Naughty November

Chapter 1

ONE

DEVIN

I take a deep breath as I look around the dungeon—my dungeon. It’s my first night working at The Library, a kink club in the centre of London, themed in the style of a Victorian grand library. I won’t be bringing submissives in here right away. I need to meet them first, discuss their needs, wants, and boundaries, and plan scenes for them. Even so, it’s good to be here—good and almost surreal.

Someone knocks on my door. I turn around and smile at the man standing in the doorway. He fits the club’s vibe perfectly. His hair is dyed black, except for a floppy streak at the front, which has been dyed red, and he’s wearing Victorian gothic clothing, all in black. I feel underdressed in smart jeans and a shirt. He looks strict, whereas my style is encouraging and affirming. The couple who trained me dubbed me the ‘friendly Dom’.

“I have the room next door, so I thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Stefan.” He steps into the room and holds out his hand.

I shake it, noting his firm grip.

“I was asked to give you this.” He gives me a piece of paper.

I glance at it and then frown. “A kink list? ”

“It’s being sent to all the club members to entice them to try a new kink in November. Expect to get at least a few subs who have never been to a professional Dom before, but who want to try out some of the things on the list safely.”

“And probably a few who’ll come back throughout the month to tick off as many as possible?”

“That’s the hope.”

I scan the list, which ranges from tickling to primal play, edging to sounding. I smile as I spot ‘writing on skin’. It sparks a memory of a hotel room in Amsterdam three years ago. Of a beautiful man whose skin would be perfect to write on. I haven’t seen Jools since I left for my flight to the UK, but that hasn’t stopped me thinking about him. He’s left a mark on my heart that will never be erased. What’s he doing right now? Is it morning in Australia? At one point, I knew exactly how many time zones were between us, but that knowledge faded years ago when our back-and-forth messages petered out. Is he all right? Is he happy?

“How are you feeling?” Stefan asks.

I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “Nervous.”

“It’s your first gig, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll do great. Let me know if you need anything.”

I offer him a grateful smile. “Will do, thank you.”

“Oh, and remember, you’re allowed to have boundaries, too. It’s okay if there are things you don’t want to do.”

“Noted, thanks.”

Stefan smiles and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

I scan the list again, mentally crossing off the small number of things I’d rather not do. My gaze keeps snagging on ‘writing on skin’, my thoughts travelling thousands of miles away to Jools. Why can’t I get the blue-eyed boy out of my head?

I smile at the memory of holding him in my arms in the hotel room as grey dawn light filtered into the room. We were counting down the minutes until I had to leave. Talking and laughing like we hadn’t spent six years apart. Like we weren’t about to walk out of each other’s lives again. Right before I left, I drew the Pause symbol on his chest, over his heart. By the time I’d got dressed, the symbol had risen, white, puffy, and angry.

“Will we see each other again?”

“I hope so.”

“No promises this time?”

I’d stared at him, then. It had been easy to make the promise when we were sixteen and I was young and foolish enough to think I could bend the world to my will.

“Not this time.”

His expression had dropped and crushed me. I had no choice but to leave him like that, my heart aching all the way to the airport and for some time after. It’s true that you never forget your first love.

Out of idle curiosity, I use my phone to check how many hours ahead Sydney is. Ten. It’ll be around six in the morning. Is Jools still an early riser? When we were kids, he’d use the walkie-talkies we had to wake me up so I wouldn’t make us late for school. We walked in together every day. At first, it was because Jools had been voluntold to do so. He’d lived in the area all his life while I was the new kid who didn’t know his way around. We became friends quickly and, eventually, more. I sigh. I need to stop living in the past. Jools and I went in different directions a long time ago.

I have a few messages from the My Kinky Housemate app. Thanks to the savings I stored up by living with my parents well into my twenties, I have enough money to afford the rent on my flat for three months. After that, I need a flatmate to help cover the bills, or I’ll have to look for something smaller or further out of London. Or both. Rent is extortionate in and around the city. I already have a hefty commute as it is. I’m using the app to find a like-minded flatmate, so I don’t have to lie about what I do for a living.

The messages are requests to come and look at the flat. I don’t get to see anyone’s real name, only usernames, profiles, and whatever picture they’ve chosen to upload. I set up viewings for tomorrow afternoon, staggering each one by an hour, ensuring the last one leaves me plenty of time to eat and get ready for work.

Next, I look through the information on the subs I’m meeting in the bar tonight. They’re long-time clients. Why have they chosen to switch to me? Curiosity? Variety? I won’t ask. I’ll focus on them and what I can do to fulfil their needs.

I wake late. I’m going to have to get used to working until the early hours of the morning. Luckily, I keep a tidy flat, so there’s not much to do before my first viewer arrives. They look around the flat, with barely a word to me, ask about the rent and bills—even though I mentioned those costs in my post on the app—and then leave without giving me any clues as to whether they liked the flat. I won’t rent the room to them. I want to live with someone I get on with.

The next viewer is a no-show, which gives me time to shower and eat. The third one arrives promptly and chats throughout the viewing. He’s a nice guy and very open about everything. Within fifty minutes, I learn he’s into dragon play, loves bondage, frequents The Library, and that he’s unlucky in love. Oh, and he’s recently graduated with a five-year architecture degree and has started his first job for a firm based in London. As long as his references check out—and he wants to move in with me—I think I’ve found my new flatmate.

It’s too late to cancel the last viewing, so I make myself busy for ten minutes until my intercom rings again. I hit the door release button without talking and wait for the viewer to make their way to my flat on the sixth floor.

The doorbell rings a few minutes later.

Smiling, I open the door. “Hi, I—” I falter, mouth open.

Am I seeing things? Jools stands in front of me, eyes wide with recognition.

He tugs his hand through his wavy strawberry-blond hair. “Wow. Small world. If I’d known I was coming to look at your flat, I’d have made more of an effort.”

“Jools?”

He grins and pats himself. “Last time I checked.”

He doesn’t need to make more of an effort. He’s as gorgeous as ever in a flame-red jumper, grey, faded jeans, and black boots suited to the cold, wet November weather. The jumper brings out the red highlights in his hair, which he’s grown into a feathery style that brushes his brows, temples, nape, and collarbone.

“I—didn’t even know you were in the UK,” I say.

Why would I have known? I haven’t seen or heard from him in three years. It’s my fault as much as his. I could have emailed, but I never got around to it. Given the distance between us, it would have hurt too much to get to know him again.

But now he’s here, just like he was in Amsterdam, as though fate has decided to throw us together yet again. My foolish, idealistic words flood into my mind. ‘We’ll see each other again.’

“I’ve not been here long,” Jools says, breaking into my rambling thoughts. “The company I work for is opening an office in London, and they sent me to help set things up. Right now, I’m living out of a hotel room, but seeing as I’m going to be here for twelve months, I thought I should find something more permanent.” He clenches his fists and taps them against his legs. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that last part.”

“Why?”

“Because no one wants a flatmate who’s going to move on after a year.”

I press my palm to my forehead. “You’re here.”

“Yes.”

“For twelve months?”

“Yes.”

“And you used a kink-friendly app to find somewhere to live?”

“Yes.”

I drop my hand. “You’re into kink?”

“Yes. It’s a fun story, actually. Invite me in, and I’ll tell you all about it.”