She was being given her head. If she overstepped any boundaries, it would be reported.
But Amélie knew he was hoping for any small infraction so he could bounce her. Even if she left a tuna sandwich unattended in her locker in the Dominant lounge, he’d get rid of her.
Amélie had this information because they were very close and she was Aryas’s top Domme. He knew her discretion.
He also knew she’d keep an eye.
And that she did right then, seeing Delia move in front of the bar with the pretty, young sub named Tiffany dogging her steps.
It was Tiffany Amélie studied.
In her mid-twenties, Tiffany was the daughter of friends of Amélie’s family. As any Dominant would do with any submissive, toys were looked after, even if they weren’t yours.
But knowing Tiffany in the outside world before she’d entered Amélie’s domain, knowing her parents would excommunicate her with extreme prejudice if they knew about this part of her life, she’d kept a closer eye.
And now Tiffany looked pale even in the dim light.
And afraid.
This could be for a variety of reasons, most of them acceptable.
It could be something far darker.
The entire club had tight security and even playrooms were monitored. Cameras caught everything. This served many purposes, including a means to assure confidentiality, a threat Aryas had rarely used and wouldn’t unless given no alternative.
It also kept the subs safe.
Delia’s ministrations would be watched, likely with Aryas’s concerns, closely.
“We all must have a care,” Amélie said to Mirabelle.
“Always,” Mirabelle replied.
Taking a sip of her drink, Mirabelle’s attention focused on Bryan.
As did Amélie’s.
When it did, he swiftly lowered his gaze and turned his head away.
He’d been watching her.
“You could give that a go again,” Mirabelle suggested.
“He called Mistress Marisol ‘Mommy.’”
The smooth, sultry voice came from behind Amélie and she turned to see Mistress Talia there, her lips curved in a cat’s smile, her brown eyes lit with their usual good humor, her wild, wide orb of soft-curled, café-au-lait-with-bronzed-tips Afro adding to an overall exotic look of exquisite African-American beauty.
Her slender neck, Amélie noted not for the first time, was a tempting vulnerability. A vulnerability that Amélie knew Aryas found tremendously tempting. So much so, he’d agreed for the first time in what Amélie thought was at least three years to mentor her into the Dominant role personally.
Her training had been long and thorough.
He’d let her loose two months ago.
She was unsurprisingly very popular.
What she was not was a submissive. A capable, if rookie, Domme. Amélie had observed her in training and had observed her when she was set free to go it alone—and it was clear she had one bent.
Which meant Aryas would not go there for he had the same bent, and in that case, outside some interaction during social play, the twain didn’t meet.
Trey making a noise that could be taken as amused disgust (or disgusted amusement) took Amélie out of her contemplation of the new Domme. Trey doing this was something not surprising from an alpha-sub.
“Seriously?” Mirabelle asked as Talia leaned the side of a hip against the side of the booth by where Amélie was sitting.
“Yep,” Talia answered, still grinning wickedly.
Mirabelle looked to Amélie. “Is Mari into that?”
“Nope,” Talia answered for Amélie. “Pretty sure that Latino lovely isn’t gonna go for seconds.”
Amélie wasn’t surprised this had slipped from Bryan. However, it did mean he was forevermore out of the question for her.
“What a waste,” Mirabelle murmured, her head turned, her eyes trained on Bryan.
But Amélie looked to Trey.
Mirabelle’s comment was not meant to be insulting. Her words were meant for Amélie, who she knew would no longer have interest in Bryan for she didn’t share the inclination he clearly had in order to give him what he needed.
Trey obviously did not know this.
He’d been leaning hips to the side of the booth, unlike Talia, facing the room straight on. His pose had been relaxed.
He was now tensed.
She observed his jaw.
It was tight.
Her lips curved.
Trey did not like his Mistress thinking Bryan was a waste.
Interesting.
She turned her regard to Bryan, and as if he felt her eyes, he looked to their booth.
His expression took on surprise as his focus shifted up over Amélie’s shoulder.
“Okay, girl, serious? Are you gonna go there?” Mirabelle asked, causing Amélie to turn and look up to Talia.
She had one slim arm up, one long, slender finger pointed Bryan’s way. She casually shifted it to the side, indicating one of the doors to the playrooms.
Very cool, and not the cool of the frosty variety.
She’d learned well from Aryas.
Amélie looked back to Bryan to see him up, his big body in its dark suit moving toward the door.
“Big, naughty boy stretched over my knees, getting his spanking, fuck yeah,” Talia answered Mirabelle’s question and Amélie again turned her gaze. “And I’ll spank that fine, firm white ass until he vows he’ll never utter that word again.” The cat’s smile came back. “As Ary taught me, there’s infinitesimal ways to skin a cat. Give that baby what he needs in a way that doesn’t make me feel skeevy.”