Page 49 of Finally, His

Her lashes flicked up, and something crossed between them. She nodded once. A slice of curiosity ran through Charlotte, but she tamped it down. She had no reason to feel anything bad about their exchange. They were friends, after all.

Sarah smiled at her. “Charlotte, my lovely. Quickly come. Laurent’s been waiting for you. Laurent!” she called out and raised her arm.

Across the room, Laurent stood, arms crossed, shaking his head as he assessed a man in an eggplant-purple sheer jumpsuit. Laurent wore a pair of chaps, his bare ass showing welts on both cheeks.

Laurent’s head snapped around at Sarah’s voice. It was hard to tell if the glee in his eyes came from the fact he was about to show off his fashion collection, a woman he loved called out to him, or the state of his ass. He was a notorious masochist.

There was no mistaking who caused his welts, however. One of his Dominants, Stefan, sat in a director’s chair nearby looking like a Swedish god on his throne. A riding crop lay across his crossed legs.

Laurent strode up to her and Richard. In her periphery, she caught Stefan nodding once at Sarah, and she acknowledged him back. A hand-off, perhaps?

In their friends’ and colleagues’ circle, anything was okay so long as it followed the protocol of safety and consent. Sarah and Stefan shared Laurent—and each other—in a unique relationship.

Charlotte often envied how much they radiated the sheerrightnessof their situation. There was no question they worked. It was the same with her and Richard—despite their fourteen-year age difference. At least until her nightmares appeared.

A tall black man sporting gold eyeliner and the kindest smile appeared in front of Charlotte. “Ah, but first me. You must be the wedding belle. I’m Martin. Ready for your lashes?” He held up two pairs of false eyelashes pinched between his fingers.

“She is,” Richard’s deep voice said. “I’ll be over in a second. I need to speak with Sarah and Laurent. Alone.”

Now, her curiosity was piqued higher. He and Sarah turned away to talk.

Martin led Charlotte to a tall director’s chair, and they went to work. “They” turned out to be Martin’s team. A blonde woman named Clementine, who had the thinnest nose Charlotte had ever seen, and another very short man who simply introduced himself as “Martin’s assistant extraordinaire.” His job apparently was holding out makeup brushes one by one like a surgical nurse while Martin dabbed at her face with so many different shades she had no idea what she’d look like in the end.

“Such lovely skin,” Martin said.

“Mmm-hhhm,” his assistant agreed.

She wished she could see what they were doing. That was when it dawned on her. There were no mirrors in the entire dressing area.

A few minutes later, Richard pulled another tall director’s chair beside hers. His hand possessively cupped her knee while the hair and makeup team worked her over.

“How do I look? she asked.

“Perfect.” He proceeded to massage her thigh with his hand.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

Okay, he wasn’t going to share with her what he, Sarah, and Laurent had talked about.

While Martin continued his “magic”—as declared by his assistant every few seconds—Clementine went to work on Charlotte’s hair.

First, her hair was pulled back into a series of sleek ponytails. The pulls grew stronger, and her skull stung as the woman began to intricately do … something, perhaps braided though it was something infinitely more complicated.

Charlotte’s collar moved a little around her neck as the woman worked around it. It wasn’t coming off ever, and it occurred to her then that she and Laurent had never spoken about it appearing in the show. Her fingers rose to touch it.

Richard’s eyes slanted to her. “Good. Remember that when you walk.”

“I’ll try.”

He faced her. “Try?”

She nodded her head vigorously. “I mean, I will.”

After long minutes of being handled by so many people, a slight fog enveloped her mind, and her shoulders relaxed. The pull on her scalp, the soft dabs of the makeup brushes, and Richard’s hand massaging her leg lulled her into a sort of trance.

“Relax your mouth,” Martin said. As her lips fell open, Martin tapped her lips with something.