Page 6 of His to Explore
“Why would you do that when you’re already here? Club Wyld’s chef is world class. Besides, I’m hungry too.”
She bites her lip, clearly trying to come up with some excuse.
“Is there a reason you don’t want to eat with me?” I ask, and her eyes finally snap to mine.
“Of course not! I just don’t want you to feel…obligated.” She looks away again, fidgeting. “I know this isn’t what you came here for.”
“I came here to spend time with you,” I say sternly. “So we’ll eat.”
Her submissive nature must respond to the tone of my voice, because she doesn’t argue anymore. And when a second waiter brings over the wine, she accepts her glass with a polite, “thank you.”
“So tell me about this client,” I say. “Why are they being so disagreeable?”
“They’re my least favorite kind of collectors,” she says before taking a sip of her wine. “They have no idea what they actually like, they only want to make sure they’re outshining their friends and neighbors.”
I nod. “That’s pretty common with rich assholes. More money than taste.”
Her eyes have a teasing glint. “You say that like you’re not one of the richest men in this city.”
“Oh, I’m an asshole, too, sweetheart,” I tell her. “But unlike them I have excellent taste.” I allow my eyes to travel down from her face, taking in the swell of her breasts beneath that leather bustier, making it very clear that she’s the perfect example of my very good taste. When I look back up, she’s blushing again.
“What kind of art do they have you looking for?” I ask.
“Oh, they’re not really working with me,” she says quickly. “Gemma runs the show. I doubt they even know my name.” Her laugh is self-deprecating. “Why would they, right? No one pays attention to the mousey assistant.”
I narrow my eyes. “There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” I mutter. “First, mousey is the last word I’d use to describe you. Second, you work your ass off for that gallery. Please don’t talk like you’re inconsequential.”
Her shoulders go rigid and she looks down. She looks upset, and I don’t like it at all. Sure, she’d been annoyed with me when I’d bullied her into sharing a meal, but this seems different. She doesn’t look annoyed, or mad. She just looks…small. Unsure of herself.
“Hey.” I force my tone several shades softer as I reach across the table to take her hand. “What’s wrong?”
When she looks up, there’s a sheen to her eyes that has my stomach clenching. Is she going to cry? Fuck, what the hell did I say to upset her so much?
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I just…it’s the kind of thing my ex would say. He always belittled me. I used to volunteer at the art museum and he acted like it was so…inconsequential. A silly, pointless way to spend my time.”
A flush of hot anger zaps through me. She rarely mentions her ex in front of me. Hell, she rarely mentions her life outside of these walls at all.
I can count on one hand the things I know about Kensie’s real life. Her divorce was finalized six months ago. She’s been working at an art gallery ever since. She has an apartment in North Charlotte. And her ex-husband was an asshole.
Not that anyone has ever given me any details about the fucker.
About three months ago, a close friend here at Wyld approached me. Jane is the most sought after—and frankly the most terrifying—Domme in the eastern U.S. When she’s not whipping submissives into shape at Wyld she works as a top notch (and equally terrifying) personal investigator. Her rich clients pay her a mint to dig up ammunition on their spouses and business rivals.
But Jane also does pro-bono work for a female divorce attorney in the city. She tells me that she takes great pleasure in unearthing dirt on abusive prick husbands in order to help the wife’s case.
And Jane worked on Kensie’s divorce case. Meaning it’s a safe bet to assume her husband put her through some shit.
Jane took a liking to Kensie right away. She refused to share the details with me, but at some point in the months after the divorce, Jane suggested Kensie join her at the club. And that’s where I came in.
“She needs someone to help her figure out what she likes,” Jane had told me all those weeks ago.
“So why aren’t you volunteering?” I asked. Jane giving up a gorgeous sub was unheard of.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m far too intimidating for a girl like that.”
“Are you saying I’m not intimidating?” I was pretty insulted, to be honest. I might not have Jane’s reputation, but I’ve been tying up submissives for longer than she has.
“You’re very intimidating,” she says with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “But for reasons I can’t possibly understand, this woman prefers dick.”
