AMÉLIE
Wednesday evening at nine-thirty, when Amélie walked into the hunting ground, as it was not a difficult task, she spotted Olivier immediately.
He was standing, wearing another very nice suit, facing the door at a bar table in the middle of the room with his big hand wrapped around a pilsner glass of beer, three female subs sitting on stools around the table.
Amélie felt a pang of something she’d never felt before, it was unpleasant and extreme, before he noticed her arrival, smiled, and said not a word to his companions as he moved away from the table, taking his glass with him, and started walking toward her.
Denying her discomfiture even at the possibility she’d just experienced the wrench of jealousy, she watched his big body move.
He walked with an athletic bearing, but there was a slight lumber to his movements that she suspected any man of his size couldn’t quite get past, his frame not that of a linebacker, but a defensive end.
She stopped to await his arrival, and when she got it, he looked into her eyes, then at her mouth as he said, “Mistress Amélie.”
“Good evening, Olivier.”
He seemed to find that amusing, something she found enthralling, and to control that reaction, which was far more intense than it should be simply being in his presence for three seconds, she looked from him to cast her gaze around the room.
She felt her focus shift when she saw Mirabelle, alone, in a booth.
Where was Trey?
She looked back to Olivier and her focus shot right back.
She took half a step closer, and as he should when he didn’t have her permission to do anything else, he held his place.
He was in the mood to be good tonight.
That was titillating.
Though, she hoped he again felt in the mood to misbehave, and soon.
“Did you come to me as I asked?” she queried.
He gave her the gift of his teeth appearing, scraping his lower lip for only a beat before he answered, “Yeah.”
An altogether different pang hit her at knowing he’d harnessed himself for her.
She rewarded him by edging a little closer. “And, my chevalier, did you follow my instructions?”
This time, his answer was a disgruntled, “Yeah.”
She studied him, pleased to see it wasn’t that he disliked what she’d asked him to do, just that, in a good way, he disliked what she asked him to do and now was very ready to play.
“Excellent, mon chou. Go back to your friends.”
His heavy brow drew in at the bridge of his nose but she kept talking.
“Finish your drink. I need to have a word with Mistress Mirabelle.”
He shifted as if to scan the room but obviously decided against it, likely not being around long enough to know who Mirabelle was so taking his attention from her wasn’t worth it as he wouldn’t know where to look.
She lifted her hand and rested it lightly on his broad chest.
He looked down at her and she again had his complete attention.
“When I move toward the playrooms, you’ll follow me. Yes?” she ordered.
“Yes, Mistress.”
She struggled against her need to caress his cheek, sift her hands through the hair on his forehead, run her fingers along his jaw.
This struggle further concerned her as to her reaction to Olivier, for Amélie was known to be affectionate with her toys but not so publicly, unless it was a rare occasion where she led one to the social room.
He’s getting under your skin, Leigh, and fast, her mind warned.
“Go, my beast,” her lips said.
He nodded, stepped back a step that for other men would be two, shifting to the side.
Yes, he was being good. Not turning his back on her, as a good toy would do, he simply got out of her way.
She gave him an upward curve of her lips before she made her way to Mirabelle.
“Not going to immediately pounce on that?” Mirabelle asked as Amélie slid in the opposite side of her booth.
“I was,” Amélie replied, eyeing her closely, “until I saw you here without Trey.”
Mirabelle looked to the hunting ground. “He’s got a business meeting tonight.”
“He’s got a meeting and you’re here because…?” Amélie prompted.
Mirabelle looked back to Amélie, and clearly done with holding it in, she let fly.
“He’s not giving me any signs. He’s not giving me any openings. He’s certainly not asking me out. He’s not giving me anything. Except it’s clear he wants me to play with him, make him come hard, then he’s good to go away.”
Amélie harked back to Trey’s silent response to Mirabelle’s words about Bryan, obviously misinterpreting them as his Mistress having interest in the other sub, and not liking it.
It was unusual for Mirabelle not to be exceptionally attuned to her subs. She might miss something if she wasn’t looking, but if the reaction Amélie saw indicated how Trey felt, he would be giving other things away.
Perhaps with her heart getting involved, she was missing things.
Or perhaps Amélie had misread his reaction.
