Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Yeah, I wasn’t hungry anymore. I dropped the chicken bone on the edge of my plate and wiped my fingers on a napkin. Then I hitched one leg over the bench so I was straddling it instead and facing the Founders.
It was Lucian’s turn to speak up. “Before we move on to what this means for our immediate future as a kink community, we’ve been in contact with two counselors—one of them our own member, Nathan—who will set aside time if anyone struggles to move past what’s happened. Perhaps you just need to vent for a session, maybe you have nightmares, or you’re feeling anxious. Doesn’t matter. I’m leaving a stack of cards with their numbers on the drinks table, and you don’t have to worry about money. The community is covering the charges.”
He gestured for Macklin to go next.
Sloan nudged me and kissed my hair. “Would you like to talk to a professional about your nightmares, sweetheart?”
I made a face and shook my head. “Not really. Logically, nightmares are to be expected so soon after. My brain is still processing—plus the crap with Marcus.” To be honest, I believed my nightmares were more linked to Marcus than the fire. Had we suffered some kind of accident on a boat, maybe that would’ve been the backdrop instead. But I was willing to bargain. “If it doesn’t get better in a few weeks, I can give it a try.”
He seemed somewhat satisfied with that. “That’s fair. As long as you talk to us.”
“Yes, Sir.” It made me so happy to have a command to obey.
Each command was a tiny string that tied us together. By obeying him, the strings grew stronger and thicker.
Macklin’s voice brought me back, and I did my best to refocus.
“…and whether it takes two months or however long to rebuild, we need venues in the meantime,” he was saying. “As you can see, we’ve made some changes to the terrace up here. It’s so we can meet up more often and have privacy—which was one of the reasons we started Mclean House in the first place. We wanted to get away from pop-up events, vanilla clubs, and home parties.”
“Hear, hear!” someone hollered.
Macklin chuckled. “Well, our goal is to continue that way. This terrace and the second floor’s dining areas will be restricted for our use every Saturday night starting at eight PM. Obviously, we need to make some concessions. Y’all can’t show up in slave threads and waltz up the stairs, past the vanilla guests, and scream bloody murder when you get off. Play has to be limited. But, you know, we sometimes show up in Mclean just to have drinks with friends and watch someone get flogged. Consider this the new, temporary spot for that. For heavier play, we have something else in mind. Colt?”
“That’s right.” Colt licked bacon grease off his fingers and set his plate on the nearest table. “We can’t forget that we have a big chunk of land in Mclean. Greer has already put in orders for a semi-permanent tent and floorin’ that will give us a home base comfortable enough to host events. It’ll take about a week to build. What was it—it held upward of a hundred people, right?”
It was Greer who inclined his head in confirmation.
“Where will we have it?” Cam asked.
“Bottom of the hill right in front of the forest,” Colt replied. “Kingsley, River, Beau, Ev, and I cleared the puppy-play course and the fightin’ cages yesterday. The ground is close to level there, and the forest will provide some shelter from the winter storms.” He glanced out over the tables until his gaze landed somewhere behind me. “Tate, you ready?”
“Yes, Sir.”
And while Tate left his seat, Reese spoke up again.
“Thanks to incredibly generous donations by Lucian and KC, Kit, and one of our newest members, Franklin, we will be able to start repairing and restoring the main house as soon as the investigation is concluded—we won’t have to wait for the insurance company to drag us through the mud first. River and I are looking forward to that fight so fucking much, by the way.” Low chuckles rose from the tables. “Anyway. With the tent structure, fixing this terrace, and so on, we’ve drained the community savings fund, and that’s where Tate comes in.”
Tate smiled politely and held an iPad in his hands. “So I think I spent seven hours on the phone yesterday,” he said. “I talked to our Founders, I called a few of you who are here today, and I hunted down price estimates for some of the things I’d like to raise money for by hosting an auction.”
Ohhh, that sounded fun.
“We’re obviously going to try to save as much as we can from the house, whether it’s kink furniture or kitchen appliances,” he went on. “But it’s safe to assume we’re going to have to replace a whole lot, like bedding in the guest rooms, barware, light fixtures, stereo equipment—it all depends on what’s been damaged. And we also need funds to decorate our temporary venue. We’ll probably rent some furniture, and some we can borrow from the Founders’ cabins.” He cleared his throat and tapped something on his tablet. “What I’m looking for right now are items and services members might want to donate to the auction. And so far, we have… We actually have some great things, and my handsome, perfect, amazing Master can get ready to put a dent in our savings. If he loves me, I mean.”