Page 11 of At Her Pleasure
“Mick’s organized BDSM events in multiple states and apparently does an outstanding job everywhere he goes,” Vera put in. “I asked the hostess if he had listed a play designation, and she said no.”
“The female subs who wanted to volunteer surrounded him like a flock of birds,” Skye said, still using her digital voice. “He was very attentive and gentle with them, like a nurturing Dom, though he didn’t take it past a certain line. When speaking to Mistresses, he was respectful, in that way that catches our attention. But no overtures accepted.”
“How was he with male Doms?” Cyn asked.
“Total hetero vibe, like beer drinking buddies,” Ros said. “Not into men.”
“How did they feel about him?” Cyn dipped her head toward Sy. Or, more specifically, the men with him.
Skye had tag-teamed subs with the other women, but no more. She, Ros and Abby all had men they called their own now, and they sat with Sy at the nearby table.
Lawrence, a former Navy SEAL, had started off as Ros’s hired bodyguard when Cyn’s boss pissed off a local gang lieutenant. From the first, the rest could see where it was headed between the two of them. Lawrence was a loving and protective service sub.
Neil was Abby’s husband. He had served with Lawrence, but was still an active SEAL. Like Abby, Neil was a Dominant, something that mystified Cyn, but it worked for them. Maybe because of the additional variables that schizophrenia threw into the mix.
Around the time she and Neil had met, Abby had been diagnosed with late onset schizophrenia. What she’d dreaded all her life had morphed into a tough challenge she managed daily with their help. It hadn’t decimated the math part of her brain, though she worked from home part-time.
Tiger, Skye’s man, was a six foot plus biker who ran a successful area garage. Once a member of a one-percenter motorcycle gang, he’d left it behind with difficulty to live a legit life. Cyn understood the cost and effort of that, though she’d never let him know.
She didn’t talk about her past.
Her question about the men’s opinion of Mick had put a frown on Ros’s face, the first flag in the amiable evaluation. “Lawrence and Neil thought something was off about him. Tiger said it more bluntly.” She glanced at Skye.
Skye could use her software to modulate the moods she expressed with the digital voices. What came forth now was a more serious tone. “He got cop and criminal vibes from him. Equally strong.’”
Some Dom, some sub. Some cop, some criminal. Eluding definition by some of the sharpest people Cyn knew, with the best instincts. No wonder they were intrigued. Since she and Vera were in a position to enjoy him if he did like a Mistress’s hand, he bore closer scrutiny, though the odds were on Vera’s side. Cyn’s demands were more than most male subs were seeking.
“You said he’s nice to look at. Give me those details, since we’re clueless about the chocolatey center.”
Female eyes lit up. “Good body,” Vera confirmed. “About six feet, broad in the shoulders and chest, though not as big as Tiger.”
“No one is as big as Tiger.”
Skye grinned at that.
“Nice ass and thighs,” Vera continued, with an expressive eye roll. “Blue eyes, dark hair. Dressed business casual, black slacks, blue shirt. Chest hair, thank Goddess.”
Cyn arched a brow. “How did the package look?”
“Noticeable and nice,” confirmed the HR manager primly.
When Ros shook her head in mock reproof, Cyn scoffed. “Oh, like you bitches didn’t notice. Having your own man candy doesn’t make you blind.”
Abby offered one of the blackberries to Ros. “Agreed. I’m married, not dead. Curious scar.”
To show Cyn the location, Skye put her fingers up to her collar bone and moved them in a diagonal line to the top of her breast. “Neil said it looked like it was made with a serrated knife,” Abby said.
Or glass. Cyn saw it in her mind, the shard ripping across flesh. The term, “someone walked across my grave,” was a little literal in this case.
No. Today’s date was fucking with her head. He’d been a Jersey cop, not a roving kink party planner.
A cop who’d done something no cop with any intentions of having a long career in law enforcement would have done.
“His necklace reminded me of that jewelry artist you like, Cyn,” Ros said. “He must have already been browsing at the French Market.”
Shit. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. “What did it look like?” The words were a cavernous echo in her head.
“Skeleton on a silver cross,” Vera noted. “Not a crucifix. The skeleton is hugging the cross.”