Bonds of Hope

by Lynda Aicher

  “Born and raised about twenty miles from here,” he answered, the pride coming through in his voice. “When I was a kid, I swore I’d move somewhere warm when I grew up. But now I can’t see myself living in a place that never gets snow.”

  A shiver passed through her, and they both laughed. “Obviously, I don’t have that problem. I can’t get used to how cold it is.”

  “This?” He glanced outside at the clear, fall day. “This is a perfect day.” The sun shined through the window and glinted off his hair, highlighting the small blend of auburn weaved into the black. Something she’d never noticed under the lights at The Den.

  “Not hardly.” She scoffed in disagreement. “Perfect is eighty and sunny. Not forty and frosty.”

  He leaned in, his eyes bright with curiosity. “When was the last time you played in the snow?”

  The question stumped her and she had to really think about it for a second. “I was eight when my mom moved us from here, so I’m guessing, what? Seventeen years?”

  “No way.” He sat back, the shock appearing genuine. “You can’t tell me you’ve never been to the mountains in winter.”

  “Yeah,” she conceded. “But I haven’t played in it since I was a kid.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll get lucky and it’ll snow before you head back to sunny, bland California.”

  She shook her head. “If I’m lucky, I’ll get out of this state without seeing the white stuff.”

  “And what fun would that be?”

  A grin covered her face as she crossed her legs and settled back in her seat. This wasn’t what she’d expected when she’d agreed to meet him. But she liked this other side of him. The man behind the Dom.

  Marcus might be commanding, arrogant and shockingly direct, but he was real. It was a consistency she’d been coming to trust and appreciate. Now he was twisting that image with this friendly, open side that was just as appealing. Maybe he played as many roles as she did.

  “Are you close with your family?” she asked.

  He tipped his head. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Meaning?”

  He shrugged. “I get home whenever I can. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in. My younger brother works in St. Paul, but schedules keep us from seeing each other very often.”

  “Do they know about your job? What you do for a living?” It was really none of her business, but she was curious about how honest he was with others about what he did.

  He took a drink of his coffee and glanced out the window, his shoulders squaring in a stance that reminded her of the Dom. “They do.” His smile dimmed, the lightness retreating, and she wished she’d kept the question to herself. “Not that they understand. But they know.”

  “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m sorry,” she added, meaning it. “Your private life is none of my business.” She hated it when people dug into hers.

  “It’s all right. It’s who I am.” He lifted his cup to take another drink, only to halt and set it back down. “I’m fortunate that my parents have always supported me, even if they don’t agree with my choices.”

  “Must be nice.” She stared at her hands. What would feel like to have that kind of unconditional support?

  He nudged her foot under the table. “What about you? You said you’re from here originally.”

  She withheld the instant grimace at his question. It was her own fault for digging into his life. She forced a smile. “Yes.” She could stop there like she usually did. But given how open he was being, she found herself providing more. “That was before my mother decided I needed to be in Hollywood if I wanted to make it big.”

  “You don’t sound happy about that.”

  It was her turn to shrug. “It doesn’t really matter now.” She glanced around the café at the hodgepodge of students and customers. How different would her life be if her mother hadn’t of been so ambitious? “My father and brother still live here.”

  “Really?” His brows rose in surprise. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “Most don’t.”

  “Are you close with them?’

  She shook her head. “No.” The flash of guilt had her taking a serious interest in her coffee cup. How could he understand? “My parents divorced when my mother took me to California. My older brother, Lance, stayed here with my dad. I haven’t really spoken to either of them in years. I’m hoping to see Lance next week when I’m done with this.” She waved a hand between the two of them.

  “Not your dad?”

  There was nothing but curiosity in his voice and the lack of judgment in his eyes encouraged her to answer. “I’m going to start with my brother. See how that goes first.” Why was she telling him so much? She couldn’t stop herself from checking for eavesdroppers or paparazzi.

  He stood and grabbed his coat. “Come on.”

  She frowned. “Where?”

  He slid on his leather jacket then slipped hers off the back of her chair. “For a walk. We should enjoy the nice day while we still have them.” His voice held the lower tone he used at The Den, and she found herself standing, her coat eased on before she’d consciously agreed to leave with him. “And—” he leaned in as he drew her hair out from where it was trapped beneath her coat, “—you won’t have to worry about people listening to our conversation.”

  She spun around. Her hair fell from his fingers in a wave that left her scalp tingling. His sly grin told her there was no use denying his assumption.

  “Why did you ask me here anyway?” She frowned, trying to understand the jumble of emotions raging within her. The desire to comply with his direction battled against her resolve to be more independent. It was confusing and unnecessary. She shouldn’t have come here. “Never mind.”

  She pushed past him and made her way to the exit. Automatically, she pulled her sunglasses from her purse and slid them on as she hit the sidewalk. She crammed her fists into her coat pockets as she strode away from the quaint café. Her bravado of an exit lasted another two steps before a hand landed on her shoulder.

  “Kitten.”

