Damn. Not one Dom here I’ve played with before.

Club Consequence was unbelievably crowded for a Wednesday night and Garson doubted there’d be a room available at all. When he’d asked the host if there were spots still available if one of his regular Doms came in, he’d informed Garson that they were all full, but that the public areas were always an option.

Not a chance.

Garson treasured his privacy and the focus of a Master for the one precious hour they shared together. From where he leaned against the bar, he glanced around the room again, sipping on his usual soda water with three slices of lime, searching for a familiar face. He readjusted his black-rimmed glasses on his nose. He wasn’t in the mood to linger all evening with only a chance that he might get in. Garson didn’t hang out at the club for any other reason than to have a hardcore session. He didn’t dance, didn’t socialize, didn’t make friends with the other subs or pander to the Doms. He was only interested in one thing. Pain and submission. Once he’d had his dose, he was good for another week. Usually.

He’d shown up on impulse, only five days since his last appearance at the club. After Garson gave a lengthy introduction to the influence of women on nineteenth-century poetry, the lack of attention he’d experienced from his freshman students at Pasadena City College had sent him straight to Club Consequence. He needed a balm, something to center him.

No room. No Jarvis.

The night’s prospects were dismal. Garson’s repeated scan of the crowd had failed to produce a sighting of his favorite and most commanding Dom. The knowledge that showing up on a night other than his regular Friday might mean that he’d have to settle for a different Dom hadn’t prevented him from attending. But it didn’t mean that he hadn’t held on to hope.

Sighing, he angled his body to rest his elbows on the bar’s copper surface, his cool drink clutched between his hands. No one spoke to his need stronger than Jarvis. In the five years since he’d discovered the joy and release of BDSM, Garson hadn’t found a Dom as attuned to him as the daunting man. Once he’d met the stunningly handsome Master the previous year, it’d been a blissful time under the sure hand of the Dom. Even if they weren’t always able to scene together when Garson made his weekly appearance, the majority of Garson’s interludes had been with him. They didn’t have each other’s contact info, which meant there was no guarantee that they’d hook up. Garson never gave out his number and he’d never presumed to ask Jarvis for his.

And why would he? Garson had no interest in seeking out anything other than what he could get at the club. It made setting up a time to meet near impossible, but it was better that way. Then he wouldn’t be bothered by pesky invites he had no intention of accepting and he would be the one to maintain the control over any playtime meetings. Besides, he never interacted sexually with his Doms other than the occasional demand of a blow job from one, or if he was being stretched with a toy. Those were permissible activities on his list of limits. Anyone he played with received a copy before they began their first scene together.

His own orgasms, however, were a hard limit—his alone. It kept the encounters from becoming too personal and immediately eliminated the suggestion that an exclusive arrangement might form. Emotional entanglements and drama were nothing he was interested in—only the pleasure of the pain and the satisfaction of giving himself over to another man’s will. After a rousing session at the club, he’d go home and take care of his own needs himself.

Then why is it that I think about Jarvis when I’m bringing myself off?

He took a nervous sip of his drink, the leather he wore suddenly too hot, the sensation that there wasn’t enough air in the crowded, stuffy club almost overwhelming. It was all the more reason not to have Jarvis’ number or to give the strict Dom his info. Too tempting. He was too boring and nerdy to ever capture the attention of such a popular and sexy Dom. He’d already learned that the hard way. At least if he kept Jarvis—or anyone else—at arm’s length, he could still get his needs met without all the gut-wrenching pain of rejection.

“What a pleasant surprise.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, the smooth tone of Jarvis’ voice washing over him. His length filled as though his dick were trained to stand at attention whenever he heard the Dom’s initial words. Garson immediately fell into the beginnings of his subspace. No other Dom at the club affected him that way.

Very convenient. Helps to move things along.

Since the rooms were only available for one hour at a time, he appreciated the practical aspect of succumbing to another man’s dominant spell so swiftly. He was sure that had to be the reason his heart beat a little faster, that his face flushed hot, his cock swelled with interest whenever Jarvis was near.

