Comforting Touch (Touch #5) (2 page)

And it's not his face I see.

"You should take care of yourself, little rebel." He looms over me, standing so close I can taste his minty breath, inhale his rich scent, and feel his body heat. "There's only one of you."

I melt, I melt, I melt.

Fuck, that’s wrong.

Rio
.

"Chelsea."

My eyes flash open, and Dante smooths a thumb over the spot between my eyebrows. Was I frowning?

Being sent back to the night I met Rio shakes me to my core. I don’t want my stupid crush, I don’t want any flashbacks, and I wish it wasn’t what he told me in that club that changed everything for me.

"I'm okay, Sir," I say confidently, though the scene is ruined for me.

I haven't been pining for Rio all these years, but he's crossed my mind every now and then as the
one who could've been
man. He triggered too much for me back in the day, making him impossible to forget. He may have been—or still is—a stranger, but he was also the first one who genuinely gave a shit about me.

He introduced me to this world, this lifestyle, even if it hadn't been his intention. He'd meant it as a threat, as a reason for me to run far, far away from him.

In that club, I'd been all over him. Flirting, giggling, swearing I wasn’t underage… How stupid was I? A sixteen-year-old can't fucking pass as a twenty-one-year-old. At least
I
couldn’t.

"You don't want to know what I usually do with brats who lie and disrespect me."

"Tell me."

I squeeze my eyes shut for a single second and refuse to let that memory continue.
Rope, rope, think about Dante's rope.

When I open my eyes again, I meet Dante's calculating gaze. He studies me; my mouth firms in determination.
I'm here, I'll serve you, I can do it; I just won't get much out of it.
This time.

"We'll talk about this later, bunny," he murmurs for only me to hear. Then he takes my mouth in a hard kiss as he ties my thigh together with Gretchen's.

He leaves me breathless and my body wanting.

If only my head were in it, too.

From a spectator's view, the scene continues flawlessly, and Gretchen and I behave like the good subs we are. No one can see my headspace, anyway. They don’t know the mere thought of Rio Kelly rattles me. Especially now when we're in the same state, city, and fetish club.

Remind me why I left New York, again?

Sigh
.

Chapter 2

An hour after the scene has ended, I'm back in my corset dress, and Dante is satisfied with the aftercare. I've told him bits and pieces about why I couldn’t get into the scene like I had done last time we played, which I think is why he ultimately lets me go. The sadist even guilt-tripped me into telling him.

"How can I be a good Dom to you if I don’t know what upsets you in a scene?"

Bastard.

But bastard or not, I'm quick to accept the invitation to a play party next weekend. Maybe a little fun away from Switch will help.

A friend of Dante's is hosting it, and the theme is Ancient Rome.

Now I can expect Gretchen to call me every day about my costume.

Finding a slave dress shouldn’t be too hard, toots.

The music is loud and the dance floor is packed with people dancing, grinding, engaging in foreplay—oh, screw that. Literally. One Domme has her sub giving her oral, and another pair is full-on fucking.

My mouth quirks up a bit in amusement, and I walk over to the bar where I know Kayla's waiting for me. I've decided to simply take all her questions and answer as best as I can. Then we can move on with our lives.

I find her alone, though I catch the bartender keeping an eye on her. And she's too fucking cute, trying to slip the end of a straw into her gagged mouth.

"Trouble, pipsqueak?" I cram into the spot next to her, ignoring the scoff from someone behind me. "Maybe your Sprite can wait until Nicholas has taken off the gag."

She mumbles something, only to roll her eyes since I obviously can't hear what she's saying.

"Where's Brayden?"

More mumbling and some gesturing for the exit. I'm guessing Brayden's gone home already. Then she huffs and hops off her stool before she grabs my hand and begins dragging me in that direction.

"Kayla!" the bartender yells. "You're not allowed to leave my sight!"

She points upward, so I assume we're going up the stairs. Nicholas's office is there, I remember. It's where I said a quick see-ya-later to a half-asleep Kayla last week.

Speaking of her…

She tries to talk again, and she gestures wildly in order to make sense.

She doesn’t.

"Ugh! Weh-weh-wahh." At last, she gives up.

I snicker. "Was that supposed to be 'never mind,' Kayla?"

She nods sullenly as we reach the landing and wipes her mouth. Next, she places a finger over it, indicating…well, that we're probably about to eavesdrop.

I narrow my eyes at her. "Who're we listening in on?"

She blinks innocently, which is total bullshit. A part of me is already annoyed 'cause I know she wouldn’t be this urgent unless it was about Rio.

I hiss. "Is Nicholas in there with Rio?"

Leaving her coyness—and patience, I guess—behind, she snarls and pushes me toward the door.

Part annoyed…part fucking intrigued…it doesn’t take much for me to glue half my face to the door, and Kayla follows with glee sparking up her light blues.

"…would've told you sooner,"
Nicholas is saying, chuckling,
"had you only been answering your phone."

Kayla shoots me a superior look, as if to say I'm not the only one immature enough to dodge calls.

"I still can't believe it."
Rio sounds…tired. Tired and aggravated
. "It's fucking with my head."
To hear him speak again is indescribable. There's no forgetting that accent. Mostly American, the nondescript kind we get on TV, but with a hint of Australian and Irish
. "Nick, I…I don’t want her here."

I recoil as if I've been slapped and take a couple steps back.

It
feels
like I've been slapped.

I'm not arrogant, but I'm not stupid, either. Of course he's talking about me.

Kayla appears irritated, hopefully on my behalf, but then she widens her eyes and quickly waves me forward again. She points to the door.

So I sigh and listen again, even though I'd rather go home and eat ice cream until I pass out.

"She’s the reason you left the scene, isn't she?"

