Out of My Head

It was one of your favorite rooms in the manor, and not just because you spent so much time here with Andy. The decor was traditional–and expensive–a myriad of dark woods and butter-smooth leather. The walls were lined with built-in shelves, stacked with books and dotted with expensive pieces of decor, and even some antiques that probably cost more money than your brain could comprehend. 

But your favorite personal touch were the two pieces of framed artwork hanging behind Andy’s desk. They were abstract and colorful, and each time you got swept away staring at them, you swore your eyes gleaned a completely new shape or scene or meaning behind them. 

Andy once told you the story of how he had won them in a bidding war at an antique auction after months of tracking down any artwork he could find by his late mother’s favorite artist. 

It seemed like such a small thing about himself that he had shared with you–but it showed the kind of man that Andy Barber was. 

Devoted. Determined. Strategic. Patient when it counted most.

And never willing to give up. 

You smiled as you slowly made your way to where he sat hunched over his executive desk, still deep in his own work despite the approach of early evening. 

It was traits like his devotion and patience that had finally won you over completely–despite how gun-shy you had been at the mere idea of anything more with Andy. 

With anyone, really, given your history.

But even you couldn’t deny that the more you got to know Andy, the more time you had spent with him, the more the thought of something more had taken root in your brain and began to flourish.

And now here you were. 

Clocking your proximity, Andy finally pulled his eyes from his computer screen, straightening in his leather-back chair. His gaze softened as it landed on you, his lips tilting up at the corners into your favorite smile. 

“All done for the day?” he asked, pushing his seat back and making room for you, because he knew you well. 

So Andy didn’t bat an eye when you nodded in response to his question before slowly sinking to the floor, until you were sat between his feet and resting your cheek against his knee with a soft sound of contentment.

“I rescheduled your meetings for tomorrow to next week, like you asked,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering as Andy reached out and began to gently pet your head. “And I ordered flowers for Ari’s mother for her birthday next week, too.” 

“Thank you, honey,” Andy murmured, his fingers teasing along the shell of your ear and making you shiver. “You take such good care of me, of all of us. I bet you even reminded Ari of his mother’s birthday, just to be safe.”

Your cheeks warmed, because Andy was right, and his tone was so fond colored with the kind of tenderness–just for you–that made your insides swoop and flutter. You hid your face against his leg, your insides fluttering some more at the sound of Andy’s quiet, husky laugh. 

But speaking of Ari, something tickled your brain, something that made you frown as you tilted your face up and opened your eyes, your gaze shining with worry. 

“How are things with the art gallery?” you asked. “Is the business owner next door still causing you trouble?”

Andy’s eyes danced at the mention of the woman who owned the tea and bookshop next door to his new business. “She’s nothing to fret over, honey. Ari’s taking care of her.”

At that, you nervously gnawed on your lower lip. As much as you had come to accept the fact that Andy was a mob boss–and sometimes had to do ruthless, unsavory things–he treated you so well, and was so loving, that it wasn’t an issue for you. 

In fact, it provided a sense of security that you had never known until Andy–the fact that you now had such a powerful and competent protector.

But still… you didn’t like the idea of Ari hurting anyone, of the things you were sure he had done and was capable of doing. No matter how respectful and protective he was of you. 

You didn’t wish his dark intentions on anyone, even someone who had proven to be a thorn in Andy’s side from day one. 

But then again, given the rivals and competition he usually dealt with, this woman’s antics were almost… charming. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Andy hummed, gently caressing your cheek. “He’s dealing with her in a way I’m quite certain she enjoys.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh.” Your eyes widened enough to make Andy laugh. “Well… good. I know the gallery is your pet project and the first business that you’re genuinely excited for.”

“And it’s the perfect front for arms dealing, which drives the most revenue, so really it’s a win win.”

You hummed in agreement, once again sinking against Andy as he continued his light touches and caresses. His fingers danced along the tension in your shoulders, moving slower and pressing firmly, until you were making a quiet sound of relief as the knots of tension seemed to melt away into nothing.

“You slept fitfully last night,” Andy said. 

You nodded, leaning into the cradle of Andy’s palm that now rested against your cheek. He tilted your face up so he could get a better look at you, observing the shadows beneath your eyes with a small frown and furrowed brow. 

“More nightmares?” he asked.

This time you hesitated, but only briefly, before nodding again.

You didn’t hesitate because you wanted to hide your struggles from Andy, or because you were embarrassed he had of course noticed the state of you, but more so just because you hated to think about your nightmares, and the things from your past that caused them. 

At your admission, and the way your shoulders hunched and curled just a little, Andy’s touch instantly became more intentional. His hand moved to grip the back of your neck, squeezing in that way he knew melted your brain and made all of your anxiety dissipate. 

Of their own accord, your hands lifted so you could cling to Andy’s thighs, pressing your forehead against his knee and nearly curling around his leg like a koala–greedy for his touch. 

Even after all this time, you still couldn’t believe it, the way Andy’s touch affected you–in a good way. That you loved it and often needed it now. 

Because there had been a time when you thought that you would never enjoy the touch of another again…

18 Months Ago

“Another month in the green,” Andy said, sounding pleased as he scrolled through the financial slides on the tablet he held. 

“Bet you’re fucking tickled that you went all in on the club with me,” Lloyd Hansen preened, sinking back in his desk chair and giving Andy a shit-eating grin. “I told you this would be a money maker. There’s nothing like it for miles and miles.”

Andy hummed, setting the tablet on Lloyd’s desk, his face serious as he eyed the other man. “And I bet you’re fucking tickled that I gave you permission to set up shop in my territory.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you made me work for it and go in halfsies with you, so.”

“You’re welcome,” Andy smirked. 

Lloyd scoffed, opening his mouth to likely fire back something Andy would make him regret, but before he could speak a word, his office door flung open and you were forcefully shoved inside. 

You squealed as Lloyd’s head of club security–the brute–gave you another shove that had you nearly face planting into the thick, expensive carpet. 

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t to be interrupted?” Lloyd snarled at said brute. 

“Sorry, boss,” he grunted, giving you a lethal glare, “but she caused a scene out on the floor.”

Lloyd’s eyes snapped to you so quickly that you flinched. 

“Did she?” The chill in his voice had you cowering in dread as the security guy quickly ducked out of the office, pulling the door closed as he went and shutting you away with your prickly boss.

You were too terrified of Lloyd, and too distressed after what had happened out on the night club floor, to notice the stranger sitting across from Lloyd’s desk. 

“This is the thanks I get for hiring your cry baby ass?” Lloyd hissed as he rose from his seat.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hansen,” you quavered as he rounded his desk and stalked closer. “But… I, I told you, I don’t like to be touched and one of the men out there, he grabbed me and–”

Lloyd didn’t stop his approach until he stood toe-to-toe with you, causing you to visibly tremble as you hugged yourself tightly and kept your head ducked low, your eyes fixed on your feet. 

“You’re in a fucking night club, toots, dressed like that, might I add–“ Lloyd scoffed.

“You made me–“ you countered weakly.

“It’s called a work uniform.”

You thought that was a stretch as you eyed your outfit which wasn’t much more than a pair of metallic booty shorts and a sorry excuse for a shirt that nearly had your breasts spilling out the top. 

And you weren’t even one of the cage dancers, you were just a server. 

“You told me you needed this job, that you were desperate for work,” Lloyd growled.

At that, your head lifted, your gaze frantic as it met Lloyd’s. “I am, I do! Please, I’m sorry–“

Lloyd shook his head. “I can’t have you out there causing a scene anytime the clientele gets a little handsy. That’s part of the job. I mean, what the fuck did you think you were getting into working here?”

“Please, sir, I need this job. I don’t have anything else or anyone or–”

“Oh boo fucking hoo,” Lloyd sneered, dipping his head close and making you recoil. “I gave you a chance. I was more than generous. You get paid well. You get benefits. And this is how you thank me?”

