Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know, sir.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you find an answer, and neither can any of our Masters, if you won’t let us do our part. And, unfortunately, the members have started to complain.”
That was a surprise, and it stung. “But… I don’t understand. I do my best not to bother anyone.”
“You mentioned our voyeurs. For each one who likes to watch, we have as many exhibitionists. But there’s an unwritten contract here. Everyone gets naked and vulnerable. Some may be slow to warm up, but eventually, everyone does, it evens the playing field. To have one out of over five hundred who doesn’t, who stands on the outside looking in, lurking one of them called it, has been noticed and is making them uncomfortable.” He twisted and grabbed the folder once more. “The history you gave us on your application is vague. Perhaps you can fill in the blanks which will help me decide how best you could fit in.”
He flipped through the pages as though looking for something specific.
“Your last Master was how long ago?”
“Five years, sir.”
His blue eyes narrowed on her as he frowned. “That’s a long time for a submissive to be alone. Did something happen—perhaps something traumatic—to make you so wary about playing again?”
Echoes of sounds from the day filled her head—shouts, screams, her screams, and Andrews gasping whispers—images of that day flashed before her eyes. Her pulse raced faster, and a tightness encompassed her chest. Recognizing the symptoms, she quickly slammed the door on the memories rushing forth.
Compartmentalization, her therapist called it, a finely-honed defense mechanism she’d learned to utilize to keep the trauma of her past from becoming overwhelming again. During the day, she could hold the memories at bay by firmly locking them away. Most of the time, it worked. Eric’s questions had caused a tiny crack to open.
“Where did you go?”
His voice, softer than she’d ever heard it, still made her jump. Caught in the middle of a flashback, she became flustered, struggling to recall what they’d been discussing. When she couldn’t, she asked, “I, uh… excuse me, what was your question?” Then tried hard not to cringe at her stammering.
“I asked about past trauma. That’s why you’re reluctant to play, isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “If you mean abuse, no, sir. My last Master—my husband—was very good to me, but he died unexpectedly. He was only thirty-two, and it took time for me to grieve his passing.” It wasn’t a lie, all of that happened; she just left out important details. Now she had to hope he wouldn’t get out his shovel to dig deeper.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I can see it is still very difficult to discuss.” He leaned forward and caught her chin, bringing her face up to his. “I don’t mean to be cruel when I say this, but after five years, perhaps you have more work to do.”
“He was special,” she whispered. “I loved him very much.” Also, not a lie.
“You had professional counseling?”
She nodded. “My therapist, and Pax both recommended I get back out there and start living again.”
“When was that?”
She averted her gaze. Damn dominants had the innate ability to know when a submissive was hiding something. They probed and prodded, burrowed and dug, threatened, and yes, sometimes punished, until the truth, no matter how ugly or painful, came flooding out. Once uncovered, they wanted to fix things, work on deep seated issues, drawing feelings and emotions out of a sub to help her grow. The good ones were tricky that way.
But Esme didn’t want a stranger digging into her past, ripping open old wounds, and stirring up emotions better left buried where they couldn’t hurt her anymore.
“If you keep stalling after each question, we’ll be here all night.” Said gently, but with firmness, it reminded her how he felt about evasion.
“That was two years ago.”
“Do you still see her?”
Esme shook her head. “I saw her in Baltimore.”
“You’re stuck, little subbie, and hanging out here, by yourself, watching others play will not get you unstuck.”
He held out his hand. It took a moment for her to realize he had a business card between his fingers.
She took it and flipped it over. Embossed in bold black print was the name, Valerie Thornton, LCSW, the address listed was in Long Beach.
Her gaze rose to his in question.
“Valerie is my wife and my submissive. She’s also a lifestyle friendly therapist and you can trust her to keep everything confidential. If not her, she can recommend someone else because after this long, you’re fooling yourself if you think you’re not stuck.” He closed her file, twisted, and dropped it back on the desk. “This brings me to the difficult decision about your continued membership here at the club.”
“You’d kick me out?”
He grimaced. “Not so drastic as that. Perhaps delay your full membership until you’re ready. When Pax gets back—”
“But, sir, there’s no telling how long that could be.” Tears, something she hadn’t experience for a long time, pricked her eyes. “Please. I don’t want to leave. I’ve got nowhere else to go. The public clubs are awful.”
“I agree, and don’t recommend them, but I must consider all my members in my decision.” He folded his arms over his broad chest, one hand stroking his chin as he studied her at length. “I’m willing to give you another chance,” he said at last.
“Oh, thank you.”
He held up his hand. “I have conditions, however. While I can’t insist you find a therapist, I encourage you to call Val at least. She won’t mind my revealing you have something in common. She lost her first husband, too.”
Esme wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’ve been thinking about starting counseling again, but didn’t know with who, or where.”
“Here.”
She looked up and took the tissue he extended.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, I’m not done.”
She didn’t think she’d get off that easy. Nodding, she looked up at him and waited to see what hoop she’d have to jump through to stay.
