Touch of Trouble (Touch Series) (10 page)

We're so swamped that Daddy has called in an extra man at the door, who I hope arrives soon because Ray, our regular doorman, is working too hard, and his sub can't hang that many coats without resting every now and then.

Rio, Cade, and John are filling in as dungeon monitors, supervising scenes with Daddy, along with the usual DMs that are here.

"When is your friend from
New York coming?" Evangeline asks, snuggling closer to Brayden. "It was tonight, right?"

I nod, smiling widely. "She should be here any minute now. You're gonna love her." I'm sure of it.
Chelsea is so funny. And gorgeous and cool and spunky.

And nervous. She's called me four times today, needing reassurance about
Rio.
Understandable
. But it doesn’t seem like he remembers her, because Daddy and I have both mentioned her name casually a few times.

Truth be told, I'm kinda bummed about that now—that
Rio doesn't remember, I mean. I'd been looking forward to the parting of the Red Sea as they reunite. I even talked to the Domme who is in charge of the music at Switch and asked if she could put "Tonight" by The 69 Eyes on the playlist for this evening.

My original plan had been to request "
Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" by Starship, or "I Knew I Loved You" by Savage Garden, but I had a feeling it would, um, not be perfect for a BDSM club.

Ah, well. That's all ruined now.

"Is she attached?" Dylan wonders. "A friend of mine recently got out of a 24/7 relationship, and he's looking for a Little who wants something casual."

I shake my head, knowing the word "casual" doesn’t fit with
Chelsea. "She only has serious relationships, and she's not a Little." There's a pin or symbol for everything today—from the gay community's rainbow to, well, the cross for Christians, and we have our own as Littles. The mere thought of a Littles and Baby Pride pin on her is giggle-worthy. While she's fiercely independent and very outspoken in her everyday life, she prefers high protocol when it comes to BDSM. "When I met her—it was at a private BDSM party in New York—and I told her I was a Little, she immediately assumed it was all about AB/DL." I nearly crack up at the memory, and Dylan and Gabriella chuckle, too.

Brayden tilts his head. "What's AB…whatever you just said?"

Gabriella answers. "Adult Babies and Diaper Lovers."

Some Littles
have fairly specific ages they regress to when it's playtime; I happen to have several. It's more of a spectrum than anything. I'm the youngest when I'm tired or after a chastisement, but it's still way older than baby age. I do know a few who are into that; a good friend of mine from when I lived in Texas loves wearing diapers, but it's not for me.

"To each their own, I guess." Brayden flushes and hides his discomfort behind a shrug. "I could never wear a diaper—or use pacifiers."

Dylan smirks at Brayden. "Some put pacifiers in their mouths; you put a giant version of one up your butt. What's the difference?"

"Oh, snap!"
I laugh behind my hand, my shoulders shaking.

Dylan and Gabriella high-five each other. Evangeline hides her amusement and comforts Brayden's wounded ego
to turn his frown upside down.

"Could that be your friend
, Kayla?" Gabriella points in the direction of the exit. "She looks like she's searching for someone."

I follow her gaze, and sure enough, it's
Chelsea! Her thick and wavy dirty blond hair with highlights in different brown shades makes her stand out because it's
insanely
long. It reaches her bottom! But what makes Chelsea Dunn stand out even more will always be her eyes. I can't see them clearly right now, duh, 'cause I'm too far away, but her eyes really are unforgettable.

She has…oh, what's it called—she's explained it to me. Um,
Central Heterochoma or Heterochromia or something, and it means she's got
two
colors in her eyes. Mainly, hers are silvery gray, but they blend into a deep violet shade in the center.

Excited as hell, I excuse myself and rush toward her.
Ugh
. Too many people. I duck and deftly dodge a few elbows and squeak out an apology when I almost run into Dante—a Dominant
not
to be messed with. Then I'm finally there and I throw my arms around Chelsea.

"Hey, you!"

