You, Me, and the Secret: A Club Stigmata Novella Read online

  Contents

  A Note to the Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  About the Author

  Also by Elle Luckett

  ©All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written consent from the author, except that of small quotations used in critical reviews and promotions via blogs.

  You, Me, and the Secret is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  You, Me, and the Secret ©2021 Elle Luckett

  Cover design by Lou Stock, LJDesigns

  Book design by LJDesigns

  Editing by Vicki James, Claire Allmendinger

  Chapter Illustrations ©2020 Lou Stock, LJDesigns

  Promotions: Wendy Shatwell & Claire Allmendinger of Bare Naked Words www.barenakedwords.co.uk

  Elle Luckett on Social Media:

  Twitter - @elleluckett

  Facebook www.facebook.com/elleluckett

  A Note to the Reader

  I think everyone would like a love story that happens as quickly as it does in our favorite romances. Between the pages of a novel, love can blossom and develop in the beat of a heart.

  Unfortunately, the harsh reality is, real life doesn’t work that way. We have more space and time to play and develop bonds and trust than a couple of hundred pages. In the real world, we have more time to get to know the very bones of someone before we jump into something with them.

  That being said, no matter what you chose to do, please be safe. In life, and any lifestyle choice, you need to be sure of what you’re doing, who you’re doing it with, and always make sure there is trust there. Do the proper research, practice safety, and precaution, and keep yourself out of harm’s way.

  Much love to you all.

  Elle

  Acknowledgments

  I can't lie. Shauna and Ashton's story was one of my favorites to write. It's been a while since I dipped a toe into the second chance romance pool, even in the erotica genre, and it felt good.

  As always, I have to thank people for their support because I wouldn't have the opportunity to do this thing I love so much without them.

  Vicki James, thank you for being one of the best friends a girl can have. Thank you for believing in me when I stumble and don't see my nose to spite my face. Thank you for suggesting this series of novellas to me in the first place, and thank you for loving Jared, Kit, and the Stigmata universe as much as I do! Your unwavering support means the world to me, and your mad editing skills are barre none! You are a LEGEND, and I love you!

  Sue Hollingmode, Suzie, Suzie, what would I do without you? You're one of the most genuine and supportive people I know. You have the heart the size of the galaxy, and I honestly couldn't imagine my days without you in them! Thank you for being you and thank you for being the first person to read the chapters and telling me what you think. I'd be on version eleventy-billion of most of my books if you didn't! Love you!

  Claire Allmendinger. Thank you for so much of your time, thank you for your mad editing skills, and thank you for your friendship. You're amazing. I seriously can't thank you enough for all that you do, and I hope one day I can buy you a beer!

  Charlie M. Matthews, Amy Trevethan, Mary "Coops" Green, and Kristina Hannicar. You ladies are so amazing, and your friendship means the absolute world to me! Thank you for everything that you do. My love for you guys knows no bounds.

  My Texas Wolfpack <3 You girls know how much I love you! Thank you for being there to hold my hand and trusting me to hold yours. Your friendship is an honor I hold close to my heart.

  Emily Duncan, as always, thank you for being there every step of the way. I love you so much, and I can't thank you enough for your support and your encouragement. Pick a page and start reading... I dare you! Lol. Thank you for being a brilliant friend and an amazing sister.

  Rachael, our shared love for reading held us close even when sibling rivalry reared its ugly head. I love you and am so honored to be your sister. We've been through hell, and we just kept going.

  To Claire and Wendy of Bare Naked Words, I don't know where to begin thanking you for all your hard work. You are the best team to have at this writer's back, and I am honored to work with you! Thank you for everything!

  To my parents and family, I love you guys more than words, and if you don't know that by now, we need to book you a lobotomy. You're my rocks and my soul, and I love you!

  To the readers: you guys honor me just by picking up one of my books and again when you choose to tell the world how you felt about it! Thank you! For taking a chance, trusting me enough to turn the page, and letting me keep doing what I love while encouraging me. You are all amazing!

  This novella is dedicated to you

  Charlie M. Matthews.

  You were thrown into hell, but in the face of it all you held yourself together and you went into battle like the warrior you are. It is an absolute honor to call you friend. Keep fighting the good fight, I love you!

  July in New Orleans always felt like I was living in a sweatbox, the air oppressive and hot enough to slice through with a butter knife. It was also the month the Hayward Group held its Club Stigmata annual communion. The small convention was usually held in a different club every year, but this year New Orleans’ Stigmata was hosting, and the AC struggled to keep up with the number of bodies almost pushing the count to the club’s capacity.