“Sometimes you have to attack a problem to get past it, but it can be difficult on your own, especially in the lifestyle. You need a good therapist and a good dominant. The first I don’t think I can ethically require, the second I can insist upon, however. My condition during your extended probation is you find a Dom to accompany you in the dungeon or I feel I must suspend your membership until your sponsor returns.”
“Tonight?” she squeaked.
“I’m not such a hardass as that, subbie. You’ve paid for the month, I’ll allow the week you have left to find someone. I can make recommendations. A few of our members have lost partners and will know what you’re going through.”
She wrinkled her nose. A sympathetic shoulder to cry on and someone to tear open her old wounds. No, thank you.
He read her reaction adroitly. “You’ll tell me if you change your mind.” He stood, signaling their meeting had ended.
She rose too though unsteadily.
He took her arm and led her to the door. “I don’t think you should start tonight. Go home and think about what I’ve said.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That card, use it. Val may be my wife, but she’s excellent at what she does, and she’s been where you are.”
Esme doubted anyone had been where she was—ever. But she answered politely, “Thank you, sir, I will.”
He escorted her down the hall and back to the lobby. With him watching, along with the curious eyes of the nosy, bitchy Amelia, she somehow managed to hold back her tears while exiting into the late afternoon sunshine and heat of LA and Beverly Boulevard.
Chapter 5
Using the rear entrance from the parking garage, Keiran took the back stairs from the second floor to the administrative suite. Eric had left a message he wanted a word. How the savvy o
wner knew he intended to be here tonight, he had no idea. He was weird that way, even more so since marrying Valerie who also had a sixth sense or clairvoyance or intuitive nature of some sort.
He regretted telling Jerry he’d take his DM shift tonight. Rossi kept him so busy he could work 24/7 and never get caught up. The four new men starting next week wouldn’t bring the deluge from their leaky dam down to a trickle. He needed a dozen more, maybe two.
He’d turned away three new cases this week alone. If he couldn’t guarantee results, he wouldn’t put the Rossi name on the line. What he wouldn’t give for a good old embezzlement case or something cut and dried like a black ops extraction where the mission was simple—infiltrate the stronghold, secure the target, and get out.
Keiran thanked the good Lord he had control of the security business rather than the club. If he thought he had problems, he couldn’t imagine the headaches and drama, five hundred members could create when mixing sex, pain, and power exchange. Dupree could have it. He’d stick to working with a team of highly skilled professionals even when their prime objective was keeping filthy rich, often spoiled, celebrity clients safe. His men were no drama, caused minimal headaches, and at the end of the day, were happy to keep busy and collect their pay—which was considerable.
Once he hit the lower landing, he pushed through the panic bar. The door swung back on its hinges with a bang—he cringed not having intended to tear up the place—then strode to Dupree’s open office door.
Standing behind his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, his business partner was waiting for him. “Stealth never has been your strong suit, Finnegan.”
“When it’s called for I’m as sure-footed and quiet as a panther. Getting called on the carpet by the Master Dom didn’t appear to require my cat-like qualities. What’s up?”
“I need a favor.” He picked up a file folder and extended it over his desk.
Keiran took it but didn’t open it, instead, he looked back at Eric, puzzled. “You need me to run background? Thomas usually handles that for potential members. If he’s backed up, Jerry or Victor can handle it. Or we can kick it to Jonas and his team.” As soon as he suggested it, he silently nixed the idea. The San Antonio boys had bailed them out too often as the branch got on its feet. He’d run the check himself before asking.
“She’s not a potential, but a trial member and her three months are almost up. And she’s no one’s grandmother, just a beautiful, young widow who needs to get back in the game.”
Ordinarily, that would have gotten his attention, but his plate was full and spilling over onto the table. And he didn’t see what the problem was; many single Doms came to mind who’d be willing to take on such an assignment. Not him, not right now, however.
He waited for his friend to get to the point.
“I’d like you to handle her personally,” Eric added.
As he suspected. “I don’t have time to take on a project. Let me suggest Jerry or Victor, again.”
“I considered them, but I thought you might work better for her.”
He dropped the file onto the desk. “Sorry, I barely have enough time to enjoy a scene with a submissive I don’t have to handle with care.”
“You handle them all with care, that’s why I’m asking.”
“Why me? We’ve got at least one hundred unattached Doms on our roll.”
Eric grimaced, not overtly, just with a slight flattening of his mouth. If he didn’t know the man so well, he’d have missed it. His hesitancy over disclosing the problem with the sub made him even more set to decline.
“Out with it, man. I’ve got three free hours and didn’t plan on conducting an interrogation.”
“She’s having trouble opening up. The Doms who have offered and been rejected—which is near all the one hundred you mentioned, have started calling her Elsa.”
“Who?”
“You know, the Disney princess from Frozen?”
He blinked, frowning before he drawled, “You’re kidding me, right? How the hell would I know anything about Disney princesses? A better question, how the hell do you?”