Your chest hitched, a sob working its way up to your throat, because he was right. You had been so obviously out of your depth when you had shown up here for your interview, but you had also been beyond desperate for the gig, for a steady income, to survive. 

And now you had gone and fucked it all up because you couldn’t just do what all the other servers did and acclimate to your environment. 

“Get out,” Lloyd enunciated slowly before straightening. “And don’t come back.”

“No! Please!” Your voice was pitched with hysteria as panic flared within you. 

Because you couldn’t lose this job.  

“I can… I can do something else! Anything else!” you cried, trailing behind Lloyd as he turned his back on you and sauntered toward his desk. “I can tend bar or or do inventory or–”

He whirled on you suddenly, making you squeak as you walked right into him and then sharply drew back as if you’d been burnt. 

There was a mean glint in Lloyd’s eyes as they slowly trailed over you, in a familiar way that had your belly sinking and your skin crawling. 

“The only other use I have for you wouldn’t be ideal since you don’t like being touched, cupcake.” Lloyd made a lewd gesture with his fingers and tongue to get his point across, giving a mean laugh as you hugged yourself tightly and stumbled away from him. “That’s what I thought. I have no use for you. You’re useless. So get fucking gone.”

He turned away, clearly dismissing you, his words reverberating in your head loud enough to drown out all of your panicked thoughts. 

Because you were useless.  

Your tears finally fell as your devastation consumed you. You would be out of your shitty apartment within weeks if you couldn’t make rent. You’d be back on the streets, needing to do whatever it took just to get by. 

You shuddered with dread just thinking about it. Especially in this city. 

But you had nowhere else to go. No one to turn to. 

You had nothing. 

You were nothing. 

“GET OUT!” Lloyd’s holler made you snap back to the present moment.

You physically jumped at his raised voice, whimpering before turning on your heel to scurry out of his office, but a quiet, unfamiliar baritone made you freeze in place. 

“Wait.”

Lloyd huffed. “Really, Barber? You’re undermining me in my own club?”

“Our club. And I’m not undermining you. Just because you don’t have a use for her, Hansen, doesn’t mean I don’t.”

The tiniest, weakest flare of hope flickered within you as you turned and looked at the man who spoke, not nearly as bold in your gaze as he was. 

Even though he was seated, you could tell that he was tall, his posture straight and confident, his shoulders broad beneath the dark suit jacket he wore. His skin was fair and flawless, his face shadowed with a dark, meticulously kept beard that matched the floofy swoop of his brown hair. 

But it was his dark blue eyes that made your own gaze linger, and widen.

Because you realized that the stranger wasn’t watching you with a lecherous look like most men you’d come into contact with. His gaze was shining with something new and unfamiliar–sympathy, and calculation. 

“Take her out to the car,” he nodded, and another man you didn’t even notice until now materialized from the dark corner of the office. 

He was the biggest, broadest man in the room. His hair dark and long enough to curl around his blue, denim shirt collar. He was so big, in fact, that when he stepped toward you, you whimpered again, cowering at the sheer size of him.  

“He won’t hurt you,” the stranger with the pretty blue eyes promised. “Go on. We’ll speak once I’m done here.”

You swallowed hard–nervously–but you were nodding before you even realized it, your body picking up on the softness in his tone and gaze before your brain did. 

It made zero sense, especially given your history, but you trusted him, instinctively. 

So you turned, grateful when the man you assumed was his bodyguard didn’t touch you as he corralled you out of the office and down the back hallway of the club. 

Once you were tucked away in the dark, luxurious SUV parked out back, your mind started to spiral again, all the frantic noise inside your head blaring on a loop.

What were you doing? 

You didn’t even know this man. 

If he was in business with Lloyd, you couldn’t imagine he was much better. 

But then you remembered the softness in his voice when he spoke to you. In his gaze when he looked at you. 

He saw your fear and desperation and it seemed like maybe he actually wanted to help you.

Lord knew you could use that right about now. 

You were startled from your thoughts as the back door opened and the stranger appeared, climbing in beside you. You noticed how he seemed intentional in keeping some distance between you–in respecting your personal space. 

It was such a far cry from Lloyd and pretty much every other man you had ever met, that you felt a lump swell in your throat, and you had to look away from his intent gaze to blink the tears from your own. 

“What’s your name?” he asked gently. 

You took a breath, peeking over at him as you murmured your name. 

He gave you a small smile, introducing himself in return. “I’m Andy Barber, it’s a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

Your lips trembled into an almost hopeful smile.

“You need work?”

You nodded fervently, so much so that you made yourself dizzy as you breathed, “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any skills or notable experience?” Andy asked.

And just like that–you wilted. 

Because you didn’t. You barely had an education, and your resume was laughable–just a string of odd jobs that never lasted long, and the kind of years-long gap that would make any eyebrow raise. 

The only thing you had to offer was what Lloyd alluded to back in his office. 

Yourself. Your body. 

But you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t. Not again. Not even if it was your choice this time. 

You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t.

Andy’s quiet voice broke through your internal spiral–your mindless mental chant–as he told you, “You know, I didn’t start out at the top. I came from nothing. But someone with means saw potential in me. They gave me a chance. So I’m willing to do the same for you.”

And there it was again, that tiny flicker of hope sparking to life in the deep recesses of your tarnished soul. 

“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’m very good at reading people, and I think you’re someone capable of loyalty, and that I prize most above all. Skills can be taught, knowledge can be gleaned, but loyalty? Trust? Those are innate and of the utmost value, especially in my world.”

You looked at Andy again and couldn't help but shiver. His poise, his confidence, his direct gaze. 

You weren’t quite sure who he was, but you knew that you had somehow stumbled your way into the path of someone important. Someone powerful. 

Someone who maybe, if you earned his trust, if you made him proud, he would keep you safe. 

And that, to you, was of the utmost value.

So you took a deep, shaky breath before whispering, “I can be loyal.” You swallowed before continuing, “And I can work real hard, no matter what you ask of me,” your voice faltered. “Except… I don’t… please, I’m not–“

Despite your fumbling, Andy seemed to understand where your mind had gone. What fear overtook you now. 

You saw him reach for you–perhaps his intention was a comforting touch–but he must have remembered you didn’t like to be touched, because he pulled up short and his hand retreated, resting on his thigh instead. 

“That isn’t what this is,” he said gently. 

“Okay,” you squeaked, sinking beneath the weight of your relief. “Good. T-thank you.”

You peeked over at him again, feeling unsure but also a little mesmerized. Because Andy Barber was beyond handsome. In fact, he was beautiful, but his eyes… your gaze couldn’t stop returning to his and the softness that resided there. 

No one had ever looked at you that way before. 

Without vile or cruel intentions aimed your way. Without malice or greed. Without the promise of pain, or worse. So much worse.

“Well, this seems pretty cut and dry to me, and genuinely the most pleasant interview process I’ve ever experienced,” Andy said. “So, you’re hired.” He winked, looking delighted when that got a quiet giggle out of you. 

But the sound of your amusement cut off abruptly as the car began to move, and you jolted upright, panicked. 

“Relax,” Andy soothed, his fingers twitching against his thigh like he was once again resisting the urge to reach out with a comforting touch. “We’re just driving you home, and then you can come to my place tomorrow and we can discuss how you can best support me,” Andy explained. “Where do you live?” 

You didn’t respond for a moment, not so much because you didn’t trust him–didn’t know him–but because you were embarrassed by the answer. But after a beat, you gave it to him anyway. 

Andy didn’t wrinkle his nose in disgust or make a judgmental remark like Lloyd had when he read your address on your new hire paperwork. He just relayed the address to his bodyguard, who was driving, before sitting back in his seat. 

“Would you be open to relocating?” Andy asked, clearly taking you by surprise. “If I have you assisting me daily, it makes the most sense for you to live on my property.”

“I…” you hesitated, not wanting to spoil this gift so soon after receiving it. 

Especially since you had no other prospects. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you said carefully. 

