Page 9 of Worth the Risk

Bella hesitated with her hand on the lever, feeling a little like Alice about to fall through her looking glass. “If I run into a mad hatter or a crazy queen, I’m out of here.” Then she laughed. “Johnny Depp, on the other hand...”

When she pushed the door open, the scent of sandalwood and leather surrounded her. The lounge was dark, lit by the golden glow of wall sconces that flickered like candles. There were seating areas with burgundy leather couches, cozy-looking chairs, and low tables in each grouping.

To the right, she saw a dance floor and beyond that a stage at the far end of the vast room where a band was doing a sound check. She couldn’t help gawking. She’d worked at six different bars in the past year, and none were like this.

Foremost, it was clean. The furniture appeared new, and she was pretty sure it was real leather, not vinyl. The flooring blew her away, all of it marble, except the dance floor, which was dark-mahogany hardwood. And she didn’t know what to think of the twelve-foot-tall double doors that took up most of the wall to her left. They were just like the one in the lobby, except bigger and more intimidating. She half expected a knight in chain mail with a sword on his hip to come swaggering out at any minute.

“Bella?”

“Yeah,” she said vaguely as she watched a couple enter the bar through a different, normal-sized door toward the back. But there was nothing normal about the leather-clad man, six and a half feet tall at least with bulging muscles, leading a petite woman, who couldn’t weigh much over one hundred pounds, by a leash. If that wasn’t shocking enough, she noticed the leather lead wasn’t attached to a collar. Instead, it disappeared inside the opening of her unbuttoned blouse and hooked onto a chain dangling between her breasts. The fine golden links seemed to be attached to her—

“Bella Rinaldi, the new waitress, right?”

The sound of her newest fake name, which she still wasn’t used to, had her head whipping around. “Sorry. I was, um...distracted. What were you saying?”

“I’m Ben. The bar manager.”

Her new boss, a Ryan Reynolds lookalike, only taller and more muscular, with massive tattooed forearms she probably couldn’t wrap both hands around, was grinning. He didn’t seem annoyed by his new employee basically ignoring him while gawking like an idiot, which she took as a positive sign.

Although she was still reeling over the leash and gold chains—holy cow! What the heck?—she focused her attention on her new supervisor’s questions.

“Your application stated you’ve been waiting tables for some time, but how long have you been a submissive?”

She blinked. Not sure she’d heard him right, and, if so, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. I assumed.” He shook his head and, with a little laugh, said to the petite woman—pale blonde with cyan-blue eyes and a cute button nose—who’d come up while they were talking, “You’d think as long as I’ve worked here, I would know better than to judge a book by its cover.” His intense gaze returned to her. “You’re a domme, then? You’ll be in good company. We have several formidable mistresses in our membership.”

“I...uh...” Bella stammered then confessed to being hopelessly lost. “Pardon my ignorance, but I’m unfamiliar—”

“Wait,” Ben stated, looking and sounding as lost as she was. “You’re telling me Sean hired you, and you’re vanilla? Well, fuck me. That’s a first.”

At her perplexed expression, the woman beside him interjected, “I’m Hannah, Ben’s wife and his submissive. You’re aware this is a kink-and-bondage club, aren’t you?”

Her head jerked in surprise. “I... Uh...” She looked at her surroundings with renewed interest. “The...uh...nice lady at the employment agency said it was a private club, but she didn’t mention what kind.”

Ben burst into laughter. “Was she a blonde wearing a red power suit?”

“Yes. Her last name was Thompson, I believe.”

He chuckled, clearly amused, and she wasn’t sure why until he uttered, “Nice lady. That’s the first time I’ve heard those particular adjectives ascribed to Mistress Anne.”

“She’s a member here,” Hannah explained while hugging her husband’s arm affectionately. “I hope it won’t be a problem. With you working in the bar, you shouldn’t be, um, exposed to too much.”

“That’s because we don’t allow full nudity, sex, or scenes in the bar and lounge,” Ben, who had sobered, explained. “We have health codes to adhere to and liquor licenses to maintain, and you’ll find out soon enough on some nights there simply isn’t room. But you’ll see skin, lots of it, and the power exchange that occurs might shock you. Just remember that everything you see here is consensual.”

“Yes, and if members push the envelope, the club owners are very hands on,” Hannah added, still trying to be reassuring. “And we always have dungeon monitors to call upon for help.”

Bella stared at them, dazed, as she tried to digest terms like power exchange and dungeon monitors.

“We’ve rendered her speechless, master.”

“And the doors haven’t even opened yet,” he replied, tongue-in-cheek.

“Master?” Bella squeaked. Why the manager was called Master Sean was becoming clear.

“That’s what many of the dominants are called.”

“Or mistress, sir, and ma’am,” Ben added. “But I’ve also heard my lord, my liege, my queen, and some other unique titles. You should probably stick to sir and ma’am until you’re more familiar with how things work.”

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