“Valerie has a seven-year-old niece, and I haven’t been living under a rock for the past two years. Regardless of how I know, earning the nickname of an ice princess at a sex club is problematic, don’t you agree?”
“What’s her problem, specifically?”
“In three months, she hasn’t engaged once. Doms offer, she declines. Even the male subs have approached—nothing.”
“Maybe she’s into women.”
“I thought of that, but Mistress Latrice put the moves on her last week.”
“And?”
“Her face turned as white as the satin sheets in the Virgin Bride’s theme room and she practically ran from the dungeon.”
“What does she get out of coming here?”
“Good question, one I asked her point blank.”
“And?”
“She says she doesn’t know. But I’ve watched her, and the need is there but something is holding her back. She practically melted into the floor while observing an erotic spanking scene between Flynn and Cassie.”
“Those two put off enough heat to melt the polar ice caps.”
“Exactly. She swayed toward the ropes, drawn to their intense chemistry. Her face became flushed, hands clenched into fists at her sides. I waited to see which she’d do first, fall to the floor when her knees turned to jelly as she came just from watching them or bite a hole in her lip from trying to fight it.”
“She’s a voyeur then?”
“Perhaps, but there’s something else going on with her; I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“What does it say on her application?”
His eyes rose to meet Keiran’s. “She conveniently left the D/s identifier blank.”
“And you let that fly?”
“I was on a mission for you at the time, and the board didn’t question Ryan Paxton’s sponsorship.”
“The FBI agent?”
Eric nodded. Intrigued now, he asked, “What’s their connection?”
“She says he’s a friend of her former Master, but there’s more, I feel it in my gut.”
“I thought you said you ran a background check.”
“I did, but it turned up nothing. Not even a speeding ticket. And Pax is unavailable. I suspect he’s on an undercover assignment. In any case, he’s unavailable for me to ask and will be for some time.”
“I shared a few drafts with him a while back. He made a move to the bureau after his partner got shot. He was vague about how it all went down, but I got the feeling there was corruption at the heart of it. He mentioned an internal affairs investigation, and that he couldn’t stomach it anymore.”
His friend’s brows drew down in a frown and he nodded. “She disclosed she’s a widow. One of the few personal details I got out of her.”
“A grieving widow, her husband who is also her Dom, killed in the line of duty. Looks like we’ve just found our problem.”
“Our problem?” A grin split Eric’s face despite the seriousness of the subject. “I knew you were the Dom for the job.”
“Oh, no. Not this Dom, or this job. I misspoke.”
”Misspoke, my ass. You’re intrigued. You’re also in a rut, my friend. You need a challenge.”
“Rossi is enough of a challenge, believe me.”
“That’s work, this would be play. You know the old saying about all work, don’t you, Jack?”
He stared at the man, puzzled. “If that’s a Yank saying, you’ll recall where I’m from.”
“All work and no play make Jack, and Keiran, dull boys.”
His response was a scowl, not finding Dupree funny at all.
“Don’t refuse until you see her. She’s lovely, and sweetly submissive, though rusty after this long dry spell.”
“How long?”
“Five years.”
“Damn, that’s an eternity for a submissive to be on her ow
n. The poor lass is stuck.”
“Precisely what I said. You’ll take her on, then?” Seeing his hesitation, the devious matchmaking Master Dom pushed more. “Who better than you, Saint Keiran, to help her find herself again?”
It was actually worse than that. Dubbed Patient as a Saint Keiran by the club submissives when one particularly annoying smart-ass masochist, or SAM, for short, tried testing him during a scene. He had a penchant for the single tail, but a whip in the hand of a short-tempered Dom was a bad combination. Though her sharp tongue had tested his resolve, he’d hang up his whip for good before administering more pain than he was comfortable giving. Instead, he dragged out the scene, making her writhe with stinging licks of fire all over her body, withholding the cutting marks and welts she seemed to crave, keeping her on the edge of orgasm for over an hour. She was begging his pardon along with his permission to come, by the time he finally relented. During aftercare, she’d been dewy-eyed and appropriately submissive, but that SAM hadn’t played her games with him since.
“I’m on the verge of canceling her membership, which I don’t want to do.”
“Why would you?”
“It seems the youngsters don’t mind being gawked at as long as they get to gawk in return.”
“You had complaints about her watching? What the fuck?” He shook his head. “LA. They sure grow ‘em odd out here.”
“Complaint—as in one.”
“What?”
“I may have given her the impression there were more.”
“May have?”
Eric shrugged. “I do what I must. Especially when I see a beautiful, young submissive struggling. She needs a firm, highly skilled, not easily flustered Dom—not a hothead. You’re one of the few single Masters I’d trust with her. I’m asking you to take her on.” He picked up the file and extended it to him again.
This time he paid more attention, reading the label aloud. “Esme Spade. An unusual name. Is it short for something?”
“I didn’t ask. Mainly we discussed why she’s sitting on the sidelines while life passes her by; it’s a waste. Five years is too long to grieve, no matter the tragedy. She needs to dive in again full tilt.”
Dare to Love Again Page 6