Andy’s eyes sparkled at your diplomatic answer. “You wouldn’t be. Most of my staff have quarters at my manor. Like Ari,” he nodded toward the beefy man in the driver’s seat. “Same with my personal chef and butler.”

“Oh,” you murmured, nervously wringing your hands together in your lap. 

Because it seemed like Andy had a whole staff under his employ. Not to mention a manor.

Again, you couldn’t help but wonder who he was, whose orbit you had been drawn into. 

“Can I think about it, please?” You asked, not wanting to give up all of your minimal autonomy at once. 

Not wanting to make what could be a very life-changing decision before you knew Andy better.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “I can show you around tomorrow to help inform your decision. How does that sound?”

“Very generous.”

Andy shot you a small smile, and your belly swooped at the sight before you quickly looked away, your leg jiggling with nerves as Ari steered the SUV onto your street. 

The vehicle eased to a stop at the curb just outside of your dingy apartment building, and you found yourself unable to look at Andy–to risk seeing the pity in his eyes.  

“Here, why don’t we exchange numbers?” Andy suggested, fishing his cell phone from his inner jacket pocket. 

You pulled your own dated device from your back pocket, quickly fulfilling his request before clutching your phone between your sweaty palms. 

“I’ll send a driver to pick you up tomorrow at eight thirty, does that work for you?” Andy asked.

“Yes, but you don’t need to,“ you objected. “I can take the bus, or–”

“It’s a safety precaution on my end,” Andy assured you. “I don’t give out my home address to many. Not in my line of work.” 

He winked to make light of something serious, and you once again found yourself wondering what–exactly–was Andy’s line of work? 

What were you getting yourself into?

But you just as quickly shook that thought away, because this opportunity–Andy’s kindness–it was all you had, and it was truly a gift. 

No one had ever done something like this for you before, had given you a chance, a helping hand in a moment when you needed it most. 

And you wouldn’t waste it. 

So you nodded, mustering a smile despite your anxiety as you told Andy, “I’ll be ready tomorrow at eight thirty.”

“Perfect,” he smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He watched as you opened the car door and slipped outside, hesitating before you turned back to him. Because a new feeling was overriding your nerves now.

Gratitude. 

You felt so very thankful for this unexpected opportunity. For Andy’s empathy and belief in you.  

You weren’t used to getting help or lucky breaks. 

You weren’t used to anyone caring about you in any way at all. 

It must have been written all over your face too, all these thoughts swirling inside of you, because Andy’s features softened as he watched you, another one of those small smiles cursing his lips. 

“Go get some rest, honey, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Your belly swooped at the term of endearment, and you lingered for a moment, wishing you were good with words, that you could articulate how grateful you were, how much this meant to you. But you finally settled on a very earnest, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“No need to thank me. And call me ‘Andy.’”

Your insides fluttered at his request, and you nodded. “Goodnight, Andy.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching your retreat.

Despite the way you hurried up the front steps and into the entryway, the SUV seemed in no rush to depart, instead idling at the curb until you were safely inside.

You scurried up the four flights of stairs to your unit in a daze, your brain trying to process everything that happened tonight. You were out of your new job at the club, but it seemed like something better could be awaiting you. 

Thanks to Andy. 

You were terrified to really get your hopes up, because so rarely did things go your way, but this time, weirdly, the excitement–and anticipation to see Andy again–was something you just couldn’t shake… 

“Come here, honey.”

The sound of Andy’s voice brought you back to the present moment, your hazy mind surfacing from one of the few pleasant memories you had. 

Blinking owlishly, you glanced up to find Andy watching you in soft amusement, his big hand held out toward you. 

You slipped your hand into his, allowing Andy to pull you first to your feet, then into his lap. 

His arms circled you in an instant, tugging you close as his lips pressed a kiss to your forehead. As you went pliant against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder, he murmured, “We’re going away for a long weekend.”

Your head snapped up in surprise. “We are?” 

Andy smiled as he caressed your cheek. “Well, as long as you want to, but it’s why I had you clear my calendar tomorrow. I think some peace, quiet, and nature will do you good.”

You couldn’t suppress your giddy smile if you tried. “We’re going to the lake house then?”

Andy’s smile was more of a grin as he nodded, “I know it’s your favorite.”

“Thank you, Andy!” you squealed, nearly bouncing in his lap as you hugged him and pressed a kiss to his beardy cheek. 

Andy’s eyes twinkled at your sweet excitement. As you went to pull away, his fingers caught your chin, staying your retreat as his eyes ignited in a way that had a surge of warmth pooling low in your belly.

Slowly, his gaze meeting yours and not shying away, Andy pulled you in for a real kiss. The kind of kiss that made it impossible to catch your breath because you could feel with each and every press of Andy’s lips against yours how much he loved you, cherished you, wanted you. 

You were nearly panting once he pulled away, your eyes dazed enough to make him smile. 

“You never need to thank me for taking care of you,” Andy hummed, touching his lips to your forehead. “For treating you the way you deserve.” His next kiss warmed your cheek, then he placed a final kiss on the other before pulling away at last. “Why don’t you go pack?”

“I will, in a little while, but first, can we just…” You sank against him, loosely clinging to him as you nuzzled your cheek against his chest. “Stay like this for a little while?” 

“We can stay this way for as long as you want,” Andy promised, his big hand touching your back before settling into a slow, soothing rhythm–up and down, up and down–making you go even more pliant against him.

Humming your content, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, truly feeling your exhaustion for the first time all day. 

But you felt something else alongside it, something that–once upon a time, but not so long ago–you never would have thought you would ever feel… 

As Andy’s soft, musky scent filled your nose, as his warm, reassuring touch smoothed up and down your back, as you tucked your face against the crook of his neck and breathed in as deep, you felt truly and unequivocally safe.

🥹 You guysss. I love them SO hard. I would be so beyond grateful and delighted if you took a moment to drop me a comment or reblog with your thoughts. Pretty please! With a naked Andy and Ari on top?! 😘

—

Please take a moment to comment or reblog. It means a lot to hear from my readers after sharing a story that I put so much love into. Serial liking without engagement is the quickest way to kill my writing motivation, so please don’t do that. It only takes a moment to show a little love. Thank you 🙏🏻

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary​ and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘

You just had to suffer a few months slaving in the kitchen of a popular restaurant, redoing dishes for snobbish trust fund narcissists and influencers who tended to send something back for merely not matching the color scheme they wanted.

But the money was really worth it, so you gritted your teeth and perfected each dish.

The other upside of burning your fingers for bored elites was the beach and the sea.

It took you two weeks to find a perfect spot for yourself. Not anywhere on the public beach that was overcrowded and noisy. It was a very long walk, all past the private beaches with their big signs announcing no one was welcomed there, but you finally found your little heaven.

A beach with no people, as well no warning signs telling you to fuck off before a bitchy lady of the house throws your poor ass off and threatens you with firing from your job for lingering on her pristine, rich sand.

Your tranquil spot was all sea, beach and a wide span of forest. A wild road led through the grasses and trees deep into the woods, probably made by the locals from a nearby village, who might come to this part of the beach, avoiding the town itself.

With a happy sigh, you spread out your blanket and tossed down your bag. You shimmied out of your dress and stretched happily. A few breaths of the warm, salty breeze and you ran for the water with a giggle.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Steve paused mid-step, taking a deep breath and filling his lungs with the familiar scent of pine mixed with sea salt.

He used to run across these woods as a kid, picking pine cones to later throw into the bonfire, or taking them straight to the beach and using them to adorn the sandcastles that he built.

These lands belonged to his family for decades. His grandfather built and rented the first houses along the coast, later developing them into a business that secured the family name for years to come.

It loaded the second branch of the family business, too. On the other side of the sea - darker than the deep waters, with income as golden as the sand.

Focusing on managing the business and politics of certain organizations forced Steve to stay in the city most of the time, or to travel across the continents.