He faced Jarvis but kept his eyes cast down. “Good evening, Sir. I’m pleased to see you too.”

“Since it appears that you’re not playing tonight, I won’t bother you. But I did want to come over and at least say hello.”

Garson drew his eyebrows together in confusion. He glanced at his wrist. How could I forget to put my bracelet on? It was if he’d subconsciously given up once he’d discovered that there were no rooms to be had.

“Forgive me, Sir. I don’t how I could’ve done such a thing. I’d originally intended to play, but I somehow forgot to indicate I was available.”

“Do you have your green bracelet with you?”

“Yes, Sir. I do.”

“Then put it on.”

Instantly responding to Jarvis’ command, he dug his fingers into the tight confines of his low-slung leather pants. Garson’s body was lean but defined. For the type of vigorous, intense play he enjoyed, it was necessary for him to maintain a stringent workout schedule. After retrieving the club-issued accessory, he stretched the neon green glow-in-the-dark bracelet over his hand until it snapped around his wrist.

“Good boy. Let me check us in with the host and put us on the list for the next available room.”

“Excuse me, Sir? If I may interject?”

“Go on.”

“The rooms are all booked for this evening.” He shook his head, inexplicably flustered. “That’s why… Sorry. I should have mentioned that before I put the bracelet on. I was actually about to give up for the night.”

“It’s unusual for you to be here other than your regular Friday. You’re in immediate need, aren’t you?”

Garson held in a moan. Jarvis knew him. “I don’t do any public or group play. It’s noted on my list of limits.”

“I remember. I know every single one of your limits, boy.”

He does?

“Look at me.”

Garson raised his head, gazing into the icy blue eyes of Master Jarvis Moore. His almost platinum blond hair was cut short then slicked back, the overall effect only highlighting his severe mien. The cut of his features was sharp but masculine. His square jaw sported a dusting of stubble along it as well as on his upper lips. Just enough to scrape Garson’s sensitive skin if he’d ever allow the touch of Jarvis’ mouth to his naked flesh. He swallowed hard.

“No, boy. Waiting two more days will cause you too much stress, and we can’t have that.” Jarvis glanced around the club, frowning. “I didn’t check the schedule, but I imagine there’s an event this evening.” Jarvis turned back to him. “I have a proposition for you.” He paused as if considering whether he should go any further. “But it would involve some of your hard limits and I respect that boundary too much to lay out my offer without your consent first.”

Garson glanced around the immediate area, checking whether anyone was listening in. While he’d never had a discussion with any Dom, ever, regarding his hard limits, he was aching to scene with Jarvis. He should protest, tell Jarvis that even asking was off limits, but he couldn’t bring the words to his lips.

Maybe he just knows of another club we can attend. That could work. After the first club he’d gone to, then subsequently refused to attend again, he’d only ever been to Club Consequence. He also typically preferred to have as much information as possible regarding new experiences, but Jarvis was right. He was all twisted up inside and he needed someone with a strong hand to untangle him.

“I’d like to hear your offer, Sir.”

“Thank you. But before I get into the details, did you eat before you came here?”

Garson’s cheeks heated. He’d been punished more than once for not having had enough to eat when they’d done sessions together. He’d be so excited for his weekly scene that he’d get himself too worked up. Since he’d impulsively decided to attend the club after a class that ended at nine and hadn’t had his leathers with him, he’d needed to rush home to shower and change. That had left him precious little time to get to the club. Eating was the last thing that’d been on his mind.

“No, Sir, but—”

“No excuses, boy. Your health comes first. Before we do anything else, I’m taking you to dinner.”

Garson shook his head. Oh no. No, no, no. “Sir, forgive me, but that’s on my list as well.”

Jarvis tapped a finger to his chin. “Let me make sure I have the wording correct. ‘Interaction is confined to the scene only. The sub will not socialize with the Dom or anyone else either inside or outside of the club.’” Jarvis shrugged. “That’s the essence anyway. And one of your hard limits I was referring to.” He fixed Garson with a probing stare, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a curl.