  “Jesus, I hope the Fire Marshall doesn’t think to stop in this month,” Kammie said over the unusual din of conversation on the bar level. “The last week of communion is always the busiest.”

  “I heard Christopher has someone at each door scanning membership cards. When we hit capacity, he said he’ll talk to the bar next door; see if they can rent the space for a private party,” I said, handing a bright-eyed submissive two bottles of water with a knowing smile.

  Kammie was on her knees behind the bar, restocking all the fridges and coolers with soda, water, and beer. She peeked over the top to make sure no one was in earshot before she continued.

  “Lane told me everyone enjoys attending when the brothers host.”

  “Evidently. How long’s it been since the last one was held in New Orleans?”

  I glanced around to make sure there weren’t any more requests before I perched on the edge of the under-counter sink to take a breath. The crowd flowed to the stairs and club levels below, the demonstrations about to begin.

  Kammie grinned. The club hadn’t held one since either of us had been members, and I’d been a member of Stigmata since I was twenty-one, as well as being a member of New Orleans club for almost six years. The communion had never been held in here in those years.

  “I looked at the files and the last time they held one here was the year after they moved their headquarters after the brothers took the Hayward Group over from their grandfather.”

  Most members knew the story of the club and its history. It was in the book of
guidelines that we received with our membership cards. Kammie had more details because she worked in the office under the two men. The woman was a well of information, but she was also Fort Knox, aware of what she could divulge and what was private. She never crossed that line. This was why she was one of my most trusted friends in the club.

  “Probably wasn’t this organized either,” I mused, cracking open a bottle of water for myself and draining half before continuing. “The Haywards didn’t have you and Lane back then.”

  “I can’t claim any responsibility for this. Lane is a damn dynamo. She coordinated who was coming in, what they were doing, who they were doing, where they were doing it. She even ensured those who didn’t get along too well crossed paths as little as possible.” She’d been counting her points off on her finger and dropped her hands to the crate of water she had finished emptying. “I can only hope to reach her level of awesome one day.”

  Efficiently she began cutting up the plastic and breaking down the cardboard for the janitorial staff to dump in the morning. I thought she didn’t cut herself enough slack. She was just as organized and on top of the ball as Lane was. Together they were unstoppable. I was also jealous of her energy levels tonight.

  “Have you logged those waters on the tablet?” I was so tired I barely flopped a hand in the direction of the device still sitting in its dock.

  “I have. You can have that minute before the hordes return for alcohol.”

  “You are a goddess.”

  “Tell that to Tristan.”

  “Oh, he knows,” I replied, flicking my eyes to Tristan as he slipped onto a stool at the shadowy end of the bar where she was still kneeling. He’d been kind enough to take in the demonstrations and vendors solo as Kammie helped me behind the bar. She didn’t usually work this late when he was at home. She helped during the early rush before heading off to play because the requests came via runners once the scenes began, and I could handle that alone. If the heat in his eyes was anything to go by, he was regretting his decision tonight.

  “Oh, I’ve made the mistake of saying it aloud,” he purred in that sexy southern accent of his. “Something my brat loves to throw in my face while she’s being particularly petulant.”

  Kammie’s eyes closed at the sound of his voice, her smile rising to blinding. No matter how much time they spent together or how many hours they locked themselves away week after week, he still made Kammie giddy. Popping to her feet, she pressed her hands on the surface of the bar and surged over it to give Tristan a long lingering kiss that earned some catcalls from the stragglers on their way downstairs.

  I left the two of them alone and headed to the other end of the bar to clean and tidy while I had an opportunity. Once the demonstrations began to end, spectators would come looking for something a bit harder than beer and water.

  I’d just managed to get things organized when I was startled out of my concentration.

  “Shauna?”

  “Sir.” I grinned at Thomas and reached for his favorite bottle of scotch. “Can I offer you a Macallan twelve? On the house, of course.” Everything in the bar was free with a membership, but the lousy joke was worth the smile I received in return.

  “I’ll decline for now.” He winked at me as his saunter stopped on the other side of the mahogany. “How’s everything going?”

  “Lane knew what she was talking about. The extra stock made things go smoothly.” I leaned into the bar and stage whispered the rest as Kammie was still leaning over the bar but had turned her attention to us. “The help’s slacking, though.”

  “Hey!” Kammie’s protest was delayed a second as she dropped her feet to the mat below. Her feigned look of indignation had me chuckling.

  “You know, I can take care of that problem for you,” Tristan offered, tipping the head of the water Kammie had just handed him in my direction.

  “He’s the reason for the slacking.” Kammie’s roll of the eyes was out of the line of sight of her Dom.