It's been over a year since he took a few days to come here.

Barely after arriving, he changed his clothes and took his two dogs to once again find his peace and quiet. Baron and King ran between the trees like wild pups, losing their usual lethal intensity that matched Steve's persona in the city.

But suddenly they paused.

Steve noticed how both dogs' heads titled slightly, then they were off running down the sandy path toward the beach.

They didn't barge onto the beach barking, but they went straight for a splash of color that was someone's blanket and belongings on it. Baron snatched something into his mouth and turned back towards Steve.

King remained in place, taking watch.

Delicate, yellow fabric that Steve picked from between Baron's teeth turned out to be a short dress. Delicate, with a faint scent of sweet, juicy perfume.

Then a loud screech followed by a burst of laughter snatched his attention.

Steve already figured out someone was chilling on his beach, but he didn't expect the sight to entertain him as much.

You were coming out of the sea, wet and radiating happiness. The screeching and laughter surely came from you, and it took Steve a second to realize what caused it.

Your bikini top was untied; bubble pink triangles barely covering your breasts now that the string was loose.

When a wave hit and ruined your top, that's when you squeaked in surprise. Then you simply laughed at the situation.

You didn't bother to cover yourself with your arms. You were still convinced there was no one here, that you were all alone on this wonderful beach and thus losing your bikini top was rather hilarious, not embarrassing.

It took you a few steps onto the warm sand to notice a presence near your blanket. Two dogs that looked massive and potentially able to maul you, though they stood in place, just watching you like you were a silly spectacle.

And a man.

Taller than you, with an impressive body clad in simple sweats and a t-shirt. A change from all the pressed linen and old money aesthetic most men in the seaside town presented.

He was holding your dress in one hand, his other hand tucked into his pocket. His eyes twinkled in amusement as he looked directly at you. Not even bothering to hide the fact he checked out your boobs.

"Not only it's not a nudist beach," his voice was pleasantly masculine - deep, yet velvety, "it's also a private one. So it's a double misdemeanor."

For a few seconds you just stared at him, before your brain caught up with the situation.

With a squeak (which Steve found most cute), you crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself.

You made a step forward, but paused when you remembered about the dogs. They still didn't move from their spots. Not a single growl came.

"It's okay, they won't harm you." Steve assured you. "Not until they're ordered to. And I don't think your little crime deserves a punishment so gruesome, pretty mermaid."

He handed you your dress without any disgusting bargaining, or lewd comments. But he did keep his eyes on you when you turned your back to him and slid it on, covering yourself.

"I didn't know it's a private beach. There's no sign." You blurted out, facing him again.

"Ah." He nodded, calm and friendly. "Rarely anyone comes so far out here. They stick to their tiny slabs of ownership. Others simply know not to go beyond the red pine."

He motioned at the characteristic tree in the forest line along the beach. Not only it was somehow a rusty red color, but also the pine was curved forward at the bottom, as if the tree was kneeling.

"You a tourist?" Steve asked, scratching Baron on the head when the dog nudged his leg.

"Not exactly." You rubbed your hands over your thighs nervously, feeling uncertain, as well realizing your dress was starting to soak up all the water from your body.

Covered or not, your nipples were going to be visible any second now.

"I work in one of the restaurants for the summer," you admitted.

"A cook?" At your nod Steve smiled. "How about you tell me which restaurant you work at, so I can come for a meal and you serve it to me yourself. As penance for trespassing."

You hesitated. The man didn't appear bothered by your presence on the beach, turning it into a harmless situation. But what if he was a vindictive asshole, who would come to your workplace and get you fired?

Studying him for a moment, you couldn't find it in yourself to be that suspicious of him. Perhaps, you were a little blinded by his stupidly handsome face, those blue eyes you could get mesmerised by, the smile that threatened to melt away your bikini bottom.

You told him where you worked, as well the fact you had a day off, but would be back there tomorrow.

Steve was going to be there, just like he said. And you would prepare his meal and bring it to his table with a shy smile. The main chef, as well as the restaurant's owner, would hear high praises about your skills.

Steve would be coming to that place every day for a whole week, asking for you specifically to make his meals and serve them. Each chunk of interaction and conversation at a time, he would be preparing a detailed plan regarding your future.

Andy can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears. And since you’re currently chatting with a few business council members, he knows you have no choice but to behave and play nice when he walks up to you and acts so friendly and familiar with you.

Saying your name with warmth and pulling you in to kiss your cheek, just able to stifle his belly laugh when he sees your eye twitch as you paste this terribly fake and pained smile on your face.

Sensing Andy’s importance, the business council folks are all aflutter and insist you introduce them to Andy, and when they talk about how nice it must be to be new neighbors, Andy just smiles so big as he nods along.

“She was so beyond welcoming, I couldn’t have asked for a lovelier and more respectful neighbor.”

Andy does finally laugh once it’s just the two of you, and you give him the nastiest stink eye he’s ever received as you hiss, “How dare you infest a place filled with honest, humble, non-murderous business owners with your organized crime cooties.”

“You have me all wrong, you know,” Andy smiles at you, his gaze looking as amused as that first day you met.

“Doubt it.”

Andy just hums, moving to step past you but pausing close, invading your space and smirking as you squirm and death glare him.

“Have you ever considered that the best, most strategic thing you could do for your business—and its success—is become my ally?”

When you just press your lips into a firm line and give him a wary look, Andy chuckles.

“Of course you haven’t. Sweetie,” he emphasizes, grinning as you snarl at the nickname. “Enjoy the rest of the event. I know I will.”

And that gif above? That’s Andy making eye contact with you in between guest speakers, riling you up from across the room with a simple wink and smile, because he can.

He had no right to be jealous, surely he knew that; you figured all that 'you're mine' stuff in bed (though it was so rarely a literal bed) was just to be kinky. Apparently not, since he had somehow sensed that you were considering accepting some attention from a stranger-- since he had somehow found you here just to interrupt your brief moment of self-respect-- and ruined it.

You weren't sure how far you were really going to let it go. The young man at the bar was friendly if a little overly eager (and certainly more age appropriate for you) and you figured if you wanted, you could have him take you home and remind you what this felt like before Lee.

But you were pretty sure you wouldn't-- you knew you were too far gone for that. You knew, on some level, that you would spend the whole night thinking of Lee even if you weren't spending it with him.

In fact, when you'd tried to politely wiggle your way out of the flirtatious conversation, you'd almost slipped up. "You're sweet," you'd praised him bashfully, "but really, I should tell you, I can't."

"Why not?" he'd asked instantly. "Aw, you must have a boyfriend, don't you?"

And for a second you were going to instinctively nod. Actually, you had to take a sip of your drink to cover it and stall while you thought of something else. "Um, no," you'd finally mumbled, "but--"

"What a waste," he'd cooed at you sweetly, reaching to pet your thigh. Forward, sure, but not as aggressive at you thought it might've felt-- and not actually unwelcome, either.

And that was when he fucking appeared, impossibly, in the door. You jumped away from the hand on you when you saw him, like you were going to get in trouble. You felt stupid a second later for having such a thought-- why would I get in trouble?-- but you were right the first time.

That is, if you consider it 'trouble' to be behind the bar with your face pressed up against the cold brick wall, your panties around your knees, and your dress unbuttoned just enough to allow for a rough hand to squeeze one of your tits. I think most people would consider that trouble, surely.

"What were you thinking, baby?" Lee growled against your ear, fucking up into you harshly but keeping your hips in place with his free hand. "Letting some boy feel you up."

I thought you wouldn't care, you thought, but all your mouth could let out was more pathetic whimpers and moans.

"Guess m'not takin' good enough care of you," he decided. "Sorry, honey, didn't know you needed it so bad."

It wasn't a very sincere apology, it felt pretty condescending in fact, but when the hand that had slipped inside your dress and bra came down to fiercely rub your clit instead... you couldn't quite muster the energy to be offended. "Fuck," you whimpered, knees wobbling like they would give out without him holding you up.

