Page 41 of Below the Surface
“She was a big part of the reason I stopped going to clubs. Union wasn’t always the club it is now. Years ago, my friends Lisa and Marv held a monthly night for kinky people, usually in a warehouse they rented. In the beginning, there weren’t enough people attending to sustain a permanent business. As more people discovered what we were doing, the viability of a club became clear. They purchased the building and opened Union. For a while, it was great.”
“What changed?”
“The clientele shifted. Union started as a member only club. There were tiers you could purchase—annual, Saturday only, and a once-a-month pass.”
“I thought there still were?”
“There are, but most people pay a cover charge to enter. Lisa had some health problems, and Marv thought it was time to move on from the club. They sold it to friends.”
“Blake and Rachel.”
I nod. “Blake and Rachel made some changes—let people in without memberships. Until they bought Union, you had to come as the guest of a member. I understand why they did it. Membership had started to wane.”
“Why?”
“People change.”
“You mean they lose interest?” Cameron asks.
“I’m sure some do. I don’t think people stop being kinky, but their lives change, Cam. People have families and new obligations. They face career considerations, financial obstacles, and relationship realities. Instead of frequenting a club every weekend, it becomes a monthly visit, or they make it a special occasion. Plus, the internet makes it possible to find like-minded people without leaving your living room or the kitchen table. It didn’t feel the same.”
“And that’s why you left.”
“It’s one reason. Discretion matters for many people. Do you think knowing the person who is caring for your child’s broken bones after someone beat them also enjoys flogging their partner is something that instills confidence?”
“How would anyone find out?”
I shrug. “Who knows? It’s always a risk at a club. But that risk is mitigated substantially when the owners are careful and thoughtful about who is admitted. It’s not like I walked around in a mask, Cam—or a leather hood.” I wink.
Cameron giggles. “But that’s not the only reason you left,” she says.
I’ve only scratched the surface with Cameron about my relationship with Teagan. It’s time I tell her everything.
“We don’t need to talk about this,” Cameron says.
I smile and kiss her. “Teagan’s limits existed beyond the edge of mine. It didn’t start that way. When we were first together, we fit like a glove. She enjoyed showing her dominant side when I sought it. That changed with time. She wanted to submit to me—fully.”
“You mean outside of the bedroom.”
“Yes. That isn’t what drove us apart. Although, I confess, it became exhausting. I was happy—no—I was willing to assume that role because it fulfilled her.”
“Piper?”
“It was never enough, Cam. Her limits edged closer and closer to the cliff where mine ended. I wasn’t willing to jump off.” I sigh. “She liked pain. And I enjoyed delivering it—to a point. It started as a healthy dynamic. The farther we went, the more extreme her desires became. She wasn’t looking for discipline. She wanted to be punished—and not to find emotional or physical release. I don’t know. I reached a point where I had to choose. Jump off the cliff into the abyss she sought or step back from the ledge. I stepped back.”
“I’m sorry, Piper.”
“Don’t be. I like where it led me.”
She kisses me. “Me, too. But I know it hurt you.”
“Losing her hurt. I loved her, Cam. Watching her take that path for all the wrong reasons nearly killed me. She found a willing partner, and they moved to Georgia. Me? I lost my stomach for it—all of it for a while. I discovered where my limits lie—the soft and hard ones. I wish it hadn’t been so painful, but it’s a lesson I needed.”
Cameron smiles. “So, you gained legendary statusbeforeTeagan?”
I laugh. “Greg is an idiot.”
“I won’t argue that point,” Cameron says. “But I got the feeling he’s not the only person who sees you that way.”