Safeword Interrupted (The Cattail Club Book 1)

by Trace, Dakota

  He picked up the velvet box, and snapped it shut. “It seems my future wife and I are going to have a discussion about secrets, before I march her ass to the nearest preacher.”

  LeRoy frowned. “What happened to waiting a year or more?”

  A slow grin crossed Deacon’s face. “If you were me, would you let the submissive who rocks your world with her submission, but acts like a momma bear outside the bedroom get away?”

  A chuckle escaped his uncle. “Not if I loved her.”

  “Exactly.” He pocketed the box, then headed for the door – his impatience tugging at him. He needed to find Bethany.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Shit.” Bethany groaned softly when she pulled into the drive next to her small, but quaint home. She’d fallen in love with the ranch style house shortly after returning home from college. While not large with only two bedrooms and a single bath, it suited her needs.

  Well at least it had…until I had to go and get knocked up. What the hell am I going to tell my master?

  While she didn’t see Deacon’s truck, there was no denying his presence – especially when all six foot three of him waited for her, lounging on her porch swing. With his ball cap pulled over his eyes, white t-shirt and faded jeans, he looked just like every other guy in town enjoying the light summer breeze after a hard day’s work.

  Shoving her car into park, she took a deep breath. After her confrontation with his mother and her eye-opening visit to the clinic, the last thing her fragile hold on her emotions could handle was seeing the father of her unborn child. Her hand cupped her stomach. “Get a grip, Bethany. It’s not as if you got this way all by yourself.”

  But damned if she was to up the fight that was sure to follow her announcement. Maybe she could put it off a day or a year. She sighed. “Yeah right – a whole year – hell not even three months. It’s not like he won’t notice real quickly the fact his submissive is growing round and fat with his baby.”

  Maybe she could just stay in her car? Wait him out? As fast as the thoughts came to her, she discarded them. Staying in the car wouldn’t solve anything. He’d simply come over and see why she was taking so long – and hoping he’d leave? Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Once Deacon Willis set his mind on something, little would deter him.

  Judging by the look on his face, he’s not about to leave.

  She swore under her breath as he unfolded his thick frame from the swing and headed her direction. “Might as well get this over with. Maybe he hasn’t talked to his mom yet.” She grabbed her purse, along with the bag holding the prenatal vitamins and anti-nausea medicine the volunteer at Planned Parenthood had given her, before sliding out of the car.

  She met him at the edge of the porch steps – him standing at the top step and her at the bottom. The three steps between them should’ve seemed small, but to Bethany’s already strained nerves the difference was huge. She couldn’t force herself to climb the steps to stand beside him.

  “Bethany?” Deacon hooked his thumbs in his front belt loops. “We need to talk.”

  She locked her knees. “We do?”

  His piercing gaze never left her face. “Yes, we do. I wanted to talk to you first, but after I couldn’t find you, I stopped by my mom’s and -”

  “You did…” Horror mixed with rage filled her. How dare his mother tell him? She should’ve been the one…Bethany tightened her fingers around the paper sack as dark spots danced in front of her eyes and her stomach lurched. Then she dropped not only her sack, but her purse as well. “Move!”

  * * * *

  “Little one?” Worry hit him hard as his submissive covered her mouth with one hand, pushed past him, and rushed into the house, leaving her purse and bag on the stoop. He cursed low as he followed her inside. The living room was empty, but he could hear the slam of the bathroom door, followed by the distinctive sound of vomiting.

  “Shit!” He raked his hand through his hair, while debating with himself on a plan of action. He’d come over in the hopes of giving her the ring he’d shown his mother. But, instead of proposing to his little submissive, he was listening to her get sick. This wasn’t how he’d planned on asking Bethany to marry him. He should go after her, offer his moral support by holding her hair back, but the sound of her continued vomiting causing his stomach to churn warned him not to even tempt fate. Not only did Bethany hate anyone seeing her being sick, there would be no way he’d be able to help her without getting nauseous himself.

  “Some big bad Dom, I am. I can’t even help my sub when she’s ill. ” Worried, he paced back toward the door. All he could do was wait her out. It was on his third trip between the couch and door that he spotted the white sack and her purse lying on the steps. The same bag she’d been carrying when she got out of the car.

  “Might as well bring it in.” Pushing open the screen door, he retrieved them. After setting her purse on the table, he turned over what looked suspiciously like a pharmacy bag. Had she gone to the doctor without telling him? Irritation rolled through him. While they didn’t have a 24/7 power exchange, he’d like to think that she’d at least tell him that she had an appointment. Maybe that damned flu bug that had hit her so hard the week before was back. He wouldn’t put it past her not to want to worry him.

  “Stubborn little wench.” His own plate had been full between dealing with his obstinate uncle and taking his mother to her chemo. In fact, they’d barely seen each other all week - a situation he hadn’t been happy with in the least. Maybe it was time to talk about her moving in with him. It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have his ring on her finger. Other engaged couples had lived together before their weddings without raising any eyebrows in their small community. Now all he had to do was convince his little sub to either give up the house she’d worked so hard for, or rent it to someone else.

