Free In the Den by Sierra Cartwright Page A

forced himself to go through Gregorio’s plans and projected revenues for the upcoming month. Master Niles’ former production company was requesting to expand their usage of the Den’s facilities. And Gregorio had proposed buying an adjacent lot so the facilities could add onsite lodging to the five-year plan. Or at least a stable for pony play. Damien wasn’t sure if Gregorio was serious about that one, or whether he’d snuck it in to see if Damien was paying attention.
    An hour later, music blared, all but shaking the empty snifter still on his desk. Tonight’s theme was retro-dance party. He couldn’t wait to see what attendees came up with. Teased hair and leg-warmers? No doubt some would celebrate with high-protocol standards they no longer observed.
    He hadn’t anticipated, though, that Gregorio would hang a disco ball from the living room’s vaulted ceiling. Or that Master Evan C’s magenta scarf would look strangely appropriate for the party.
    Damien realized he should have stayed in Denver.
    He endured the evening, and it had been good to see Master Marcus with Julia on the end of a leash. She’d likely earned a beating for the way she’d wiggled her ass at Gregorio. At the very least, Master Marcus had compelled her to help serve the cupcakes, topped with neon pink or orange frosting.
    * * * *
    At five o’clock the next afternoon, he again checked the reservations list. Because snow hadn’t fallen, at least ten more people had signed up. Catrina was not among them.
    Two hours later, Damien had watched all the television he could tolerate. He’d finished his work and cleaned out his email inbox. Despite a shower, he was unable to settle in with a true-life crime story that had, until recently, engrossed him.
    Restlessness churned at him. He tossed aside the book and strode to the closet. Telling himself he might as well be useful and meet with some of the potential new members—anything was better than dwelling on Catrina—he dressed in business attire and strolled downstairs.
    After last night’s craziness, bright colors, thundering noise, outrageous outfits and big hair, this event was subdued. Gregorio had put together an elegant mixer. Low-key jazz oozed from the sound system. No one had to shout over the band to be heard. Wait staff moved throughout the area with fruity, non-alcoholic beverages and canapés made from ingredients he would never touch but pretended to like.
    He chatted with a few people in the living room, answered a number of questions about membership and various activities and gave one Dom some tips on dealing with a beautiful but very saucy sub.
    Then, seeing Gregorio was occupied in the kitchen with the caterer, Damien excused himself. He went downstairs to check on the play area. The Den employed a number of House Monitors, men and women who knew the rules and enforced them to keep everyone safe. Regardless, Gregorio and Damien tried to make themselves as visible and available as possible.
    He wandered down the hallway, looking in on all the private rooms, checking in on the participants. It had been a long time, years even, since he’d availed himself of the Den’s facilities for a personal scene.
    Until now, he hadn’t missed it.
    But at this moment, the idea of having a woman spread before him in beautifully bound supplication, helpless and writhing in expectation…
    Damien inhaled sharply.
    Maybe he should seek out one of the house subs to slake his sudden need.
    In the open area, some couples sat at tables. A small group of Doms stood in a circle. One put his booted foot on his kneeling sub’s shoulder. Looked uncomfortable for both of them.
    Another’s sub was seated cross-legged on the floor.
    The final gentleman was alone.
    After nodding toward the group, he crossed to the bar for a glass of sparkling water.
    That’s when he saw her.
    Catrina was alone, seated at a high-topped table, swirling a straw in her drink.
    He froze.
    “May I get you anything, Master