“So you know the work me. Not the private me.” Something in her voice tells me that I'm heading for a trap, but I gobble it up anyway, hook, line and sinker.
“If I know the one, I think I know both, Em.”
“Says the guy who's hidden that he's got an ex-wife, that he's into BDSM and that refuses on general principle to talk about what he does in private.” Her cuffed hand covers mine.
“Em, sure, but—”
“And those things are a part of you, aren't they? Important parts. Parts that I knew nothing about because you never shared them with me.”
“Of course I didn't.” I raise my voice a bit higher than I intend, so that a couple of patrons sitting nearby glance in my direction. A little quieter, I continue, “I hardly think that wanting to keep certain things quiet is out of line in any way.”
Rolling her eyes like I'm not getting her at all, she leans towards me. “Of course not. You're entitled to share exactly what you want. All I'm saying is, you might be good with people, but that doesn't mean that you know everything about them. Even when you think you do.”
“I don't—” I blurt out, but an arched eyebrow heads me off at the pass.
“No? Not even a little bit?” Her lips curl into a little smile like she just won. In a way she did, just by smiling like that, since it's enough to throw me off my train of thought.
I fucking hate it when I'm wrong. Even when it's just a little bit.
“Fine. I'll admit I don't know every little thing about you. I don't know what you eat for breakfast, or if you keep daffodils or roses in the flower boxes on your balcony.” Why does she have to make this so difficult? “But I get you. You're a pleaser.”
Her little smile widens into something radiantly beautiful. “You bet I am,” she manages to say without a trace of irony.
Oh for—
“That's not what I mean, Em. You do things to make everyone around you happy. You're not afraid to say what you mean if you think someone's being treated poorly, but if that person is you, you'll let any of us walk all over you.”
And it’s that part of her personality that calls to me to protect her even as it scares the shit out of me. If she can’t build those walls herself, someone has to watch out for her.
“That's not true!” She tries to cross her arms over her chest, but being linked to me, she can't. Whatever she grumbles under her breath isn't fit for mixed company.
“I've yet to ask you a favor, no matter how shitty, without you jumping all over it like I gave you a new car or something. I used to think I was special, but you do it for everyone. Hell, you shined Kent's shoes for him the other day.”
“He was running late and had to finish a report before getting out there.” She frowns at me suspiciously. “He needed the help. What's wrong with that?”
“Nothing. You're a wonderful human being, Em. Amazing. And always willing to help. To please.” She's got to see what I'm getting at, right?
Instead she does that lip-biting thing again and leans closer. For the first time, I notice that she's wearing a low-cut shirt. She obviously knows it though, the way she's showing me all the goods as she replies in a husky tone, “And to get a spanking when I’ve been bad.”
I try to will down the hard-on that springs very suddenly to life at her words. “See, this is what I'm talking about. You know I'm into that, and so you're willing to do it to please me.”
“There are so many things I'm willing to do to please you. I bet you'll find all sorts of little details about me that you didn't realize you wanted to know, if you'll just let me show you.”
“Oh, come on, Em. Even if it were appropriate—which it isn't—I won't do it. Think about the other night. A simple restraint, and you freaked out. I knew you weren’t comfortable and I gave you opportunity after opportunity to tell me so. But you didn’t.” I lean back, and it's my turn to cross my arms, forgetting the cuffs. Except, she doesn't hold back, so instead she lets me pull her right from her chair and over into my bench seat so that she lands right up against me. Otto gives us a glance and a grin while cleaning a glass behind the bar, but he doesn't say anything.
I expect her to be laughing at me for making the same mistake as her, or grin mischievously about how she used it to her advantage, but her face screws up like she's holding back tears.
“Shit, I'm sorry. What's wrong?” Without even thinking about it, I pull her into my arms, looping the cuffed one over her head.
“You're right.” She sniffs, holding it in. “I freaked out. Do you want to know why? You never gave me a chance to explain.”
Fair enough. I wasn't very understanding the other night, but she wasn't the only one who was having a rough night. “All right. I'm sorry I didn’t listen. I seem to be saying that a lot tonight.”
A tear trickles down her cheek, but she smiles up at me. “It's okay. You’re not totally wrong.” Sniffling in a most unladylike fashion, she gathers herself. “Remember the guy with the gun?”
“Sure. You don't forget that any time soon.”
“The ropes were okay, but when I felt that thing go around my neck… all I could think about were his hands. You could spank me until the cows come home, or tie my wrists or whatever.” Her eyes smolder. “In fact, I'd love for you to do so.”
Sometimes I feel like we're talking past each other. “But then why did you put your head in the stocks? This is exactly what I'm talking about. Doing things just to please me, and not thinking of your own safety and security. BDSM is a two-way street. Mutual trust.” I hold her closer, like I'm trying to squeeze the facts into her. “When you submit to me, you're granting me a privilege. You're the one in power, because everything I do to you, I do because you'll let me. Because you trust me, and I'm flattered.” That I have to explain all this to her is just another sign that I'm right. “But I have to be able to trust you. That you're doing everything because you want to. Because I've been here before, and I was too young and in love to notice the difference, and I don't want to do that to you too.”