"Or maybe you just wanted to make me angry, huh?" he suggested, his voice getting a bit rougher just as his movements did as well. "This is what you need, to be reminded who you belong to?"

Your eyes were stinging, but you weren't sure if you were about to cry from how he was slamming into you or something a bit more metaphysical.

"Well, I won't let you forget, baby," he promised. "Say it for me and I'll let you come."

"Lee, I--"

"Mm?" he encouraged.

You knew you were supposed to say I'm yours, but maybe it was the moderate inebriation, or maybe you were just tired of fucking lying-- to him and to yourself. "I love you," you blurted out.

As you shut your eyes tightly, realizing what you'd just done, you felt his motion slow to a stop. "Huh?" you heard his response.

"I-I'm sorry," you started to take it back immediately, hoping somehow he would believe that you just misspoke and you didn't really mean it.

"Honey..." he sighed, and you let a breath out of your nose. There was already an apology brewing in his tone, you could hear it. A gentle letdown. An awkward 'I thought you knew what this was'. Something like that. "You--"

"I'm sorry," you said again, prying yourself out from between him and the wall. You quickly pulled your panties back up, struggling to button the top of your dress again with your shaking hands.

"Hey," he said softly, turning you back towards him with a hand on your upper arm. You looked down-- ostensibly at your buttons-- but your sniffle gave it away. "Hey, hey," he said again as you started to openly cry, and pulled you into his chest to wrap you in a hug.

You weren't sure if he'd ever hugged you in all this time... you certainly hadn't cried in front of him, at least not with him noticing.

"You can do better than me," he whispered to you. "You can do so much better than me..."

You shook your head as best you could with it pressed against him.

"You can," he assured, "you know I'm no good for you, honey. I shouldn't've... hell, I probably shouldn't've messed around with you at all. S'my fault, I just..."

He'd said something about that before. Just couldn't help myself, that was his excuse at the time. You looked so cute and helpless, just couldn't resist you. It had made you feel like a million bucks at the time, but then he came and told you you should head back home and you felt so cheap. That's just how it always went-- and you kept coming back, because you couldn't help yourself, either.

"And you're too young to be stuck with somebody--"

"Then let me go," you demanded, stopping him suddenly. He loosened his embrace and you pulled back enough to look up at him with your watering eyes. "Love me, or let me go."

He looked back at you-- seemingly tenderly, unless you were just imagining it. But then, no, he reached up and held your cheek, his thumb wiping a tear, so yes-- it must have been tenderness you were seeing on his face. It made him look so different... "Dunno how," he mumbled nervously.

"Which one?" you asked.

"Both," he answered. "Don't know how to let you go. But I don't know how to love anybody. Not proper, anyway. Not the way you deserve."

"Well, give one a try," you frowned, "or I'm leavin'. For good this time."

For once, he didn't taunt you with the reminder that you always came back. He did smile, but not in a teasing way. "My, you're a handful," he scoffed. "And I'm not talkin' about your ass-- this time."

You rolled your eyes.

"I like it, though," he decided. He'd told you before that he liked your 'spunk' as he called it, even if he suddenly decided that it was an 'attitude' sometimes and found creative ways to put you in place. This felt different, of course-- this didn't feel like another way for him to belittle and compliment you at the same time. This felt like he was admitting something he really liked about you as a person, which you hadn't realized was important until he did it just then and it made your chest warm up instantly. "I wanna love ya, honey-- just never ended well for me before..."

"I don't care," you insisted. "Just try."

He shook his head. "It's not that I have to try... it's..."

He sighed through his nose, frowning a little. You kind of got the impression Lee wasn't well-versed in complex emotional conversations.

"It's easy to love you," he decided, and your heart fluttered again. "Everybody does, honey, you know that, but-- fuck, if I fucked you up, I'd feel like shit for the rest of my life."

"M'already fucked up," you assured, "by you, and before you. Why can't we just be fucked up together?"

First, you waited on the long list of applications and the verification process. Then, once you got approved, your first steps into the seductive molasses of BDSM were wobbly at best. 

But it was expected, you told yourself. Master Simon assured you of that, as well, serving as a chaperone and guidance through the black marble walls and crystals glittering like diamonds. Astonishing, glamorous background for the most carnal, dirty acts. Some of which terrified, or straight repulsed you; some you yearned after.

With the excitement and hope, however, a gloomier mood started appearing. Not because of the club itself, but because each night you attended, you returned home with a heavy ache in your chest. Sadness. Anger. Disgust with yourself. How you wished that disgust came from experiencing filthy things and battling your appalled sense of propriety! Instead, it was from the growing conviction of being a huge disappointment.

As a new submissive in the club, you drew curious stares at first - which was both overwhelming and pleasant. But it didn’t correlate with active interest. Sure, the first two weekends consisted of a few conversations, as well three invitations to scene. 

Which, in a way, were more than you imagined, then later brought a sense of annoyance and disappointment. As if something was missing and the submissive creature inside you wasn’t satisfied with what you got. 

As weeks passed, the worse it became. Doms didn’t approach you. When you mustered all your shaky courage and tried to initiate an interaction yourself, you were very politely declined. Which was okay, you told yourself. Not every Dom had to be interested in you. With each failed attempt, though, a voice in your head cried louder and louder - No one is interested in you. 

The club organised particular activities that allowed all single submissives and Dominants to participate and find unexpected matches for a scene. Those games terrified you with the unknown - of which Dom might pick you, what thing they would do to you - yet you forced yourself to be a part of it. Again, for that flickering hope of clicking with someone for more than just a single scene after which they’d avoid you like the plague.

Thrill at the prospect of another night at the Black Diamond started diminishing. It still bubbled under your skin when you entered the marble halls and re-dressed in the changing room. However, as hours passed with you sitting in the submissives’ lounge, watching the spectacles around you, with no one approaching you even for a short conversation, the thrill died down.

Instead, that awful dread of going back home unfulfilled and forgotten rose. 

You couldn’t say you didn’t get a single scene, that you didn’t moan in a delirious orgasm, or felt the sting of a palm on your asscheek. But each of these scenes built up to something amazing, only to flatline afterwards. 

The Doms provided aftercare, though it felt like an obligation to be checked off the list rather than a genuine interest in making sure you were alright. No Dom asked you to scene with them for a second time.

So your mind worked overtime, thinking up the reasons for your complete failure. 

That night, despite being convinced it would be another night with you crying yourself to sleep, you walked into the club with the same hope you tried to maintain each time. Even if it faded faster and faster. 

As usual, you greeted other submissives with a smile, politely bowed your head to any Dom passed who glanced your way. You were on your route to the sitting area for submissives when Master Simon appeared in your way. 

“Would you please come with me?” Hazel eyes looked at you with a certain glint. You were unsure if it foreshadowed good, or bad things to come. 

“There’s someone who wants to meet you.” He tossed over his shoulder, already turned forward and walked across the club. 

You padded behind him, heart panging in your chest with a sudden jolt. Someone wanted to meet you?! Was it someone new? Newer than you? Or was it another of Simon’s attempts to arrange a scene for you - an act of pity which made you feel ashamed, yet you still clung to it like a starved orphan ready to eat a burned scrap of bread from the street. 

The man Simon took you to was seated on one of the chaises in the resting area. His pose was relaxed, but in a way a lion might be relaxed in the middle of the road in savannah. Legs slightly spread, back resting fully against the cushions, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. 

He had blonde hair, with darker streaks here and there, all styled back in a soft swipe. His beard was trimmed. A pair of glasses rested on his nose, behind them striking blue eyes watched your approach. 

Master Simon said your name, pointing at you to stand in front of the man, whom he then introduced:

“Master Raymond.” 

With that, Simon simply turned around and walked away. He was always quite direct, and a man of few words, but he also showed care and attention in small doses. That he didn’t bother to do that meant he was sure you weren’t in any kind of danger. 

