by Roni Loren
“You, Maggie, are far from innocent. And maybe I should be the one worried. I’m a guy all alone in the woods with a woman who knows how to wield a whip and who tortures men’s genitals for fun.”
She leaned over and patted his cheek. “We all sublimate in our own ways, honey. Now are you coming in for a coffee or not? I promise ball torture is off the table tonight.”
“Well in that case, never mind.”
A laugh burst from her. “Doc, did you just make a joke? There’s hope for you yet.”
He didn’t believe that, but he couldn’t help but be charmed by her. Plus, it was cold as hell out there and coffee sounded like ten kinds of heaven. “I’d like to see your art.”
She rubbed her lips together as if suddenly nervous, but nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s go. And be careful on the front steps. They ice up like a son of a bitch.”
He climbed out of the car, grabbed her stuff, and then went to her side. He offered her his arm. This time, she took it without hesitation.
When she swung open her front door, the blast of heat was a shock to his system but a welcome one. He shook the sleet off his jacket and followed her inside after swiping his feet on the mat as she punched in the code for her alarm.
“You can leave your shoes and coat by the door if you want them to start drying out.” She bent and tugged off her muddy boots then tucked them under a bench by the door. When she slipped out of her coat, he was stunned for a moment to see her in ordinary jeans and a soft cable-knit sweater. He’d seen her in some of the tightest, sexiest clothes a woman could wear—things that revealed way more than these comfortable ones ever would—but somehow he felt like he was seeing her naked.
She glanced up and tilted her head. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing,” he said as he slipped off his shoes.
Her lips hitched up at the corner as she tugged off her hat. “I’m ruining all my tough-girl cred with you, aren’t I?”
“Not possible.”
She nodded at his henley and jeans. “I bet your patients would be weirded out seeing you wearing that and no lab coat or scrubs, huh?”
“Yes. Doctors aren’t real people who exist outside of the hospital. Didn’t you know?”
“I remember running into my pediatrician in a grocery store when I was a kid. Totally freaked me out that he had a wife with him and Doritos in his cart.” She waved a hand. “Come on, the kitchen’s through here.”
Theo followed, quickly taking in his surroundings. The house was old, based on the door casings and the original hardwood floors, but everything looked fresh and updated. White walls and art hanging everywhere. Sheer curtains and funky lamps. A bright blue couch with colored pillows. Daring choices. All of it should’ve looked out of place in the cottage, but somehow it worked. Just like Maggie—edgy and down home all at once.
Maggie bumped a light switch with her elbow, illuminating the kitchen. The space was cozy—small but bright with white cabinets and butcher-block countertops. It looked lived in and well loved—so unlike the stark utilitarian kitchen at his place. A ridiculous amount of vegetables were piled in a bowl in the middle of one counter and a stack of cookbooks sat beside it.
He strolled over as Maggie turned on the coffeepot, and he picked up a beet from the bowl. “Your doctor would approve. Looks like you’re getting your five a day.”
She peered over her shoulder and grinned. “I grow all that stuff out back. Can take the girl off the farm but not the farm out the girl, I guess.”
“Farm girl, huh? How’d a girl from the farm end up an artist and dominatrix?”
She went to the fridge and pulled out a half gallon of milk. “A wicked-strong rebellious streak for the art. And a run-in with an asshole boyfriend in college for the dominance.”
He lowered himself onto the stool by the counter. “Run-in?”
“Yeah. I went through a serious ugly-duckling phase in high school. Braces, bad skin, extra weight, the whole thing. By college, most of that had improved but not the self-esteem problem that came along with it. I found a guy who was happy to exploit those insecurities.” She gave him a humorless smile. “It took a trip to the hospital and a firm talking-to by a doctor to get it through my skull that a man should respect me and that shoving your girlfriend to the sidewalk hard enough to break her wrist is not an appropriate response to being late for a date.”
Theo frowned, his fingers curling into fists even though this transgression against her was clearly a long time ago.
“After that, I raised my standards. Eventually, I figured out I really, really liked being in control and that men who wanted me to have it were the kind who flipped my switches.”
He considered her. “Because we’re safe.”
She smiled and poured the coffee, then set a full cup in front of him. “No, because you’re the most dangerous. That’s where the edge comes from. Nothing is more volatile than a proud man made vulnerable. It’s why that guy hit me all those months ago. He couldn’t handle it. Only the strong ones survive it. And it’s a huge turn-on to know that a powerful man has put that kind of faith in me—that he’ll let me see him the way the world never does.
“Plus, the kind of attitude it takes to be a submissive guy feeds my love of rebellion. That’s a man who isn’t afraid to give the world and its expectations for him a big, fat middle finger.”
Her eyes never left his the whole time she spoke, and Theo’s body took notice. He cleared his throat. “I’ve never heard anyone put it that way.”
Her lips curved, and she slid a small sugar bowl toward him. “So same question back at ya. How’s a big-time surgeon figure out that he likes to submit?”
Theo looked down at his cup, focusing on adding a spoonful of sugar to it instead of having to hold the eye contact. This woman saw too much too easily in him. “I’ve always liked strong women. And the masochistic streak has probably always been there. I mean, I did choose to go to med school.”
