Eight
ADDISON
I FINISHED EATING QUICKLY, THEN headed toward the shower when Master Parker dismissed me. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to call him, so his club name seemed fitting. After all, he had saved me from my own bad decisions there.
Call me crazy, but there was something about the two of them that had me forgetting all about the encounter with Josh, and that the guy had dumped me like a sack of garbage. Moreover, I hardly thought of Josh at all. My brain was overwhelmed by the two Doms and the fact that they were so completely different than any man I’d ever met before.
I shouldn’t have let my mind drift, shouldn’t have allowed the elicit fantasies to take root, but I couldn’t help myself. For so long, I’d yearned for someone who could make me feel as though I belonged, as though I had a place. For whatever reason—probably pure insanity—I felt like myself when I was with them. No fear, no fury, just simple, unadulterated curiosity. Perhaps it made me come across as weak, but the fact that they were giving me direction, telling me how it was going to be…well, that was a comfort I couldn’t deny I needed.
I was in the opulent shower with the tiled walls and multiple heads, letting the warm water beat down on my body, when I heard the door open. Instinct had me covering my nakedness, although modest was the last thing I would attribute to myself. The glass doors were spotlessly clear, but I quickly noticed that it didn’t matter because Ben wasn’t looking at me. His attention was on the counter, where I’d stashed my clothes from yesterday.
“I’m grabbing your clothes,” Ben informed me, still not looking my way. “I’ve placed another T-shirt here. Once I wash your things, you can put them back on. Then we’ll go shopping.”
“Master Snowden?”
“I told you to call me Ben.”
I knew what he’d said, but it didn’t feel right. He was far too domineering for me to merely refer to him by name. It was almost sacrilegious.
“Would you mind if I called you something else?” I asked, my voice far more hopeful than I’d expected.
“Like what?”
I shrugged, realizing I’d dropped my arms and he was now facing me. “What do subs normally call you?”
“At the club, they refer to me as Master Snowden.”
“And outside the club?” It should’ve been weird to carry on a conversation while I was naked in the shower, but oddly, it wasn’t.
“I don’t take submissives outside the club.”
“Oh.” That was disappointing.
“Let me rephrase that.” His voice was deeper, more powerful. “I haven’t taken a sub outside the club up to this point. Not that I’m against it.”
Well, that was promising.
“But if you insist, you can call me Mr. Snowden.”
I liked it. The term gave him an air of authority, which suited him well.
“Thank you, Mr. Snowden.” Taking a deep breath, I tried to remember where I’d been going with this. Oh, right. “I really appreciate how gracious you’re both being, but I honestly don’t want to put you out any more than I already have.”
He locked his eyes with mine through the glass. “Then don’t question the reasons, Addison. Accept the help that’s being offered.”
When he put it that way, said in that rough, don’t-question-my-authority tone, it was hard to argue. Not only that, it was hard for my body not to warm significantly. That voice alone filled me with longing for something I’d been seeking but never found.
“Now finish showering, and when you’re done, meet us in the living room. It’s time we had a chat.”
“Yes, Mr. Snowden.” I felt as though I’d offended him in some way and that was the last thing I wanted to do.
Mr. Snowden slipped out of the bathroom and I finished washing up. I dried off and pulled the charcoal-gray T-shirt on over my head, quite cognizant of the fact that I was naked beneath the soft cotton. I then proceeded to finger-brush my teeth with Master Parker’s toothpaste, then chased it with a mouthwash rinse. Once my teeth no longer felt furry, I tugged the towel from my hair. There wasn’t a hair dryer that I could find, so I towel-rubbed as much moisture from my hair as possible, then let it hang down my back to air-dry.
When I joined Master Parker and Mr. Snowden in the living room, I found them sitting side by side on the sofa. They looked completely relaxed, but I was nowhere close to feeling the same. My hands fisted in the hem of the shirt as I inched farther into the room.
Mr. Snowden motioned toward the chair across from them. “Please have a seat.”
Was it wrong to wish that he had asked me to kneel?
I shook off the thought.
They eyed me the way some store managers did—like I was going to snatch something and run—but I managed to walk to the chair, keeping the shirt covering my nakedness as I eased down into it.
