Madame (Salacious Players' Club, #6)

by Sara Cate

The woman that stares back is one I don’t recognize. She’s bold. Beautiful. Fearless. Smart.

She’s standing in the restroom of a high-class restaurant wearing a brand-new tight black dress and about to go on a first date with a billionaire she matched with on a kinky dating app—and she’s pretending she’s not scared out of her fucking mind. This woman is not me.

But I’m willing to pretend for tonight. I have to. If not for me, then for the life growing inside me. I have to pretend to be this woman because I refuse to go back. This woman is intelligent, sexy, and bold enough to seduce a rich older man for a one-way ticket out of her ...

“Eden St. Claire.” “Oh yes, Mr. Kade is waiting for you,” she replies. “Right this way.”

The entire time I’m throwing up the nothingness in my stomach, I think about how humiliating this entire endeavor is. I’m faking a personality to try and con a wealthy stranger out of money, ready to sleep with him and do God knows what else. Now I’ll have to walk out of this restaurant with my tail between my legs, back to the smelly, noisy motel I can barely afford until I devise another plan.

“Come here,” he mumbles, and I instantly fall into his arms, not entirely knowing why or how I can feel so comfortable with a man I just met. But his arms are big, and they feel safe, and even if I know there isn’t a dime in my future from this stupid, elaborate scheme, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying one embrace before I go.

Maybe it’s because he’s not berating me or calling me stupid. He’s not telling me that I only think about myself and that everything bad that happens is somehow my fault. Instead of slapping me across my face and spitting insults, he’s caressing my back and telling me everything is going to be okay.

“All right, fine. I wasn’t entirely honest.” “Why would you lie? Why did you want the quiz to tell you you were submissive?” When I open my mouth, ready to argue that I didn’t want it to tell me that at all, I realize…maybe I did. What if it was never about being paired with a rich Dom? What if I answered that quiz as a submissive for other reasons?

“I think I wanted it to tell me I’m submissive because that’s the role I’ve been playing my entire life. I belonged to my father. I belonged to my small town and all the expectations put on me there. Then I belonged to my husband. I thought that’s what I wanted because that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“No,” I reply. Then I add, “I don’t know who I am.” “Hmm,” he replies, reclining in his seat and watching me as if studying me. “As much as I wish we were compatible, I’m afraid we’re not. But I’d love to teach you if you’d like to learn. I imagine you have one hell of a journey ahead of you, Eden—and I’m not just referring to the baby.”

“Pathetic,” I murmur against his ear as he moans in agony. “A good boy would take the pain, but you’re not a good boy, are you?” He shakes his head. “Are you going to be a good boy now?”

He nods. His eyes are clenched shut while tears, drool, and sweat cover his bare chest. And as gross as it is, I love seeing people like this. It’s like a cleansing ritual or an exorcism. They come to me carrying baggage, guilt, pain, worry, and stress, but within a few hours—whether it be from pain or some time in subspace—they leave feeling refreshed and renewed.

“Say it, Marcus. Promise your Madame that you’ll be a good boy from now on.” “I promise,” he croaks. “Madame.” “I don’t believe you,” I reply in a cold, emotionless tone. He whimpers because he knows what this means. I take another glance at the silk handkerchief again, but he’s still holding it tight. “I think you need six more to be sure. What do you think, Marcus?”

I labored for hours completely alone, without a single person to hold my hand. By the time Ronan arrived at the hospital, Jack was sleeping peacefully in his bassinet. A couple of days later, I brought home a seven-and-a-half-pound baby that changed my world forever. By the time he started crawling, we had the keys to this house, and I was running my blog full time.

On that day, I made a promise to myself that I would always put Jack first. It was just us, and it would always be just us. I would die before bringing home another man who could do to Jack what his father had done to me.

Love is nothing more than a form of control. And from here on out, I will be the only one in control.