“I don’t understand.”

“Then let me give you my proposal. You agree to have dinner and socialize with me for two hours. No alcohol, only food and conversation. I get to ask you whatever I want about you and your life, and you’ll answer me with complete honesty. I’ll do the same for you. Whatever you’d like for me to divulge personally, I’ll give you the information freely. In return, I’ll scene with you to your heart’s content at my home dungeon. No time limit. No one-hour cut-off.” Jarvis moved in closer, enough that Garson could feel his heat, inhale his distinctive scent. “I guarantee that my playroom will be to your liking, that the equipment and available implements will be more numerous than you’ve experienced and of the highest quality for your enjoyment. If you don’t agree, you don’t have to stay.”

“I…uh…” He licked his lips. No time restrictions. Unfettered exploration. Garson winced. Two hours of personal chitchat? Nuh-uh. “I’d be more than happy to grab something light then accompany you to your dungeon, but I’m afraid that any sort of discussion of a personal nature is out of the question.”

The cloud of disappointment that passed over Jarvis’ features made his stomach clench. It made no sense to him why he should overly concern himself with the Dom’s feelings. Why should it matter to him one way or the other?

“That’s unfortunate. Perhaps I’ll see you Friday. Goodnight.”

Before Garson had the chance to take a breath, Jarvis was walking away.

“Sir! Wait!” He surged forward as he clutched at Jarvis’ arm, the solid muscles near impossible to grasp.

What the fuck am I doing?

Jarvis halted abruptly then glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me, boy.”

Garson dropped to his knees. Right there. Right in the middle of the narrow pathway that was the only recourse for the crush of patrons.

I’ve lost my mind.

Jarvis wrapped his large hand around Garson’s upper arm then yanked him to his feet.

“You’ll be trampled, boy.” His tone had descended into a growl. “I’ll attend to you outside.”

Jarvis practically dragged Garson through the club to the entrance. Once they’d made it outside and to a lush group of bushes at the end of the building, Jarvis stopped. Garson was grateful that the fall air remained warm—it was one of the few advantages to living in Southern California—since all he had on besides his leather pants was a thin silk shirt, open at the collar. He dressed to code, but since he wasn’t seeking sex, he didn’t display himself overly much. With all the nervous sweating he’d done inside the club, he could catch a chill otherwise.

Jarvis regarded him with a frown. “Talk to me.”

“Talk to you?” God. He sounded like one of his fresh out of high school students at PCC instead of a twenty-eight-year-old English professor.

Jarvis let out a sigh. “You yelled after me. I’m assuming you wanted to tell me something?”

He shook his head as if to loosen his thoughts. “Of course. Forgive me. I wanted to suggest to you that we perhaps go out for an hour instead of two, but keep the personal inquiries to a minimum. Then I’ll go with you to your dungeon.”

He gazed hopefully at Jarvis, the Dom’s flat expression unreadable. “As I said, goodnight, Garson.”

He gasped. It was like a punch in the gut. Jarvis hadn’t used his given name since they’d met. “Sir. Please. I’m trying to negotiate.”

Jarvis stopped again, his back to Garson. After a moment, he whirled around to face him. “I wasn’t negotiating and I’m not now. That was my proposition. Take it or leave it.”

After a few seconds, Garson became aware that he was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “I…” It was all too much. The whole day, the unexpected offer from Jarvis. He’d already broken his routine by going to the club on a different night, and he’d even allowed Jarvis to discuss his hard limits. Some of his wall had been broken down. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jarvis’ expression softened. “You have a safeword, right?”

Garson frowned. “Of course.”

“Then use it if you have to. Now go change into your street clothes, boy, and be back out here in precisely ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Jarvis’ forceful tone spoke to his need and the mention of his safeword reminded him that he held the power. It eased his tension and Garson could breathe again.

“Yes, Sir.”