“So I’m just checking things out,” Mira went on. “There are some fresh, sweet babies out there that Aryas has approved. Trey has been all I’ve done for weeks. Maybe I need a new experience to clear my head.”
“So now it’s not once bitten, twice shy. It’s once bitten, two thousand times shy.”
Mirabelle, a friend but also a Mistress, narrowed her gaze sharply.
“You were the one who advised I be cautious,” she said in a tone as sharp as her gaze, a tone Mira was usually incapable of when speaking with a friend.
In fact, a tone she was usually incapable of using outside the occasions she’d need to use it in a scene.
A tone she took that shared with Amélie just how deeply rooted her feelings were, feelings that Mirabelle was assuming were unreciprocated.
“And now I’m the one who’s wondering if you’re doing this for the sole purpose of it getting back to Trey so you can see if he’s jealous,” Amélie remarked with care.
“You’re the reigning Domme at the Honey, Amélie, and respect for that. You know you have that from me and everybody. But this isn’t my first time doing this. I’ve been around the block.”
“I know that,” Amélie said calmingly. “But just to ask, this block you’ve been around, particularly with Trey, is he serving you outside the club?”
“You know I’d tell you if we did my house, his, or had a play weekend away.”
“What I mean is, are you giving him instructions to carry out when you’re not here?”
She looked to her glass. “Yes.” She looked back to Amélie. “But you know that doesn’t mean dick. Just that he likes serving me.”
“It’s eking into life, chérie,” Amélie pointed out, trying not to think about how she felt about Olivier allowing the same thing and so soon in their play. But she finished pointing out what was in most cases quite true. “So it often can mean a great deal.”
“It’s still part of the game,” Mirabelle made her own very good point.
Amélie nodded, conceding it.
Then she made a very difficult decision but it was one that had to be made.
As Mira could often come under the spell of her subs, the lovely Mira could also often do things that were rash.
They weren’t always destructive.
But they were sometimes thoughtless.
And unhealthy.
An odd trait in a Mistress and one that she strictly controlled in a playroom, which made Amélie wonder if it was one of the reasons that drove her to a playroom.
“Can I make a request?”
“Sure,” Mirabelle replied.
“Please don’t make a choice of someone to take back to the rooms until I’ve taken care of Olivier and returned to you so we can talk some more.”
The stubborn set of Mirabelle’s face softened. “My lovely, it’s sweet you want to look out for me but I’m not going to wait for hours while you—”
“What I have planned for tonight”—or what she’d just changed her plans to for that night—“for right now won’t take long.”
Mistaking her, Mirabelle grinned.
“Go take care of that stallion. I’ll be here.” She lifted her hand when Amélie opened her mouth to speak. “And I won’t choose a playmate until you get back.”
“Thank you, Mira.”
“No worries, Amélie.” As Amélie slid out of the booth, Mirabelle finished, “Enjoy.”
“Oh, I will, darling,” she murmured, casting a look that made her friend laugh softly then turning her attention to the room.
She caught Olivier’s eye momentarily but she didn’t need to check to see if he was watching. He’d returned to the table as commanded but now his body was at an angle so he could see her and she barely took her first step before he lifted his beer to down it.
God, she could climax just watching him drink.
She’d reserved a different room that night, and feeling Olivier fall behind her close to her heels, after the annoying delay of needing to step aside so he’d open the door to the playrooms for her, she led him right to it.
The light in the playroom could only be seen at the edges of the dark blinds that had been let down.
She went to the door and put her hand on the handle, only to hear Olivier’s quiet rumble of, “New digs.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, not controlling the small smile that played at her lips, openly showing him her amusement at his terminology.
But she did hide the disappointment that the reasons behind her choice of this room would not be availed that night.
“Indeed,” she replied.
She pushed in, flipping the switch to declare occupancy, and he came with her.
He closed the door and stood at it because he had nowhere to go. She had only taken two steps in.
His eyes quickly took in the room and the variety of complicated apparatus. She saw disquiet enter them along with a tightening of his jaw as well as his entire frame.
Fear and excitement.
Oh, how she wished she could have carried out what she’d planned this evening.
However, friends making bad decisions you might be able to do something about before they brought those decisions to fruition always took precedence.
“Do not move from there, Olivier,” she ordered.
His focus cut back to her as she negated the space between them then lifted her hands to pull the suit jacket off his shoulders.
