Chapter 8

Sejal teetered a bit in the heels she was wearing—not because she wasn't able to walk in high heels, but because needle-heeled shoes weren't the easiest thing to walk on at Las Palmas, given that the pathways connecting buildings were usually a combination of flagstone and hard-packed, sandy soil. With each step she took, her naked breasts bounced. More than a few Dom and Dommes looked her way. Some, those whom she recognized and who recognized her, nodded. Several looked inquiringly at her state of undress. Lately she'd been more likely to sport a bra and a strap on than to be walking topless wearing a garter belt, panties, and heels.

It had been an hour since she'd left Master Dowell. He’d paused their scene, giving them both a break to use the restroom, stretch, and get some water, and for her to have some space and freedom.

Sejal had also grabbed a packet of nuts out of her locker and eaten those, jaw muscles aching a bit as she chewed. She'd been hungry. Post-exercise hungry, which seemed ridiculous since she'd been lying on an exam table most of the time, but still it felt like she'd worked out. It had been far too long since she'd had the kind of sex that resulted in aching muscles. The one thing Master Dowell had told her as he escorted her to the entrance to the Subs' Garden was that he wanted her wearing a garter belt after the break. Luckily, she'd had one in her locker, though if she hadn't, she was sure one of the other subs would have loaned her something.

The garter belt was a deep umber with panels of black. She preferred jewel-toned colors both in her lingerie and in the business attire she wore while doing consults and exams. It was a private indulgence—ruby, chartreuse, and emerald blouses. Magenta and navy pencil skirts and carmine and black block color velvet pumps. Most of the time her lab coat covered the clothes. The colors made her feel able to fight biology, chemistry, and the universe to operate on and save people who needed her. They were a hidden sign of her defiance and warrior spirit, masked by the white lab coat, bare face, and simple bun.

But now she wasn’t hiding. She wore the unique colored lingerie with pride, well aware that the gold tone was something she could pull off with her darker skin and hair, and that most women here favored either black leather and lace or soft pastels. Her gold and purple attire, what little there was of it, made her stand out. Normally she didn’t consciously think about why she chose to wear what she did, but right now, she was, because she was wondering what Master Dowell thought of it. She wished she’d seen him play before. She was confident she hadn’t, because if she had, she would have remembered him, given his resemblance to her imaginary boyfriend.

What kind of sub did he prefer? What type of scene? The problem with the game was that though he was getting to know her intimately, she knew so little about him. Usually it was easy to read a Dom by the choices they made in the scene. In this case it wasn’t so easy, because though he was her top, the specifics of the scene were decided on by their letter.

Sejal stopped in front of the door to the playroom they were using, and she automatically went to put her hands into her lab coat pockets. No lab coat, no pockets, so her fingers hit her thighs, sliding along the silky straps of the garter to the tops of the gold-toned stockings she wore.

She was nervous. That was ridiculous given how much Master Dowell had already touched her. She raised her hand and knocked once, then opened the door and stepped into the room.

It was empty.

Sejal wasn’t wearing a watch, but her internal clock was good. It had been fifty to fifty-five minutes, no more than that. She wasn’t late. She was never late.

Sejal considered that perhaps she was too early. That was possible. Sejal looked around. There wasn’t exactly a good place to wait, at least not comfortably. In the end she decided to go to the makeshift seating area he’d created with the folded gym mats. She sat, knees up near her chest. No, that wasn’t sexy.

She leaned on one elbow and fluffed her hair. Did she look sultry or tired?

Maybe if she put one leg up on the mats. No, that seemed weird. Both legs? Better.

Sejal wiggled and adjusted until she felt appropriately sexy, making sure to listen for the sound of the door opening.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Her shoulder started to hurt from the pressure of leaning on it, so she quickly switched sides, scrambling to adjust quickly. She didn’t want him to come in while she was awkwardly rearranging herself. She managed to get into position, including re-fluffing her hair, and the door still hadn’t opened.

Another five minutes passed.

He wasn’t coming back.

Sejal pushed up, heel of her hand pressed hard against the mat. She’d been waiting here for twenty minutes, and was certain it had been over an hour since they’d parted ways.

