Dare to Love Again

by Maddie Taylor

  As an ABA certified paralegal for eight years, with her experience in litigation, domestic relations, and tort law, she should be overseeing him. It didn’t matter she did the bulk of the research, pored through case law in the same software program the attorney used, interviewed clients, collected and organized evidence, prepared the documents for trial, and coordinated everything on a case for a fraction of the pay.

  At the last minute, wearing a high dollar suit, and putting on a good show for the court, the lawyer walked in and took all the glory for her hard work. And heaven forbid they lost. In essence, he got to be the hero but never the goat, that fell to her. Still, it was interesting work and she enjoyed it. Up until Mr. Reinhart went off the rails a few months back. And before he started issuing deadlines for work already completed.

  But sitting around grumbling wouldn’t get the work done or pay her bills. The latter didn’t amount to much. Her car was paid off, and she didn’t have a house payment, Andrew’s two million-dollar life insurance had left her enough to pay cash for it, even in LA County, and she still had a nest egg left over. It wouldn’t last forever if she didn’t manage it carefully, especially with the cost of living through the roof in Southern California and, if Master Eric let her stay, the hefty club membership fees.

  Monday turned out to be a surprisingly productive day. She worried Tuesday would blow up at the last minute like Friday had, when Mr. Reinhart made a late appearance. He ran in a little after three o’clock, red faced and perspiring a little, and without a word to anyone, went straight to his office and slammed the door. Not a minute later, Bradley showed up in her doorway a worried look on his face, but before they could commiserate over what shit storm was about to blow their way, the attorney slammed back out and strode out the front door.

  “This is getting old fast,” Brad grumbled.

  “I know. Any idea what’s up with him?”

  “Me? You’ve been here longer, I was hoping you did.”

  She shook her head. “All I can say is it gets worse by the week, and please don’t take this the wrong way—” she stopped short, sure what she was going to say would absolutely be taken the wrong way.

  “The clients are getting worse too,” he finished for her. “That’s what you were going to say, right? I’ve noticed that too.”

  “I’ve never seen so many drug cases, and pro bono work. I’m surprised he can make payroll. What about you?”

  “The same.” Brad had a wife, a baby on the way, and a brand-new mortgage on a pretty expensive townhouse which he’d purchased after starting with the firm, and he looked scared to death. “Between you and me, Esme, should I update my resume?”

  “I can’t answer that for you except to say I plan to.”

  Hurricane Gerald passing through quickly allowed Esme to leave at four o’clock as planned and plenty of time to get ready for the evening. She arrived at the club thirty minutes early and found a quiet table. The only reason this was possible was because they had live entertainment and most of the early crowd had congregated around the small stage and the alternative rock band playing.

  From her vantage point, she had a good view of everything happening around her. She’d skipped this experience before now and found that the music was excellent, the atmosphere upbeat, the dancing seductive, and like the rest of the club, everything lush and top quality. Except for being more upscale, there wasn’t much different than any other club she’d been in. Her gaze strayed to the next booth and over the brunette who sat there alone. Her eyes were closed, and she had both arms stretched over her head. Esme glanced upward noting the cuffs around her wrists then followed the chain they were affixed to high up above to the ceiling. Okay, maybe the differences to the other clubs was more striking.

  She looked around, thinking it odd she’d been left restrained and unattended, but she didn’t appear in distress. In fact, looking at her more closely, she noted her cheeks were flushed, her crimson tinted lips were parted, and her chest rose and fell faster than it should. The reason became clear when a hand with fingers splayed wide appeared from below and slid up her belly. It was masculine, the thick wrist and muscled forearm making it obvious. But Esme couldn’t see the man attached to it.

  Fascinated, she couldn’t look away, not when it veered off its straight path, cupped the underside of her breast, and with thumb and forefinger working in concert, plucked, rolled, then pinched an already hard nipple. The woman arched into the touch and her head fell forward. The loud music couldn’t drown out the groan of abject pleasure or the name she cried, “Andrew!”

  Esme stiffened, shock knifing through her when a head covered in closely cropped sandy blond hair appeared from under the table. Her focus shifted back to the hand, and the gold band on the third finger, and up to a tattooed bicep. It couldn’t be her Andrew; he’d died in her arms.

  When the man turned his head to take his sub’s other nipple into his mouth, Esme saw his profile. Sharper more angular features and a thick scruff of beard broke the shock that gripped her. Glancing back at the tattoo on his arm, she realized it was all wrong too. Not the eagle, globe, and anchor she’d traced with her fingers so often, but with a closer look, recognized it as a falcon.

  Great. Now she was hallucinating.

  Suddenly being here felt wrong. What was she doing? Hadn’t she decided the club, and the charmingly seductive Master Finn was more than she was ready for?

  As if her thoughts had the power to make him materialize, he slid into the empty side of the booth. His gaze swept over her, keying in on her dress, what could be seen above the table, and his approving grin sent her pulse racing. She’d met his condition of clingy with the simple sheath, it was also sexy, and feminine, which she could tell pleased him. Made of a spandex blend with a feminine lace overlay, it had a deep center cutout which showed the entire inner curves of her breasts. It was short, though he couldn’t see the amount of leg it exposed, but without panties she had to sit carefully or risk providing a floor show that rivaled the band.