She laughs and gives me a squeeze. "I just saw you yesterday, pipsqueak." Her nickname for me. She once told me she could imagine calling a little sister that. "Let me get a look at'chu." Her accent always puts a smile on my face, because in a way, New York is like a second home to me. "
Very
nice." She grins and eyes my schoolgirl outfit, complete with a pink-and-white plaid skirt, white kneesocks
and shirt, and high pigtails.

Chelsea
isn't much for pink, though—and definitely not pastels. Her black tube dress proves my point. It's practically see-through, extremely provocative, and sticks to her curvy body like a second skin. Even her black gladiator sandals are sexy.

"
Nicholas picked that out, didn’t he?" She waggles her eyebrows.

I giggle, nod, and smooth down my skirt. "But don’t forget to call him Mr. Ford in the club."

"Oh, I know." She smiles crookedly and holds up her wrist. "So, can you remind me how these work?" She's referring to the rubber wristbands. "They didn’t have them last time I was here, and the girl in the coat check rambled too quickly."

"Well…" The matchmaker in me doesn't like her two bands. Okay, the blue is good; it means the drink limit is in effect, but the green one means she's approachable to other Doms—not only Rio—and I
explain the rules to Chelsea, adding, "Waitresses wear orange ones, DMs wear black ones; if you see someone with a yellow band, it means he or she is new to BDSM, and the red ones mean hands-off." I show her my own red rubber band. "Either because you're taken, or because you're not here to meet anyone. Oh, and we have glow-in-the-dark ones for Hide & Seek Night when we shut down the lights."

"Cool." She nods. "I picked the right bands, then." A new song comes on, a heavy, slow, and seductive one, and
Chelsea looks toward the bar Mark's working. "By the way—" her gaze slides back to me "—I took your advice and became a member of Switch's online forum." That’s great! An awesome way to meet more people. "And do you know a Master Dante?"

My brows furrow, and I get a bad feeling about this. "Yes," I answer slowly, then gesture to where Dante's standing in a seating area with his sub kneeling next to him. "He's the Hulk over there." A mountain of a man. Handsome, yes,
but crazy intimidating. "Why?"

Chelsea
replies while studying Dante appreciatively. "We spoke online, and he and his sub are looking for someone for a Shibari scene." She shrugs. "I figured, why not? We're gonna sit down and discuss limits and see what happens."

I squeak in horror and grasp
Chelsea's arms. "You're gonna let Dante—friggin'
Dante
—tie you
up
?" I find Shibari and bondage in general beautiful to look at, but it's also scary. I cannot be restrained like that. I'd faint. And cry. "And what about Rio?" Now I get a bit sad, and my hands drop to my sides. "You're supposed to reveal yourself, and then he'll fall in love with you."

Something akin to hurt
flits across her face, but she schools her expression quickly. An easy smile takes over. "He doesn’t even remember me, Kayla." But that’s because names are easier to forget than faces! "Besides, I can't afford to get hung up on that man. I sincerely doubt we're in the same place in life."

I pout.

She laughs and taps my nose. "That shit works on Nicholas, I bet." She points to herself. "Me? Not so much. Now—" she grins and throws an arm around my shoulders "—introduce me to your friends. I can find Dante later."

I'm still pouting as I
start leading her to our table, but a commotion behind me makes us stop. I can barely hear over the music, but it sounds like someone is shouting for…
Mark
?

"What the...
?" Chelsea frowns.

I do too, and we see a man who enters the club with a bottle of vodka in his hand. His suit is all rumpled
, hair messy, and yep, definitely shouting for Mark. He pushes people away from him as he heads toward where Chelsea and I are standing.

"Where are you, little brother?!" He's drunk, too. "Mark Cooper!"

Wondering how the hell he got past Ray at the door, I lean close to Chelsea and tell her that the man behind the bar is Mark, and I ask her to go get him quickly. "I'm gonna get help," I add before slinking into the crowd. "Excuse me, Sir. Excuse me, Ma'am." Crap, I do not want to get walloped for pushing a Dom or a Domme. "Excuse me, Sirs." And when I reach the highly intoxicated man, I pause, thinking I could go on and get Ray, or…or I can try and calm down the man on my own.

