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clenched. Mary portrayed kindness, and she was still so young to spend the rest of her days alone. Yet at the same time, it all confused Presley. Why would Dmitri trust Mary about a dungeon matter if she didn’t belong to the dungeon? “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know Dmitri?”
    Mary gave a warm smile. “Through Charles.”
    Presley wanted to push more yet didn’t think it right, considering Mary hadn’t offered more in her explanation. Besides, Dmitri’s life wasn’t hers to dig in to, even if the man behind Club Sin made her curious. “Thank you for seeing me on your lunch hour.”
    “You’re welcome.” Mary returned to the desk to grab the swabs. “I’ll send the swabs and your blood tests off today. You can pick up the documentation on Wednesday.”
    “I’m actually heading away until Friday.” Presley shifted on the bed, hanging her legs off the side. “Do you mind if I come then?”
    Mary turned to her, and a pain she clearly couldn’t hide shadowed her eyes. “Friday works fine. The receptionist will have the documents for you at the front desk. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact me. A friend of Dmitri’s is a friend of mine.” She winked. “That means discounts on your bills.”
    Presley’s heart reached out to the woman, and she wished they hadn’t spoken of Charles. Mary had helped her out, and all Presley had done was remind her of her loss. “Speaking of that, do I pay the receptionist now or on Friday?”
    Opening the door to the examination room, the doctor gave a sad smile. “By discounts, I mean you don’t pay.”
    Without another word, Mary left the room, leaving Presley wondering what would make her owe Dmitri enough never to charge him for her services when she wasn’t a member of Club Sin. More important, who was Charles?
    * * *
    Wednesday nights at Mickey’s sports bar had become a tradition for the Masters of Club Sin, even if only three—which included Dmitri—had attended tonight . In front of him, one large flat-screen displayed the football game. Booths were to the left, but he and the two other Masters sat atop wooden stools in front of a thick oak table in the center of the bar.
    Dmitri inhaled the aroma of the greasy food wafting from the kitchen down on the right. He enjoyed the loud banter in the pub and was more than pleased that half of the week was behind him.
    Each day took longer to end than the one before it, since Presley had stayed heavy on his mind. All her innocence and her beautiful reactions to him had trapped him in desirable and dominant thoughts, making his days long and nights too short.
    He finished off his last buffalo wing, wiping his fingers and face with a napkin. Whereas his stomach felt bloated from the obscene numbers of wings and two beers he’d consumed, Aidan’s head of jet-black hair was bowed to his plate. He ate enough food to feed a small village.
    After Aidan all but inhaled another chicken wing, his gray eyes flicked to Dmitri. “How’d it go with that sub, Presley, on Sunday?” He shook his head in mirth, holding a new wing in front of his face. “Cora talked about her so much when I had a scene with her last weekend that I had to order her to silence.”
    Dmitri chuckled, lowering his beer to the table. “She’s skittish, but there’s potential.” At Aidan’s long look, Dmitri’s lips parted to elaborate that he didn’t mind a bundle of nerves, when in front of him, Kyler interjected, “’Bout damn time you got yourself a new sub.” His messily styled light brown hair dangled over his forehead, and his blue-green eyes stared Dmitri down in a measured way. “Allow yourself this. Train her. Don’t ask one of us to do it.”
    If anyone else had given him such a sharp order, Dmitri would spit out a few choice words, but Kyler was a close friend of eight years. They’d met at the club Chains , when Dmitri was twenty-five, first entering the BDSM scene. Their friendship stuck,