  The firm timber was back in his voice, the word a warning. This wasn’t the stupid Dungeon. And yet, she stopped. Her fists tightened until her nails bit into her palms and she fought the urge to comply. Her bit of defiance was in her refusal to face him.

  “I have a name,” she snapped. The nickname had no place outside the club.

  “And I thought you wanted to keep your identity quiet.” He stepped in front of her and she stared stubbornly at his chest until he forced her chin up. The sternness in his voice didn’t follow through to his eyes, but that didn’t cool her unjust anger.

  It was really annoying always having to look up at everyone. Her height alone put her at an immediate disadvantage that heels rarely negated. And Marcus seemed to tower over her, but he’d never been threatening. Imposing and powerful like now—yes. But he never used it as an intimidation tactic like many did. So what was her problem?

  A breeze lifted her hair and tossed it around her face, and he brushed it away from her lips before she could do it herself. The action was tender, something a lover would do. But he wasn’t her lover. He was her Dom. Her pretend Dom at that. One who’d spent three nights leading her around on leash, showing her every form of kinky, deviant sex practices she could imagine. Yet her lips tingled where he’d touched them and she had to bite her tongue to keep from licking the spot and wondering what it’d be like if he kissed her.

  “Why do you do this to me?” The question was out before she realized she’d said it aloud.

  “What?” He quirked a brow.

  She wasn’t about to admit how much he unsettled her. She closed her eyes for a second, even though he couldn’t see them behind the dark lenses, and inhaled. “Nothing. Sorry. Again.”

  He looked like he was going to push it, but then he stepped back. “Come on.” He handed her the forgotten latte she’d left on the table then slung his arm around her shoulders and tugged
her close.

  They walked in silence for a while and she sipped her coffee, slowly relaxing into the comfort of his offered protection. Now his height gave her an extra sense of security, just like it did at the club. She always felt safe in his presence. That was a rarity in itself.

  The air was brisk, but it was countered by the warmth of the sun. The scent of dead leaves and damp grass seemed to blend with the light trace of Marcus’s aftershave. Students wandered around them, their backpacks heavy with books, their laughter and chatter carrying on the wind. It was all so normal, so foreign.

  “Did you go here?” she asked him before tossing her empty cup into a trash can.

  “Go Gophers!” He pumped his fist in a cheer and a grin. “Yeah. I had a full ride on a football scholarship until I busted my leg junior year.” He gaze wandered over the campus, his focus miles away. “Thankfully I had some brains to fall back on and finished my degree.”

  “Lucky you.” She had nothing to fall back on. Acting was it for her. Most of her school experience consisted of tutors huddled in a cramped trailer. The whole campus camaraderie thing was strange. “Yet you choose to be a Dom instead of using it.”

  “I use it.” He didn’t sound defensive, which surprised her, given how snotty her statement sounded. “There’s a lot of logic and planning involved in my job. Despite what everyone thinks, it’s more than whipping and spanking people.”

  “Do you screw them too?” Well, she was on a roll, wasn’t she?

  He stopped and faced her, his brows lowered. “What are you really asking me?”

  “That,” she insisted, not backing down. It was something she’d wondered about and now that it was out, she really wanted an answer. “Do you do it with all the subs?”

  “Some,” he finally answered, his earlier ease retreating behind the cool Dom face. “But not all. A lot of my clients don’t come to me for that. I don’t have to fuck someone for them to get what they need.”

  “What about what you need?”

  He snorted out a laugh and shook his head. “Commanding others, digging into their mental space to uncover their base needs, breaking them down then building them back up—it’s a powerful rush. I select my clients. They aren’t assigned to me. And we discuss needs and limits beforehand. Just like you and I did.”

  “I get that,” she persisted, ignoring all the warning signs to back off. “But it must be convenient to have so many willing subjects at your beck and call every night. I’m sure you don’t restrict yourself to just your clients.” She didn’t analyze her burning need to push this topic. It was none of her business who he had sex with, yet she couldn’t stop the twinge of jealousy when she thought of him screwing other subs.

  “A Dom is not a whore,” he bit out, his irritation finally showing. He snapped his head around at the burst of giggles and glared at the three girls who rushed by them. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to the side of the path. “I don’t fuck indiscriminately. Nor do I get paid to fuck people. Yes, open displays of sex are pervasive at the club, but a lot of those are committed couples who both want it.”

  Her pulse thumped a rapid beat that wasn’t from fear, but nervous excitement. The conviction and insistence in his tone said as much as his words. And still she pushed, digging deeper when a real submissive would’ve shut up long ago. No, a real submissive never would’ve started the conversation.

  “You didn’t screw that submissive last Friday. The one on that H structure thingy. How come?”

  She flinched back when he jerked her sunglass from her face. The suddenness of the action was so smooth she’d missed any warning of his intent, if there’d been any. She blinked at the brightness until she could focus on him again.

  His eyes had darkened with his growing irritation, revealing the fierce core of belief that he clung to. “Tara and I don’t do that together in public.”

  “Private then?” Her voice was surprisingly clear, given how unsteady her legs were. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “She’s my friend and coworker.” He rubbed his eyes and exhaled a long, slow breath. “What are these questions about?”

