Chapter Twelve
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That fucker Kenji is keeping me on my toes. His new slave’s quite beautiful, as to be expected. He likes stunning women. This one is no exception. More athletically built than the willowy things he usually keeps on his arm, she’s like a jungle cat as she lies at his feet. All restrained power.
She looks beautiful there, curled around his ridiculously expensive and perfectly shined shoes. It’s quite the picture, like some surreal shoot for an upscale men’s magazine, and I have to hand it the man for aesthetics. Everything around him is gorgeous, from the luxe hotel suite that’s likely comped because of the truly offensive amount of money he drops at the gambling tables, to his clothing, to the sumptuous sushi lunch we’ve consumed, to his partner.
Now we’re through with our meal—which he hand-fed to her in a way that made me ache to have my own pet at my feet to spoil and control in equal measure—it’s time for what I’m really here for. To speak with her alone, as I always demand to do with his partners. Though he acts as though it’s a bothersome formality, I suspect he appreciates having a balance to his check. Indeed, I think that’s what he pays me for. I’m not here to expand his practice, that’s for sure.
Kass follows me into one of the bedrooms of the suite where Kenji had invited me to stay the night. I’d demurred. I need a breather, and there’s a magnificent man waiting for me back in my own, significantly less palatial suite to give me one when this is over. As soon as we’re through the door, she stands, making it clear precisely how she feels about me. Which is fine. I’m not her master, and there’s no need for her to treat me as if I am. Eases my mind, actually.
I gesture to two chairs on either side of a side table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Not taking her eyes off me, she sits, curling into the chair in a decidedly feline manner. While we talk, she doesn’t give me an inch. Respectful, of course, because Kenji doesn’t brook rudeness to his associates, but so damn proud it rocks me back. She may purr like a kitten for him, but not for anyone else. I like those kinds of submissives—women, in particular. Reminds me of India.
After I finish my usual rundown of questions—do you feel safe? Are you happy? Is he respecting your safewords?—she relaxes some, but not enough I don’t think she’d rip my throat out if he so much as waved a hand. Then I can’t help myself. I have to ask.
“What exactly about Kenji do you enjoy?”
The look she gives me is so hotly defensive I can practically feel the aggressive flames licking at my skin. “If you think he’s abusing me—”
“I don’t. I just want to be sure you’re satisfied with how you’re being treated.”
Her eyes narrow, not helping the impression of her being half-feline, half-human. “Who the fuck are you, the kink police?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Of a sort. But the point is your master’s asked you to answer my questions, so I’d suggest you do so unless you’re prepared to deal with the consequences.”
I don’t particularly want to think about what those might be. Probably something that would make even my iron stomach clench. I like the man, but sometimes I wonder why. To be fair, I’m sure a lot of people feel the same way about me. At least I hope they do.
Her face softens, becoming more of a soft glow than a fire waiting to rage out of control. There it is: love, devotion, gratitude, all gleaming in her eyes. “What do I like about Him?”
The verbal capitalization of “him” is obvious in the reverential way she says it. She’s exquisite, her ardor for him so sharp it cuts. She blinks, and I can almost see the way the movie plays in her mind, all the things she loves about him.
“I’m not sure if you understand what it’s like, to be a person like me…”
She eyes me cautiously, as if I might mock her, hurt her, but when I dip my head and say in an utterly neutral, soft tone, “You mean a slave?” she nods and continues.
“I’m…too much. I scare people. Disgust and horrify them. The things I want…”
I can see all the times she’s been rejected, demeaned, all the times people have made her feel badly for being brave enough to confess her deepest desires, and it squeezes my heart. Yes, I know what that’s like. I’ve seen too many people treated that way.
“They’re too much,” she finishes blandly, probably trying to block out the memories by not giving them any weight out here in the world. “But Master…”
There it is again—that glow. I get it.
“Master never makes me feel that way. He accepts what I want and need. Not only that, but he values me for it. Even when he refuses me, he does it in a way that makes me feel cherished and protected instead of dirty and revolting.”
She looks up at me again with ferocity in her eyes, daring me to contradict or argue with her, but I won’t. “Then I’m happy for you both. Thank you for your candor.”
“So you’re finished with your investigation, Inspector Walter?”
A title that makes the corner of my mouth twitch in a reluctant smile, her gentle teasing another reminder of India. “Yes, and everything’s as it should be. I hope I’ll be seeing you again.”
I do. It seems as though Kenji’s finally met his match in Kass, and I’m glad they’ve found each other. As much as I’d rather frame it as different wants instead of assigning it a value, I’m sure 99.9 percent of the world would agree: what they want is too much. So it’s handy they’ve managed to sift through the sands and latch onto the other piece of sea glass.
Kass doesn’t return my sentiment, and that’s okay. She uses her coiled tight muscles to step lithely off the chair and give a wave before she heads back out to where her master’s awaiting her, no doubt having planned some new delectable torture in the time we’ve been talking. By the way her hips swing as she walks to the door, she’s thinking the same thing.
When she opens it, she sinks to her hands and knees and passes over the threshold as his property once again. I catch a glimpse of Kenji’s expression through the doorway as she crawls through it, and the feelings they have for each other are clearly mutual.
Something inside me pings, and I can’t quite identify the feeling. Seeing my clients happy and satisfied, paired with an appropriate and loving partner, usually provides me with unqualified contentment. Today… Am I happy for them? Of course. But the thought hovering at the edge of my brain isn’t of the next thing to tackle from my long list of things to do, but of a certain man waiting for me back in my hotel room.