He drew his arms back for it to fall down and she felt the quickening between her legs just at that.
Yes, he was affecting her. Yes, he was affecting her intensely.
But she had no idea at this early point in their play whether to guard against it or let it fly.
Now was not the time to make that decision. Now she needed to take care of her steed and then look after her friend.
Therefore, once she’d divested him of his jacket, she leaned around him and hooked it by the door herself.
She then moved back, eyes to his face, lifting her hand to rest it lightly on his chest.
His total focus was on her. Neck bent, eyes darkening, she could feel his heart beating an accelerated, heavy beat.
“It sometimes startles me how handsome you are,” she said quietly.
“Amélie.”
Her name came gruff and, just as any way he’d said it, she liked it like that.
Slowly, she slid her gaze down his chest to see the bulge of his cock straining the front of his pants.
The gruff was still in his tone, but he’d controlled some of it, when he asked, “Can I touch you?”
She slid her hand down and her gaze up as she answered, “No.”
A flash of defiance and annoyance in his eyes that set the lips of her pussy quivering.
She engaged her other hand to tug his light-blue dress shirt out of his slacks.
Just that had him setting his teeth into his lip.
She took that in gladly, almost gleefully, knowing she affected him too.
She knew this already but now she knew just how intensely.
She lifted the front of his shirt and found what she was looking for. Trailing her fingernail through, digging in at the waistband of his pants, she followed the thick trail of hair nearly to the base of his cock.
“Do you know how wet it makes me, knowing you’re harnessed for me?” she asked.
“I’d like to check,” he said by way of answer.
She dug her nail in and his hips reflexively swayed back as a hiss of breath passed through his teeth.
Then he pressed back into the touch.
Being so good.
“My beast,” she breathed.
Turning her finger, she unlatched the hook of his pants and slowly slid the zipper down.
His chest started visibly moving with his breaths.
“I’d like to touch you, Mistress,” he requested, the unguarded gruff back.
“And I’ve answered that request, chevalier. If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”
His jaw got hard, forcing a muscle to leap up his cheek.
He just kept getting more and more beautiful.
She again engaged both hands as she ran them along the waistband of his trousers, hooking her thumbs into his boxer briefs. Holding his gaze as his hips swayed at the unexpectedly quick, powerful move, she yanked both down to his middle thighs.
She looked down. “Hold your shirt up so I can see you.”
Quickly, his hand went to his shirt, yanking it up.
She quelled a smile at his readiness, both in pulling up his shirt and in the huge erection he had for her. She saw the harness beautifully banding his balls and licked her lips.
“Keep that shirt held up,” she ordered, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around his cock. She gave a gentle tug, looking up at him. “You’ve not touched this?”
“No.”
That was a near-to grunt.
She tilted her head to the side. “No?”
“No, Mistress. The shower, to get it out of the way to put the harness on, other than that, as you asked, no.”
“Very good, Olivier,” she whispered. “Now, keeping your pants where they are, turn and put your hands to the door. And I want your ass tipped up, please.”
She let him go and allowed herself to fully enjoy the emotions that flashed unshielded through his expressions—loss at her touch, indecision, excitement—and finally he turned.
She moved to her bag, the tug of disappointment palpable that some of the things in it that she’d intended to use that night would go unused.
But they’d have another night (and another, and more) and she’d make it up to him.
Oh yes, she absolutely would.
Repeatedly.
She found what she needed, slipped it from its wrapper, and came back to him.
Settling in to standing behind him, she reached around and expertly rolled the condom on.
She’d prepared. She had a variety of things now to fit his size, including magnum condoms.
“Amélie, what—?” he started.
She knew his question. In the variety of requirements of membership at the club, staying clean so nothing could limit play was one of them. The contract required that every member submit samples monthly to the club for testing (and, as undignified as it was for the Dominants, it was nevertheless mandatory that both Doms and subs gave these samples at the club so there was no cheating). Further, if you went elsewhere to have your fun, you were contractually bound to use protection.
“Your suit is lovely, Olivier. It wouldn’t do to get anything on it,” she explained.
She was now holding him tightly at the base of his cock, very tightly, so the gruff had turned to throaty when he said, “Right.”
She moved in closer, so he could feel her breasts brush his back, running her hand down the side of his hip, stroking her other hand down his cock.
