Quinton.” Panic flared, because she really needed to be alone. But interacting with someone else did exactly what she feared and broke down the last of her defenses. Tears filled her eyes.
His expression dropped. “Hey, hey. Don’t worry about it, Mia. No harm done,” he said, brushing at the corners of her eyes with his hands.
Shaking her head, she clasped a hand over her mouth.
The big Dom folded her into his arms and shepherded her into a more private area. “Tell me what has you so upset.”
She shook her head again, embarrassed and still trying to hold herself together, even as she was falling apart. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing doesn’t make someone cry, Mia,” he said. His fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. His gaze dropped to the blanket she clutched tight around her shoulders, the pile of clothes in her hands. “Did someone hurt you?” His expression darkened.
“No, I promise. It’s nothing like that. I appreciate your concern. Truly, I do. But, please, Master Quinton. Please just let me go.” She shuddered out a breath.
He looked at her a long minute, and then he kissed her forehead. “Okay, but only if you’ll promise to call me if you need anything.” He slipped a card into her hand.
She’d talked—and only talked—to Master Quinton every night she’d visited Blasphemy. Their conversations were playful and fun and always set her at ease. And he was giving her his contact information and extending his friendship. And yet, Master Kyler…
No. Don’t.
“Thank you,” she said, grasping the card tightly. And then he let her go. Mia made quick work of changing and getting a cab. The sooner she got away from Blasphemy, the better. No sense wanting something she couldn’t have. No sense crying about it, either. Which suddenly made her feel a lot better about not being able to afford the membership. Not being able to see Master Kyler would make it easier not to be able to have him.
At least, that’s what Mia hoped.
* * * *
Kyler wasn’t going to see Mia again.
She was gone. Not coming back. And he’d let her walk out the door.
He paced the little lounge, the flood of conflicting emotions chaotic in his head. Relief. Guilt. Panic. Gut-deep disappointment. Relief again.
Maybe even a little fear.
Fear that he’d let go of the best chance he might ever have for something more than work and solitude and more work.
He should’ve stopped her. He should’ve been honest.
And then, what, genius? Build something good with her only to watch the job tear it all apart year by fucking painful year?
Kyler hated that he’d hurt her, but he’d hate it even worse if it happened after years spent together. It was better this way.
Coward. Yeah, probably. Fuck.
He heaved a deep breath and raked his hands through his hair. If it was better this way, why didn’t he feel any better about it?
He stalked out of the lounge, buttoning his shirt as he went. He was on the schedule for the second shift of manning the registration desk in thirty minutes, so at least he’d have something to distract his mind from the clusterfuck of his conversation with Mia.
Back out on the floor, the vibe was vibrant and a little frenetic, busier than usual for a Tuesday night. A seductive bass beat provided a backdrop against which cries of ecstasy and stern commands and free laughter rang out. Normally he loved it. Tonight, he just wanted to escape from it.
At the bar, he braced his arms on the marble top and waited for Griffin to see him. Damn, Kyler was tired. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
Griffin gave him a smile when he noticed Kyler at the far end of the circular space. Tall, with close-trimmed black hair and the scruff of an early beard, both sprinkled with a little gray, Griffin was a custom furniture builder who’d done a lot of their carpentry around Blasphemy, including making a few custom pieces of dungeon furniture for the club. “What can I get
His expression dropped. “Hey, hey. Don’t worry about it, Mia. No harm done,” he said, brushing at the corners of her eyes with his hands.
Shaking her head, she clasped a hand over her mouth.
The big Dom folded her into his arms and shepherded her into a more private area. “Tell me what has you so upset.”
She shook her head again, embarrassed and still trying to hold herself together, even as she was falling apart. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing doesn’t make someone cry, Mia,” he said. His fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. His gaze dropped to the blanket she clutched tight around her shoulders, the pile of clothes in her hands. “Did someone hurt you?” His expression darkened.
“No, I promise. It’s nothing like that. I appreciate your concern. Truly, I do. But, please, Master Quinton. Please just let me go.” She shuddered out a breath.
He looked at her a long minute, and then he kissed her forehead. “Okay, but only if you’ll promise to call me if you need anything.” He slipped a card into her hand.
She’d talked—and only talked—to Master Quinton every night she’d visited Blasphemy. Their conversations were playful and fun and always set her at ease. And he was giving her his contact information and extending his friendship. And yet, Master Kyler…
No. Don’t.
“Thank you,” she said, grasping the card tightly. And then he let her go. Mia made quick work of changing and getting a cab. The sooner she got away from Blasphemy, the better. No sense wanting something she couldn’t have. No sense crying about it, either. Which suddenly made her feel a lot better about not being able to afford the membership. Not being able to see Master Kyler would make it easier not to be able to have him.
At least, that’s what Mia hoped.
* * * *
Kyler wasn’t going to see Mia again.
She was gone. Not coming back. And he’d let her walk out the door.
He paced the little lounge, the flood of conflicting emotions chaotic in his head. Relief. Guilt. Panic. Gut-deep disappointment. Relief again.
Maybe even a little fear.
Fear that he’d let go of the best chance he might ever have for something more than work and solitude and more work.
He should’ve stopped her. He should’ve been honest.
And then, what, genius? Build something good with her only to watch the job tear it all apart year by fucking painful year?
Kyler hated that he’d hurt her, but he’d hate it even worse if it happened after years spent together. It was better this way.
Coward. Yeah, probably. Fuck.
He heaved a deep breath and raked his hands through his hair. If it was better this way, why didn’t he feel any better about it?
He stalked out of the lounge, buttoning his shirt as he went. He was on the schedule for the second shift of manning the registration desk in thirty minutes, so at least he’d have something to distract his mind from the clusterfuck of his conversation with Mia.
Back out on the floor, the vibe was vibrant and a little frenetic, busier than usual for a Tuesday night. A seductive bass beat provided a backdrop against which cries of ecstasy and stern commands and free laughter rang out. Normally he loved it. Tonight, he just wanted to escape from it.
At the bar, he braced his arms on the marble top and waited for Griffin to see him. Damn, Kyler was tired. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
Griffin gave him a smile when he noticed Kyler at the far end of the circular space. Tall, with close-trimmed black hair and the scruff of an early beard, both sprinkled with a little gray, Griffin was a custom furniture builder who’d done a lot of their carpentry around Blasphemy, including making a few custom pieces of dungeon furniture for the club. “What can I get
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