Or, at least, not in a bad kind of danger. 

You swallowed nervously, fingers fidgeting at the hem of the silky dress you chose to wear that night (it might as well serve as a nightie). Raymond studied you for a silent moment longer, before he spread his legs wider and tossed one of the cushions on the floor between them.

It took you only a single heartbeat of hesitation before you moved forward and dropped onto your knees. 

When you filled out all the forms and signed the contracts for the club membership, there was a thick file of rules. You always had the right of refusing a scene, not only stopping it if your limits were crossed, but simply not starting one. However, as a submissive in Black Diamond, you were also expected to kneel down for a Dom, if they required it (without any sexual acts following), as well undress on command. You quickly figured out it was to reinforce the thrilling power imbalance between a Dom and a sub. 

“I’m Raymond Smith.” The man introduced himself fully. A name you instantly recognized.

“Hello, Sir.” You forced your hands to rest gracefully on your thighs as you looked up at the owner of the club. The man who decided to accept you. 

“You know who I am,” he wasn’t asking, not really, so you only nodded. “We didn’t get a chance to meet earlier,” Raymond continued, “but I returned to find out what an unusual case you are.” 

There was no jab in his words, yet they strummed a sensitive chord within you. Your own insecurities intoned a chorus of hateful words and promises of exile. 

“Black Diamond exists so people can explore and get a fill of their desires. They get to learn about themselves, find themselves, find others who match their needs. So tell me-” slowly, Raymond leaned forward; blue eyes peeking at you from behind the glasses- “why aren’t you thriving?” 

You could shrink on yourself and say that you don’t know. Maybe even lie that you were most appreciative and happy with what the club provided. 

But Raymond was an experienced Dom, who would see right through poorly veiled bullshit. 

You just had to admit the truth without appearing the most pathetic. 

“I’m grateful for the attention I got so far, Sir,” you replied, measuring your breath to take hold of the shaky emotions that were threatening to resurface. “I guess it’s limited because I’m not what most of the Doms look for. Which is understandable, I’m not a jar of Nutella for everyone to like me,” you added with a fake easy smile. 

Raymond didn’t grin back. 

He didn’t glower, either. Simply watched you with the same patience. 

“Not what most of the Doms look for,” he repeated your words slowly, setting his tumbler onto the side table. “Elaborate, please.”

“Um-” you had to quickly regroup, knowing that if you spilled it all out in one rush, your hurt feelings would seep through your words. 

“I’m not a cute, sweet submissive, who needs protection or saving.” You started in what you hoped was a calm, unbothered tone. “For a lot of men, Dominants especially, being a protector and provider is a kink itself. I don’t stir that for them. I’m too put together and independent.” 

“I’m also not a cheeky brat,” you listed, “I don’t provide challenge, I don’t call out to tame me-”

A gasp interrupted your own words when Raymond’s fingers brushed along your collarbones unexpectedly. 

“Continue.” He ordered, trailing light touch further. 

“I-” your voice wavered slightly as he slipped his fingers beneath the straps of your dress. “I don’t have a knack for niche kinks, which could interest some sadists. And I’m not a bombshell to draw attention just by-”

Raymond pushed the straps of your dress down. Silk slipped down like liquid, exposing your breasts fully. 

With wide eyes, you stared at the Dom, chest rising on a hitched breath. His touch alone interrupted your thought process, but being bared unexpectedly completely scrambled your neatly prepared explanations. 

“Ah.” Raymond made a short, pleased sound. “Found the control switch.” 

He caressed the swell of your breasts with the backs of his curled fingers. Lightly. Yet goosebumps appeared on your forearms and your nipples stiffened into hard points. 

“Here you were,” his voice had a warm timbre, but his piercing gaze was terrifying like a sharp blade about to cut you open- “talking about something sensitive for you, yet you kept yourself all locked.”

Raymond observed you as you talked. Your body didn’t match the heaviness of your words. Dressed in logic, he heard the vulnerability and hurt behind each sentence - each comparison. But you didn’t allow yourself to show that ache beyond relaying it like cold facts. 

Only faint flickers he caught betrayed that the wounds ran deeply, only you didn’t allow them to show. 

Which meant you had connection to your feelings, but chose not to display them. Not to show vulnerability.

And what was true submissiveness, if not a raw exposition of everything. 

“I didn’t-” you started objecting, but Raymond’s hands cupping your breasts short circuited your train of thought. 

“Can’t hold up the walls when I tip your balance?” The corner of his mouth tilted in a smirk.

Your lips parted, to counter his assumption, but the words stuck somewhere on your tongue as he began playing with your boobs. Soft kneading turning into a harsher squeeze. Fingers splayed over the heavy roundness suddenly clenched around your nipple in a stinging pinch. 

The zap of pleasure surged straight to your clit. Your core filled with heat, even as your mind couldn’t comprehend how it can be happening when it’s not even a negotiated scene. 

“You give me a tale of being bland and boring, yet here I am intrigued by a subby who doesn’t fit the mould.” Raymond didn’t shift his gaze from your face as he continued to torment your breasts.

“Some Doms proved to be lazy arseholes, too glutted with well-known dynamics to dust off their skills. They brushed the surface of sexual kink, not really looking at you. Not seeing that you want much more than just intense orgasms. And instead of being angry with it, you lock it all up and convince yourself you don’t have a right to those feelings.”

Tears pooled in your eyes at his words. 

You wanted to hiss that you have all that anger and resentment, but you dealt with them on your own. In the safety of your own bed, where no one saw your tears and mocked you for them. 

You had no trouble sharing your joy with others. Smiling, laughing. You always displayed those. Sadness and anger? Desire and need? Fragility of any kind was supposed to be kept secret. They invited mockery and judgement, chinking at your pride and confidence. Controlling them meant you were closer to being a graceful, admirable woman, not some dramatic sap who grated on a partner’s nerves. 

“You’ve experienced disappointment and rejection here, yet you keep coming back.” Raymond’s touch switched to soothing caress again. 

“I suspect it’s because you don’t want anyone to see how much it hurt you, but I believe it’s also because you still hope someone notices those walls and shatters them down. Your eyes-” his gaze seemed to soften a fraction, and he moved one of his hands to tilt your chin up.

“So much fear and hope. Even now, when you hate me for dissecting you.”

“Please, Sir,” your voice was barely above a whisper. 

If you tried to speak up, you’d undoubtedly let out a sob. Beneath your eyelids tears still stung, but a deeply ingrained habit stopped them from falling. That voice in your head screeched about how pathetic Raymond would find you, if you cried. 

“You won’t find mercy with me.” He shook his head slowly. “But you can find what you’ve been craving. The sexual side and everything beneath.” 

Though you didn’t admit it, a part of you was also relieved when your nights at the Black Diamond turned to fiasco - because you remained protected within your safe bubble. No Dom brought you to a state that would cause the shell to crack. Which, in turn, meant you didn’t have to risk being hurt emotionally. 

It was your first interaction with Master Raymond and he was already barging in, unapologetically determined to set your safe space on fire. 

It was fucking terrifying. 

“You’ll have to be very brave,” he gripped your chin tighter, the other hand pinching your nipple again - the jolt of sexual pain once again messing with your head. Messing with your honed skills in putting up walls quickly. 

“You’re all buttoned up, but I’m going to cut off and rip all of those buttons and get you bare for me. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Every. Single. Damn. Time.” 

Maybe if he didn’t have you half naked; maybe if he didn’t hold your chin in an unyielding grip, forcing you to look him in the eye; maybe if he didn’t exude dominance in levels unparalleled to what you’ve been fantasising about; maybe if he didn’t cut you open with perceptive assessment… 

maybe then you would be able to calmly refuse his claim, maintaining a stubborn stance that you only wanted to be sexually satisfied. 

“Do you want that, Button?” Raymond leaned closer, scent of warmed spices and wood of his cologne were like a brush of soft blanket when you were held in an iron grip. “Or do you want to return to your weekly visits that end with nothing but hours on a sofa, keeping yourself away from hurt, but also away from connection?” 