“What?” “You’re just…perfect,” I reply. Which is true, but it’s not what I was thinking. What I was thinking is that Jade isn’t like any other woman I’ve dated. She’s young, sweet, and funny as hell. She might as well be the polar opposite of the last woman I dated.

Maybe this is my way of protecting myself. Date a woman so different that I lessen the risk of fucking things up again. But the weird thing is, as different as she and Eden are, my feelings for them are strangely similar.

“Hey, Daddy!” Jade says as she approaches Will. “Hey, Cupcake. I was just texting you. How does sushi sound for lunch?” She steps into the doorway and glances at me for only a second. With an awkward wave, she sends me a casual greeting. “Hi, Clay.” “Hi, Jade,”

OH YOU SNEAKY LIARS

I used to think she was so innocent, but her sweet, virginal appearance is all a front. Jade might be the most sex-crazed woman I’ve been with. I find it alluring.

I let out a groan, my fingers gripping her hips. “You’re always so wet for me.”

I imagine his long brown hair with Saturday morning bed head, sipping coffee with me while Jack plays quietly by our side. The image of Clay existing in my everyday life grates on my nerves. How on earth did I let him get under my skin in such a short amount of time? After so many clients, how did this one get to me?

I’m perfectly content living alone with Jack. He doesn’t need a father or a family. We are a family, and I’ve never once felt wrong or bad about that. And I sure as hell don’t feel bad about that now.

But then…that damn image of Clay standing in my kitchen, flipping pancakes while I pour the coffee ambushes me again. It’s so irritating I want to throw my cup across the room.

No matter how alluring that thought is, it’s not worth the risk. I have no reason to believe Clay would ever pose a threat to me or Jack, but I used to think the same thing about my ex. And nothing is worth putting my son in danger.

“Really?” I ask with my head tilted and a glare directed at him. “What? He asked for a scooter,” Ronan argues. “So you got him an electric one? He’s seven, Ronan.” “Be glad it wasn’t an electric car,” Daisy, Ronan’s much younger wife, replies with a laugh, bouncing baby Julian in her arms.

“Well, I think he’s having a good birthday,” Ronan says. He’s giving me that proud smile, and I have to look away before he makes me get emotional. I know what he’s thinking. We’ve come a long way. Or rather, I’ve come a long way from terrified, penniless, and pregnant to this. Jack is happy and safe, which means I’m pulling off the one thing I was afraid I couldn’t do.

Why is Clay sitting in a video game machine with my son? It’s a coincidence. Relax, Eden. It’s just a coincidence. But still…these two worlds colliding make me want to run. He’s a client, and he’s with my son. I know I shouldn’t feel ashamed about this, but for some reason, I do.

Clay and I have been seeing each other for five months now, and everything with him has felt so right the entire time. But there is this part of him I can tell he’s holding back from me. Not that I think a person has to reveal everything to the person they’re seeing after only five months, but I’m not asking for deep, dark secrets here. I just want him.

Not the fake front he puts up for everyone—the charming, clever, confident facade he assigns to himself when the true Clay wants to hide. I’ve known him long enough to know the difference.

My father calls me a bleeding heart. I think he means it in an endearing sort of way, but I sort of hate it. Because I care. And right now, I care abou...

“Do you wanna come up?” he asks softly. I do. I always want to come up. But when I get the feeling the person I’ve poured my heart out to isn’t pouring their heart out to me…it makes me feel vulnerable. And a little silly.

“You don’t get it,” I mutter. “You’re right, Jade. I don’t. Why do you want to know so much?” I spin on him and stare at him incredulously. “Because I care about you, Clay. And it’s not about the woman. It’s about the fact that something has been bothering you since you saw her, but instead of opening up to me, you fake a smile and tell me it’s complicated.”

Being in a relationship is hard. I thought when this all started that I could just love him, and that would be enough, but it’s not. There’s so much worry and frustration, and emotions that get lost in translation. On top of everything is this nagging fear that I’m giving too much or not enough. Is loving a person truly enough when existing together requires so much more?

