Comforting Touch (Touch #5) (4 page)

I chuckle self-consciously, tongue in cheek. "Is it against policy to call my boss a drama queen?"

"Certainly!" But his laughter tells otherwise. "Although, I can forgive you if you manage to bring Tristan down here sometime."

Oh, I'm
sure
. What is it with that quiet roommate of mine? Yeah, he's hot, but he's so…shy, introverted, and prim. Maybe he gives magic blow jobs or has an enchanted butt. Who knows?

Once I've said goodbye to André, I make my way down the hallway toward the back exit. The kitchen has closed for the night, so it's only me back here. I'm guessing the guys from the band are either having drinks or have already gone home.

With a push to the door, I step out into the night, and I suck in a breath as the February cold hits me.

Why didn’t I bring a jacket?

An alley cat rushes past me toward one of the two Dumpsters.

"Chelsea?"

Chapter 4

"
Jesus!
" I whip to the right and squint at the mouth of the alley as the figure of a man moves closer. And my mind has already registered the owner of that voice. "What the fuck're you doin' hea'?" I didn’t mean to spit it out like that, but color me fucking shocked.

It was merely a few days ago Rio told Nicholas he didn’t want me here, and now… Not only did he come to my gig tonight, but he hunts me down in the alley outside the bar?

"Still the hostile New Yorker I remember," he says in a mild voice. He emerges from the darkness and comes to a stop a few feet away from me.

Too damn beautiful. Really, Rio Kelly is a
beautiful
man. All edges and contrasts, but oh, so smooth.

My heart skips a beat, and I kick myself internally for losing my shit for even a second.

I'm not sixteen anymore.

"I wasn’t hostile back then," I tell him irritably. "I just wanted the D, and you didn’t deliver."

His brows rise, nearly touching the edge of his black beanie. Unlike me, he's dressed properly in a nice jacket, scarf, beanie, and gloves. "The D?"

I roll my eyes and adjust my bag. "Your dick, genius."

Now his eyes narrow. "You're lucky we're not in the club right now, little girl—"

"Don’t pull that shit on me," I warn, getting heated in an instant. "Ten years ago, I had to push you for half an eternity to tell me that you cane brats who disrespect your Domly ass. But now you can whip out the Dom card ten seconds after seeing me again? I don’t think so."

I don’t want her here. I don’t want her here. I don’t want her here.

Being so close to Rio right this minute makes his words in Nicholas's office cut me even deeper. Masking the hurt with rage is easy, though.

"I see." He's displeased, to say the least. Not that I give a fuck. I haven't done anything to deserve his treatment. Or rather, avoidance. "In that case, may I ask what I have done to offend you? Because I sincerely hope you don’t speak to everyone like this."

"Thank you so much for your concern." My voice drips with sarcasm. "But you don’t have to worry about how I talk to my friends—or strangers. And…" I release a breath, the mist of it mingling with Rio's. "As for offending me, no, not in person." I've never been one to hold back or beat around the bush. "However, you did a fine job of it in your buddy's office last weekend."

It dawns on him quickly exactly what I'm referring to, and I can see the wheels turning. He's probably going through what I could've heard. His eyes grow wide, his lips part. But before he can even think about speaking, I get all my frustrations out into the open.

"Look, when I saw you at Switch after Mark's brother raised hell in there, I only wanted to thank you," I say. "I was in a shitty place when you and I met the first time, and you helped me set a few things straight. But with the reaction I got…?" I doubt I'll ever forget the glare Rio gave me. "Not only would I be dead if looks could kill, but you stormed out as if your ass caught fire."

"Seeing you there—in a
fetish
club, Chelsea…" He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, I know. Last person you wanted to see in there. I got that."

His eyes flash to mine at that, his gaze intense and merciless. "What I
want
has very little to do with things. You were only a child. Bloody fuckin' hell, I was afraid you were at Switch for all the wrong reasons. I had no idea BDSM was actually for you, and considering what I told you in New York, you must admit that I didn’t give you a nice introduction."

Yeah, there's no forgetting his words.

