by Jenna Jacob
“You driving tonight honey?”
I simply nodded.
“Last one, then I take your keys.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Scotty. A few shots won’t impair me.”
“I think tonight, you do.” He flashed a lazy grin then winked. “Don’t worry, I don’t charge by the hour. Let’s talk.”
“No,” I replied in a sullen mumble.
“Suit yourself. But I’ve got strong shoulders and a big ear.” With a gentle pat on my hand, he filled the shot glass.
“Thanks.” I nodded as a wave of anger flooded my veins. He patted my hand in pity. I loathed pity. Biting my tongue and the urge to snatch my hand back, I tipped the glass, cringing as the fiery burn skulked toward my stomach.
It had been a disastrous night, one I hoped never to repeat again. I needed to resign myself to the fact that I wasn’t meant to have an owner. I sure as hell didn’t deserve one, not the way I’d behaved. But how could I let go of my desires? Was there a way to slough off the basic nature of my being?
“Shit!” I cursed beneath my breath. “One more, Scotty.”
“No.” The bartender adamantly shook his head.
I wrapped my hand around his and forced him to lift the bottle. Pouring a double shot into the glass, I looked at him in defiance.
“I thought you were a submissive. Aren’t you supposed to do as you’re told?” Scotty whispered low.
“On a good day.” I lifted the glass to my lips and gulped every drop from the glass. “Guess this isn’t one of them.”
“Hell!” Scotty growled and walked away, taking the bottle with him.
I couldn’t scrub Drake’s angry disappointment from my mind. I’d never seen him so mad, not even at Trevor for some of the antics he’d pulled over the years. No, I was in for a thorough ass chewing, at the very least, when Drake got his hands on me.
“Hey sweetcakes. Can I buy you a drink?”
I looked up and tried not to roll my eyes in revulsion. A man stood before me, with a sexually confident gleam in his eyes. Not only did he look like a throwback from the seventies, he was old enough to be my dad. His jet-black dyed hair was slicked back with some ungodly gooey gel, and he wore a dizzying print silk shirt unbuttoned to his navel. And if that weren’t bad enough, sprouting forth with unabashed pride was a thick gray carpet of chest hair. I wanted to retch. He was quite a package, but it was undoubtedly the gold Mr. T chains that thoroughly iced the whole revolting cake.
“Go away.” I turned my back to him, hoping the Bee Gees wannabe would take my not-so-subtle hint.
“You don’t have to be a bitch about it, you fucking whore.” Disco Dip Shit spat and then took his leave.
Gritting my teeth to keep the caustic comeback from rolling off my tongue, I was vaguely aware of Scotty talking on the phone. Raising my eyes, I glared at him. A guilty expression flashed across his face as he realized I was listening to the conversation.
“She’s had five, and I won’t give her anymore, not without confiscating her keys.”
“Is that Drake?” I demanded.
Scotty frowned and curtly nodded.
“I am outta here!” I tossed two twenties on the bar. As I stood and turned, I heard Scotty relay my departure to Drake. I knew he wasn’t being a snitch to hurt me and was no doubt disturbed by my unusual solo visit, but I couldn’t help but feel betrayed. Hell, I’d been betrayed by just about everyone I’d ever allowed inside my walls. All except Trevor. He’d never betrayed me.
I reached my car and pulled out of the parking lot. Rage bolstered my wits and sobriety until I was safely home. Once inside my familiar four walls, the floodgates burst open like a crumbling dam. Blubbering like a fool, I stumbled to my bedroom and stripped off my fetish wear. Even naked I couldn’t peel off the feeling that I was destined to wear a neon sign flashing “Loser” for the rest of my life.
Humiliation and rejection laminated my every pore. There was absolutely no way I could ever face Jordon again. I wasn’t even sure I could face Drake again. Humiliation settled in the pit of my stomach.
I paced my room, thinking about all the years I’d dedicated to the lifestyle and the club, and wondering what the hell I was going to do. Hours upon hours learning, and even more spent teaching new subs, donating my time to greet guests, working behind the bar, and cleaning equipment. Hell, every free moment of my time had been spent trying to make Genesis a comfortable home, not just for me, but for everyone. And now what was I left with besides a heavy cloak of shame and a dark, ugly hollowness scoring my heart? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.
