“How much longer till class starts?” he asked. There was no clock in the room and a watch didn’t really go with his outfit. Ha.

Michael glanced at his watch. “Three more minutes. Um... Ellie and I are going to head out.”

Saying goodbye, Luke couldn’t help but feel his lips twitch. He had a feeling the other man’s eagerness to leave had to do with avoiding a Domme with a grudge. From the smirk on Ellie’s face, she thought the same. Watching the two walk away hand in hand, Ellie glancing up and smiling at Michael as he gestured for her to precede him through the door, Luke felt a definite pang of envy.

There was something about the relationships he saw between people at Stronghold which just seemed special. A level of trust and understanding he’d lacked in every relationship he’d ever had. Was it the BDSM or just the people?

Sighing internally, Luke turned to go join Domi and Rae’s conversation. Even though the Doms were men, he felt more comfortable with the two women. Hopefully they didn’t feel like he was a party crasher.

Since they both smiled in welcome when he approached, he decided they must be okay with him.

“That was one of the owners, right?” Rae asked when Luke reached them. “You’re friends with him?”

“Yeah, I met him when my company was working on the remodel for this club,” Luke said, telling the truth, just not the whole truth. “I’ve been to Stronghold a couple times too.”

“Have you played there before?” Domi asked.

Both of them were full of questions about the two clubs and the people there, which was a nice way to pass the few minutes before Olivia finally arrived.

The entire room went silent when the door at the back of the room opened and she strode in. Luke’s cock swelled, straining against his already tight pants, and the harness suddenly felt like it was gripping his chest a lot tighter than it had before as he took in the sight of the stunning Domme.

Red hair up in a neat French twist, she was dressed entirely in shiny black, from her corset to her tight miniskirt to the thigh-high boots with the impossibly high heels, which didn’t even wobble as she moved. In her right hand she was carrying a crop, and when she came to a halt, surveying the room, the leather flap on the end of it tapped against her ankle as she perused the class.

Luke had seen her at the club before but not in this outfit. He would have remembered that skirt. Those boots—Jesus Christ those boots. His fantasies for the next week were going to be about Olivia wearing nothing but those boots. If she wanted him to kneel right now so she could straddle his face, he’d be the happiest man in the world.