In retrospect…not my brightest decision.

"Excuse me." I tap his arm. "I work here—" Just a small lie. "Is there anything I can help you with?" I wave a hand at the exit and smile politely. "Perhaps we can take this outside where it's quiet?"

He grins creepily
, causing my smile to waver, and gives me a slow once-over. "Well, well. Are you one of the whores that my little brother fucks?" While I drop my jaw, aghast and hurt, the man leans close, as if to whisper a secret. Eww, vodka breath. "I just found out he's screwing men, too." His words are all slurred, and I wince when he grips my arm. "Our parents are so
proud
of him—can you believe that?"

"Ow." I whimper as he tightens his hold on my arm. "Sir, c-can you please let go?" I tug, but he doesn’t budge, and I get scared.

The man ignores me completely and laughs, going on with his story. "Mark brought his two toys to dinner with our parents; I heard that bullshit from my wife. Not only that, but my daughter's babysitter is one of his playthings. The fuckin' nerve… So, I figured…" He takes a big swig from the bottle. "I figured, since the other one is a guy, if he can fuck men and get away with it, so can I. Screw the consequences—"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Greg?" That growly voice comes from behind me, and I manage to turn my head to see a furious-looking Mark pushing his way through the crowd to reach us.

Hopeful, I tug some more, really wanting to get away now. The man's grip hurts a lot, and I hate being afraid.

"There you are, little brother!" The man—Greg?—cackles jovially, then pushes me aside roughly. "
Probably the most beloved fuck-up in the universe! Doesn’t matter what you do, does it?" I land on the floor with a hard thump and cry out in pain. "You still get worshipped!"

The pain, the loud music, the strobe lights, the
ruckus, and so many people—it makes me dizzy and disoriented. I'm surrounded by legs, and then there's someone pulling me off the floor. Strong arms, a masculine scent. I'm paralyzed with fear. My eyes well up.

I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t like this!

"I've got you, little one." It's not Daddy, which only scares me more. I tremble and try to push away, but the stranger doesn’t allow me. "Don't worry—your Master will be here soon."

"Daddy." I sniffle and look up, only to freeze up again when I see it's Dante.

"Did he hurt you, Kayla?" Chelsea nearly slams into me, startling me. I struggle to respond, but I fail. My head is swimming, and I'm shaking too much. "Oh, that bastard is dead!" She takes off in a rush; I tilt my head in her direction just as she flies into the man Mark is fighting—fighting with his fists!

"For fuck's sake!" Mark barks out. At someone. "Ray, hurry!"

It's literally too much for me, so I go rigid and cover my face with my hands. I hear murderous yelling over the music, accusations, familiar voices—Rio now, too?—and people are either bumping into each other to see the fight, or scurrying away to make space.

"Calm down, pet." Dante's out-of-place murmur and soft hands stroking my arms do nothing to help me. "Ford is on his way—I can see him."

Daddy!

"No!"
Chelsea shouts. "Let me go right fucking now! That piece'a shit hurt Kayla!"

I hear my name again, and this time—
finally, finally, finally
—it's Daddy.

He
envelops me in a tight hug, and the smell of his aftershave blankets me in comfort. It's home. It's safe. I can relax here. I don’t have to think; I can just let Daddy take care of things. And me.

He mutters something with a lot of bad words to Cade
and Rio, but I focus solely on being in Daddy's arms.

"D-Daddy…" My bottom lip trembles, so I suck it into my mouth. My breathing is too heavy as well, and my vision is
too blurry to see clearly. "I'm—I'm scared."

He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist and lock my arms around his neck. "I know, sweetheart. I know." With brisk steps, he walks us out of the club area, and I think we're headed upstairs to the office. "I'm sorry I wasn’t there for you." Judging by the remorse and guilt in his tone, he's beating himself up internally, and I can't allow that.