Feeling numb, I stepped into a hot shower and sat on the floor. The stinging water bit my face while I cried in self-pity, self-loathing, self-destruction.
It was a long time before the tears stopped. The hot water had long turned cold, but it didn’t matter...I was numb inside and out. Turning off the shower, I stepped out and roughed a towel over my cold flesh, sniffed, and then turned to face the mirror.
The image staring back at me was stark. Haunted. Lifeless. No light twinkled in my eyes. I was met with a dull, flat reflection. My nose was red and my eyes were swollen. My cheeks were blotched, red, and ugly.
“Whatever possessed you to think you were a sub?” I sniffed, questioning my own reflection. It was a discussion I’d had with myself numerous times. Needing to know the reason, or at least an excuse for my submissive desires, I stared at myself, waiting for an epiphany...one that never came.
There was no enlightened recollection of some pivotal moment or Freudian-type trauma in my life that would explain why every fiber of my being ached to please a Dom. There was no defining line around my eyes or lips that could pinpoint the elusive reason.
As I climbed into bed, hopelessness settled deep in my bones. I was hopeless. Hopelessly jaded and envious as night after night I watched other subs fulfill their dreams. Hopelessly empty, alone, and tired of battling the arresting desires constantly raging within.
I wanted to be rid of the relentless frustration, exorcise it from my being. There was never going to be a Dominant who would take a chance with me. I was inexperienced and a total embarrassment. Thankfully my night with Jordon was over, but with it went any chance of finding my contentment. I always managed to screw things up, never consciously, but still...I ended up sabotaging every potential opportunity, like tonight.
I’d overheard Nick, a regular at the club, discussing me with Drake once, but he was quickly ushered away. Was I an embarrassment even to Drake? What if I’d wanted to be used by Nick? He was an incredibly handsome Dominant. Gentle. Patient. But now, after so much time, even Nick had a submissive. I would have loved an opportunity back then to at least try to get to know the Native American man on a submissive level. But Drake didn’t even discuss it with me. And why would he? I’m only the submissive. It’s not like I get to call the shots. He did...err, used to...or might still? Oh, hell...I had no clue where I stood with Drake anymore.
I had to let it go, stop thinking about it. I was only going in circles, and I was getting nowhere fast. I needed to shut off my brain and go to sleep.
Expelling a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes, promising to analyze my submissive-suicidal behavior in the morning. Maybe then I’d find some answers. Maybe I’d wake up and find the entire night was simply a bad dream. Well, I could wish anyway.
Tossing and turning, I was still unable to switch off my brain. The clock on my nightstand, with its eerie green glow, revealed two o’clock.
Suddenly there she was...Fanny-Frustration, wearing a smile so warm and loving, I couldn’t help but smile back. Graceful and floating with an ethereal white light, she was breathtaking. So glorious and beautiful. “Stop doubting. You’re only making this harder on yourself. You’re close. Closer than you’ve ever been. Don’t be afraid! He’ll reveal himself to you, but you must be strong. You have to be brave. You’ll have to pay a terrible price, but he’s worth it. I promise!”
I was suddenly afraid. She had
never spoken such an ominous warning in my dreams before. As I opened my mouth to demand she explain the cryptic message, she brushed a slender hand over my cheek and smiled. Then with the wave of her other hand, the image of the gorgeous black man appeared. His eyes sparkled and that mischievous half-smile curled on his sensual mouth.
“He may not be ready, but you are. Never doubt what you are. He’ll eventually find his way, too. But you must be confident in your quest. Don’t falter and don’t hide. You’ll have to be willing to risk it all to find happiness. Don’t be afraid. You both need each other so desperately.” Her soft lips caressed my forehead, and she vanished as she always did, but this time Sir Drool’s image remained.
I couldn’t stop myself. I reached out and brushed my fingertips over his full bottom lip. He blinked as if he could see me, too. His eyes grew wide in an expression of shock.