What
? Why would—

"No,"
Rio growls.

"Easy, tiger," I mutter.

Nicholas laughs.
"I'm sorry, my friend, but this is hilarious. And sad. We both are. You know, I went through this exact same thing with Amand—"

"She's not the bloody reason,"
Rio replies angrily.
"I don’t know what the fuck happened back then, but…"
He lets out another growl, and a thump follows.

"No need to take out your anger on my furniture,"
Nicholas says mildly.
"I won't leave Liam watching over Kayla much longer, so unless there's something else…?"

I arch a brow at Kayla.
You're in trouble, girl.

She just shrugs, although there's a little wince, too.

"So she's staying,"
Rio states flatly.
"She lives here now."

Sorry to disappoint, asshole.

"Yes. Chelsea is staying. And you better respect her, Rio."
The warning in Nicholas's voice makes me a little misty-eyed. He's looking out for me. The fondness in Kayla's eyes tells me she loves that about her fiancé.
"You're one of my closest friends, but if you refuse to tell me why her being here is so upsetting, I can't help you."

It's clear that Rio won't talk, so I nudge Kayla back and nod at the stairs.

Time to go home.

*

I wake up the next morning to four texts from Kayla.

Liam ratted me out. My butt hurts, Chelsea. It hurts so much! ~Kayla

I smirk, knowing very well that she would've confessed to her eavesdropping sooner or later. She's a brat, but she would never go behind her Daddy's back without owning up to it and taking the consequences.

Btw, I found out that Rio is hosting a play party next weekend. That means you can come to the club with me in case you don’t want to see him, 'cause Nicholas and I won't be at the party. ~Kayla

"Oh, fuck me," I groan, falling back against the pillows again.

When Dante had said a "friend of his in the community" was hosting the party, I hadn't thought it might be Rio.

I gotta get out of that one, and I sincerely doubt he knows Dante plans on bringing
me
as a plus-two.

My butt still hurts. I hate the belt! ~Kayla

"That’s what you get, hon." I sigh and scroll down to the latest one.

Don't forget the munch on Wednesday! ~Kayla

Good thing the munch is being held like two minutes away from me. I don’t have a car, and I've yet to figure out the public transportation crap. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to live in the Castro—the gay district. It's close to everything I need, and I don't mind living cramped. It's the only way to live in New York anyway—unless you roll in major dough—so I'm used to it.

Putting my phone aside, I stare up at the ceiling, hearing my roommates rummaging around outside. Three roommates, all guys, all gay, all too fucking cheery in the morning.

Jase is a thirty-year-old sous chef, and I doubt he
ever
sleeps. He works, works, works. Robby develops video games and is the only one younger than me. I can always find him on the couch yelling stuff at whatever game he's playing. And Tristan is…odd. He's quiet, shy—twenty-six like me—and works at a library. But he brings home booty every damn night, and it's always a different man.

As for Jase and Robby…I'm pretty sure they're together, but they're subtle about it. Perhaps it's new—I don’t know. It's cute to watch them slide each other sly smiles, though.

Dragging my ass outta bed, I survey my small room with a tired smile. I've always lived light, so I only had four boxes to unpack. And aside from food and other necessities, the only thing I've purchased was a full-length mirror. A bed, a cushy chair, and a dresser in place of a nightstand came with the room.

I grab a ratty T-shirt from the hardwood floor and inspect the faint marks on my body from last night in the mirror before I pull the top over my head. Then I sneak out of the room and freshen up in the bathroom between Jase's room and mine.

One of the first things I noticed when I moved in with these guys was that they're very casual and down-to-earth. Tristan is the only one who always walks around fully clothed, but Jase and Robby showed me that breakfast is devoured in underwear or PJs. Lounging in front of the TV also happens with fewer clothes on.

So it's not the first time I'm joining them in the kitchen in only a T-shirt and panties and they see redness streaking my thighs.

"Mornin', rope girl." Jase eyes my legs then winks and returns to the stove. "Did you do it yourself or was it someone else this time?"

He's referring to the couple occasions I've occupied my time with self-bondage.

"Nah, she was at the club last night," Robby says, blowing steam away from his coffee mug. "Didn’t you see the dress she was wearing when she left?"

I grin and steal a piece of toast from his plate. "You should join me next time."

He shudders and pretends to look horrified.

Tristan adjusts his glasses. "I had a boyfriend once who was into BDSM. It's certainly an interesting lifestyle."

"I'm all for a nice spanking every now and then, but…" Robby makes a face.

"Good to know," Jase mutters under his breath, grinning at the eggs he's making.

They're so doing it.

"Anyway…" Being new in the group, I wanna make a good impression, so I change the topic to weekly tasks. "I'm off tonight. Want me to take care of the grocery shopping this week?" Everyone has wish lists on the fridge, and we leave money for our food to cover what we want. Then when someone has time, he—or she!—grabs the money and the lists and goes to the store.

"I can go with you. I'm off, too," Tristan offers. "But I thought you started that other job tonight. You said February first, didn’t you?"

I nod. "I was supposed to, but the owner asked me to come on Wednesday instead." Which I'm a little bummed about. It's a small gig, singing in a bar two nights a week, but Wednesdays and Thursdays mean fewer people than Saturdays and Sundays.

Then again, it leaves my weekends free for more Switch.

"Where are you singing, again?" Jase asks.

"André's place," Robby says with a pointed look. At my confused expression, he goes on. "Babe, if you're worried about the crowd, don’t be."

Jase nods and smirks. "Wednesday is
Lovers' Night
." He snickers a little. "If you sing Adele songs like you mentioned, you'll be golden. The place is always packed on Wednesdays."

Huh. Well, then! Guess I won't mope anymore about that.