Page 12 of Submit
Straightening herself up, she backs a step away from me. “Do you need anything? For work I mean?”
“Nah, go do whatever it is, you need to do. I’m good.”
I can’t imagine piling her with work today. She needs the time to get herself back after last night just like I do. I can barely see me getting any work done, so how can I expect her to outperform me? Nope, ain’t gonna happen. It’s the least I can do to give her an easy day.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna have an easy day, then maybe go to the club tonight to clear my head. I think I need it.”
“Do you want company?”
“Not tonight, kitten. But thanks.”
Watching her step away and leave the office gives me another sense of peace. I need the quiet, the time to reflect so that when I walk into the private, exclusive, BDSM club tonight, I can go in with a fresh of a mind as possible, hopefully to leave there with a better outlook on everything, including my mystery woman in the alley.
The rest of the day is quiet, with me turning off my cell and unplugging the landline on my desk. I turn off the computer, and the television on the wall, and flop my ass down on one of the two leather couches in the center of the room. Kicking off my shoes and clasping my hands on my chest, I settle into the pillows and supple cushions, close my eyes, and just breathe.
It's a second night in a row that the cleaning lady brings me out of my head, and now out of my sleep. The day has turned dark outside the large windows, and the black sky twinkles brightly with thousands of stars as she toils around the room, cleaning around me as if I weren’t even there.
Being close to the park, the light pollution isn’t so bad, and I do get the advantage of seeing stars on the nights I’m here late. They’re calming to see, knowing that the light in them has already perished by the time it has reached my eyes.
Turning my phone back on, I call downstairs and have the valet bring the Porsche around while I grab my coat and shrug into it, bearing my maid a quiet goodnight. With a twenty tossed on the coffee table for her as a thank you for being quiet and private, I head downstairs to begin the night that I need to clear my head, beginning with a drive in my favorite sports car.
God, I really need the bike. Come on Miami trip.
~~~
The front door of the club swings open, the little chime in the welcome mat ringing out to announce my arrival under my shiny black shoes as I step inside.
From the front of the building you would never know what resided inside. It’s a nondescript building with blackened front windows at the end of a large promenade shopping area. It could be any large storefront, but it’s not. Behind the smoked glass and white exterior lies a space that is as deviant and dark as I am. Maybe more so even. Who knows.
The official name is Kelly’s, named after the vixen who opened it many years ago, originally as a speakeasy during prohibition times. All the members just call it the club though. The décor still brings you back to those times, with its secretive passageways and hidden rooms. The main bar, snuggled safely beyond the multiple playrooms is opulent and expensive, just the way I like things, with the dark woods, and even darker fabrics in reds and golds.
As I walk through the main corridor, I nod politely to some of the other members I’ve gotten to know over the years. The men are dressed in fancy suits, and their women come dressed usually in nothing more than skimpy attire, or nothing at all besides the collar they wear for their owner.
Quiet twenties flapper music plays subtly in the background from little speakers in the corners of the room, hidden by the rooms decorations, giving the place a playful yet mysterious vibe.
Max at the bar is in his customary black slacks and black shirt with gold piping on the collar and cuffs. He smiles at me as he wipes down a Collins glass with his towel, his elderly face wrinkling around his eyes and mouth. His snow-white hair glows almost yellow under the soft lighting, making him look almost like an angel in a sea of debauchery.
“Mr. Lambert, good to see you tonight, and on a Tuesday.” He says, setting down his towel and the glass, grabbing the bottle of scotch that I silently point to.
“Yes, Max. I needed a little…refreshment tonight.” I say, giving him a sly grin as he slides the three-finger deep drink in front of me.
“Well, you’re in the right place as always.”
“Absolutely.” I agree, taking the first sip of the amber liquid that slides down my throat like a warm hug.
He leaves me to attend to other patrons, and the bar around me falls almost silent, minus the soft music that swirls around me. It really is nice, the way it sounds, mixed with the aroma of the scotch, and the perfumes of the women close by. It’s rich, dark, heady, and feels like home.
“Adrian.” My name floats to my ears just before a hand lands on my shoulder, making me twitch.
I don’t like being touched by others, especially other men. It’s rude and unwelcomed. With a quiet growl I straighten myself up and brush the intruder’s hand from me.
“Tyler.” I say without having to look behind me.
Tyler Richmond, the club’s biggest asshole, and meanest dominant, or should I say sadist, rubs me the wrong way in every which way. From his always messy black hair and beady black eyes that remind me of a snake’s, to the stupid Boston accent that laces his words. Even the way he ties his shoes pisses me off, and I have no idea why. Maybe because he also lives in my neighborhood, pretending to be what he’s not. Someone like me.
His cologne smells cheap, and his clothes look like knock offs of the designer ones I wear, because he’s a man who hasn’t yet made it in this society but likes to think he has. Just because he won the lottery and made about ten million, doesn’t make him one of the big boys. Not around here, and not in my very small circle.