“You’re here. I’ve been waiting so long for you,” he whispered. “I never thought...You have no idea how much I want you.” His eyes were filled with love.
“Me?” I asked in stunned surprise. Just touching his warm, exotic lip infused a potent ache that stung me to the bone. He felt so real. So alive. His warm breath caressed the pads of my fingers as I stood before him, trembling.
“Yes, you.” He nodded, swiping his tongue over my fingers, his saliva slick and hot. “If only I could touch you like this, I’d shower you with all the magic you deserve, and I’d never let you go.”
“Please...I need...I want. Take me, I’m yours,” I begged.
“I can’t.” And with a pained expression, he evaporated.
~*~
Waking with a start, I sat upright in bed. My mind felt fuzzy, thick with fog from my dream. My heart squeezed bittersweet. He’d felt so real. Then the memory of his parting words and the misery reflected in his eyes crushed my soul. Without pause, the ghost woman’s words filtered through my head.
“What horrible price do I have to pay? What the hell is she talking about? He may not be ready. That’s the story of my life.” I exhaled a deep sigh, wondering if the damn dreams meant anything or if they were my inner desires manifesting in my sleep.
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was six thirty in the morning. It was far too early to try and analyze something that probably didn’t mean a damn thing, except that I was a certifiable basket case and should seek professional help.
Maybe I should make an appointment with Master Tony. He was a Dominant and a shrink, I bet he could figure out what the hell was wrong with me. I dismissed the option as quickly as it fluttered through my brain. I had no intention of spilling my guts to anyone about my abnormal dreams. I’d somehow figure it out, hopefully.
By ten o’clock, I was on my fifth cup of coffee and my second set of aspirin. My phone seemed to ring non-stop, and I had vowed no more shots of Crown the rest of my natural born days.
Clients irate over pestering notices from the IRS kept me busy. While I loved being a CPA, there were days like today that I wondered why I’d not chosen the carefree occupation of a garbage collector.
This is why you make the big bucks, baby!
The phone rang again. I snatched it up, bracing myself for another IRS crisis.
“Lunch. Maurizio’s. Noon. I’m buying. Don’t be late.” Without waiting for my reply, Drake hung up.
“Son of a bitch!” Squeezing the bridge of my nose between my finger and my thumb, I groaned. This was not going to be fun. And I really didn’t want to deal with Drake today. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was already eleven thirty. I slung my purse over my shoulder and raced out the door.
~*~
The scowl on Drake’s face, accompanied with dull, unreadable eyes, told me I was in deep shit. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to determine he was not happy to see me, not in the least. It was time to pay the piper, or in this case, a very pissed off Dom. I glanced over and nodded to Scotty, who was once again behind the bar. He flashed a bright, happy smile and nodded back.
Two heaping plates of lasagna sat untouched at the table, and my stomach rolled. Before I was even seated, Drake’s eyes leveled on me. “Do you want me to rescind my protection? If you do, just say the word.” His brows were drawn together in a menacing scowl, and there was no doubt he was in full, badass Dom mode.
“No!” I protested with a soft shiver and then plopped down across from him in the booth. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Your behavior screams otherwise.” His lips were a tight line as his steel-gray eyes ruthlessly drilled into mine.
“Look, I’m sorry I ran out last night. I couldn’t handle everything that happened. I needed air and time to think. I couldn’t get that at the club.”
“I’m listening,” he growled impatiently.
“I kept screwing up everything with Jordon. You may not believe me but I tried to make a good impression. Honest to God I did. He’s...there’s something about him. I wanted to explore the possibility that maybe...Fuck. Why couldn’t things be different?” I struggled to put my feelings into words. Most times I had no trouble whatsoever blurting out every little emotion or thought, but today I couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of my choking chaos.
Drake stared at me, not saying a word.
“Damn it, Drake. Stop it. Stop looking at me like you’re going to explode. Let me try to explain how I feel, would you please?” I begged quietly.
“Take all the time you need. I don’t plan on running away unlike someone else I know.”