“But you won't—”
“I already have.” Suddenly, I feel done with this thing. We're not getting anywhere, and it's better to just rip off the Band-Aid now. I continue before she gets a chance to protest, “Take the handcuffs off. I'll start coming back in, but we're back to a professional relationship. Got it?”
“But—”
“No buts. And I want you to see the trauma counselor. I knew I should've brought you back to the office that day and not to the club.” I look away before she gets a chance to work those eyes on me. “I'm sorry, but I'm not the right guy for you.”
She doesn't make a sound until she's gotten the handcuffs open and I've gotten up to leave, but I hear the sniffle behind me as I walk out feeling like an asshole.
I’m sure I’m making the right decision.
Doesn't mean I feel good about it, though.
15
Emily
Maybe I would be better off forgetting about Paul, but how can I now that he's back in the office? Every time he walks by, my eyes follow him closely, tracking him until he disappears, closing his door behind him.
Sure, he's back, but I still ended up with Johnson as a partner. That's working out better than I thought, to be honest. With my mood lately, binging on tacos has been therapeutic. Besides, he's nice, friendly and helpful.
But he's no Paul.
So what can I do to get Paul's attention? More importantly, to get him to stop blaming himself, and to realize that maybe, just maybe, Anne was a part of the problem. He can't continue to go through life avoiding relationships because he’s taking responsibility for everyone else’s mistakes.
Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong. I keep trying to face him head on, but he’s so freaking stubborn. So how about a different approach? If you truly love someone, let them go, right?
Gathering up all of my courage, I push off from my desk and stand up so suddenly that both Kent and Rodriguez glance in my direction. Ignor
ing them, I walk up to his office door and knock.
“Yeah?”
I enter. “It's me, Paul. Can we talk?”
“Unless it's about something work related, no.” He glares at me. “We've been through this, Em. We need to keep our distance.”
I slam the office door behind me, closing us in and giving us an illusion of privacy. The office is enclosed, but it's not entirely soundproof.
“What are you doing?” He watches at me suspiciously.
“Anne was not your fault.” One last try.
“What are you talking about? We're not discussing this here.”
“Oh yes, we are. You know what? Even if you decide you don't want me—”
“Em, I've already—”
“You've already said what you think, but as well as you think you know me, I think I know a little about you too, and it hurts me to see you struggle like you are.” I approach his desk, closing the distance between us.
“What do you know about it? What struggle are you talking about?” He stands, bringing his full height and broad physique to bear.
I look right up at him, hoping I seem more unafraid than I feel. “Enough to know that you're scared. You're terrified, existing in the shadow of this huge thing that wasn't. Even. Your. Fault.” I emphasize each word heavily, my voice getting louder with each one. I'm sure everyone out there is pretending not to hear, but I don't give a shit. Pinching my lips together, I glare up at Paul.
He throws his hands out. “What do you expect me to do, Em. Huh?” He's angry too now, his voice rising in parallel to mine. “I destroyed my relationship with Anne. I did that. No one else.”
Closing my eyes, I draw a deep breath, trying to prevent this from turning into a shouting match. “Do you remember what you told me about trust?”
“Which part.”
“About it being a two-way street.”
“Of course.”
“Did you trust Anne?”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course,” he repeats. “I wouldn't have married her if I didn't.”
“So you trusted her to tell you if something was wrong.”
“Yes, but—”
“And to use her safeword if she had to.”
“Yes…”
“And in all this time since you two parted ways, it's never occurred to you that maybe… just maybe, she abused your trust? That it might not be your fault if she was doing… well, exactly what you're accusing me of?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare him down, and he's the first to look away.
“It's different. You weren't there. How can you even know what it was like?” He sits back down and starts to sort papers on his desk. “I'm not going to discuss this anymore.”
“Do you know how mule-headed you are sometimes?”
He leans forward over his desk, resting his weight on his elbows as he looks me right in the eyes. There's sadness in his, but no apology. “Em, when will you realize that I'm doing this for you? I'm keeping you safe. I won’t be the one to break you.”
I sigh. “I guess you’re right.”
“I’ve told you over and over, we’re not… what?”
“I said, you’re right. We’re no good for each other.”
There’s a moment of silence as he processes my words. Is it bad that I take a little satisfaction in how his face falls when my words sink in, at least for a moment before he puts the mask back on?
“You’re agreeing with me?” There’s a whole ocean of skepticism in his voice.
“Probably not for the same reasons, but yes, I am.” I put my hands at my hips and give him my best rookie cop glare. “I can’t do this any longer, Paul. If you can’t let go of this, then I have to move on. I deserve more.”
He nods, a look of resignation passing over his face. “Good.”
“Yeah?” I watch him closely. You’d almost think he were unaffected, if it weren’t for the white knuckles on his clenched fist.
“Yeah. I’m glad. It’s about time you see how hopeless this is.” He swallows thickly. This is harder for him to say than he makes it look, which only makes me think I’m doing the right thing. “Now you can stop doing things just to please me.”
