Broken Toy

by Tymber Dalton

  It didn’t help totally dispel her “fish out of water” feelings, but at least she didn’t get a snarky vibe from anyone.

  If you weren’t wasting time on this nonsense anyway, it wouldn’t be an issue to start with.

  Aaaand there was Maria, back with a vengeance.

  At least Gabe had no problem ditching the vestiges of religious guilt Maria had tried to inspire in her. She’d decided years ago, in her early teens, that she wanted nothing to do with Maria’s religion if it could permit the woman to do what she did. As an adult, Gabe had seen too much, worked too many horrific cases, to believe in any kind of a loving deity.

  People could be good, and people could be evil.

  But the work ethic guilt and financial arguments, those were harder to shake. Those made sense.

  In some ways, those had served her well throughout her adult life.

  Once the server had taken their orders, Leah turned to Gabe. “So, when did you become interested in the lifestyle?”

  She wasn’t sure how to answer and decided the best answer was the honest one. “I don’t know. I’ve read some books and been curious, but my work situation never allowed me to really do anything before. It was sort of a coincidence I ended up at the munch in the first place.”

  “No harm in that, Ella,” Shayla said from across the table. She smiled as she looked at her husband. “I sort of fell into it myself.”

  “One of us…one of us,” Tilly chanted with a playful grin.

  “Just remember that the books aren’t always close to real life,” Shayla cautioned. “Believe me, I had my eyes opened to a whole new world when I started. In some ways, reality is even stranger than fiction, in a good way.”

  “How did you get into it?”

  “I was assigned to do a story on it,” she said. “For the magazine I work for.” She looked up at Tony again. “Loren and Ross introduced me to Tony, and we sort of couldn’t figure out where my assignment was supposed to end and we began. So we made it permanent.”

  “You’re a reporter?”

  “Don’t worry,” Leah assured her. “Even when she was writing about us, she took great pains to make sure no one was personally identifiable.”

  Shayla dug a business card out of her purse and handed it to Gabe. “Here’s the magazine’s website. Just search my byline, and my maiden name, Shayla Pierce, with the term ‘BDSM.’ The series will come up for you.”

  “Thanks.” She slipped it into her purse.

  Leah looked down the table at Tilly and grinned. “I see you got into it with a ‘won twue wayer’ on Facebook the other day.”

  Tilly shook her head. “Ugh. I hate those damn asshats.”

  Gabe was relieved to see Bill looked as clueless as she felt.

  Leah filled them in. “You’ll sometimes see it abbreviated as ‘WTW’ on the Internet. It’s someone who insists if you’re not doing BDSM their way, then you’re doing it ‘wrong.’”

  “I missed this one,” Tony said, looking amused. “What was it about this time?”

  Tilly set her glass of tea down while both her men looked like they were settling in for the duration of her rant. “Get this! Some Fucktardo the UberDom insisted it’s not possible for a sub to sink into subspace unless they’re beaten there.”

  Everyone at the table except Gabe and Bill burst into laughter.

  “Seriously?” Clarisse asked. “How the hell did I miss that one? I would have loved to take a whack at that asshole.”

  Leah helpfully filled Gabe and Bill in on the subject. “You know how runners get that thing called ‘runner’s high’?”

  “Uh, sort of,” she admitted. “I hate running, especially when I’m doing it.”

  “Join the club. Subspace is sort of like that, different for everyone in how they experience it or get there. It’s most commonly described as a nice, floaty feeling, like the whole world goes away. And I know most of the women here”—Tilly coughed from her end of the table—“who consider themselves full-time subs or slaves will agree it’s completely easy to be talked into subspace if they’ve got the right partner.”

  Landry leaned forward and focused on Tilly. “And why did you cough, love?”

  Tilly’s face went red, but she didn’t respond.

  Everyone else at the table laughed.

  “Oh, go easy on the switchy girl,” Leah joked. “We lubs her just the way she is. You guys screw up the BDSM bell curve anyway.” She returned her attention to Gabe and Bill. “The bottom line is that some people never hit subspace, some hit it all the time, and everything in between. It’s different for everyone. There is no right or wrong way to do any of it, outside of obvious safety precautions.”

  “We’re pretty much a ‘live and let live’ kind of group,” Ross said. “Your kink might not be my kink, but that’s okay.”

  “I don’t even know for sure what my kink is,” Gabe said.

  “Ditto,” Bill added.

  Loren shrugged. “That’s okay, too. Even if all you do is watch others, that’s a legitimate kink.”

  “Sounds kind of creepy,” Gabe said.

  “It can be if you’re trying to masturbate on top of someone you’re watching without their permission,” Tony said with a smirk. “But a lot of people spend time watching and thinking before they figure out what exactly it is that turns them on. No harm in that.”

  Gabe looked at Bill. “You don’t know what turns you on?”

  He smiled. “Oh, I know what turns me on, I’m just not sure where that puzzle piece fits quite yet.”

  “So what are you?”