A single tear slipped onto your eyelashes. You held back the rest. 

You tethered between the ache in your chest and the heat still licking between your thighs. 

Often, when emotions were close to the surface, your desire disappeared completely. Somehow, Raymond brought out the raw feelings, yet still kept your body buzzing with arousal. For the first time, one didn’t extinguish the other.

When you began your learning journey with BDSM, you read a lot upon the deep, intimate connection between physicality of it and the psychological and emotional sides. You tended to think of it as the emotional aspect of aftercare after a rough sexual act. You didn’t stop to think how the sex part could influence the process of feeling itself - intensify it, or soothe it. 

“I want to try.” You murmured. 

Raymond didn’t smile with triumph. He didn’t move away. He held you still, tugging on your nipple as he swiped his thumb up your chin and toward your bottom lip. 

“That’s very brave of you.” He praised. “Thank you for not giving up, and for trusting me with yourself.” 

Only then did he gently release you. He gave your cheek a tender caress, before reaching down to pull your dress up into place. Your abused nipples were straining against the silky fabric. 

“I meant what I said about not showing mercy, but I will never cross any boundary you set in the hard limits. I’ll push you, Button. Hard. But I promise to never give you what you can’t take.” 

“Instead, you’ll prove that I can and will take it?” You sighed, giving him a half-defeated, half-unamused look. 

Raymond smiled at that. A sinful gleam that heralded serious trouble for you. 

He leaned back and reached for the unfinished drink. He didn’t allow you to get up yet, so you remained on your knees. Your breasts were throbbing. Between your thighs, clit pulsed in demand for more. Your heart seemed to be bleeding open, yet it didn’t hurt as you might’ve expected. With the pleasure thrumming in your veins and the prospect of a Dom who - at least for now - wouldn’t drop you, the strewn feelings didn’t appear so awful. 

“Come tomorrow.” Raymond ordered. “Wear your highest heels. And nothing else.”

Heat immediately burst through your whole body.

“Nothing else?” You repeated, voice slightly stuttering.

“Once you’re in the club’s changing room, lose all your clothes. Then walk in wearing only high heels. Don’t stop to talk to anyone, you come straight to me.”

Each night you came to the Black Diamond meant being barely dressed and a high risk of ending up completely naked, but it was vastly different from walking inside already fully on display. Having to walk across the marble floors naked, with the sound of heels clicking against the polished stone, would draw all the attention to you. 

Raymond’s office was also dark, but less glamorous and more old fashioned with the oak wood, deep green suede of the armchairs, and rusty gold ornaments.

He didn’t expect Simon to change anything while he was gone, but it surprised him how not a single note of his trusted stand-in and friend’s persona could be felt in the office. 

Simon was sitting behind the desk when Raymond entered. As usual, in all black: black t-shirt with sleeves stretched around his bulging biceps (which gave many submissives wet dreams), black cargo pants, heavy boots. And the skull-printed balaclava mask.

Simon might have been officially out of the military, but Raymond knew his team worked black ops still. It gave him much needed secrecy, while also adding to his brutal aura in the club. 

“The place wasn’t blown up and Dicky Ricky’s body isn’t crucified at the gates,” Raymond gave a short round of slow claps. “Seems you weren’t as bad at minding the club as you threatened when I asked you to do it.”

“It was no fun. Everyone was scared and behaved themselves.” Simon shrugged, standing up.

Though Raymond didn’t ask him to, he moved out of the boss’ chair and took a seat in one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the desk. 

“Which is also ridiculous-” he stretched his legs out, hooking one ankle over the other- “You’re more dangerous than I am.”

“Our appearances serve the both of us, just in different capacities.” Raymond said, taking his place. It felt almost as good as sinking into his favorite wing chair at home.

Spending the last four months abroad, dealing with sensitive business and securing particular alliances, wasn’t all that bad. Food in some places was divine; Americans really knew how to properly make a steak. The thrill of balancing threats and diplomacy rejuvenated his bones. And some conversations were truly pleasant to have.

Like meeting with an old friend and former co-owner of the Black Diamond, Ari Levinson.

“Not that you ever needed additional oil to your fuckin’ Greek god glow, but what creamy subby sucked you this mornin’ that you’re relaxed like a trooper post a first fuck after years in the trenches?” Raymond snorted, glancing at Ari over the rim of his glass. 

Ari laughed, that easy, booming laughter of his that dropped panties and somehow made other men feel like grinning for no damn reason. 

“My sub.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, very pleased with himself for that revelation.

Raymond paused before taking another sip of whiskey. He studied Levinson for a second then shook his head. 

“Levinson settled down with some good girl, huh?” Raymond smiled knowingly.

Ari wasn’t against relationships. He was far from a cynic who didn’t believe in love. But his charming, playful demeanor veiled a deep intensity of a merciless Dominant. Not many submissives could handle that beyond two consecutive scenes. 

“Who said she’s a good girl?” Ari grinned, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Raymond burst out laughing at that.

“You got yourself a brat!” 

“The brattiest of them all,” Ari’s smile didn’t cease, instead turning into unveiled smugness. 

Figures that the submissive, who not only could survive Ari’s type of fun and punishments, but also provoked him to go hard on her, would be the one to catch his interest permanently. 

Raymond himself didn’t allow bratting in scenes with him. He dealt with brats in the club, if it was needed, catering to their need of being tamed. However, he himself held harsh discipline. Without violence, too. There were elegant methods to teach a submissive to follow rules and scrape their throat from begging for mercy.

“Any issues?” Raymond’s gaze slid from Simon’s covered face to the single file on the desk, then back to the man again. 

“No issues. No problems. A riddle.” Simon put his hands behind his head and lounged.

“A riddle?” Raymond arched a single brow, not impressed by his friend’s apparently happy mood now that he could push whatever dire situation on him. 

Simon recited a name. Your name. 

“A newbie submissive. You approved of her membership right before leaving.” He explained. “A good girl. Quite shy and not much confident at first, but bravely participated in anything I directed her to do. It’s clear she approaches every game at the club with fear, but she doesn’t back out. She’s determined.”

“What’s the riddle then?” Raymond opened the file and flipped through the first few pages with basic data and contracts you signed. 

“Lack of response from the Doms.”

At Simon’s words, Raymond’s gaze flew up in surprise. 

Usually, anyone fresh caused ripples through the club. Like a new, shiny toy the others could play with. Of course, it all depended on the person and their energy. Not every dominant had to be interested in a new submissive. Just like a submissive wouldn’t be interested in all the Doms. 

“She doesn’t draw interest. When she approaches a Dom herself, which we’ve been practicing a few times, she gets politely declined. Or, on occasions, politely welcomed, but the scene lacks what she needs.”

“And she’s fucking smart.” Simon continued, his tone sharpening with offence on your behalf.” Smart enough to know that when I order her into a scene with someone, it’s because I organized it, not because someone asked for her. Her pride hurts, but she agrees anyway.”

“She’s not a brat.” Raymond tapped a page with the list of your kinks. “Why don’t they want her?”

Simon sighed and changed his position. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and leveling Raymond with a look.

“One, I think quite a few of our Doms need to be put in BDSM summer school to be reminded that a scene works for both parties, not just to get their own kicks. Two, she’s physically responsive, but her emotional walls need scaling. None of the fuckers put any effort in that. Not even to break her shell with a proper spanking, so she could get some emotional release.” 

“So she’s a little icy and instead of melting her, they crush her to refill their own glass.” Raymond’s jaw tightened, the blue of his eyes turning colder. 

His gaze scanned your lists - kinks, soft limits, hard limits. Without taking his eyes off the files, he grunted at Simon:

“Be a good lad and share with the class what’s been bouncing in that skull of yours when it comes to solving this riddle.”

“Well-” Simon’s face was mostly covered, but even without seeing it, Raymond knew the fucker was smirking.