I snort. He can be so frustrating. “You’re right. So if you see me at the club, you’ll know I’m there to please me.”
“At the club? You’re going to keep going?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” My smile is tight. “It’s too bad it won’t be with you, but there’s no way I’m not going back.”
He nods, but he looks less certain now. Good.
“But, what if… I mean, there are some types there who—”
“Gabe and Caleb seem to run a pretty tight ship. I’ll be careful. But if you’re not going to teach me, then I’m going to have find someone who will.”
His jaw sets, the muscles in his neck tight, but he nods again. “You’re right. You’ll be fine.” It’s hard to tell who he’s trying to convince. Me, or him.
Not so easy when the tables are turned, is it?
I relax my stance. “Well, I guess that’s that. I’ll stop bothering you, Paul. Thanks.” Turning towards the door, I can’t help putting a little extra sashay into my step, a final reminder of what he’s missing out on.
“For what?”
“For introducing me to the club and what’s in it. For protecting me. For being a good partner, even if that seems to be all we’ll ever be. I’ll see you around, Paul.”
And with that, I open the door and leave. When it shuts behind me, I get a little shiver. I’m free, in a way I didn’t really want to be. And Paul’s free, in the way he thinks he wants to be.
I guess now it’s time for him to figure out if that’s true.
16
Paul
“All right, Caleb. Tell me I'm an idiot and I fucked up.”
He looks up at me with a grin, putting his beer down at the bar with a clunk. “You're an idiot and you fucked up.” I nod in silent agreement while he eyes me curiously. When I don't respond, he continues, “Also, you have a big head, tiny hands and your mama dresses you funny.”
“Yeah. Thanks, that's enough.”
“And you smell kind of weird.” His grin widens. Glad someone's enjoying it.
“Fine, I get it. Forget I said anything.” Taking a drag of my own beer, I ignore him.
This week has been the longest of my life. Em hasn't said a word to me, and it hurts more than I thought it would. It's like trying to kick an addiction. I haven't felt like this since I quit smoking. I guess I asked for it.
Demanded it.
Sure, I'm protecting her, but right now it feels like the stupidest fucking thing I ever did in my life. With a sigh, I take a long pull from my Guinness. Thick and bitter. A bit like how I feel right now.
But it can't be helped, can it?
Caleb eases back in his seat and lifts his glass at me. “You have trust issues.”
“What?”
“You have trust issues.” He takes another sip. “I'm not blind, you know. Or as stupid as you.”
“Jesus, Caleb, I said enough.” Fuck this. I turn away from him, spinning my stool until I'm watching the club floor. As always, it's packed. Kinksters having fun, dancing the night away before heading to the back to play.
Fucking carefree.
I can feel Caleb's steely eyes burning into my back. His voice is a mix of sympathy and criticism. “You chased her off, didn't you?”
Spinning back to face him, I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on, not you too. I'm not right for her.”
He nods softly. “Maybe. But only because you think so.”
“How the hell would you know? You barely know her.” I lift my beer to my lips, but it's empty. Slamming the glass to the bar counter, I raise my hand to get another, but Caleb catches it to get my attention.
“You're right. I don't know her. But I do know you.” Letting go, he leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe I haven't known you so long, but we've seen some shi
t together. And I think I've got a pretty good idea of how you tick, Paul.”
I snort. “You do, huh?”
Caleb grins cockily, enough to make me want to smack him. “I do. You're cold as ice, man. Calm under pressure. You're dependable. A go-to guy. You teach bondage safety and represent the long fucking arm of the law.”
“Yep, that's me. Judge goddamn Dredd.” I curl my lip. “I am the law.”
He laughs. “That's the thing. Today, you're not. You haven't been for the last couple of weeks. Even when you came by with her the first time, it was obvious. Gabe and I laughed about it after you were gone.” He leans forward, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You're in love, man.”
Love? Is that what this feeling is? Love sucks. “Don’t push it,” I growl in exasperation.
“What the hell are you doing here? Isn't she worth it?” There's an edge in that question, and I don't like it, but Caleb's waiting for an answer, his eyes twinkling and the corner of his mouth curled upwards in a crooked grin.
“Of course she's worth it. For someone else. She's too fucking good for me. Too damn trusting.” He's got to get that, right? Em drives me fucking wild. It will get out of control and fucked up again, just like it was with Anne. She doesn’t deserve that.
Caleb snorts. “You know what? You're right. If you don't have the goddamn balls to take a chance, you don't deserve her. She’s better off with someone who does. Like maybe that guy.”
“Huh?” I turn to follow the direction of Caleb’s pointing finger.
Em. Looking sexy as hell in the outfit she wore the first time I brought her here. Except the collar. She left that at home. And she’s chatting to some tall guy in black leather pants, no shirt and a thick black beard.
I’m off my stool before I know what I’m doing and Caleb’s tight grip closes around my shoulder. He laughs. “Don't like that thought, do you?”
Cuff Me: A BDSM Romance Page 8