"Tell me,"
I'd demanded over and over.
"I wanna know what you do with those who don't respect you."
I'd pushed him too far, aggravated him enough, and in the end, he spat out a few sentences that made something inside me snap.

"I put them over my knee."
He'd towered over me.
"I cane them until they cry with remorse, until they're reduced into a blubbering mess that begs to be fucked into a good little girl again, until my marks burn red."

Most young women would've run away screaming at that, and believe me, part of me did, too. But most don’t have my upbringing. And, truth be told, it wasn’t mainly what he told me that made me look into BDSM. It was the air of dominance and consistency he oozed. There's structure in Rio's entire being, and sixteen-year-old me wanted that so much she couldn’t even describe it.

Regardless of it being for wrong reasons or right, back then I was ready to attach myself to him like a Band-Aid simply because I could tell he was a rock.

I'd lived day-to-day, rarely knew where I'd be spending the next night, had the wrong type of friends, and was under the impression that men were meal tickets and women were holes to fuck.

Enter
this
guy. Solid, takes no bullshit, and didn’t try to get into my pants. Instead he
lectured
me. He told me to take care of myself because there's only one of me.

Feeling very much like that lost little girl again, in need of so much structure and comfort, I hug myself and try to fend off the cold as well as the emotions I've suppressed for a long time.

Comfort.
Scoff
. I've never been able to trust anyone enough to find real comfort in them. The mere thought of letting my guard down that much… No way.

I'm not in the mood to go into all the things that made Rio's effect on me back then so life-altering. I could tell him a short anecdote about my aunt's strict ways that have also played their part in my life, but it seems I can't form the words. Once more, Rio leaves me vulnerable and unsettled, and revealing anything would only make it worse.

"The introduction was enough for me," I settle for. "Now, are you gonna tell me why you're here when you don’t even want me in San Francisco?"

That earns me a quick look of impatience. "Again, it's not about what I want. I was shocked to see you there. But, I do admit I didn’t handle things very well." To his credit, he does appear contrite. However, the damage has already been done. "I am sure there's a story behind your reasons for seeking out this lifestyle—something I may have triggered—and I have a story, too. It explains why I've acted the way I have, and perhaps we can talk—"

"Why the sudden change?" I ask abruptly.

I can't imagine sharing my story one day, especially not the part where I basically stalked his Facebook and found out about Switch that way. Heh, if only everyone knew my crush on him is the reason I sent Kayla to Switch, resulting in her meeting Nicholas.

"I spoke to Dante," he answers, and I nod and stare at my feet. "I found out you're coming to my play party this Saturday, and it made me realize that this is something I can't hide from. You're part of this community now, so I might as well get over my issues and make the best of the situation."

And what exactly are his
issues
?

What is the
situation
?

"I apologize, Chelsea," he murmurs, causing me to look up at him. "Listening in on my
private
conversation with Nick notwithstanding…" Insert a Domly brow cocked. "I'm sorry for what you heard. You didn’t deserve that, and in retrospect, I would have phrased myself differently. Differently enough to change the meaning." Vague, but I guess he's not ready to divulge. "Nick and Mark said they'd be here to watch you sing tonight, and I wanted to see for myself. I also—" He pauses and frowns then mutters a curse and begins unbuttoning his jacket. "I also came to start over, I suppose. I want us to be civil. Here." He moves closer with the intention of wrapping his jacket around me.

I step back, a protest ready to be unleashed.

He doesn’t let me. "Don’t argue with me," he says warningly. "We may not be in the club, but I don't give a fuck."

I huff, stunned and irritated and stupidly giddy, as he eases the warm jacket over my shoulders and shifts even closer to button it. Button by button.
Sigh
.

"It's a good thing I'm used to this behavior," I quip.

He hums. "I was curious about that. You were a natural during the demo with Dante and Gretchen. I take it you're fairly experienced?"

"I dove in as soon as I was eighteen," I reply. Not for lack of trying before that, but good Doms evidently don't associate with underage subs. "It's been a life of servitude ever since." I give him a little smirk.