His head fell back as she whispered, “God, I love the weight of you.”
“Good,” he grunted.
She slid her hand around the lower swell of his ass then engaged her fingernail as she glided it along the crease of his hip and thigh toward his balls.
She cupped them and gave a gentle squeeze.
He automatically stroked her fist as his hips jerked.
“I like the weight of these too,” she informed him.
“Good.”
That was close to a groan.
She tightened her hold, getting nearer, now pressing her breasts to his back, feeling him trembling.
“Would you like to fuck my fist, Olivier?”
“Fuck yeah,” he replied immediately.
“Is that how you answer your Mistress?” she inquired.
“Fuck yeah, Mistress.”
She felt her lips quirk and pressed closer. His body stilled then continued quivering.
“Ask, Olivier, and ask nice. You want my answer to be yes,” she ordered.
The response came immediately.
“Please, Mistress Amélie, let me fuck your fist.”
She moved her hands from his balls, retraced her path along the crease of his thigh and smoothed it over his buttock, one thumb running along the side of the crevice in his ass.
His hips jerked again.
“Please, Amélie, I need to fuck your fuckin’ fist,” he gritted.
“Then perform for me, my steed,” she allowed.
He nearly bucked her off with the power of his hips swinging back and he stroked her fist urgently. She held tight and incrementally held tighter, glad of the lubrication on the condom, making the glide easy for him, using her other hand to smooth, alternating with a light rasp of her fingernails on the skin of his hip, buttock, and upper thigh.
The strength and swiftness of his thrusts increased in speed, as did her grip, now not simply to give him pleasure but in order to hold on.
She heard his harsh breaths but the stubborn toy was holding back.
“Let me hear your need, Olivier.” She phrased it sounding like a request but he read it and he gave her what she hungered for. The powerful grunts detonated in the room, intensifying, becoming more and more feral.
She knew he was nearly there when he groaned, “Baby.”
That was when Amélie honed in with purpose, driving two fingers up his ass.
His spine and neck bowed, his head falling back, his legs spreading, caught by his pants gathered at his thighs, and he stayed in that position as he drove into her fist once, twice, three times, doing this meeting her thrusts up his ass.
“Yeah, fuck, Amélie, baby, fuck, give that to me,” and then he convulsed. Still assaulting her fist, taking his finger fucking, his sharp, savage grunts, climaxing without her permission (but in this instance, she didn’t mind), gushing heavy eruptions of cum into the condom with each drive.
After some time, he fell forward, his body spasming, now weakly thrusting, resting his forehead to the door between his hands.
When he settled, still shuddering, she milked him gently, now keeping her fingers still but firmly lodged up his ass.
She continued milking him, for her own pleasure and his, taking a great deal of gratification out of her powerhouse trembling in her grip, against her body, and asked, “How’s my steed?”
“Good.” The one word was deep and short because he was still fighting to even his breathing.
She went on stroking him until his breath became steadier, and then she moved her hand from his cock to cup his balls in their harness in a warm, gentle grip.
“You seemed to like me fucking your ass,” she noted.
She felt the sudden tenseness he struggled to control and failed, only slightly making himself relax, perhaps in that moment not realizing as his hole tightened around her fingers that this reaction was far more easier than usual to read.
What he didn’t do was respond.
“Olivier,” she prompted, allowing impatience to thread that word.
“Yeah,” he bit out.
“Yeah, what?”
The words still held a sharp bite when he said, “Yes, Mistress.”
She pressed closer, he tightened against her in a lot of ways, and she lifted up to her toes in a vain attempt to get to his ear.
“Thank you for that but what I want you to share with me in words is what, precisely, you liked.”
She sensed the struggle, pressed up against him she felt it, and she gloried in it and the length it took him to admit angrily, “I liked your fingers up my ass.”
She pushed. “So you enjoyed your fucking.”
“Yes,” he clipped.
“I’m pleased you’ve said it, Olivier, even though I already knew since you showed it.”
That got her a truncated rumble of annoyance that perhaps hid some discomfiture.
With his reaction to all she’d done to him so far, but particularly what she did tonight, something she’d wished to take much more time in breaking him into, she knew she could get him past the discomfort.
She’d done it before with him, delightfully and now repeatedly.
She’d do it again.
And she was very, very much looking forward to it.