  “Fuck.” He tore open the bag. Maybe he could start by showing her how much he loved her by getting whatever medicine the doctor had prescribed ready for when she came out. She’d expect him to be gone. He never dealt with any kind of illness well. Reaching into the cabinet above the counter, he pulled out a glass, then reached for the first bottle. It had a hand written label on it. Zofran. He recognized the drug from his previous conversation with Bethany. Her doctor had said she might prescribe the med if Bethany’s nausea didn’t ease.

  “Take one every four to six hours as needed,” he read the directions aloud. “That’s easy enough.” Then he turned to the second bottle. An antibiotic he assumed, or at least until he read the label. “Prenatal Vitamins – take two a day with a full glass of water.”

  The bottle fell from his suddenly numb fingers, his brain trying to find a reason why his submissive would need such a thing. They’d agreed to wait.

  She can’t be pregnant – she promised.

  Anger, then fear washed over him. He didn’t know the slightest thing about being a dad. They had agreed to wait at least a few years until he was more comfortable with the idea of a child. How dare she –

  “You’re still here.” The flat tone of her voice from behind him had him spinning around, the bottle of pills still in his hands. Bethany stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her normally neat and tidy blond hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked decidedly pale, and her arms were wrapped around herself in a defensive posture. His anger died a sudden death. His little one looked absolutely miserable, and he was the one who’d made her that way. With his loss of control – first in Puerto Rico, then at the club, he’d managed to knock her up. Him – a man who’d never wanted kids.

  “Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” He took a deep breath and set the pills on the counter next to him.

  “You don’t do sick.” She took a shuddering breath, but met his eyes. “Nor do you do pregnant.”

  To hear her verbalize it made it seem even more real – like a blow to the stomach. He took a deep breath, then tried to lighten the mood – to pretend he wasn’t scared out of his mind. “Then it looks like I
have a problem then, huh?”

  * * * *

  Of all the reactions that she’d expected from Deacon – anger, denial, even hurt – flippancy wasn’t one of them. Fury pushed away the lingering nausea, to the point where Bethany’s usually even temper exploded. “Get out – now!”

  He froze – disbelief filling his expression. “Excuse me? We have things to discuss and -”

  She narrowed her gaze, while clenching her fists at her sides. “No, we don’t. This is my body, my baby. Not some problem for you to fix.”

  A muscle at the side of his mouth twitched, then he shoved his hand into one pocket. “I was joking, for fuck’s sake.” He yanked out the velvet jewelers’ box. “I came over here to ask you to marry me.” He opened the box, revealing a gorgeous opal surrounded by beautifully cut diamonds. The cabochon opal was nestled in a band of stunningly warm rose gold, with delicate twists of metal cradling the side diamonds. She’d seen it once before – when Deborah had asked her to take in it and have it cleaned.

  Part of her wanted to weep with joy and accept his grandmother’s ring, while another part of her – the more practical part cringed. It sucked to have her one and only marriage proposal be one of necessity, instead of one based on the desire to spend the rest of their lives together. She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t do that to Deacon or herself. As much as she loved her master, and enjoyed his company, a babe was no reason for them to marry. Sharp pain built in her chest, but she ignored it – along with the stinging, tearing of her eyes. “No.”

  In the process of pulling the ring out of the box, he glanced up at her. “What do you mean no?”

  She gritted her teeth – ready to clobber him upside the head. “I’m not going to marry you.”

  “Why the hell not?” He snapped the box shut and glared at her. “I’m your Master, and evidently, despite my best efforts to not impregnate you, we’re having a baby. Whether we planned it or not, it’s our duty to tie the knot. Babies mean we get married, so my mom doesn’t kick my ass up between my shoulder blades. After watching her struggle to raise Steve and me alone, I won’t do that to us or to our child.”

  Pain twisted hard in her chest, and a tear slid down her cheek. Being married because his mother would make his life difficult was even worse than being married solely for the unborn child that grew under her heart. “I’m not marrying you because of your mother or because I’m pregnant.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I can’t do this now. Please just leave, Deacon, before I say or do something I’ll regret.”

  “You’ll regret?” His nostrils flared. “Unbelievable! I went over to my mother’s – asked her for that damned ring because I finally found the woman I trusted enough to marry after that fiasco with Amanda, and now after refusing my proposal, you’re kicking me out before you do something you’ll regret?” He threw the jeweler’s case across the room, the small velvet box barely making a sound as it hit the wall.

  She flinched, but held steady. Angry as they both were he needed to leave. Nothing good could come from this. “It’ll be for the best. Not only am I sick, I need some time alone – to process. It’s not every day a girl finds out she’s going to be a mother.” She pleaded with her eyes for him to understand. “We can talk later – when we’re both calmer.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Fine! Just be sure in your ‘processing’ that you don’t decide a trip to the clinic will solve all our problems. I may have not originally wanted kids, but one woman aborting my child was more than enough.”

  Her earlier anger was replaced with fury as he strode to the door. Without thinking she grabbed the closest thing – her bottle of Zofran. “You asshole!” The nausea pills hit him square in the back. “How dare you accuse me of something so hideous!”

