Page 5 of Resist
He chuckles as he climbs back behind the bar to take someone’s order but not before pausing to give me one last nugget to think about. “Sometimes we need to put ourselves back out there whether we think we’re ready or not.”
Ugh. Et tu Brutus?
The place is filling up fast. It was fairly quiet when we arrived, but it’s clear that Club Protocol is making its mark here in the Twin Cities, and I couldn’t be happier for Slade and the team. They’re good people as Dad would say. Just like he was.
I take an astronomically long time to finish my drink. Foxy has already texted me twice asking me why the fuck I haven’t made it down the spiral staircase and into her lair of depravity. Her words, not mine.
When another drink lands in front of me, I stare up at Thor with a scrunched up face. “I didn’t order a refill.”
He swipes the empty glass from my clutches and slides my fresh one toward me. “I know you didn’t. Sterling did.” He grins at me like he knows something I don’t.
Sterling? I don’t know a Sterling.
I stare at the golden liquid. Thor’s blood orange punch is delicious. I’m not mad about the refill, though I do question the intentions of someone sending me a drink at a sex club. Even if it is virgin. I am, after all, wearing a red band around my wrist, and no means no, not “try to convince me otherwise.”
As though he’s reading my mind, Thor’s smile shifts into a smirk. “Calm your tits, C. He’s one of ours. Good guy, won’t try any funny business.”
I flick through my memory files as I drag my finger around the rim of the glass collecting tiny particles of orange infused sugar as I go. I don’t recall a staff member called Sterling, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t exist last time I was here. Consideringhow long it’s been since I was last here, he could always be a recent addition, too.
Foxy may be my girl, but that doesn’t mean she introduced me to everyone. And hearing how much she neglected to tell me about Thor’s life, it’s no surprise she hasn’t mentioned newbies to the staff line up.
“House Dom?” I tip my head, Thor shakes his.
“Switch.”
Thank fuck for that. There’s nothing I hate more than the idea of being a fucking footstool. If you need something to put your feet up, go fucking furniture shopping.
Okay, I know. Not all doms like their submissives turning themselves into a piece of furniture. And there’s also more to being a submissive. But also, the idea of giving complete control of my body like that to another human being makes my skin crawl.
No, thank you. Though I have had my fair share of men bent into a table shape under my feet over the years.
Some people are born to submit, I was born to dominate.
Some people are born to surrender, I was born to resist.
“He’s also our Dungeon Master, leader of the Dungeon Monitors. DM over all the DMs.” Thor drops that little tidbit of information on me with a gesture of his head to my right. And a wink. Obviously.
I lick the sugar off my fingertip before taking a long sip of my citrusy drink, enjoying the tart explosion on my tongue. Thinking I’ve left enough time for this Sterling person to stop watching me, I turn my attention in his direction.
The casual way he’s sitting on his barstool is betrayed by the shrewdness in his stare as he skims his gaze across the crowd. His shoulders are loose, his posture relaxed, and he seems at ease, like someone hanging out. Except his jaw is tight, and there’s a flicker in his cheek like he’s clenching andunclenching, perhaps masking how he’s truly feeling with feigned body language. Interesting.
As Dungeon Master, or DM, he’s responsible for creating a safe play space for everyone within the doors of Club Protocol. It’s not a small responsibility. He must be good at what he does for Slade to have hired him, especially into that role.
That doesn’t explain why he’s sitting up here with me at the bar instead of downstairs where all the action’s happening. Not that people can’t be dicks with their clothes on, I just figured he’s supposed to be in the dungeon.
As though he feels me staring, he lifts his startlingly blue eyes to meet mine. Time slows as something unspoken, something verging on dangerous passes between us, making the air heavy. A shake of his head makes a thick lock of brown hair fall onto his forehead.
I stare back at my drink, my cheeks heating at the fleeting sizzle when our eyes met. He’s gorgeous. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, and wearing the shit out of a suit that probably cost a small fortune.
I bet if I got closer I’d find that he smells delicious, too.
An ember flickers to life between my thighs waking up a piece of me that has been dormant for long enough that it takes me off guard. But when I look back down the bar to raise my glass to the mysterious man who just bought me a drink, he’s gone.
Despite my flaps staying closed tonight, my stomach dips in disappointment. Would it have hurt to chat to a blindingly handsome man for a little bit? I might even have enjoyed it, and it would have kept Foxy off my back for a hot minute.
In a fraction of a second, I feel him before I see him, his proximity, his warmth, his very essence. He’s behind me, close enough to confirm that he does, in fact, smell fucking delicious. Warm, spicy, with subtle notes of citrus which admittedly could be my drink.
Fuck.