She gently massaged his balls and he truncated the rumble that caused, too, this time only to be recalcitrant because he knew she liked to hear his excitement.
She smiled against his lat.
“I’m pleased, my chevalier, because these balls are mine.” She shifted her hand to his cock. “This beautiful brute is mine.” She slightly wriggled her fingers up his ass and he pleasingly came up to his toes. “This ass is mine.” She settled all movement and finished, “All of you is mine. All. And I’ll play with it. I’ll make you beg for me to play with it. All of it. And I’ll give you my promise that I’ll make it worth it for you to give that to me.”
Before she could get lost in that thought and move on to doing just that, she tenderly slid her fingers out of him, releasing his cock.
She began to move away, but her eyes caught the control panel, the lever lifted up and glowing green to indicate that the room was in use, and a thought flashed, others tumbling in around it, taking her attention.
That and the fact she needed to get back to Mirabelle before her friend did anything stupid.
With these things on her mind, she left Olivier standing there as she moved to the table, ordering distractedly, “Pull up your pants. Clean up. I’ll leave some wipes. The bin is under the table.” She pulled out the wipes, her back to him, and cleaned her own fingers swiftly, continuing, “Then you may leave. We’ll resume Friday night.”
“You want me to leave?”
His incredulous tone made her turn to him.
When she did she saw not only that he’d pulled his pants up, and even gloved with a spent condom, tucked himself away, though he had not done up the fly.
But what was on his face took all her attention.
“Yes, Olivier, I—”
“That’s bullshit,” he grated, and even though she did not know him well at all, it was abundantly clear his fury had been unleashed.
Amélie blinked in shock.
“I put this fuckin’ harness on for you every night, like you said. Made me hard as a fuckin’ rock, doin’ that for you, thinkin’ of you the whole time I’m strapped for you, which is the fuckin’ point and you fuckin’ know it, a whole lot more than me. Got me so hard, sheer agony, wantin’ to do somethin’ about it, but I didn’t jack my dick, like you said. I came here trussed up for you, like you said. You jack me off at the door, shoving your fingers up my ass, then dismiss me?”
She felt her shoulders straighten as her face got hard.
He might not be handling what she’d done very well but if he had issues, they discussed it. He didn’t lose his mind.
“Chevalier, you need—”
“Fuck that,” he bit out, interrupting her and pushing a hand in his pants. He prowled her way, doing it seething physically and verbally. “You get off on the struggle, baby, I see that. You know it tears me up and you help me push through. You fuckin’ know that and don’t pretend you fuckin’ don’t. So this shit is bullshit and you know that too.”
He tossed the spent condom in the trash then dove back into his pants. Even as he spoke again, she heard the snaps on his harness release.
“I get how this goes. I know I’m your toy.” He spat out the last word. “I know you got a fuckuva lot more experience than me and I ride that because you’re fuckin’ good at it, hell and gone, fuckin’ great. I put myself in your hands because I know you know what to do with me.”
He tossed the harness on the table, and the soft noise of the leather hitting the wood felt like a lash scoring her heart because both of them knew what his rejection of her symbol of ownership meant.
“You got a lot more experience, Amélie, but we both fuckin’ know that this shit, all of it,” he threw a long arm wide, indicating the room, “is about courtesy. And it isn’t ‘yes, Mistress,’ ‘no, Mistress,’ ‘please fuck my ass, Mistress.’” He lifted a finger and jabbed it toward her face. “You are obligated to extend courtesy too. And, babe, you know exactly what I’m tellin’ you. I can see it on your face. And I do not have to stand with my hands to the door and my pants around my thighs like a naughty boy with your fingers shoved up my ass and take your shit.”
With that, he stalked to the door and Amélie struggled to pull herself together because he was right. She’d made a grave mistake.
It was her duty to read her subs. It was her duty to give them what they needed.
And it was her duty to take care of them.
As surely as it would be unthinkable that a Dom would continue with play after a sub uttered a safe word, it was unthinkable when a sub gave of themselves, communicating their requirements, that a Dom ignored them.
The bottom line was, a sub gifted their Dom with extreme trust, making themselves vulnerable in ways that would be unimaginable in the vanilla world, depending completely on their Mistress or Master to hold that trust precious.
It was the control a Dom found pleasure in, but that was only part of it. The beauty of play was earning the treasure of that trust and the honor of holding it precious.
