There’s an empty table to the side of the room where we sit and enjoy more than one glass of whatever we feel like having. I order Katie and me a couple of Old Fashioneds. She’s sitting next to me on the same couch, but we’re distant, her legs crossed toward me but my hands respectfully away from her.

I don’t want it to be this way. I want it to be like at the Château, where I threw my arm around her and kissed her in front of everyone.

I want everyone to know that she’s mine. Maybe not my sub, but at least my girlfriend. What man wouldn’t be proud to call a woman like her his girlfriend? Look at her! Listen to her! For fuck’s sake, smell her perfume! A woman with that much good taste deserves to be in a quality relationship.

If only it could be me for years to come.

James repeats something that I missed, lost in my thoughts as I am. Kathryn makes a quip to Gwen, and you would never guess this was anything more than four people sharing an evening.

It’s Saturday night, meaning the club quickly fills up. When clubs fill up, it means even VIP guests have difficulty finding an empty place to sit. Not that many come here to not at least chat for a while… before they go have their fun with their dates or the people they pick up.

“These seats taken?” Someone leans over the back of James and Gwen’s couch, extending his hand for a quick shake. “This place is getting packed, and I have yet to see some ass on that stage.”

Laughter covers the table as we are joined by Henry Warren and Monica Graham, two people I never expected to join the likes of me, but fuck it, Henry and James are known buddies. It’s not that I don’t know Henry Warren, I simply haven’t done much business with him outside of what my father delegates to me. Like getting money for The Grand.

The couple shares a couch with James and Gwen. Without being told to, Monica orders drinks from a server. It’s not assertive. She’s the type of woman to take a server to the side, whisper her order, and then rejoin her Dom, content with the service rendered. In fact, she’s looking pretty smug as she perches on the edge of Henry’s lap, and I can’t blame her. Especially with a rock like that twinkling on her hand.

I look at Kathryn’s hand. She’s not wearing any rings. For a half-hearted minute I consider buying her a ring. Not an engagement ring, hell no. A simple thing she can wear on any finger and be reminded of me when she looks down. Something to wear aside from the collar…

…Which she touches now, looking at Monica, who wears an understated collar to go with her outfit. I’ve seen her real one. A huge gaudy thing made of silver and diamonds. Not very practical on common nights out. Not that they’re the most practical couple around.

Kathryn and Monica exchange looks. I’m caught in between. The woman knows from the Château that Kathryn and I are at least an item. What she doesn’t know, however, is that Kathryn is acting as my sub.

Or at least until now. Because I am under no delusion that Monica doesn’t know now. She won’t stop gazing at Kathryn or the inconspicuous collar around her neck. I know we’re fucked when she looks at me with that knowing smile.

Thankfully, she doesn’t lean in to Henry’s ear. She would never. She wants to stay on our good side. I don’t know what it means, though.

More drinks are poured. Kathryn especially downs hers quickly, and I feel weird asking her to top off my drink before Monica has the chance. Nobody pays Katie any mind as she serves me drinks.

“You okay?” I whisper, as James and Henry are distracted by a mutual friend.

She shrugs. “I’ve been worse…”

Yes, and things are about to get even worse.

Because what is a party without the Andrews showing up to fuck with shit.

Shouts of greetings go up, and even I’m caught up in the fray as Lana and Ken practically shove Kathryn into my lap so they can share our couch. That wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the look of horror crossing my poor Katie’s face.

I wrap my arm around her anyway. This place is getting so packed that hardly anyone would notice us being cozy anyway. Or at least I hope.

“Do they have to be here?” she asks.

I pat her shoulder. “Do you want to go?”

Shock covers her complexion. “And be seen leaving together?”

We look over in time to see Henry and Monica eyeing us suspiciously.

I don’t fear that anyone here is going to out us as a couple. Not to mention, I have nothing to lose from people deducing that Kathryn is not only my girlfriend, but my sub. Yeah, I have nothing to lose. I am fully aware that Kathryn has a reputation to protect, especially in this club. She’s not an established switch like Lana Andrews is, and full-time Dommes can be… a freakish bunch.

Now, now, don’t get on my ass. I don’t mean that they’re freaks. God knows this planet needs a healthy crop of Dommes running around putting men – and some women, if you’re related to Henry Warren – in their places. But they have a lot to prove and don’t have time to deal with women who aren’t committed to the lifestyle. I’ve seen Kathryn in this club with Domme friends. I don’t doubt she does business with them. If any of them see her acting submissive toward me, well… I don’t know what would happen, but it probably wouldn’t be good, and she would probably blame me for it.

I don’t know what our end game here is anymore. When I imagined bringing my love here, I saw us relaxing alone – maybe chatting to a couple of people, but mostly alone – taking in a show, or perhaps escaping to a back room when nobody is looking. They’ve got toys here that I don’t, and I think Kathryn might like them.

This is our last night like this. I want to make the most of it.

Instead, we’re hanging out with a bunch of kinkster couples and trying not to look too much like a couple. Kathryn sure as hell isn’t relaxing against me. Too bad. I would really love a snuggle.

“How are the renovations coming?” Ken asks after his second drink. He has to yell to be heard over the rabble of the busy club on a Saturday night. “When does the hotel open again?”

“Six weeks!” My voice is going to die at this rate.

“Six weeks?” James laughs on the other side of the table. “This has to be the fastest remodel and business opening in history.”

“You’d think so, right?” These people also knew the answer to that question. Invitations for the opening night ball went out a month ago.

Lana sends a wicked smile in my direction. “Maybe you guys should get some great entertainment for the ball. Like this shit about to go on stage.”

I haven’t even looked at the stage in thirty minutes. It was closed off and empty for so long that it didn’t seem pertinent to strain my vision. Now that I’m looking, I see a Domme dressed in a black corset and knee-high boots. She’s got a whip in her hand and black makeup all over her face.

Her blond ponytail makes me think of Katie. I feel her tighten in my hold.

“Brace yourself, my dear,” Lana says, patting her husband’s chest. “I know how much you love a good Domme going to town on a sub. Especially if it’s male.”

“Think it’s too much to ask for some pegging?”

“I think that only happens on Fridays, dear.”

The others laugh. I’m too busy keeping an eye on Katie and making sure she’s not about to pass out.

“I know her,” she says to me. She’s only two inches away from me, and yet it feels like miles. “That’s Dawn Lovett. We have drinks sometimes.”

I recognize that tone to her voice. Lamenting. Embarrassed.

Sad.

No surprise when the show of the night is a Domme and her male sub, a guy she picks out of the audience. The solo sub has the stupidest grin on his face, which Mistress Dawn quickly thwacks out of him with a crack of the whip.