Now he was acting like a patronizing parent. “That’s not fair,” I huffed. “Last night was a disaster. No matter how hard I tried, everything I did just kept turning to shit. I kept stepping out on the wrong foot the entire night. And the molehill I made soon became a goddamn mountain. First, I spilled my drink, almost drenching him. Then he followed me back to your room and berated me for not answering his question like I was some newbie playing games with him. It pissed me off.”
Drake sat listening to me with an unreadable expression as I flailed my explanation.
“I...I accidently snapped at him, that was all. I wasn’t trying to be recalcitrant, like he accused me of. There was no way I could confess to him that I had no owner. It would have made me look more pathetic than I already am. But I ended up telling him anyway, reaffirming my pathetic ineptness.” Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gritted my teeth to keep from breaking down and bawling like a baby in the restaurant.
“Suffering from feelings of inadequacy still, girl?” He arched his brows.
Trying not to scream in frustration, I inhaled deeply. Not only was he pissed off, he was pissing me off as well. He was hitting below the belt by slinging my insecurities back in my face.
I took another deep breath, and tried to curb my seething anger. “Nearly every sub at that club has a Dom or Domme, except me. You have no idea what it’s like to be pitied by them and how belittling it feels to catch their patronizing glances.” Placing my hand over my heart, I slathered my words in mock sarcasm. “‘Oh, poor Emerald. The girl tries and tries but can’t find one who’ll take her. There must be something horribly wrong with her, bless her little heart.’” I slapped my hand on the table as I leaned in, scowling right back at Drake. “Do you have any idea how pathetic that makes me feel? No. You couldn’t possibly know.” As tears once again stung my eyes, I tried to hold them back, but my control was quickly unraveling like a tattered thread. I took a deep breath.
“You have no idea how shameful it was to confess to a Dom who made my stomach flutter and my heart pound like a lovesick school girl that I don’t have an owner. And then you. You taunted me. Promised me that I could...well you know.” I took a nervous glance around the nearby tables, praying my voice wasn’t carrying over the entire restaurant. “You lured me into believing I could relieve some sexual frustration, and in a matter of seconds, you had me looking like an even bigger fucking failure. You dangled that orgasm in front of my face like a damn carrot only to snatch it back. It hurt Drake. You hum
iliated me in front of Jordon, and you hurt my feelings.” Tears brimmed my eyes as I hung my head in defeat.
There was a long pause, as if Drake were gathering his thoughts. I didn’t look up at him partly out of embarrassment, partly out of fear. Finally he spoke, low and soft.
“First of all, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. That was never my intent. I know how you feel about humiliation, and I vowed long ago not to push that button with you. It serves no positive purpose. That’s more than obvious right now. But think of how I felt hearing you’d been disrespectful to a guest. First impressions count for a hell of a lot in our lifestyle, not to mention I’ve trained you better than that.” His tone was hushed but laced with displeasure. “Do you honestly believe anyone at the club thinks there’s something wrong with you, let alone makes the kind of comments you imagine they do?”
Without waiting for me to answer, he continued. “If there were something that made you remotely undesirable, I’d damn well correct it. I may not own you, but I am responsible for your actions and those involving you. If you’re too goddamn mouthy, which you are, it’s my obligation to correct it. If you’re too goddamn hardheaded, which you are, it’s my obligation to correct that, too. The only problem keeping you from finding a Dominant is reining in your fucking pride.”
“I’m not giving that up, Drake. I may be a submissive, but I’ll be damned if I ever lose myself again. I’ve been there, done that, and by God, I won’t do it again. I refuse to be some asshole’s doormat. If losing my pride and self-respect is the only way I can be a good sub then fuck it, I’m done.”
“I’m not asking you to do that, and you damn well know it. Submission doesn’t mean doormat, and you know that, too.” He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “You have to knock down the walls you hide behind in order to fully submit. You have to release your pride. Release it, not lose it. Sometimes you have to take a chance, yeah, a big fucking chance, that a real Dominant will find you. And that he’ll cherish your gifts and not fuck you over. It’s called gaining and earning trust. You can’t automatically judge every damn Dom based on one bad experience. Especially when you now know you were partially to blame.”