He had not hidden the way he was and what he required of her and everything that happened in that room, no matter she was ordering it, it was her job, her fucking calling, to give it to him.
He controlled that room, they both knew it, and with the battle he constantly waged and didn’t hide, she knew that foremost in all her play with Olivier, much more than usual with her toys, she needed to handle him with care.
Not dismiss him with a used condom on his cock and his pants around his legs while she hurried to get to her friend.
“Olivier, stop,” she called.
“Fuck that,” he clipped, turning the handle on the door.
She just managed to keep the urgency out of her voice when she stated, “I have something to do. It’s important.”
He looked to her. “Then you tell me that, Amélie. You don’t have to go into detail if you don’t wanna give that to me but you can still give what you gotta give so I know you’re lookin’ after me. I know I’m your toy but still, I’m not that. I’m a man who consents to be your fuckin’ toy. And in this room, I gotta trust you’ll never forget that.”
With that, he pulled open the door with such strength, it was a miracle it didn’t fly off its hinges, and prowled out.
Amélie stood frozen, her mind scrambling, easily falling upon where she’d made her mistakes.
In order not to get lost in him, having him here, the only place she had him, needing to turn her mind to other things, she’d overcompensated.
She had dismissed him.
Her beast who’d groaned during their first session simply because she took her presence away.
He craved attention. No, he craved her attention. He followed her with his eyes not simply because he’d been ordered to do so or he liked the look of her, but because she was his anchor in their world, a world he grappled with his place in, and he needed to look at her. He needed her. He could sit bound for her for thirty minutes, but he did it knowing she’d be there eventually to take care of him.
She was entirely focused on him when she’d played with him that night, and please, to the fates, she hoped he’d felt that.
But then she lost focus and that was not acceptable in this room.
She only had to hope that he would return so she could find some way to talk this through with him.
She had a valid excuse, concern for her friend. If he consented to listening, she felt certain he’d understand that.
And allow them to move on.
If he did not understand, then that said a good deal about him and it would then be Amélie who would have what she needed to know if they should move on. Especially in the way she was wanting more and more with each interaction with her beast.
She swallowed, throwing the wet wipe she still held but had completely forgotten into the bin. She then exited the room with quick, irate strides, furious with herself, furious with Olivier for not taking a breath and allowing a conversation to be had, and unfairly furious at Mirabelle for taking her attention.
She’d managed to calm down slightly by the time she hit the hunting ground. She saw eyes on her and had no doubt that Olivier stalked out looking as pissed as he just was.
A sub doing that would cause a sensation.
Her sub doing this would cause a stir.
She didn’t care about this.
She was more concerned about the fact she had to expend large amounts of energy not to lose her fucking mind at what she saw.
A sub whose name Amélie did not know as she was a female and Amélie didn’t pay much attention to the females was standing close to Mirabelle. She’d been selected, it was clear to see. They were just waiting for Amélie to return so Mirabelle could take her back to play.
It was a fact that Mirabelle didn’t often select females, though if she was in a certain mood, she could swing that way.
Thus Amélie saw Mira’s play immediately.
Picking another sub, Mirabelle was hoping, would raise jealousy in Trey.
However, if he held feelings for her, expected things of their relationship as it had already progressed, selecting another male could cause the connection they were building irreparable harm.
Choosing a female might not have that same consequence.
Amélie knew this to be true, and seeing what she was now seeing, she knew Mira did as well, although it made little sense to her.
Intimacy was intimacy and it was all cherished, regardless of the sex of your partner.
Many men’s minds, Amélie knew, especially when it came to same-sex play with women, did not work the same way.
“My God, Leigh, your stallion thundered out of—” Mira started when Amélie made it to the table.
“If you would, please,” she snapped. “Ask your toy to remove herself for a moment.”
Clearly thinking Amélie wished to discuss what happened with Olivier, Mirabelle did this immediately.
After the woman left, instead of sliding into the opposite side of the booth, she shoved in right next to Mirabelle.
“Fuck, Leigh, what happened?” Mirabelle asked, the sides of their legs and hips pressed together, they were so close.
“Do not, Mira, my beautiful friend, sabotage your own happiness.”
Mirabelle blinked before her face went soft and warm but then almost instantly turned cold.
“Don’t you—” she began.