But the rockstar of your dreams is praising you, telling you how pretty you look as a messy little slut on your knees for him. So you do your best to suffer through it, to breathe through your nose while he skull-fucks your mouth. You can almost pretend you’re having as much fun as he clearly is—and anyway, it’s his birthday. You just want him to have a good time, and you’re still grateful he chose you.

Before he can cum down your throat, Steve pulls out of your mouth and picks you up, tossing you onto the bed. You’re gasping for breath and before you can say a word, he’s on top of you, tearing your clothes off your body and sinking his cock, dripping wet with your spit, into your barely ready pussy. 

It stings a little, and you wince, but Steve only laughs in your ear, amused at your pain and groaning at how tight you feel around him. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, already moving his hips in a rolling motion that, despite the ache in your core, starts to feel good. The rockstar teases you for being such a tight little slut for him, moaning loudly when your cunt clenches around his cock.

It’s only then that you realize Steve didn’t put on a condom, and you consider asking him to pull out and put one on, but then he’s bottoming out in you again, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Between the pleasure, the delicious stretch of his cock in your cunt, and the drinks you’d had and the weed you smoked, your thoughts about protection are lost in the ether. 

Steve fucks you hard and fast, emptying his balls inside you before you even have a hope of coming—but he’s not done with you. He hauls you up, arranging the two of you so he’s sitting against the headboard with you perched on his cock, using your pussy to keep his half-hard length warm while you drink and smoke some more. 

He shotguns twice as much weed smoke into your mouth, until you’re floating and so hazy, you barely know what’s going on. It helps make everything feel good, though, including the way his big dick stretches your pussy nearly to its limit, and the way his hands grab your tits roughly, pinching your nipples and slapping the soft mounds with the flat of his palm. 

You don’t know how much time passes like that, but sometime later, Steve is fucking you again, bouncing you on his cock while you giggle like a dumb little ditz, your bare body on full display for the rockstar. He doesn’t leave any part of you untouched, sucking hickeys into your skin, groping your tits and hips hard enough to leave bruises behind. It’s rough, but you’re so high that everything feels good.

You cum on Steve’s cock like that, and he groans when he feels your cunt gripping him tight, following you over the edge with his face buried in your tits. His cock throbs in your pussy, spilling a second load in your body, his cum starting to leak out around where he’s plugging you full. 

The rockstar rewards you for making him cum again with more drinks and more weed, shotgunning even more smoke into your mouth until you black out. One of the last thoughts you have before your mind slips into darkness is how happy you are that you got to spend the night with your favorite rockstar on his birthday. 

But if you think that’s all Steve Rogers has planned for you, you discover you’re very, very wrong.

For the rest of the night, you’re barely aware of your surroundings, coming in and out of consciousness to find Steve fucking you again—wait, no, not Steve. That’s Bucky Barnes behind you, pounding ruthlessly into your cunt while Steve’s cock is stuffed deep in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the rockstar’s dick, and you can feel an ache in your throat from how hard he’s thrusting, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy.

Your head spins from lack of air and alcohol and weed, and you black out again. The next time you come to, you’re on your back, Sam Wilson above you, fucking into your aching cunt with slow, deep strokes. His thumb brushes your clit, and his lips whisper praise, calling you a sweet slut, making you cum hard enough that you lose consciousness again.

Bucky is on top of you again, rutting into your messy pussy while he sucks a hickey into the sensitive skin on your throat. You moan, the sound part pleasure and part pain, and Bucky chuckles meanly, telling you to be a good groupie whore and take his cock without complaint. You were made for this after all, isn’t that why you wanted to be chosen by Steve so badly?

Impossibly, you cum again at Bucky’s mean words and his even meaner fucking, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure tears ruthlessly through your exhausted body. It’s a relief when the darkness welcomes you back into its waiting arms, and you sink into it happily.

The next time you wake, you search for Steve. He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, smoking, drinking and chatting with Bucky and Sam while he strums idly on an acoustic guitar. Slowly, you become aware of more men on top of you, but if Bucky and Sam are with Steve, who’s fucking you now? 

It takes you a long moment to turn your head and focus your eyes enough to find two roadies on top of you—John Walker and Joaquín Torres. Their names surface from the dark depths of your mind. Steve had introduced them to you when you’d first gotten on the bus. 

You’re too tired to do anything but lay in the soiled bed at the back of the band’s tour bus and take the cocks John and Joaquín are giving you—alternately thrusting into your pussy. You cling to the meager pleasure they offer, coming weakly once more before they pull out and jerk their cocks until they’re coating your bare skin with their seed.

Finally, you slip into a deep sleep, and you don’t wake again for many, many hours.

It’s early afternoon by the time you’re woken by the gentle rumble of the bus, and you take quick stock of your situation. You’re alone, surrounded only by the thick stench of sex, the sheets of the bed tangled around your naked limbs. 

Your entire body aches, the pounding headache of a hangover beating against your skull, and it takes a very long time before you’re able to wrench your eyes open. When you do, your stomach sinks to see the landscape passing by the windows in the back room, taking you away from your home city where you saw the band play.

Steve enters the room, and you watch him warily. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him as he rounds the bed and drops an unopened bottle of water and a couple painkillers on the side table built into the back wall. When you don’t move, he leans over and slaps your ass hard, making you jump and let out a tortured groan. 

Distantly, you hear the laughter of a group of men at the front of the bus and your mind is inundated with flashes of vivid memories of how Steve had let his friends fuck you all night. A shiver races down your spine, something between fear and excitement filling your gut as your pussy flutters, cum leaking out of your well-used hole.

“Thanks for the birthday fuck, sweetheart. I had fun,” Steve says with an all-too-charming grin. He sits down on the edge of the bed, watching you roll over onto your back so you can sit up. 

You take the ibuprofen and chug half the bottle of water, watching the rockstar. You want to ask Steve where the bus is going, already knowing it’s left your city behind, but your throat hurts. He must suspect what you want to ask because he volunteers the information.

“We’re headed to the next stop on the tour,” Steve explains, one of his hands settling lightly on your thigh. “If you want, we can drop you off there, and you can find your own way home…” He trails off, his hand skating up your leg until his fingers are teasing the entrance to your thoroughly fucked pussy. “Or you can stick around and keep having fun with us—all of us.”

Steve’s pretty blue eyes glitter like he hopes you’ll choose the second option. The tip of his finger circles your clit and just that little bit of pleasure has your body melting into the pillows at your back, your legs falling open. Steve’s grin widens, brightening so much, he’s almost too handsome to look at. You feel like a flower unfurling beneath the sun.

Even with the ache in your body, you think it might be worth it to stay on the bus, just to earn more praise from your favorite rockstar. So what if he lets his friends fuck you while you’re passed out, getting to belong to Steve Rogers is all you’ve ever wanted. 

Besides, it’s not like you can afford to get yourself home. If the band leaves you at the next stop, you’ll have no way of getting back to your city. You only really have one option, so you might as well make the best of it. Steve, Bucky, Sam, John and Joaquín are handsome and they can make you cum, you’d be stupid to pass up the chance to be their free use fuck toy. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to rationalize the only choice you have.

“I’ll stay,” you murmur. 

You catch sight of Steve’s eager, feral grin before your eyes slip closed, and you will the ibuprofen to take effect. You lay limply in the bed as the rockstar climbs on top of you, his hands already pulling his dick out of his jeans. 

“I hoped you’d say that,” Steve rumbles in your ear, sinking into your dripping pussy, not seeming to care that it’s his friends’ cum that’s making the slide so easy. 

The stretch has you letting out a helpless moan, and you can feel the man on top of you chuckling against your cheek. He pulls his hips back, thrusting forward with punishing fierceness, clearly not caring about your comfort as he uses your cunt to get himself off.

“Be a good cock slave,” your favorite rockstar, Steve Rogers, tells you. “Let me fuck you like every night is my birthday, and I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