Exhausted and happy after a wild night of sex was exactly what Gabby wanted to be. Making her way into the ladies lounge room on wobbling legs wasn’t easy but it was a small price to pay for satisfaction. Collapsing onto one of the chairs placed around the room, she closed her eyes for a second.
Anonymous debauchery was what she expected from Succulent and the past few hours had been nothing short of perfection. Nipple twisting, pussy teasing, screaming climaxes—all while tied to a vault were what the delightful Sir had offered and she’d accepted everything with pleasure.
She’d decided to partner with someone she’d been with before and had been a little apprehensive about over doing their connection. She’d been with him her last three visits to the club, three consecutive Saturdays. There was something unique about the gorgeous man. Whatever it was had her coming back to him for more of the passion he shared.
Maybe she should worry about becoming addicted. She had a problem with espresso from Cafe Nero. If she could get it via a drip when tied to her chair with deadlines, she would.
“Miss,” whispered a voice while someone tapped her on the shoulder. Gabby wasn’t asleep but she was close.
“Yes?” she murmured without opening her eyes.
“This is for you,” a woman told her in a slightly louder tone.
Opening her eyes, she found a blue envelope waiting for her. Seeing “Cassandra” written in a strong hand across the front, she sat up and straightened the robe she’d grabbed when she’d into the lounge.
“Thank you. Who’s it from?” The woman wore a club uniform of white dress shirt and skirt.
“From your partner this evening,” she said with a smile before turning to leave.
Alone again, Gabby found herself more awake than she’d been. Looking at the envelope, all sorts of things involving Sir entered her mind. The man she’d played endless hours of erotic sex games with had left her a note. What could he possibly have to tell her in writing rather than to her face?
She’d left him less than half an hour earlier. Whatever he wrote had to have been on his mind while they were together.
Curiosity was eating at her to read the note but she wanted to get home first. Good or bad news would be better with a cuppa tea. Gabby made a move toward the bathing room.
Unzipping her boots, she stepped out of them and slipped the envelope inside one of them to protect it from the water. The only other piece of clothing she needed to take off was the cropped top she’d worn. The night had started with her wearing a pair of short, tushy-riding shorts. Trashy biker chick was what she’d been going for and Sir had liked it. He’d stripped her of the shorts and tied her over a vault as soon as they were in their private room.
She liked how the club employees worked quietly and quickly to ensure discarded items were placed in the area of a member’s locker. Somehow she always left with what she brought.
With the water on and a fresh bar of soap in hand, she worked on getting her body clean. Running the soap over chest, stomach, arms and legs, she moved on to her backside and remembered the night’s opening scene. With her ass in the air, he’d spanked her with his bare hand. The memory brought gooseflesh racing along her arms and down her legs.
Thinking of how the moment had ended, she smiled and turned off the water. Gabby wasn’t there for a deep clean, she planned to take a hot bath at home to help ease her sore inner muscles. After she dried off, she picked up her things and made her way to the dressing room. Putting on her street clothes, she checked the envelope was still in her boot.
Placing her boots and clothes in her carrying bag, she closed it up and left the lounge. Once she checked out of the club, she walked outside and down a couple of blocks before she found an open cab pulled to the side.
“Atherstone Mews, Cromwell Road end please.” Gabby sat down in the back and leaned against the side. For a second she looked out the window. Nothing caught her attention. In the quiet her mind whirled with memories of the night.
Her time with Sir had been as spectacular as the other two nights they’d played. Gabby was glad he’d asked her to take the no kissing requirement off her club wristlet. The card hanging from a bracelet listed everything the wearer deemed acceptable and what wasn’t. No other partner at the club had ever asked for her to make a change.
She wasn’t sure why no one had ever asked, but she assumed they took the key notations as non-negotiable, but he hadn’t.
Apparently there was flexibility in her she hadn’t known existed. Then again, she knew Sir was special because of how he treated her when they were together.
The man had made her feel like more than a person he had sex with and left without a word. In their down times, he’d talked to her with intelligence and respect. She’d enjoyed those moments but she’d also enjoyed the fantastic sex.
