And more, Amélie wondered what his home was like, and if he were to ask her there, if she would like it, feel at home there, share his tastes.
Practically the moment this thought entered her head, Amélie pushed it out.
One session and she was wondering if he’d like her goddess sculpture.
Not even one session and she was comparing the blue of his eyes to the hue in a rainbow.
You must be cautious, Leigh, she warned herself on another sip of her wine, eyes now fixed to the fire, hand now fully stroking her purring cat.
It was good advice. She knew it.
And she knew she had no choice but to take it.
But that did not diminish the coil of anticipation that twined deliciously in her belly.
One session. They’d had one session.
And they would have another one.
Her lips curved as she forced her mind to that. Just that. And with her considerable control, she was able to block out the rest and the hope that came with it, wondering about his space, wondering what he’d think of hers, how they’d fit into each other’s lives if they were to do so outside the club.
Hope.
She knew she couldn’t go there.
Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Amélie had to focus only on what there was and what she knew there would be.
They’d had one exceptionally fulfilling session.
And soon, she with her magnificent beast would have another one.
four
Lost and Never Found
AMÉLIE
Amélie entered the Honey and she did it with a carefully modulated gait, concealing her anticipation and impatience.
She greeted the front desk staff, giving them her purse to stow, forcing her words not to be perfunctory, but also not lingering.
She then moved to the left, from the close, warm confines of the foyer with its muted classical music playing, into the hunting ground.
This was where she should linger. Get a drink. See who was there. Chat with friends.
But it was just after ten. Olivier would have been waiting for her now for over half an hour. She knew how he’d be waiting. And she couldn’t wait to see.
It said a good deal to all who were watching when she moved casually, but unerringly, toward the door to the playrooms.
She did glance around, though, offering nods, a curve of her lips, to Felicia, Romy, and Stellan, who, when she caught his eye, she found his attention on her in a focused way she’d only ever noticed he gave his subs.
She did not contemplate this. She simply lifted a hand to her lips, touching the side of her index finger there, and sending it slightly his way, like she was not quite blowing him a modified kiss.
He didn’t grin at her like he normally would have done. Just kept his gaze steady on her as she moved through the room.
She had no idea what that meant and she had less interest.
She wished to get to her steed.
Moving through the playrooms, the only thing that caught her attention was Mirabelle working Trey.
He was naked, sitting on a plug screwed into the floor, his face stuffed by her hand clenched into his hair into the juncture of her thighs, where she’d completely zipped down the skintight, black catsuit she wore, clearly all the way to the back of her crotch. Her head was back and her beautiful face was flushed and close to coming.
Since texting with her Wednesday night, Amélie had called her friend, mentioning the situation casually, only to receive a quick, uninformative update. But Amélie now knew Trey had not asked Mira out to do something in the ordinary world.
She also knew Mirabelle still held hope.
Amélie would give this some time and attention, keeping her finger on the pulse and hoping her friend’s heart didn’t get broken.
It bit into her admittedly vast reserves of control not to hurry through the passageways to her special room.
But when she finally turned the corner that would lead her to the door, she couldn’t stop a quiet coo of delight from floating up her throat.
There were a number of people, Doms and subs, standing (or kneeling) at the windows, looking in.
Of course, the sight would be one to see.
When her approach was noted, she got attention and gave nods, ignored subs, and walked right to the door.
She opened it, stepped through, and didn’t bother flipping the switch to send the signal the room was in use as it had been now for some time and the employee who’d seen to Olivier would have done it for her.
The truth of it was, Amélie might not have even remembered to do it, for she’d been correct.
Olivier was a sight to see.
She closed the door, eyes to him, and walked on the spike heels of her red pumps to stand two feet in front of him, the wide legs of her cuffed-hem black slacks swaying along her legs, the snug fit of them at her hips suddenly seeming constricting, the choice of a light, loose, black silk blouse becoming a godsend.
His eyes were on her, too, dark as night, and they hit her the instant she entered, never leaving.
Her eyes roved over him, her magnificent beast.
“Hello, Olivier,” she greeted quietly.
“Mistress,” he bit out.
She felt one side of her mouth snag up.
But she took in his tone and studied him far more closely, honing in with keen eyes, seeing his distress.
She’d ordered him collared and bound, straps at ankles and wrists tied to each other at the back, a strap through the catch at the back of the wide band of black leather that circled his thick neck leading all the way down to his ankles. He was on his knees on the floor, thighs resting on calves splayed wide. As tied, he was forced back at a slight angle, but nothing too constricting.