  “Pale pink looks lovely on you, lass, much better than done to death black leather.” His smile faded when he got a good look at her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t stay.”

  He looked at her closely, then around the bar. “What spooked you?”

  His search paused on the couple at the next table, now much further along. He was seated on the bench with her on top of him, the chains still affixed to her cuffs clanked rhythmically over her head as she rode her Dom

  Keiran turned back. “That’s tame compared to what you’ve seen inside.”

  “I… It’s not—” she stopped to collect herself before she started babbling. “I would have sent word, but I had no way to contact you.” She paused again, swallowing hard before she blurted out, “I don’t want this.”

  He didn’t react, not visibly, other than to tilt his head to the side a bit as he considered her. “This, as in drinks before playing?” he asked at length. “Talking and getting to know a little bit about the man you’ll be playing with? Or this, meaning me? Perhaps you can be more specific.”

  Great, now she’d ticked him off.

  “I never intended to… I don’t want—”

  “Take a breath, relax, and tell me what it is you don’t want, Esme.”

  She searched for something other than the truth, that he stirred more in her than she was prepared for and it scared the crap out of her. She latched onto an undeniable difference. “You like whips. That’s too extreme for me, and we, um… don’t have very much in common. So… I thought, well… it’s probably best… if we end things, now… before they get started.”

  Though she hemmed and hawed terribly, she finally managed to spit out her lame justification, one riddled with bold-faced lies, because after the other night, each of her fantasies had starred a bare to the waist, gorgeous, muscular, utterly enthralling Keiran Finnegan with of all things, a braided, shot loaded black snake in his hands.

  Daring to look
up and see how he took it, she flushed furiously beneath the intensity of his narrow-eyed, tight face, wholly skeptical stare. Damn insightful Dom could see right through her. She needed to go, now, before he started digging and her resistance crumbled. But as she started to slide sideways, a large, black boot blocked her way.

  “If any of that is true, lass, which I strongly doubt, why are you here, dressed to please, in a clingy pink dress exactly as I requested?” Though he stated his observations calmly, the determined glint in his eyes told her he was ready to lay out his case, disputing her claims, like a defense attorney during cross examination. “The lace is a nice touch, another suggestion of mine, if I recall.” When he continued, it was in the low, seductive burr she found irresistible. “If I were a betting man, I’d put down serious money that when you wiggled into that fuck-me dress you weren’t thinking I was too extreme or that we had little in common, enough to obediently leave off your panties. Shall I slip my hand beneath it and see if I’m right?”

  Torn between fear that he would and dread that he wouldn’t, she said nothing, staring down at her hands.

  “If you changed your mind, you could have called and left your regrets with someone on staff, instead of coming out having followed my orders to the letter.”

  “That would have been incredibly rude.”

  “Perhaps, but if I’m truly not the man for you, the risk of me punishing your rudeness by taking you over my knee and spanking your lovely ass until you’re dripping wet for me again is nil.”

  She sucked in a breath, as her startled gaze shot to his. He hadn’t touched her Friday night, but he’d known the effect he’d had on her all the same.

  He leaned in, which with his size, even sitting across the table brought him close. “The choice is always up to you, Esme.” Pausing, he searched her face, the intensity of his gaze making her squirm. Unable to hold it, her chin dipped down and she stared at her hands again, something safer to her peace of mind than Master Finn. “I might not like your choice, or believe it, but I’ll respect it. And it seems you leave me no choice, lass, other than to bow out gracefully.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she whispered.

  “But that doesn’t eliminate your problem or Master Eric’s ultimatum. Since you’re here, looking beautiful, those efforts should be rewarded, not wasted. Let’s find you another Dom who might suit you better.”

  No. She didn’t want that at all.

  “That’s really not necessary. I’ve taken enough of your time. I can find someone on my own.”

  “After three unsuccessful months we both know that’s not true.” He turned and scanned the room. “When reviewing your file, I noticed suspension marked as something you’d be interested in trying. I see someone who excels at that.” He held up his hand.

  “Oh, but… I…” Her protest died when she saw the man he flagged down was Master Tristan, the Brad Pitt lookalike, from Eric’s list. He’d rejected her once already, so it was a safe bet he’d do so again. She let out a relieved sigh.

  She felt Master Finn’s eyes on her, but kept her gaze averted. She could feel the irritation coming off him in waves.

  Good. With him annoyed, and most likely angry, after the other Master turned her down flat, she could go home.

  “Finn,” the other Dom said in greeting. “You’re becoming a regular again. About damn time.”

  Hearing her unintended nickname for him was actually a thing, she decided after tonight she’d have to rename her cat.

  “Esme has decided I might not be daring enough for her.”

  “Oh, no,” she rushed to explain. “I didn’t mean to imply that at all.”

  “Hush, subbie, I’m negotiating on your behalf.”

  “Who gave you permission to do that?”