"Is that a fact?" He smiles back, finished with the jacket. "So, what do you say—our first and second encounters could've gone better. Should we go for a third?"

I think I'm still shocked at this turn of events, so my nod is a little slow, and I'm feeling a whole lot dazed. A few seconds later, though, I do find my words. "I'd like that," I say, clearing my throat. "And I'm sorry for acting like a bitch earlier."

"Water under the bridge." He extends a hand. "Rio Kelly."

I can't help but grin as I grasp his gloved hand in a shake. "Chelsea Dunn. I'm looking forward to your party on Saturday, Sir."

Even in the dim glow of the lamp above the door, the darkening of Rio's eyes is unmistakable. "Let's see if you say the same after the auction."

"Auction?" Heat rises to my cheeks, and I wonder if I've missed something. With the theme being Ancient Rome, I obviously figured out it's slaves versus Masters, but what else could there be?

"We're starting off with a slave auction, naturally." Amusement trickles into Rio's voice. "Didn’t Dante tell you?"

I wince internally. "Gretchen sent me an email titled 'party specifics.' I should probably read that." In my defense, I was planning on reading it tomorrow.

"Probably," he deadpans. "You better pray I don’t buy you as one of my house slaves. Don’t think I've forgotten your gesture at me on stage tonight."

Shit, double shit, triple shit.

I called him a dick, didn’t I?

"What happened to water under the bridge?"

He grins. "I choose not to include that little remark."

Wonderful.

*

Rio insists I wear his jacket home and that I simply bring it on Saturday.

I sleep in that jacket every night until I wake up Saturday morning.

These past few days have been a blur of work, dissecting Rio's new civility—and did he really leave the lifestyle at one point?—with Kayla and Evangeline, learning the rules for the party, purchasing my costume, having coffee with Gretchen, and listening to Kayla's gossip about some of Switch's members. Apparently Cade—excuse me, Mr. Kingsley—is furious with Dylan for attending with Mistress Judy tonight, Gabriella's Daddy Dom is being a douchenozzle for whatever reason, Miranda is under Rio's care for a punishment we know too little about, and Mark's brother is refusing to face his family by taking his wife and daughter on an impromptu vacation to Aruba.

There's some drama up in hea'.

"Chelsea!"
Robby hollers from the living room.

"Yeah?" My mouth is full of bobby pins, so I pry open my door and repeat myself before returning to the mirror in my room.

"Jase left us food before he went out. Want some?" His voice comes closer until he's standing in my doorway with wide eyes. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

I grin and remove a bobby pin where I've measured the next leather cord to go. My too-long hair is in two low pigtails, and I'm tying the two together in the back with several thin, brown leather cords. They match my brown gladiator sandals.

Though, I assume Robby's referring to my slave dress. Sheer, flimsy fabric in a muted purple color is wrapped loosely around my body, revealing pretty much everything. Including the henna-like tattoos I had done yesterday. In intricate designs, they follow from my left calf up to my ribcage where they tease my breast before continuing up over my shoulder.

Gretchen will look the same, although her dress is greenish instead.

"This is what slaves wore in Ancient Rome," I say with a shrug. "Well, house slaves that were used for sex, anyway."

He hums and leans against the doorway. "Even the ink? Which I hope is temporary."

I chuckle. "Of course it's temporary. And you're right. The henna tattoos are more Egyptian and Asian, but it fits with our roles for the evening. Dante is the barbarian who kidnapped us from a foreign land in the East and brought us to Rome." All done with my hair, I face Robby fully and curtsy, bowing my head. "How do I look, Dominus?"

He smirks when I straighten. "Like I could be a little het for you."

I crack up.

"Anyway…
slave
, did you want food?"

"No, thank you." I smile and put on a snug black trench coat. "We're eating at the party." We might even spend the night. Dante said it was a possibility, and apparently Rio has "slave quarters" in his basement. "Don’t wait up, by the way." I cross my fingers and wink at him.

"Someone's gonna get
laaaid
." He laughs and leaves me to it. "Have fun and be safe!" he calls over his shoulder.