My own flesh tingled at the thought.
I jumped when Cage reached out and tugged me further into the room.
“It’s a St. Andrew’s Cross,” he whispered in my ear.
A quick flash of Sinclair strapping me into such a thing made gooseflesh break out over my skin.
Cage chuckled. “A bit advanced for you, Elle.”
“Isn’t that the point?” I countered.
Sinclair and I had made love once in the four days since Elena had sent him that email. He had done a relatively good job of avoiding me, throwing himself into work and encouraging me to visit with Odile and spend time with Candy and Cage. I knew it was because he couldn’t control himself around me, which gave me some level of comfort, but not much.
I missed him acutely.
I had tried to talk to him about the problem, mentioning Elena’s cruelty at Thanksgiving, how wrong she was to condemn him for his interest in BDSM. He had shut me down with a flick of the wrist before he removed himself from the room to take a call. I was trying to be patient with him even though he was hurting both of us with his obstinate behavior but having a plan made it easier.
Four days was long enough.
It was time to bring my Dom back.
A slight smile pulled Cage’s full lips but he ignored my comment in favor of leading me towards an older woman reclining in an antique chair while she used a naked man as a footstool at the back of the room.
As we drew closer I could see that she wasn’t a very attractive woman, her features were too broad and plain for that, but the elegance of her bearing and the cutting wit in her dark eyes was enough to arrest me.
“Madame Claire,” Cage purred as he inclined his head towards the woman. “May I introduce the lovely Elle?”
“You may,” she replied but her sharp eyes seemed to reprimand me as they trailed over my body. “Is this how you wish to present yourself?”
Without thought, I folded to my knees and tilted my head towards the ground, my hands clasped behind my back. Immediately, my mind cleared of anxieties and I let out a deep exhale of relief when I felt Cage’s approving hand on top of my head.
“Better,” Madame Claire praised. “It is unlike you to have a pet though, Cage.”
“Yes, she isn’t mine. In fact, she belongs to Sinclair.”
I didn’t have to look at her face to feel the surprise this elicited.
“I have not heard that name in a very long time. As I understood it, he had settled with some vanilla American,” she said with disdain.
“He has rectified his error,” Cage said with faux sobriety. “Elle is both his woman and his sub now.”
“Then why is he absent, mm?”
“May I speak, Madame?” I ventured.
A pause.
“You may.”
“The vanilla American accused his kink of being sexually abusive.” Even repeating the words made me irate but I gritted my teeth and sunk further into my pose to find calm.
Madame Claire sniffed loudly, in that quintessentially French show of derision that I had always loved.
“Monsieur Sinclair has suffered from this fear for too long. Look at me, sub,” she ordered softly, waiting until I looked up at her before she continued, “We will do what needs to be done to get your Dom back, oui?”
My smile was almost painful as it blasted across my face. “Je suis d’accord.”
Sinclair was having a late dinner meeting until nine o’clock so Cage insisted on taking me on an introductory tour around the room to acclimatize myself to the situation. I protested at first but it was a good idea because the nervous, bouncing ticks of my diaphragm like a precursor to hiccoughs, disappeared after we had made a few rounds of the room.
We paused before a scene where a Domme had bound her bulky male submissive at his wrists, elbows and ankles so that he was prone on his knees, ass in the air on the floor. She played idly with his erection, with the beautiful muscular swell of his ass while she spoke to him about everything she was preparing to do to him, at length. From his throaty groans, I knew he was ready for whatever she deemed worthy of him.
I was most excited to talk to the woman in red who was now cradled in her Dom’s lap after their session. Her eyes were half-closed as if even that effort cost her energy that she no longer had to expend.
“Laurent, Miss Pascale,” Cage greeted warmly, clearly familiar with the couple.
“It has been too long,” the handsome Laurent noted with a wide, affectionate grin.
I knew better than to judge a book by it’s cover, especially after witnessing the dynamic between the Paulsons, but I was still surprised that the Dom who had handled Pascale with such deliberate cruelty could have such a boyish, open face. His curls of sandy hair fell into his wide grey eyes and his smile revealed twin dimples. Of the two, Pascale with her striking dark features and sharp pixie cut seemed better suited, physically, for the role of Dominant.