“Forget it,” I mumble as I turn toward my Jeep, parked just a few spaces down. He lets out a frustrated, strangled noise, looking as if he’s pulling out his hair. “Fuck it.” Then he mutters something in a surrendering tone. “She was my Domme.”

“She’s a Dominatrix. I paid her to be my Domme,” he says, looking at the ground as he speaks. “What does that mean?” Finally, looking up, he replies, “It means…we’d go into a room, and I would do whatever the fuck she told me to.” “Like sex?” “No,” he replies quickly while walking one way, then spinning back toward the other. “Yes. Sort of.” “What is sort of sex?” I reply. He chuckles. “We had sex, but that’s not what I paid her for.”

“I just realized I wanted more.” My mouth forms an O shape. “More from her?” He stares down at me with a softness in his eyes. “More from anyone.” This makes my heart ache for him. “Remember six months ago when I was in a funk?” I nod. “That’s why. I was paying a woman to give me the attention I wish someone had given me for free.” My hands wrap around his waist, and I pull him closer, burying my face in his neck. “I’m sorry, Clay.”

“For what it’s worth,” I say, “I’m glad it didn’t work out. I like you better with me.” When I smile, he smiles. “Me too,” he replies.

I could do this. If he just opened up to me about it, then maybe we could. Although I guess he did open up about it. But only after we saw… Her.

My fingers freeze over my phone screen as I see a familiar face staring back at me. I only saw her for a few brief moments today, but it was enough to commit her face to memory. It’s not like you can forget the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. And now she’s on my phone. “Madame Kink’s West Coast Escapades.”

Emerson doesn’t know about Jack. Besides Ronan, no one does. I made that promise to myself years ago before I started working at Salacious and collaborating with the owners. They ran the dating app, and I had my kink blog. I never saw the relationship evolving to where it is now. It just became too late to confess that I had a child of my own at home that I never happened to mention over the years.

Ronan tried to convince me so many times to come clean, but I don’t think he understands what it’s like to be Madame Kink and Eden St. Claire.

It’s for a consultation with a new client—something I don’t often do. Most of my services are a little more hands-on, but occasionally, I’ll get someone who wants to pay a nice chunk of change to talk to me for an hour. All I know about my appointment tonight is that it’s a young woman dating a new guy with some particular tastes, and she’d like ideas on how to please him. Never a dull moment.

I can still remember that day seven years ago when Ronan opened my eyes to what was out there waiting for me. I never in my life considered myself a dominant woman, but once I got a taste, I couldn’t quit. I started my blog as a starry-eyed, naive young woman with an insatiable appetite for knowledge.

Just a couple of years in, I had over a million subscribers and was officially ready to do this professionally. There was never sex in the beginning. I couldn’t believe how many people would pay me to be their Madame. To bark orders at them, make them my footstool for an hour at a time, have them licking my boots, and taking lashes from my flogger.

Before opening it, I push my shoulders back and fix my tight black dress. Then I twist the handle and plaster the Madame Kink expression on my face. After I open it, I stare at the young woman standing nervously in front of me. Instantly, my expression falls. “Hi,” the girl stammers, looking back and forth down the narrow hallway.

I blink a couple of times to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me. The lighting is sort of dim out here, so maybe I’m wrong. But I swear this is the exact same girl I saw with Clay just last weekend.

Chin-length brown hair and blunt bangs aren’t exactly a forgettable or common hairstyle. Not to mention, she’s still dressed like a kindergarten teacher in her knee-length skirt and tight white tank top. I’m ac...

She’s the kind of girl who stops you in your tracks. She exudes the sort of beauty that makes you either want to be her or kiss her…or both. Stunning and perfect like a gemstone.

“I’m not here to, like, bombard you or anything. I’m not crazy, I promise. Although I feel a little crazy right now. I just…I looked up some stuff, and I found your blog.” “Are you here for a consultation?” I ask slowly, trying to make sense of everything. “Yes!” she chirps with excitement. “And before you ask, yes, Clay told me that he and you…you know.”