  “I did.” This came from Master Eric who stood at the end of their table, Val tucked under his arm and close to his side. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. When I said I’d arrange a Dom for you, I didn’t mean for a one and done scene. You’re on extended probation; under Master Keiran’s direct supervision. Your probation officer, shall we say?”

  “How long is this extended period for?” she snapped.

  “Watch your tone, lass,” Master Finn advised. “In answer to your question, your probation lasts until your Dom decides, which according to the Master Dom is still me.”

  She couldn’t keep the scowl from her face—she was being manipulated and didn’t like it one bit.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Val shaking her head in warning, but too late. Finn didn’t let much by him.

  “While running around unsupervised, it appears you’ve forgotten your manners. Snapping and glaring at dominants, for example. You’ll be spared the whip and the more extreme implements, since that isn’t what you want,” he deliberately used her words against her, “but being with me won’t exempt you from punishments. As for scenes, I’ll have to arrange those with Doms who might better suit your tastes. Master Tristan.” He held her eyes, but addressed the Master still waiting and taking in their little drama. “Esme has expressed a desire for suspension; she also likes strict bondage, moderate pain, but no whips, canes, or gags. You’ll take care of my girl and show her a good time, yes?”

  “Absolutely.” He took hold of her wrist and pulled her to her feet, a huge grin on his handsome face. “This should be fun, Red. Let’s go.”

  He had her out of her chair and halfway to the dungeon before she found her voice. “Wait, I thought you didn’t want to be used as a pathway to membership.”

  “You never mentioned your interests. Shibari is my passion, and I’m a rigger always in search of a sub I can tie up in knots.”

  “No, please, I don’t want to.”

  “What was that?” he asked, not stopping. “The band is loud tonight.”

  “Red,” she shouted. He immediately came to a halt and she said more softly, “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t want to play.”

  “Is it that you don’t want to play, Esme? Or you’re afraid to?”

  “Excellent question, my friend,” Keiran’s burr sounded close to her ear. She turned to him, like the first night with Carlos, seeking his strength and protection, instinctively knowing despite their disagreement he’d give it unconditionally. When he immediately wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, she melted against him.

  “I’ll take it from here, Tris. Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” was his amused reply, but he didn’t take the hint and leave, apparently enjoying the Esme show more than the one on the stage.

  Whatever. Things had turned out too easily in Finn’s favor. Her head fell back, and she voiced her suspicion. “You set me up.”

  “No, lass, you’re easy to read.”

  “But, how could you know I’d refuse him?”

  “I didn’t, but when you started panicking, you fell back on old habits—refusing all offers, even mine. Tristan is a friend, so is Eric, and both are very astute, they simply followed my lead.”

  “And I played right into your hand,” she said stiffly, trying to pull away, but the arm at her waist held her securely.

  “You haven’t chosen anyone in three months, Esme. I felt pretty safe you wouldn’t go from shy observer to naked suspension in the blink of an eye. This proves you’re a long way from being off probation.”

  “Because I wouldn’t let a stranger string me up by my feet?”

  “No, because you think after one spanking and a good cry, you’re unstuck. I’m good, a stór, but I’m not a magician.”

  Not missing his grin, she snorted at his arrogance and then, because his perceptive gaze saw too much for her comfort, looked out at the still very crowded dance floor.

  “Another reason I was sure you wouldn’t go with Tris…” He caught her chin in his hand, giving her no choice but to face him. “You want me. You’re denying it and think you can brush me aside like the others, but despite all the conflicting emotions swirling around in your brain, when you felt threatened, you turned to
me, which means you trust me on some level.”

  Tristan leaned in. “Saint Keiran is patient and wise, little one, trust him to guide you through whatever is holding you back. But if you want to experience the thrill of being strung up by your feet by a stranger, I’m your Dom.”

  The Master holding her narrowed his eyes at the other man who was enjoying this a bit too much and said dismissively. “I’ll let you know if it comes to that, but don’t turn blue holding your breath.”

  Without saying more, Master Tristan left, though he did so chuckling.

  She noticed Eric, who had stayed to see it all play out, appeared inordinately pleased. Beside him, Val’s expression looked decidedly sympathetic as she gave her an encouraging smile.

  “What happened to it being my choice?” she muttered. “This hardly seems fair.”

  “Who said a submissive’s lot was fair?” Eric looked down at Val and asked, “What about you, baby? Do you get fair from your Dom?”

  “Rarely, but I always get what I need, like it or not.”

  A grin lit his face. “A perfect answer,” he murmured while kissing the glossy hair on top of her head. “Keiran, since it appears you’ve got this situation well under control, we’re off to the dungeon to play.”

  “Have a good night,” Master Finn said.

  Eric chuckled. “We’re at Decadence, I have a beautiful submissive on my arm, that is a given, my friend.”

  When his friends walked away, he extended his arm to their table. “You, sweet lass, look like you could use a drink.” Catching her hand, he led the way and took a seat. When she didn’t immediately follow, he patted the space next to him.

  She eyed it, skeptically, unsure how all of this had backfired but certain this Master was too smart for her own good; she opted for the safe seat across from him and slid in on the other side of the booth.

  He grinned, obviously enjoying this more than she was.