She laughed. “Good point.”
He could’ve left it there, deflected. But for some reason, he wanted to be just as honest with her as she had been with him even though he’d never talked about it aloud with anyone. “I figured out the masochism thing in college. When I used to get overwhelmed in school, I’d go to the gym and box. The best way for me to purge stress was through exertion and pain and pushing myself past what I thought I could take. It gave me this high—all the adrenaline, that victory in surviving it. Only when I got matched up with a mean-ass female trainer did I realize that the feeling could become sexual.” He smirked. “I grew up in an affluent family. I was used to people treating me like I was some sort of royalty. But this woman talked to me like I was scum on her shoe if I didn’t perform how she wanted. It pushed some button in me. My hand got quite a workout those few weeks I trained with her.”
He looked up and Maggie was sipping her coffee, evaluating him with a hint of humor in her eyes. “That’s hot. Young college Theodore in the gym showers dreaming about his drill sergeant trainer. I should’ve brought a whistle to one of our sessions. I could’ve done the whole Kelly LeBrock routine from Weird Science.”
“Shit.” Images of Maggie dressed up in snug workout gear, twirling a whistle and barking commands, filled his mind. “You might’ve just blown teenage Theo’s mind into bits.”
“Ha. Teenage Maggie agrees. I so had a thing for the one who played Wyatt in that movie. Guess that should’ve been a sign for me then that I wanted a smart boy who’d let me be in charge, but it took a lot more years for that to sink in. At least you figured it out early. Probably saved yourself some grief.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I saw the masochism as a separate thing—a thing only for my private fantasy life, not something to act on. I dated vanilla girls, married one.”
The last part slipped out and his heart seemed to stop for a second. His hands tightened around his coffee cup.
Maggie’s brows lifted. “You were married?”
He coughed
, trying to get his throat muscles to work. “Yeah. Lori was killed in a drunk-driving accident about seven years ago.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. No one around here does. We were living in Oregon at the time.” He took a long sip of his coffee, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Once again, he’d let his guard down and stepped into deeper waters than he’d intended. “Thanks for the coffee. I probably should get back on the roads before they get any worse.”
“Sure.” She hitched a thumb toward the back of the house. “Do you still want to see the studio before you go? It’ll only take a minute.”
He wanted to kiss her feet for changing the subject. “Of course.”
“Okay, give me a sec. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t feel like you need to clean anything up for me.”
“I’m just going to go flip on the space heater and hide that nude self-portrait I’ve been working on.”
He choked a little bit on the coffee, coughing.
She grinned. “Kidding. It’s really a photography series.”
“Sadist.”
“Yep!” she said happily and strode off.
He watched her go and even though they’d just talked about his embarrassing college jerking off, abusive boyfriends, and his dead wife, he found his lips curving into the unfamiliar shape of a smile.
Somehow this girl knew how to force sunshine through the clouds no matter how dark and threatening they were.
He should leave right now. This was getting more dangerous by the minute.
He poured himself another cup of coffee.
FOUR
Maggie hurried to slip one of the canvases she had laying out behind a leaning pile of farm animal portraits. She’d nearly had a panic attack in the car when he’d agreed to come in and she’d remembered what she had sitting out in the studio. She straightened a few more things, though getting the area neat was too lofty of a goal, and tried to settle herself.
After hearing about Theo’s wife, her heart had broken for him. The guy had been through more than she could imagine, and it explained a lot about how he acted. How tightly reined in he kept his emotions, all the boundaries he set. He was the only client she’d ever had who didn’t allow himself a release at the end of her sessions. Theo would get aroused, but it was almost as if he wanted to punish himself by not getting any relief. She’d thought it just a deep masochistic streak, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe there was some lingering loyalty to his wife. The sessions were about the pain, the catharsis, not the pleasure.
After seeing him at The Ranch, she’d often lie in bed at night, fantasizing about how he would look in release, what he’d be like when he really let go, what it’d be like to be the one giving him that moment. Maybe he wasn’t capable of that. Maybe his heart and his desire would always belong to another.
“Am I allowed to come back there now?” a voice called from the hall.
“Yep. Come on in.”
Theo stepped in, his looming height more obvious in the low-ceiling room, and gazed around. She had paintings-in-progress set up on two easels, other completed artwork hanging on the walls, and more canvases leaning in piles against the wall. The sleet was battering the wraparound windows and the tin roof, making it sound like they were in a rain barrel, but the space was warming up from the heater, and having Theo there with her made it feel almost unbearably intimate.
She’d long gotten over the anxiety of showing her work to others. But for some reason, knowing Theo was going to look at them had her heart picking up speed. He’d probably think her stuff was too bright, too whimsical. He probably had staid portraits of British nobles on his walls or something.
He strolled over to a series of three paintings of barnyard animals. She’d used bold colors and had tried to capture the quirky expressions of each animal—a goat giving a head tilt, a chicken eyeballing the observer with suspicion, and a cow looking pointedly bored (which she’d named Udderly Bored because she hadn’t been able to resist). Those were the works she did when she wanted to simply have fun and play with her paints.