  He swung around and glared at her. “A sub who keeps secrets is capable of anything – as I found out – too late.”

  Shaking so hard her legs trembled, she nearly fell – or would’ve if it hadn’t been for the hand Deacon wrapped around her upper arm. She drew in a deep breath of his familiar cologne. Even as angry as she was with him, his very presence comforted her. “I’ve kept no secrets from you, Sir – none. You can’t lay that sin at my feet.”

  A sardonic smirk tugged at his lips and he lifted her chin with one finger. “Do not lie to me, sub. Without honesty, there can be no trust – no bond.”

  Her eyes widened at his innuendo. “I wasn’t keeping my pregnancy from you! I just found out this afternoon. I planned on telling you this weekend when we got together.”

  He shook his head, and released her. “How quickly you forget about Amanda’s married lover. If you can keep that type of secret, even such an important thing from me for years, who’s to say you’d have ever told me about the pregnancy if you decided to terminate it?”

  Rivers of tears slid over her cheeks as he walked out the front door and shut it behind him. On the kitchen floor – her heart lay shattered. And try as she might, she couldn’t forget the coldness in his gaze as he talked about their child as if it were nothing more than a mistake. Her fingers trembled as she reached up to tug at the silver chain she’d worn as a collar since their return from Puerto Rico. Perhaps it was time to cut her losses and walk away – even as much as the idea hurt. She didn’t think she could do this – watch as her relationship with Deacon self-destructed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pissed beyond belief at the way the situation had blown up between him and Bethany, Deacon slammed the truck door behind him. After leaving her house, he’d driven around on autopilot for nearly two hours, his mind in a total turmoil from the blow up with his sub. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this off balance from a fight. In her role as his manager, they butted heads occasionally, but she always held her ground in the face of his anger – especially when she thought she was right. She never shut down – or refused to see the argument through to the bitter end as she had earlier. But then again their fight hadn’t been manager to owner, it had been sub to Dom, and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that he’d just royally stepped in it. That he’d fucked up and lost something so important he’d never be whole again.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at the barn housing the Cattail Club. It didn’t surprise him that he found himself parked in the open field next to it. The club had been his refuge since the first time he’d stepped through its doors as a horny, but apprehensive young man. Inside its embrace, he’d grown from the inexperienced boy he’d been into the Dom he was. But right now he found little solace in the shadows of his second home.

  Because Bethany’s pregnancy changes everything.

  His heart ached at the thought of giving up his hedonistic lifestyle – of a future where they rarely visited the club, which had been such a huge part of his world. True they would still play in the privacy of their bedroom – he’d never be able to give up BDSM completely, but his priorities would soon revolve around a small scrap of humanity he’d planted in Bethany’s womb. He placed his hand on the warm hood and cursed softly.

  There were going to be a lot of changes now that his woman was pregnant. No more late nights at the bar, no more Thursday night poker with the guys, no more Sunday night play nights at the club with his little sub. The sheer enormity of it terrified him. What if he couldn’t change his ways? What if he ended up fucking his kid up worse than his own dad had done him and Steven?

  Fuck!

  He pushed off the truck and begun to pace again. “I won’t be like him. I can’t be like him.”

  “Won’t be like who?”

  He swung around and his back went up at the sight of the tall, bleached blond man standing behind him with his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his leather pants. Bethany’s college friend had a smirk on his face. He cursed again. He couldn’t believe he’d been so wrapped up in his anger and frustration that he hadn’t even heard Chet walk up.

  “It’s none of your damned business.” He glared at the newcomer.


  Chet gave a slow shake of his head. “Only one woman can cause the kind of pissed off vibe that’s coming off of you. What did my Bets do now?”

  Deacon clenched his fist, barely resisting the urge to cold cock the smug son of a bitch in front of him, as the man called Bethany by that idiotic pet name. Only the close proximity of the club kept him in check. The last thing he needed was a sanction for fighting with the newest member of the club. Instead of giving the man the pounding he wanted, Deacon decided to taunt the man. “Your Bets? You can only wish. That little sub is mine from her dainty little toes to the top of her head.”

  Chet gave him a smirk. “Then why the hell are you at the club while she’s sobbing her heart out on her living room couch after your little quarrel?”

  A growl escaped Deacon. There was only one way that other man could know that he and Bethany had had a fight. “What the hell were you doing in her house?”

  “Checking on an old friend who was a no-show for our meeting.” Chet gave a roll of his shoulders. “When she didn’t show up at the bar, and no one had heard from her, I went looking. Imagine my surprise when I found her pale and trembling – looking like death warmed over. When she saw me, she burst into to tears – and told me everything.” A shuttered look fell over his face. “Accusing the woman who loves you of being a liar and wanting to abort your unborn child isn’t cool. In fact, it can result in losing her to another. A Dom who would cherish not only her but the baby she carries–”

  Goaded beyond his normal self-control, he reacted without thinking. His fist shot out and nailed the smug bastard in the mouth. “She’s mine! The baby is mine!”

  Chet chuckled as he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Fine way you have of showing it. And dude? You hit like a fucking girl. I’ve had Dommes hit me harder than that.”