Maybe his note asked to see her outside the club, maybe not. While it went against her rules to take whatever happened in Succulent home, Gabby thought seeing each other beyond the club’s walls would be interesting.
Either way, she’d dream of him and all the orgasms she’d had with him. She couldn’t ask for more.
The cab pulled onto her small, cobbled road and stopped in front of her place.
“Seven pound ninety, love,” the driver told her after he slid open the glass separating them. She handed over a tenner and the cab doors unlocked.
“Ta,” she said to the cabbie and stepped into the wet road. With keys at the ready and bag in hand, she shut the door behind her. While she took a few steps through the drizzle to her home, the black car turned around and went back out to Cromwell Road.
Living in London amongst the hustle and bustle of the city was what she’d wanted to do growing up and she was happy to be doing it. She’d lucked out further with where her home was located. The old carriage house had a long time ago been turned into a terrace. While in a quiet back corner, her place was only a few steps from a major road. The placement made it easy getting around. The tube was a few blocks away, but she could always flag a cab or catch a bus.
Once inside, she turned off the alarm and set the bag holding her naughty-biker-chick things by the door. Hanging up her coat, she bent down and pulled the note from her boot. She looked carefully at “Cassandra” neatly written across the envelope. The print was strong, sure. Like Sir.
Making her way into the kitchen, she turned the lights on then started the kettle going. By the time she’d chosen a cup and had dropped a bag of chamomile tea to rest on the bottom, the kettle had boiled. Pouring hot water over the bag, she let the tea steep and looked at the note resting on the counter. Giving the bag a stir, Gabby used her finger to break the seal.
Holding her breath, she quickly read what he’d written. When she finished, she read it again. After the third time through, she set it down and finished making her cuppa. Less than a minute later, she took them both into the living room to sit down. She went through it all again.
Forget the notation on your club key stating no outside contact and join me tomorrow night at 7:00pm for dinner at The Dorchester.
Not Sir, the only title she’d been instructed to call him whenever they were together at the club, but Max. Like his penmanship, there was an essence of power, strength and assurance to his moniker. Before she known him as anything other than Sir, she considered him sinfully sexy. Now that she had something else to call him nothing had changed.
In the end, she wanted to call him something other than Sir, cry it out as she climaxed. No, what she wanted was to hear him call her Gabby and not Cassandra. The name she chose to go by at the club was meant to put a wall between she and her partners. She didn’t want that with Max.
Picking up her cup, she took a sip and wondered if his full name was Maximilian, or maybe Maxwell. Of course she wanted to meet him in the real world. His physical prowess and utter handsomeness spoke to her on a level never touched by another. Reading the request for them to meet outside the club left her hungering for him, but there were doubts.
What if they actually did connect outside the club? She should be concerned about her safety, only she wasn’t. Their previous interactions had taken the issue straight out of the worry column she’d mentally created. However, there was another idea bound to cause her to think twice about meeting him.
If they didn’t hit it off outside the club, then there could be problems getting together behind Succulent’s doors. If she took the reasoning a step further, the club might also become an uncomfortable place to visit. Gabby reminded herself the word was might. She hoped they worked well together in the real world but they may not.
As she carried her empty cup back into the kitchen, her mind moved on to work.
It was Sunday, the day before her meeting with museum curators and she had to be prepared for anything. There were details to go over, an outfit and her portfolio to double check, probably triple check. What she needed to do was find some peace. She’d gone to the club to step back, work out the stress of not knowing exactly what the meeting Monday morning would entail.
Gabby smiled as she walked up the stairs to the bathroom and kept positivity in her head. Thinking of Max was actually easy to do, but saying his name in her head sent her desire skyrocketing. Maybe what she should do was not think of him at all as there was no relief in sight.
Preparing her black pepper aromatherapy bath for a third morning in a row, she busied herself by once again taking off her clothes and shoes. Once the tub was filled, she sank into the heat and let the hot pepper work its magic on her sore muscles. As the tenderness eased from her body she worked to keep her mind empty.