost all the stations were in use and a few even had waiting lines. “A-are you sceneing with someone? I can just stay back here and watch.”
“Nobody’s waiting for me,” he assured her, although a quick scan of the room showed at least two of his regular rope bunnies trying not to be obvious about looking his way. The minute he came back in here with his bag slung over his shoulder, unless he had another submissive on his arm, the race would be on to see who came bounding through the crowd to reach him first. “Are you doing anything tonight? Because I certainly wouldn’t mind if you wanted to keep me company.”
It might have been a trick of his hopeful imagination, but the set of her shoulders seemed to relax before she nodded. “I can do that.”
With a glance back over his shoulder meant to ward Spencer off, he left her standing in the doorway and quickly made his way to the locker where his bag was stored. He moved quickly, glad to see Puppy still waiting where he’d left her. So was Spencer. Arms folded, he stood at the bar, not far from his office door, watching her and frowning.
“Let’s go find a quiet spot,” Carlson offered, determined not to care although he knew his boss was following them, albeit at a respectful distance. Spencer had been an active member of this community for far too long to ever interrupt another’s scene, at least so long as the rules of Black Light were obeyed.
His usual rope bunnies showed their disappointment when he came walking through the dungeon with Puppy trailing along behind him. At first, they must not have recognized her. He knew the exact moment when that changed, however, because that was when he noticed the double-takes. Then the startled stares and the whispers began, and he knew it wasn’t because of anything he was doing.
He also knew by their faces the exact moment when Puppy’s already frayed nerves gave out and she turned to run, because suddenly all of their faces followed her rapid retreat toward the exit. He caught up with her halfway to the door. His hand grabbed her elbow and she snapped around, head already ducking the blow she expected and which he would never have thrown.
That she didn’t make a sound surprised him. Anyone else would have thrown up a blocking arm or yanked out of his grasp, or at the very least, snapped out a startled, irritated, or perhaps even frightened, ‘Get off me!’
She didn’t. In fact, apart from that slight duck of her head, Puppy just dropped to her knees. He didn’t know which of them that startled more, him, her, or everyone openly watching from the sidelines.
Her face flushed a deep beet red. She trembled, her deer-in-the-headlights gaze silently locking on him for almost three full seconds before she scrambled to her feet.
“Wait, please.” He wasn’t half as calm as his voice said he was. He held onto her arm just above the elbow, sternly telling himself if she pulled, even just one time, he’d let her go. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you. I’ll let go, okay?”
That she didn’t swing on him or scream, causing an even bigger scene was nothing short of a miracle considering how horribly embarrassed she seemed. She kept her head down, her eyes averted, and her body stiff throughout every ticking second that it took his hand to grudgingly obey the order his brain kept sending.
“Please don’t run,” he said, just before his fingers relaxed that final -enth of a degree and then she was free.
That she didn’t run was his second surprise. She ducked her head, looking both left and right, and although he knew better than to touch her again, he couldn’t help himself. They weren’t play partners. She wasn’t his submissive. It was extremely poor dungeon etiquette for anyone to put hands on another person, whether dominant or submissive, without their express consent, but he did. Catching her by the chin, he gently brought her nervous gaze back to his. Upset as she was, her breath caught and her eyes locked on his, and her whole body tensed, but it was a different kind of tension.
She stared at him. Not just as a woman in an uncomfortable situation, but as a submissive waiting to be commanded.
Pure anticipation zinged through him, tingling in his fingertips where he touched her. This was wrong. Let go, he told himself, but only one finger moved and it was not to obey him. His thumb caressed a slow path along her jawline, moving towards her lips.
“You’re safe with me,” he promised.
Her eyebrows buckled. Her lips parted, but she didn’t argue. She didn’t pull away either.
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, do you understand?”
Her trembling intensified, but in the gentle cup of his hand, she nodded. “Y-yes, Sir.”
The unanticipated honorific was almost enough to make him tremble too.