  Thomas, shaking his head in amusement, tapped his hand on the bar. “Be careful, sugar. I saw your Dom down on the main floor, eyeing up a new contraption that Denton’s made for the communion. I’d say you’re the distraction.”

  “Oh, really?” Kammie spun, and from the quiet chuff from Thomas, he realized we’d lost their attention as much as I had.

  “One more night of this madness, and we should be returning to normal.”

  Normal was a relative term for Club Stigmata—for any BDSM club, I imagined—but I missed our version and the faces I’d come to know since I’d been working behind the bar.

  “May I ask what’s on the agenda for the final night, Sir?”

  Thomas inclined his head with his warm smile before indulging me. “Denton will have some of his pieces on display and free for couples to try. The last of the manufacturers will be displaying their toys and have some of our members demonstrating. Then the usual, along with a group scene, double-sided cross, and Christopher found a willing masochist to play with his fire whip. It’s the last thing on the agenda, so you’re free to watch if you’d like.”

  “Fire whip?” I’d seen a demonstration once in the club I’d attended in Gatlinburg while I’d been finishing college. It was intense and mesmerizing for the spectator, the hint of danger making it more erotic than I could have imagined it could be.

  “He’s been honing the skill for years, and having found a willing young lady in advance, he’s going to warm her up with a close shave and some light fire play before beginning.”

  I’d seen his idea of light fire play. Christopher was a magician with a fire wand and candles, and if I’d been braver, it would be something I would enjoy. It was just the rest of the pain Christopher liked to inflict that deterred me. I was a low-level masochist that came nowhere near his skillset or intensity.

  “I may have a peek over the balcony for that.”

  “I saw him practicing. You’re going to want to come down and see it.”

  “The bar—”

  “Will be fine unattended. No one will want to miss the show.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Thomas gave me one of his warm smiles before tipping his head in the direction of the stairs where the darkness had fallen, and a spotlight flared to life.

  “Have a good night, Sir.”

  “I’ll be back for that drink.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  He wandered away, joined by Tristan before they disappeared down the stairs together, leaving Kammie and me alone. Exchanging a look, we both rushed around the end of the bar, slowing at the edge of the balcony, hands on the balustrade as a Dom strapped his submissive onto a beautifully finished and padded board suspended by thick chains to a rigging above. She lay on her stomach, breasts hanging freely through the well-shaped and designed holes. The woman’s legs were spread wide apart with the cuffs on her ankles attaching to D-rings on the chains. One gentle tug at her hips by her Dom and her sex rested in another planed curve at the very edge of the plank, which he secured with a strap over her hips, locking her fully in place. Her Dom stroked her body, checking restraints before sliding a hand between her legs and slipping a finger inside her. My teeth sank into my bottom lip in a daydreaming anticipation. It had been so long since I’d played with someone that easily, that freely. I trusted the Doms in the bar—the club vetted all of its potential members before issuing a membership, and there were always security measures in place—but I had never found that connection with someone. That deeper understanding that made scenes like this so pleasurable.

  The beauty of Denton’s design came into play now. With a small twist of a winch, the plank rose from the head and displayed the sub’s breasts and face to her Dom. He turned his attention to her breasts, while his eyes stayed on her face, always reading her reactions, waiting for the sweet spot to reveal itself. He made it look easy as she melted under his touch, breaths eventually turning into pants.

  The Dom was just picking up a set of cl
amps when I glanced back to check on the bar and found a gentleman leaning against the mahogany top. Kammie noticed at the same time, but I rested a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

  “I got it. Tell me what I missed when I get back.”

  “Absolutely.”

  I jogged across to the level on my toes and slipped behind the bar, approaching the broad shoulder and dark hair of the man’s back. He couldn’t see much from the bar, but he had enough of a view to see some of the display, especially while the board was being lifted higher.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Sir. What can I get for you?” I asked, slipping a peek beyond him where I could see the flushed face of the sub on display.

  The gentleman turned, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. The room became airless as a familiarity slapped me across the face with an intensity I hadn’t expected.

  I knew this man.

  This Dom.

  This was Asher Morris. My former Master who I hadn’t seen in almost seven years.

  Asher studied me with as much intensity as I measured him. There was no amusement or emotion on his face as he did, just stoic indifference as he took me in. My former Dom was as handsome and sexy as I remembered him to be. Tall, broad-shouldered, and well-built, his form was defined under the crisp white oxford shirt he wore. His dark hair had grown longer, and a beard covered that strong jaw I’d once spent hours running my lips over, but his eyes were the same. They were the most beautiful baby blue, like faded jeans in high summer. There was a hardness in them that hadn’t been there before, but they were still soulful and inviting, and I was disappointed to discover that they again made my knees weaken and my heart pound.