She stepped up behind Theo, who seemed to be taking in every detail. “That’s Curly, Moe, and Larry.”
He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “You named the paintings after The Three Stooges?”
“No, I named the animals that. They live on my friend’s farm down the road. I use them as subjects often, so she let me name them. This series just sold online to a lady in Montana.”
“They’re great. You’ve captured a lot of personality in each of them. You’re really talented, Maggie.” He turned to her, the expression on his face impressed. “Do you exclusively focus on animals?”
“I like live subjects, so it’s usually animals or people.”
“People?” She could tell the second he caught sight of the wall behind her where she displayed her real income generator—the nudes. His entire face went slack with what she could only hope was awe and not horror. “Oh my God, Maggie, those are … Wow.”
He walked past her to take a closer look, and she tried to ignore the warm feeling that moved through her at his genuine appreciation of her work. She knew she was good. The fact that people paid her big chunks of money to have her paintings told her that. But hearing Theo say it affected her in a different way. He wasn’t a guy who would blow smoke up her ass. Had he not liked her work, he would’ve been polite but wouldn’t have offered false praise.
Theo leaned forward, examining one she’d done of two of her female friends at The Ranch. The couple had happily agreed to pose for her. She’d captured them in a naked embrace as they stood in a row of grapevines at The Ranch. She’d painted more grapevines climbing across the ground and swirling up their legs to lock them together.
“This is stunning,” Theo said, glancing back at her briefly before turning back to the painting to continue examining it. “It hits you right in the gut. I can feel their bond.”
Maggie smiled. “Thanks. They’d just gotten married a few weeks before and were in that honeymoon phase, so they were great subjects. Gave me a lot to work with. I did a whole series with them both together and separately.”
“I imagine people pay enormous amounts of money for these.”
“I’m not cheap.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. And then he turned around, eyes serious. “Good. I’m glad you know your value.”
She wet her lips under that intense gaze, the words burrowing right into her. She glanced away, pretending to focus on the paintings. “Took a while. I think creatives are inherently neurotic about their work. But eventually I leaned how to take mistress mentality and apply it to this as well.”
“Speaking of which”—a little wrinkle appeared between his brows—“I can’t imagine why you’d need to work at The Ranch if this is doing so well for you.”
She sat on one of the stools in the room and he followed suit, taking a chair nearby instead of the other stool, putting her in a position to look down on him. Her libido gave a little jump of recognition at the subtle shift in the power dynamic. She also noticed that he didn’t seem to be as in a hurry to leave as he had been a few minutes ago.
She cleared her throat. Down, girl. None of this meant anything. He was a friend who wanted to see her art. That’s it. “I don’t need to work there. But when I first joined The Ranch, I didn’t want any messy relationship stuff. I liked the idea of scening with paying clients. Boundaries were crystal clear. It made it easier. When it started to feel like work, I stopped.” She gave a little shrug. “It was never about the money itself. I’m sure you understand that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re a gorgeous, intelligent man and a fantastic submissive. You had to know that you could get whatever you wanted at The Ranch without dropping a dime. But you paid for sessions for your own reasons.”
His eyes met hers. “No, I couldn’t have gotten whatever I wanted. T
here was only one woman I wanted to see and she charged.”
Maggie sucked in a breath, the admission hitting her right in the chest. “Theo …”
He ran a hand over the back of his head and looked away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not trying to hit on you.”
“You’re not?” She let out a nervous laugh. “Well, why the hell not?”
His attention snapped her way. “What?”
She crossed her legs and eyed him from her perch, knowing she was treading into thorny territory but trying to trust her gut. “Why aren’t you hitting on me?”
“I—”
“Are you attracted to me, Theo?” she asked, keeping her voice gentle.
He looked stricken for a second. “What? Of course. What man wouldn’t be?”
She smirked. “Lots of them. I’ve heard I can be kind of a bitch in bed.”
“Maggie …” he said, almost a protest.
She slid off the stool, her sock-covered feet landing without a sound. “I’m just asking for your honesty, Theodore. Do you want me?”
Her beautiful, sexy doctor closed his eyes and bowed his head, his shoulders hunching. “I can’t …”
“That’s not what I asked,” she said, keeping her voice steady and calm even though her heart was splintering for him. She could see the turmoil, the loyalty to his wife, the guilt. He had to be breaking beneath the weight of carrying all of that all the time.
He shook his head, his eyes still closed, as if he couldn’t bear another word.
She eased closer to him and laid her hand to the back of his neck, letting him feel her presence but also hoping to soothe. It was the place she always put her hand after he’d had a rough session in her dungeon. He tensed at the first touch but then the muscles loosened beneath her fingertips. “You can’t say it, can you? Even if you want me, you won’t allow yourself even a little piece of joy, even for one night, will you?”
“I don’t know how,” he said, his voice rasping out, grinding with the anguish that held him so tightly bound. “I don’t know how to let it go. Even when I want to. Even when you’ve brought me to the brink in session, I seize up at the thought of taking enjoyment out of it. I feel sick inside with the guilt.”