“Yes, I have more experience than you, but not in that. Not in hoping for something, going for it, and losing it because you are what you are. Something you can’t change. Something that’s not only integral to you, but something you love about yourself. I have had two close calls with men I grew to care about, as you know, but neither broke my heart. Because I didn’t have the strength of will to go for it. I want what you want, and you know that too. The beauty of you is that your strength is so powerful, you still allow yourself to hope. To even consider going for it.”
“Leigh—”
Amélie put her hand on Mirabelle’s on the table.
“Please let me finish, darling.”
Mirabelle closed her mouth.
“If Trey could be something more to you, he’s an alpha-sub, you know it, and you declaring ownership of him and then enjoying play with another, his pride will take a hit that he might not be able to recover from. This would be you causing that damage.”
“This is our world, Leigh.”
“We’re not talking about our world, Mira. We’re talking about your life.”
She again shut her mouth.
“He did not like it when you said Bryan was a waste,” she shared and Mirabelle’s eyes widened. “His reaction was more than irritation. It smacked of jealousy. He didn’t know you have no interest in Bryan. Trust me, female, but definitely male sub, no matter, you take one that’s not him at this juncture, you could possibly sabotage your own happiness. And I hope like hell I can stop you from doing that.”
“You saw him react to that about Bryan?” Mirabelle asked.
“Yes,” Amélie answered.
Her friend began to look angry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was being cautious, too cautious, perhaps, but you have to let me have that because I’m your friend and it’s my job. And because I was hoping if he showed that so easily, he’d show more and you would find your time to go for it.”
Mira cast her eyes to the table and muttered, “Perhaps Trey and I should have a talk.”
“I think that’s wise, and if you’ll allow one last piece of advice, make it one without a plug up his ass,” Amélie tried to joke.
Mirabelle looked to her, the hope back, and also concern.
“What happened with your stud, Amélie? I get you’re intense for me but it’s obviously something else.”
“It’s no matter,” she lied.
Mirabelle paused before she burst out laughing, controlling it enough to say through it, “You just shoved the big sister act right in my face and a sub, a chosen toy of the Grande Domme Mistress Amélie, storms through the hunting ground looking like he wants to murder somebody and you say ‘It’s no matter.’”
“If you don’t mind, chérie, it just occurred and I’d actually like time to give it some thought to assess what actually did just occur. And then,” she smiled softly, “as you’re so good at doing, we’ll get together and I’ll share it with you and then you can do the big sister act.”
Mirabelle leaned closer. “Oh, lovely, did you fuck up? Push him too hard?”
“He’s so attuned to me, so connected to me, I’m honestly not certain I could push him too hard.” She shook her head against the beauty of that thought, and the alarm she felt at what she’d done that night that might have broken them. “It’s humbling, Mira. And it’s fragile. And I do believe that perhaps the fact that I wasn’t as attuned to him tonight genuinely hurt his feelings. I’m quite sure it’s made the rounds he’s significantly endowed, so it isn’t a surprise, hung like he is with that equipment, that his reaction would take reacting like a man to reacting like a man.”
Mira looked instantly repentant. “You were worried about me.”
“You know that it isn’t your fault. It’s my slip and I’ll fix it.”
“I hope so, Amélie, because you’re right. It’s made the rounds and everyone is saying that your play with him is like a work of art.”
They were not wrong.
“I hope you can fix it, Leigh,” Mira’s eyes lightened, “because I haven’t been able to watch.”
Amélie gave her a smile. “And I hope you gather your courage, because I’d like to see you happy.”
Their hands on the table shifted so they were clasped. Amélie gave her a squeeze, felt its return, and they let go.
“I think I might go home now, unless you want to sit with me for a drink? Or we can go somewhere and have twelve of them, Uber it home,” Mirabelle suggested.
“That last sounds like a plan,” Amélie agreed but leaned in a bit. “You need to release your toy. I’ll meet you in the foyer and we can decide where to go.”
“Right. It’ll be about five minutes and I’ll see you in the foyer.”
Amélie nodded and slid out. She moved to the foyer. She waited for Mirabelle. And they went out to do the best thing a woman could do when she’d had a tough night.
Spend time with her girl.
* * *
Two evenings later, Friday, Amélie was at the club.
To her despair, the strength of which she tried to quell, Olivier did not show.