  With a shrug, he said, “Toppy. I’m not going to deny that, in the bedroom, I enjoy having a certain amount of control. Maybe even outside the bedroom, too, if someone’s amenable to that. I don’t think I’m a sadist.”

  Rob nearly choked as he laughed with a mouthful of iced tea. “I thought I wasn’t a sadist either, Bill. I quickly grew into the role and found out I liked it a lot.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said, “but you grew into it because Laura liked it. I think if Laura had not been into that, you wouldn’t have gone there. Am I right?”

  “Absolutely,” Laura said, focusing on Gabe. “It was a partnership. We kind of explored together, and stuff I didn’t think I’d ever like, I found myself begging for.”

  “Warned you,” Shayla said with a playful grin.

  Gabe had found out at the munch that, of all the women at the table, those two were the closest of friends, although all the women were close.

  “Yes,” Laura said, “you warned me. Look at what happened to you.”

  “What happened to you?” Gabe asked, unable to help herself.

  Shayla smiled. “Let’s just say I’ve given up saying ‘no’ to Sir. He has a sneaky way of turning all my ‘hell nos’ into ‘yes pleases.’”

  Tony arched an eyebrow at Shayla, a sweetly evil smile creasing his face. With Tony’s moustache and goatee, even Gabe felt the residual effects of the heat that sexy smile held.

  By the time they were ready to call for their checks, Gabe had decided she did want to go back to the club for the evening.

  Just to watch.

  At least, that’s what she told herself.

  These people all seemed comfortable not only with each other and their partners, but with themselves as well. They spoke openly with her about their lifestyle, without pressing her for details about herself.

  She felt a little guilty about that, but still didn’t think it wise to completely reveal her identity to them.

  She was also desperately trying to figure out a way to incorporate this lifestyle permanently and knew, long-term, that might not be a practical option.

  Especially once she returned to Miami.

  But for the evening, she’d indulge herself in tantalizing what-if thoughts. It was a damn sight better than listening to echoes of Maria bounce around in her head.

  * * * *

  Bill secretly felt pleased over how dinner went. Ella had been w
armly welcomed by the others, and they’d all taken time to answer her questions and include her in conversations.

  If nothing else, he knew he’d keep going out with this group of people just for the camaraderie. Never in his life had he known a more friendly and accepting bunch of people.

  That they all appeared to have their shit together and were successful in mainstream society in spite of their more hidden pursuits was a bonus. It gave him something to aspire to, that even if things didn’t work out with Ella, maybe he could possibly find someone else who he could be completely open and honest with, the way his friends were with their own partners.

  Someone he didn’t have to worry about accepting him, the same way he would openly accept them for all their quirks.

  When they returned to the club, he went in with Ella. He was about to offer to pay for her evening when Seth and Leah stepped forward. “I want to use one of our freebies on her entrance tonight,” Seth told the girl at the desk.

  “Cool beans,” the girl said, tapping the info into the computer. “Done.” She smiled at Ella. “We have all your stuff from the class, so you’re good to go. Enjoy your evening.”

  Bill mentally kicked himself for not being there earlier for the class and getting a look at Ella’s paperwork when she registered, to see if Ella Wolf was her real name.

  Oh, well.

  He held the door to the main club space open for her. The overhead lights had been dimmed, the music and accent lighting now on and creating a festive atmosphere. It was like a party, in a way. Part rock concert, part performance art, part selective mini mosh pit. For some of the people, at least.

  “Have you ever been to a club play session before?” Bill asked her.

  She shook her head. “No, but I’m pretty hard to shock because of my li—” It was like she cut herself off. “I’ve seen a lot, don’t worry.”

  It sounded to him like maybe she’d been about to say because of my line of work. “Good,” he said. “You might see some intense scenes tonight, especially if Landry and Cris play, or Sully and Mac. I haven’t seen them play hard together yet, but Laura and Rob warned me they sometimes get really rough. She didn’t want me to be shocked.”

  “Duly noted.”

  He realized he didn’t want her freaked out, scared away from returning next week.

  In fact, he’d thought about asking her for her phone number, or at least her e-mail address. She had volunteered that she’d joined FetLife, and that he could send her a friend request. He’d do it when he got home that night. Tomorrow, at the latest. He was accumulating more friends on the site and being careful not to friend anyone he hadn’t already met in real life.

  Seth walked over. “By the way, in case you’re interested, we brought the loaner bag of rope in with us.” He smiled knowingly.

  Bill was up for that, interested in practicing more and spending some close-up time with Ella.

  He wasn’t sure how she’d react.

  He breathed a silent sigh of relief when she smiled. “That sounds like fun.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Early Sunday morning, at her usual time, Gabe awoke feeling disoriented in a way totally unlike she had her first morning there in the condo.

  What. The. Hell?

  It wasn’t just from the sleep deprivation, from the night she’d spent in the company of people she didn’t work with.

  She ran her fingers up and down her upper arms, where the ligature marks had been last night after her and Bill had spent a couple of hours under Leah and Seth’s tutelage at the club, as well as a few others who offered their opinions when asked.

  She stared at her lower arms, where she’d marveled at the feel and texture of the marks on them.