  “I’m just trying to understand,” she said honestly. “I have no clue what a professional Dom does.” She searched for an escape route and took the easiest one. “Consider it part of my tutoring.”

  “And that brings us back to your earlier question of why I invited you here.” He tucked her glasses in his pocket and led her to an empty bench in the sun. He brushed fallen leaves off the wooden planks before they both took a seat. “You’ve had three nights now of watching and following me around The Den. I thought it would be good to talk away from the club. See what questions you have when you’re not deep in the environment. Plus, I wanted to make sure you were really okay after the gag scare last night.”

  And wasn’t that just too nice of him? Unexpected for sure. This meeting had been entirely different than she’d anticipated. “I didn’t think most Doms answered questions. They only give orders.”

  “Yet I’m answering all of yours.” He leveled a hard stare at her. “Even the intrusive, personal ones.”

  She ducked her head. “Sorry.” The apology whispered from her lips yet again. She’d been a pushing, nosy bitch for no real reason—at least that he knew of.

  “For one,” he continued, apparently letting her off the hook, “every Dom is different, and this isn’t a typical Dom/sub relationship. Second, there is no standard for what a Dom is like. Only stereotypes that are often flawed. Just like the Hollywood diva.”

  She nudged his leg and bit back her smile. “Is that a dig?”

  “No.” He rubbed her arm and tugged her closer. “Just a point.”

  One well made. She kicked at the leaves under the bench with her Prada boots and imagined her mother wincing at treating her precious boots so poorly. Most of the trees were bare now, leaving the branches naked and lonely looking. She could relate to that.

  “So how old are you?” she asked, wanting to take the subject away from sex before he started drilling her like she’d so rudely done to him.

  “I’ll be thirty in January.”

  Twenty-nine then. She’d thought he was older than that. “How long have you been a Dom at the club?”

  He stared across the open lawn, his eyes tracking the progress of a football game being played among a group of guys on the green. “Since it opened six years ago.”

  “Wow.” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. “I guess that’s a career choice for you.”

  “No more than acting is yours.” There wasn’t sarcasm in his voice, just truth. Acting was what she knew and loved, but she hadn’t exactly chosen to do it. “But yeah, I’m happy with it. Doesn’t mean it’s the only thing I want to do with my life.”

  “How’d you get into it? I mean, it’s not like Dom is on the list of career choices when you were in high school. So how’d you discover you were one?”

  His gaze returned to the football game and there was a hint of wistfulness in his voice when he answered. “I was a bit lost after the doctors told me I’d never play football again. The damage to my knee was too bad to risk another injury. I’d been playing since I was eight years old and then it was gone. It’d been a part of my identity for so long, I didn’t know who I was without it.”

  He stretched his back against the bench and ran a hand through his hair before he dropped it to rub at the side of his knee, but she didn’t think he realized he was doing it. “I was still on crutches when a buddy dragged my grumbling ass to a leather club. It just clicked for me. Watching the Doms, feeling the strength and power exchange that takes place, it resonated with me. At first, it gave me back the sense of control and power I’d lost. Eventually, it brought a fulfillment that I never had with football.”

  “But you’re not just a Dom.”

  “No, I’m not. But it’s a major part of me. It’s like saying you’re just an actress when it’s only a part of the whole you.”

  She
shifted and turned so she could look at him better. His profile was remarkably unspoiled, given his revelation that he’d played college football. No bump in his nose or scar to mar the smooth lines and sharp angles. “Why are you sharing all of this with me?”

  His mouth quirked in a quick smile. “Because you’re asking me.” He looked at her then. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Nothing?” She doubted that. “Everyone has something to hide.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “Not from you.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She leaned her head on his arm and looked up at the sky through the trees, dismissing the subtext of his statement that warmed her when it shouldn’t. It held to many unspoken implications that said this was more than a temporary thing. This was entirely too comfortable. Normal. She couldn’t get used to it, but she didn’t want to move. “No skeletons, huh?”

  “None that I’m afraid of.”

  “Must be nice,” she said wistfully. Her closet was rattling with bones. But for the first time in a long time they didn’t seem that important.

  They sat in silence for a bit. The pedestrian traffic of the college campus passed by but no one disturbed them. It was a bit like hiding in plain sight for her. It was the freedom she’d sought when she’d made her escape to this city, and Marcus was giving it to her without knowing it.

  “I reserved a private room for us tonight.”

  His statement was said so calmly she had to scramble her wandering thoughts to understand what he was talking about. “You mean at the club?”

  “Well, we could meet at a hotel, but I thought The Den would be more private.”

  She punched his side, the hit barely moving him. “Sarcasm not appreciated.”

  He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his leg. “You keep hitting me, and I’m going to think it’s a hint.”

  Was it? She’d spent hours analyzing her reaction to the brief spanking he’d given her that first night. The shock had quickly progressed past the pain to create a strange desire she was still trying to process. It’d been much better than the gag experience. “How come you’re not making me call you sir here?”