Page 46 of To Catch a Sub

“And are you still…do you have a top out there somewhere?”

It took her minutes to realize what he meant by the word top.

“A master, you mean?” She turned to look at him.

His eyes were dark and hard, the muscles of his crossed arms tensed. “Yes.”

“Does it matter?” she asked softly. “You didn’t ask if I have a husband, or a boyfriend, waiting for me.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“No to which question?”

“All of them. There is no one waiting for me. No boyfriend, husband, or Dom.”

There was someone looking for her. Damien.

Colette pressed her elbow against her side, causing a little jolt of pain.

“The man who trained you, he was your Master?”

“Yes.” He’d actually been much more than that.

He’d been her friend, mentor, occasional partner, and eventually her Master.

He’d first proposed training her as a submissive because he needed a sub for a job he was pulling and offered her a cut for her help. Eventually he admitted that he was attracted to her, and wanted her as his submissive. Asking her to pose as his sub to execute a Rembrandt theft had been more about getting her on her knees for him than the painting.

Though they had stolen the Rembrandt.

Once she started her sub training it had both unlocked and relaxed something inside her she hadn’t known needed release. Though she’d never been attracted to the man who’d been her first Dom, and only true Master—the age difference was too great for her to see him as a sexual or romantic partner—he’d been an excellent Master. And introducing her to submission was an incredible gift.

She still mourned his passing, but with a soft ache of fondness, not the sharp bite of grief.

“How often are you scening? Either publicly or privately.”

She arched a brow. “I’ve never been spanked in a tube station.”

“That’s not what I mean by publicly. I mean?—”

“I know what you mean. You mean when was the last time I was in a club and my scene took place on stage, like what you have out there.” She tipped her head towards the door.

“Yes.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“How long?”

“Years.”

“Before or after you robbed the British Museum?”

“It was before we met,” she countered, enunciating the last word.

Now he frowned. “How old were you when you were trained?”

She’d been eighteen, her mentor in his sixties.