subspace to remind Cameron that her responses were no longer a reliable indicator of the amount of pain or damage she could take. It was time to lighten up and work back out of the scene.
Mentoring complete, Ghost did a quick tour of the club, hoping to see Valerie.
No such luck.
He paused to watch Olivia using a flogger. The Mistress had discarded her leather jacket, leaving her in a sleeveless latex shirt and pants. Her honey-colored hair stood up in short spikes, and her forehead was damp with sweat as she flogged the bottom.
Ghost frowned. Although the Domme was extremely skilled with a good awareness of the bottom, the scene lacked energy. The submissive was fine, already falling into subspace, and probably didn’t even realize the Domme wasn’t especially into it.
Like a skilled computer operator, Olivia was inputting the right commands to get the machine’s response, but she was not emotionally involved.
It was a shame.
He’d seen Olivia scene with her previous girlfriend, Natalia, and the energy between the two had been heady, like the thundering of an artillery barrage.
This was more like a few rounds of a .22.
Shaking his head, he walked away.
Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia noticed Ghost moving away. The tall, gray-haired Master was frowning and shaking his head.
What was his problem? Her mouth tightened. She hadn’t thought him prejudiced against Dommes. Or maybe he didn’t like lesbians? Not unusual. Even the Shadowlands had always held a few haters. In the past, they’d been unobtrusive.
Tonight? The club seemed filled with intolerant bastards, especially the new members, although she’d been shocked by a few she’d thought were good people. Not any longer. Bigotry was apparently now accepted here, and the knowledge rubbed her raw.
But she hadn’t thought the Colonel would be prejudiced. She liked the guy, bugger-it-all.
Pushing the annoyance aside, she tried to get her head back into the scene, knowing if she’d really been into it, she’d never have noticed Ghost at all. But the scene was flat—at least, for her.
With a sour taste in her mouth, she continued the session, getting Chelsey into subspace, then bringing her back out with a slow warm-down.
Finally, she finished and shook out her aching arms.
Her heart hurt, as well. This hadn’t been a scene where a Domme and her submissive connected on a soul-deep level; it’d been more like a pleasant tennis match. A nice workout and nothing more.
She bundled Chelsey in a blanket, gave her a bottle of water, and started to clean the equipment.
“Please hold me,” Chelsey whined. “I need to be held. Can we go upstairs?”
Upstairs. To have sex. It sure wouldn’t be making love.
Olivia had found out how love and sex could combine into something glorious—and then that joy was gone. For a couple of weeks after breaking up with Natalia, Olivia had tried to bury the heartbreaking memories with other women. With sex. Including with Chelsey.
The hollowness of the act had only depressed her further, and she’d stopped coming to the Shadowlands.
Now, she was back. Tonight she’d indulge her need for topping, give good aftercare…and be done.
She’d made her conditions clear to Chelsey before they started. “I need to clean the area so someone else can use it, then we’ll go sit and get your cuddles in.”
No upstairs.
After the equipment was disinfected, Olivia took Chelsey to a quiet sitting area for chocolate and more water and hugs. Told her she was a good girl and a pleasure to flog.
Provided the submissive with what she needed.
And felt even emptier. Why did it seem as if she gave and gave and never received anything in return?
Eventually, she left Chelsey with her friends, pleased at how they supported each other. Much as she and Anne had stuck together in earlier days. But Anne had Ben now—and the most adorable son.
Olivia had crickets.
Bollocks, what was with this self-indulgent whining? Stop. Now. Shaking her head, she headed for the bar. She’d get a drink and chat with Josie, the bartender, a rather adorable submissive who, unfortunately, preferred men. Holt was a lucky guy.
“Mistress Olivia, what can I get you?” Josie’s short, sassy hair was the color of her freckles. In black pants, black vest, and white shirt, she was the epitome of a professional bartender…although her soft Texas accent made it seem as if she should be wearing a cowboy shirt and jeans. “You seem tired. Maybe coffee instead of alcohol?”
“How about both?” Perhaps the vodka and Kahlua would help her sleep. “I’d like an espresso martini, please.”