Page 12 of Surrender to Me

Chapter 7

Somehow, Surrender’s decor had been completely redone in two days. Red velvet was draped along the walls and tufted sofas lined the lounge. Hidden speakers played music; a woman sang a melancholy, sad song, her voice low and melodic. It reminded me of the time I danced for Owen in his house, and perhaps that was the point. Much to my happy surprise, only a few people wore masks. Most of the members were showing their faces, and a few of them even nodded at me. I smiled back, pleased with the gesture of acceptance.

Every single person I passed was dressed in their best leather and lingerie. I looked out of place, wearing a black button-up shirt and black pants, my hair pulled into a messy bun, fringed bangs falling across my forehead, minimal makeup. I was there with a purpose though; that purpose was to create art. No one knew that underneath my clothes was red satin lingerie. I simply wanted to feel sexy underneath the plainness, I told myself. It had nothing to do with Owen’s proposal. Of course, I was lying to myself.

Downstairs, the dungeon was in full swing. Some people acknowledged my presence in the middle of their activities, while others ignored me, even as I snapped photos of them hurting each other. Two women, one short and one tall, were kneeling in front of a man in a top hat. He walked with a cane around them, inspecting them. Their wrists were bound with black rope. I wondered if he was going to use that cane on them, and then thought about Owen. How did he feel about multiple women? Two was better than one, wasn’t it? Maybe that was why he let Poppy back into his life. I couldn’t imagine being with multiple people myself, but I had trouble letting anyone in to begin with.

A warm hand squeezed my shoulder. Owen looked down into my eyes with that same intensity that I had learned to recognize as his lust for me. He was wearing black slacks, a white shirt, and a red tie tucked into a black vest. The outfit showed off his broad shoulders and muscular arms, making me want to bury myself inside of his embrace. I stifled a shiver, trying not to let him see my physical reaction.

“Owen,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Riley,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me into a hug. His smell—I could drown in it. It was like being trapped in your lover’s sweat, campfire smoke, and the woods, as if you could hear people enjoying themselves through the distant summer breeze. And the way he held me tight, was like he’d never let anything happen to me, how he’d guide me through everything I wanted to conquer, and how he believed in me, knowing I could do it. “How’s the inspiration been so far?”

Inspiration? Hah! I knew what he was trying to get at. I didn’t have any quick comeback then. “It’s been lovely,” I said. “I think I’ve already taken a dozen perfect shots.” I pat my mini satchel filled with film canisters. “What do you think of them?” I gestured at the threesome.

“Roger and his slaves?” he asked. “It has its appeal.”

“But?” I could hear it in his voice.

“But I tend to be attracted to women that are hard to handle. I like the challenge. Two Rileys at once?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s asking for it.”

A spark twinkled in my eye. “Asking for what, Mr. Owen?” I asked.

“A fucking handful,” he laughed.

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. He understood everything that came with me, whether it was the review with the Foundation, the trouble with Michael, or my stubborn refusal to receive help, and he still wanted to be with me. But my mind drifted to the two women again, and the image of Poppy standing on his doorstep tore a hole in my head. Her perfect white suit, her blond hair, the opposite of mine, the way she looked at me like she had no idea who I was because Owen hadn’t told her anything about me, like he hadn’t told me anything about her. Was she a handful like I was?

“What is it?” Owen asked. The disappointment must’ve been on my face. Who knew what Owen and I would be doing if he hadn’t let Poppy back into his life, or if he had at least told me what was going on with her. But I refused to let that affect my night. I was there for my art. It was my inspiration.

My inspiration… I wondered what Owen had planned.

“You’re a handful,” I said, winking.

“Have you considered my proposition?”

“Geez, Owen. You make it sound like a business transaction.”

“To take the pain out of it.”

“I thought you liked pain?”

“Giving it, yes. Receiving it?” He shook his head, took my hand, and brought it to his lips. I thought kisses were supposed to be off limits, but he didn’t kiss my hand. He held it there, pressing my skin against his lips.

“Who else is yours?” I asked.

A half smile crept over his face. “I can only manage one strong woman at a time.”

A nervousness sunk in my chest, bracing me for what was coming next. I still had unanswered questions, like if he still loved Poppy, but I wanted to believe he couldn’t handle anyone other than me. I did believe him, didn’t I? Fine, I told myself. You trust him. Go ahead and give in. “Show me what my inspiration is,” I said. He raised an eyebrow at my command. I rolled my eyes. “Please,” I added.