It’s been a long time, hey? Sorry, Drifters. Lucy’s Diary is in the final stages and will be released ASAP. Hopefully December 2020.
Here’s a sneak peek to keep you going.
P.s. keep an eye out for a festive freebie!
Lucy clutched her notebook to her chest as if it could protect her from a speeding bullet. It gave her something to do with her hands but, more than that, it shielded her from the curious stares of Club Drift members.
She smiled weakly as they passed her, half wishing someone would stop and tell her to go away so she had an excuse to abandon this cringe worthy exercise.
Eliot had rejected her plea to join her at the club. He had, however, told her they had assigned a guide for the evening. Perhaps it would be Carl, the ex-lover Eliot had called in a favour from to get Lucy into Drift. He sounded nice, if a little eccentric. Eliot had given her strict instructions to tell him if Carl still matched his hair glitter to his latex shorts.
The entrance to Club Drift was less obvious than she’d imagined. To one side of a vast blocked up railway arch was an average sized black door that almost faded into the black plasterboard. A nondescript brass plaque, so small she needed to be about to open the door to decipher it, read ‘Club Drift’ in neat type.
Lucy’d been hovering near the door for ten minutes. She told herself it was because her guide would surely emerge to find her soon, like a driver at the airport, perhaps even bearing a card that read ‘Carrie Ridley: Transfer to the BDSM Resort!’
She bit her lip to hold in a nervous giggle. She needed to get it together. Being out of your depth was no excuse for losing your composure in a professional situation.
A woman wearing black lipstick, a collar, cat ears, and a very short skirt grinned at Lucy on her way into the club.
Maybe professional was the wrong word considering where she was, but still. She was here as Carrie Ridley, esteemed author and confident career woman, not Lucy Bridge, the massive scaredy cat who hadn’t been to a BDSM joint for more years than she cared to remember.
Maybe this was the only way, she mused. Maybe she needed to build Carrie up around her like a shield before she ventured into a place like this again.
A broad man with twinkling eyes and a huge red beard winked at her as he passed, “Evening, ma’am,” he said, his Southern American accent pleasantly out of place.
“Evening,” She replied tersely, clutching her notebook even closer.
“Now, you didn’t hear it from me, but that man over there is your guide for tonight. You should go say hello, because if you don’t he may well stand there staring all evening.”
Lucy glanced over at the lithe man who was leaning against a wall across the road. He had shockingly light bleached blond hair and sharp angular features. He was watching her when she turned, but he quickly averted his gaze.
“Well, why doesn’t he come over then?” She hissed. Why was her supposed guide staring at her from across the street rather than saying hello or showing her around? Wasn’t he meant to make her visit easier?
The large American man adjusted the blue armband he was wearing as he spoke; it looked uncomfortably tight. “Don’t mind him none, it’s not personal. He’s a little overcautious, is all.”
“What? He’s making sure I don’t intend to rob the place?”
The red-haired man had a rich, bellowing laugh, “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if the thought had crossed his mind. He’ll be fine once he’s met you. He’s just…”
“And then some. We think of him as a watchdog. He’s only mean when he needs to be, but if you get to know him, he’ll roll over for a belly scratch just as soon as—Good evening, William!”
“Matthew,” The blond man responded coldly, his eyes not leaving Lucy’s face.
Matthew shook his head fondly, “Well, I’d better leave you two to get acquainted or he’ll never warm up. Look for me at the bar if he growls too much, you hear?”
“Thanks, Matthew,” she said. It took all her strength not to run through the door after the friendly man. Instead, she put on a smile and met William’s gaze.
His eyes were blue. Blue like the ocean. Not the greyish-green blue of Southend or anywhere in the UK, the dazzling clear blue of the sea in some tropical paradise from a travel agent’s brochure. Blue you could happily drown in.
She’d intended to say hello, to establish a conversation confidently, to deflect his coldness with professionalism and clever questions. Unfortunately, his ridiculously beautiful eyes had distracted her to such an extent she only said, “I’m Lucy.”
“I thought it was Carrie?” He said, looking over her face, notebook, and position outside the club again as if making sure he had the right person.
“Pen name,” she said, “Real name’s Lucy, Carrie’s just a-”
“A false identity, hey? Well, you’re not the only one with more than one name in there.”
“False identity is going a bit far,” she said, disgruntled by his brusque manner now she’d got over the startling beauty of his sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes.
He shrugged, “Accurate enough. You coming in then, Lucy-Carrie?”
“Just pick one,” she grumbled, opening the door and striding through it before he could respond.
The room immediately inside the street door wasn’t what she was expecting. The archway outside hinted at a cavernous interior, but this room was tiny. A deco style brass and glass desk took up most of the floor space, with a large display cabinet behind it, a single chair, and some standing room immediately inside the door. Lucy noticed that there was another door behind and to the side of the desk. This must be the reception. None of the BDSM clubs she’d been to before had decor this formal or chandeliers that could fill the room if lowered a little, but it’d been a while—Maybe this was the done thing now.
Behind the desk was a man who could only be Eliot’s friend, Carl. Magenta glitter sparkled along his hair parting, corresponding perfectly with the skin-tight latex shorts that clung to every curve of his ample body. Carl grinned broadly, displaying teeth that shone almost as bright as the glitter he’d also applied to his lips.
“You must be Lucy!”