  Nothing now, just smooth, unblemished skin.

  She’d had a great time. That alone had shocked the hell out of her. Bill had been fun to spend time with, fun to talk to, and had stirred something inside her she wasn’t sure she wanted to contemplate.

  Going out to dinner was great. Feeling like she was welcomed amongst them, not a fifth wheel, not a work colleague people had to watch what they said around.

  Friends.

  Is this what having friends feels like?

  Looking back on it, she definitely didn’t regret going. If nothing else, at the very least she’d satisfied a curiosity in her that, until last night, she’d never realized was so strong.

  Hell, she’d never realized, beyond the realm of her Kindle-induced fantasies, that she’d ever begin to see them made real.

  Usually it required having a relationship, which she didn’t have.

  Fear set in.

  She would have to get to know Bill better if she took the second class. As it was, she’d been able to avoid the issue of her scars.

  What if he wanted to go out with her more?

  What if…

  She shook off those thoughts.

  There would be no getting closer. She was from Miami. She didn’t have time for a relationship.

  She’d have to reveal she was a cop.

  She closed her eyes and groaned. No, there wasn’t a future in going to another class. There wasn’t any use to get close to someone. To get her hopes up, or his. Last night had been a really stupid mistake, no matter how good a time she’d had.

  Why bother? She was surprised to realize Maria’s voice wasn’t anywhere to be found.

  On any other day, she might consider that a miracle and desperately try to figure out how to replicate the result.

  She suspected she knew exactly why.

  The subspace they’d talked about in class and at dinner. That fuzzy, warm, leftover feeling. The one she wished she could have more often.

  The one she’d felt while letting Bill practice tying her up multiple times last night.

  Such a great feeling, one she’d never felt before.

  One she knew she could never allow herself to feel again. Not without risking her career or her sanity over silly hopes for a relationship that could never work out in the long term.

  I need a run.

  She got up, threw clothes and sneakers on, and headed out for the jogging path that circled around and wandered through the complex. Outside, despite the early hour, it was already warm, muggy in a familiar way. She tried pushing herself as hard as she could go, trying to use a punishing pace to drive all other thoughts out of her head, but it wasn’t enough. When she returned to the condo and crawled into the shower, she slid down the wall, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her face against her knees as she cried.

  She wanted more, so much more, and knew it wouldn’t be possible.

  Deep inside her soul, the lonely little girl who’d never known love after losing her parents still curled up in a bed in a practically bare room in a house she didn’t know and cried.

  The way she’d silently cried so many nights until she finally managed to silence those cries for good.

  And she’d learned early on never to let Maria see her cry. Ever.

  Not even over sappy Christmas commercials where happy, loving families gathered over coffee or dinners or even new cars.

  But inside her the girl cried, lonely, alone, with no one to console her.

  She mourned her parents, in a way taken from her twice. First by the drunk that hit their car head-on, then again by a coldhearted grandmother who harbored so much resentment that she wouldn’t let Gabe even talk about them.

  I can’t do this. I can’t get so distracted from my work that I let this take over. I have to stop this now, before it goes too far.

  Before he can hurt me. That was a weak little voice she rarely heard anymore.

  The voice of the little girl.

  Gabe closed her eyes and rocked back and forth under the water.

  * * * *

  Gabe spent the rest of the day making amigurumis and pointedly avoiding her personal laptop. If she logged on to that, she knew she’d end up on FetLife. And she’d seen an e-mail notice come through her phone where
Bill had sent her a friend request.

  Breaking up with him in an e-mail is a total dick move.

  And despite knowing it was the only option, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  So she ignored it and focused on adding more crocheted crusaders to the stash.

  * * * *

  By the next Saturday morning she’d made another yarn and fiber filling run. At last count, over one hundred of the animals were now sharing the condo with her. They covered every horizontal surface in the living room area, as well as the bed in the second bedroom.

  She didn’t have the heart to bag them up. She wanted to see the collection grow, swell, fill the place. They would stay out until right before she had to leave, and only then would she gather them to take back to Miami with her.

  And she still had two weeks, going by working days, before she left Sarasota.

  Which was both a good and bad thing. The last several nights she hadn’t slept well. When she did, her dreams were filled with fantasies of Bill tying her down with ropes before doing things to her, like fucking her brains out.

  Even though the dreams left her horny, when conscious thought took over upon waking, all desire left her.

  She wanted what she knew she couldn’t have.

  That wasn’t anything to inspire sexual desire in her.

  Especially not when she’d seen some pretty sexy forced orgasm scenes at the club the previous week.

  Scenes that could have easily been pulled from some of the better books she’d read.

  I need to delete all that crap from my Kindle. It’s given me expectations I should know better than to have.

  She couldn’t bring herself to do that, either.

  As time drew closer for the class, she forced herself to stop looking at the clock and focus on her crochet. Another alligator had started taking shape as her hook flew and twisted through the yarn. In her mind, she chanted the phrases as they came in the pattern.

  Yarn over, single crochet. Skip. Join. Turn.