Lib Novel Page 8
I pause in mid-sip of my diet cherry cola, taken aback by the question. While I’m not in the best of moods, I think I’ve been doing a good job at appearing happy. I guess I’ve failed. But I’m trying to stay positive. I think if I hang in there, I’ll figure something out. It’s just easier said than done. “I just woke up feeling a little bit under the weather,” I say. “Other than that, no worries.” I give Carla my most reassuring smile and take another sip.
Carla’s not fooled by my fraud, and she sets down her celery stick and gestures at me. “C’mon Dah, I know you better than that.”
Crap. I want to tell her my problems, but at the same time I’m reluctant. I don’t want her to think I’m hitting her up for money, especially after she gifted me that vintage purse. It would be embarrassing. I like Carla, and don’t want to jeopardize our friendship by appearing desperate. “No,” I say firmly. “Really. I’m fine.”
Carla looks unconvinced. “You sure?”
I nod. “Mmmhmm.”
Carla scowls, and then a second later growls, “Liar.” She holds her glare, but when it appears that I won’t be spilling the beans, she lets out a resigned sigh. “Alright, I’m not going to keep prying… for now. I’ll let you get away with staying mum, but you’re going to have to tell me what’s bothering you sooner or later.” Her celery stick whirls in the air before she takes a bite. The snapping sound makes me smile. If Carla’s good for something, it’s making me laugh.
After a moment her expression turns serious and she says, “Dah.” There’s a shift in tone in her voice, and I know this must be something important.
I swallow down my bite and answer guardedly, “Yes?”
Carla’s fingers play with the edges of her celery stick. “I have a question.”
By now she has my undivided attention, and worry laces through my chest. I hope this isn’t bad news. Or some sort of nasty gossip about me. I don’t think I can handle any more stress.
“Yeah?” I dare ask.
Carla hesitates a moment, as if unsure how she wants to proceed, and then she leans forward and says beneath her breath, “Are you into BDSM?”
I sit back in my seat, stunned. Whoa. What the hell? After a moment, I let out a nervous chuckle. “Where’d that come from?” My cheeks are flaming hot with a bright blush although Carla seems unaffected. She cocks a brow with a small smile, but doesn’t answer right away.
“Carla?”
Hesitating, Carla licks her lips and studies me as if she’s weighing whether she should tell me anything further. “I’m in a club,” she says finally.
“What kind of club?” I ask cautiously.
“Promise you won’t tell anyone,” Carla demands. The lightheartedness I’m used to with her vanishes from the conversation entirely. “Or I can’t tell you the rest.” Her eyes flash with an intensity that is unnerving.
I don’t know what Carla’s getting at, but she has me on the edge of my seat. “I swear,” I say. At this point, I’m dying to know what the hell this is all about.
Carla stares at me long and hard as if assessing my honesty before leaning forward slightly and whispering, “I’m in a BDSM club.”
I stare, not comprehending. I know what BDSM is, but I’m just not clicking with what she’s saying. “Do you mean some kind of cult?”
Carla freezes, and then lets out a small laugh. “Heavens no. Nothing like that.” After a moment, the amusement fades from her face. “But it’s not really something we talk about, though. No one is allowed in if they don’t sign a non-disclosure agreement. Absolutely no one.” Her last words are uttered in harsh tones, conveying the need for complete secrecy this mysterious club demands.
Wow. “Why in the world would anyone agree to that?” I ask. My body heats some with the implications of what that could mean.
“Because of the clientele,” Carla explains. “They’re all powerful, rich and sometimes highly visible men. Men from all walks of life. Doctors, lawyers, businessmen, CEOs, celebrities… even congressmen and senators.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, intensely fascinated, my breathing picking up.
Carla shakes her head and replies, “Nope.” She sits back in her seat, taking a drink of her smoothie. “That’s why NDAs are signed.”
“So these men are married?” I ask after a moment of digesting this information. What she’s saying is un-fucking-real, but I believe her. She’s too serious to be lying, and now I’m just hungry for all the details.
Carla purses her lips thoughtfully. “I suspect some might be, but there is no way of knowing for sure.” She puts the cap back on her smoothie and leans forward. “The club thrives on a secretive atmosphere, and though some of the Subs know the Doms’ identities, they’re forbidden,” her hands fly outward, increasing the intensity of her words, “to reveal or share any knowledge of them outside the club.” Her brows pinch together slightly as she continues, “I think a lot of men are just young, eligible bachelors that are looking for a place to sate their sexual appetites, so most Subs get to play with a free conscience.”
Subs and Doms are all familiar terms to me… I mean, everyone’s read Fifty Shades, haven’t they?
This is all so intriguing, and I find myself leaning in and lowering my voice. “So what happens if a Sub exposes a Dom outside of the club, or vice versa?” I have to ask.
Anger flashes in Carla’s eyes. “Not only are they subject to legal action, but they get kicked out and banned for life.” She emphasizes the next words, “But these are people you don’t want to cross.” Her face is deadly serious as she warns, “This club is fun and exciting and intoxicating, but you don’t want to be enemies with these people. I mean it, Dah.” The mood lightens up some as she readjusts in her seat and says, “So just keep it between us.”