That answered her question as to what he liked in subs—not her. She looked down at herself, and the bold-colored satin and lace she wore seemed garish and cheap. A familiar and unwelcome feeling of otherness swept over her. She was different, didn’t fit any mold. The immigrant who was too American to fit in with the Indian ex-pats, and too Indian to relate to the second generation Indian-Americans. The surgeon who was a secret sexual submissive. The submissive who’d spent a year topping. The collared, bound submissive who had happily submitted to another man.

Her own insecurities rose until she felt like the feelings were strangling her. Sejal surged to her feet, crossed her arms over her bare breasts, hunched her shoulders, and started for the door.

Why was he so useless?

Cort raced towards the playroom. He didn't run—but he was walking fast. He'd lost track of time while perusing the toy selection in the Doms' dressing room. He'd been so lost fantasizing about Sejal, that he was late to see the actual Sejal. Sometimes, most of the time, he was a dumbass.

Being a Dom was one of the few things he was good at. No, that wasn't right, and wasn't fair to himself. He was good at a lot of different things. What he wasn't good at was follow through. Planning.

Working out and being a Dom were the only two things he'd stuck with longer than a year. Working out was a habit at this point. Being a Dom, coming to Las Palmas...that was something he dabbled in, despite the fact that he'd been a member for years. He'd go through periods where he was here every day the club was open for a month, and then wouldn't come back for six months after that. Sometimes that coincided with a relationship—though he wasn't good at those either—but sometimes he just didn't put in the effort to show up.

It was ten minutes past the hour when he skidded to a halt, grabbed the door handle, and pushed it open, all in one movement.

The door nearly hit Sejal. She yelped and stumbled back a few steps, staying on her feet despite the come fuck me shoes she was wearing. Her arms were over her breasts, and when her startled gaze met his, he thought there might be tears in her eyes. She jerked to the side, turning not just her head but also her whole body away from him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m late. I know.”

The words were out before he could stop them. He winced. That wasn’t exactly the most “Dom” thing he could have said.

“Perhaps it’s best if we revisit the idea of simply lying to the overseers and saying we completed the checklist.”

Damn fuck shit. She was pissed, upset, or both. The sinking feeling in his gut was familiar. This wouldn’t be the first time a woman had walked away from him because he was useless.

He wanted to say no. To demand that she stay. Demand that she continue to submit. But he was useless, not an asshole.

“If that’s what you’d prefer.” His shoulders sagged and he leaned back against the door, the wood cold against his bare back. He ran his hands through his hair, realized that he was blocking her exit, and straightened, stepping out of her way. “I’m sorry, Sejal.”

“As am I, for wasting your time.”

Something in her tone and words made him look at her again. Her shoulders were still hunched, her posture defensive more than angry.

“Oh fuck,” he said. “Waiting. You hate waiting. I forgot.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “I’m even more of a useless ass than usual. I’m so, so sorry.”

Her hair had fallen over her shoulders when she bent her head. She turned her head just a bit, looking sideways at him through the curtain of her hair. “You’re sorry?”

“I lost track of time. Normally I set alarms on my watch so I don’t miss things—learned to do that the hard way—but I thought a watch didn’t go with the look.” He motioned to his leathers.

A startled bubble of laughter escaped her. “Perhaps you’re right.” She turned to face him, though her arms were still crossed over her breasts. “I normally wear a watch too. Though even without it, I’m rarely late.” She paused. “Actually I’m never late.”

“Ouch. Okay I deserve that.” He smiled, in what he hoped was a winning way. “Forgive me?”

She wiggled her head as she considered him, then said, “Does anyone ever say no to you when you smile like that?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Not often I would assume.”

He widened the smile.

She pursed her lips, her expression still serious, but the sadness was gone from her eyes. “You were not purposefully making me wait.”

“No,” he assured her.

“You forgot about me then.”

“No. Actually I was fantasizing about you.”

“You forgot about me, because you were thinking about me. If you’re making this up, it’s not a convincing story.”

Damn it, she was going to walk away. “That’s how you know it’s the truth. It’s too stupid of a story for me to make up.”

Another laugh, though this time it was more controlled.

He’d planned to start the next scene, but she wasn’t ready. They needed some time. Time to get to know one another.

That will make it hurt when you have to give her back.

Cort offered his arm. “How about we go get something to eat?”

Sejal considered him, then slid her arm through his. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

He didn’t miss that she hadn’t called him Sir. He wanted to hear that sweet word from her lips once more.

He opened the door, leading her from the playroom. He was going to do whatever it took to convince Sejal to submit to him once more.