Logan (Dad Bod Doms #1) - Golden Angel Page 0,31

the lobby, just for a few minutes to compose herself.

Instead, she clung to him like he was her anchor—which was exactly what he was, when she thought about it.

Logan led her to the left, dropping off his bag on the shelves outside the changing room. She breathed in the scent of leather and sex, feeling as if every part of her was softening, becoming more pliable, eager just from the atmosphere of the club. Everywhere she looked, there were people, some in clear couples, others on their own, and several in small groups.

The dungeon was set up as one big room with various stations spread throughout. There were spanking benches and x-frames on one side of the room, exam tables and padded chaises on the other, St. Andrew’s crosses and ropes hanging from the walls, and a bar on the farthest side of the room. Tucked next to the bar was a small area with regular couches and some big armchairs—for aftercare, maybe?

Her body pulsed in anticipation, seeing the room laid out in front of her.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Logan said, tugging her hand. “There will be time to look at everything after we’re more properly attired.”

Felicity knew he meant taking clothes off, not putting them on.

Her insecurities poked at her, but just looking around the room, she’d been reminded of something she’d known but hadn’t properly appreciated when she was younger—BDSM was for everyone. All shapes and sizes were both present in the club and clearly being appreciated. There were a few women who looked the way she wished she did, but no one was paying them any more or less attention than they were anyone else. And there were no nasty or judgmental looks being lobbed at those who didn’t look like models.

At the bar, there was a very voluptuous woman, wearing absolutely nothing except the collar around her neck. The man holding the end of her leash was talking to another couple, who were eyeing the submissive with extreme interest, and Felicity couldn’t help but wonder if they might be setting up some kind of sharing scene.

A little shiver went down her spine.

That was something she wouldn’t mind watching, although doing had never appealed to her. She had a few voyeuristic tendencies.

Smack!

The crisp swat on her already sore bottom made Felicity jump.

“Sorry!”

She didn’t miss the amusement in Logan’s eyes as she finally moved, letting him guide her into the changing room. The only changing room, which surprised her at first, but then she realized it kind of made sense. Why waste space on multiple rooms when there wasn’t a real need to? Everyone in there was taking clothes off, down to whatever they wanted to wear around the club. Just like she and Logan were about to.

Felicity’s pussy clenched in eager anticipation.

Chapter Eight

Logan

The change that had come over his wife between walking into the club and into the changing room was substantial. She’d gone from dragging her feet, entering the dungeon to dragging her feet against leaving it. That didn’t really surprise him. While her insecurity might be working against her, she really liked to watch other people—one of her biggest turn-ons. Unfortunately, porn didn’t really do it for her, but being in person at a club always had. Clearly, it still did.

There were a few other people in the changing room, all of them involved in their own preparations. Set up with lockers on the far wall, open showers along the side, and several benches scattered throughout, there was enough space to give the illusion of privacy despite the lack of walls. He quickly found an empty locker and put their coats away. Felicity only hesitated a little to lose her coverage. Logan looped the elastic band of the locker key around the same wrist as his visitor bracelet before turning to face her, the thin length of leather he’d taken from his jacket pocket in his hand.

“Chin up, beautiful.”

Her eyes flashed at the phrase, filling with heat at the remembered words. She tilted her head back, exposing her throat to him, standing absolutely still as he secured the leather collar. The satisfaction seeing her standing before him, wearing his collar around her throat, was something he’d almost forgotten.

Hooking his finger into the D-ring hanging from the front center, he pulled her toward him, lifting her up on her toes slightly. Her breathing was hitched, eyes going glassy, and her hands at her side, exactly the way she was supposed to.

“My sweet subby,” he murmured, running his