by KD Robichaux
“Because as you saw when you first visited me at my office earlier this week, we wouldn’t get much privacy from the lovely women who work for me. And since it would be unethical to put you down as an actual patient, I’d never hear the end of it if I made you an appointment. So the study it is for things like this, but you’re more than welcome to come to my office for social calls whenever you’d like,” I reply, and she nods.
“Fair enough.” She sits back in her seat, having been facing toward me all this time. I glance over to see her put the cash in her wallet, replacing it into her purse, and then setting her purse by her feet.
There’s a heavy silence between us now, and I regret that we’ve soured her excitement. Damn the fucking therapist in me who couldn’t just wait to jump on her revelation about her guilt. But then, how could I not? She has nothing to feel guilty about, and if that’s what this yearlong depression was all about, I’m going to feel like the stupidest motherfucker on the planet for letting her hang on to that for so long. This entire time, I believed she was just petrified of getting back into the world after a decade of being basically held captive, separated from all her family and friends, punished any time she wanted to do anything outside her house that wasn’t to wait on her ex hand and foot.
“So… they loved your work. Anything interesting happen? I imagine being in a room with almost twenty exotic dancers would produce some entertaining stories,” I prompt.
“I would prefer you not imagine being in a room with almost twenty exotic dancers, but you’d be correct,” she says with heat in her tone, and it makes me smirk. I love it when this possessive side of her pops her pretty green head in.
“So let’s hear it. If I must share you, at least fill me in on the gossip.” I smile over at her and wink, and she snorts but sits up more, her voice growing excited the more she spills.
“Well, apparently the makeup artist before me just like, up and quit. Left her giant-ass rolling makeup kit and everything, which the girls said is now mine as long as I use it to make them look as good as I did tonight!”
I give her a side-eye and lift a brow. “That seems… odd,” I insert, keeping what Seth just told me close to the vest while I get Astrid’s intel. “You’ve told me before how long it takes and how expensive it is for an artist to grow her tools and supplies, how you usually buy one thing at a time because the cost would be astronomical to purchase all at once.”
She’s nodding before I even finish. “Right? Super weird. But after the night I had, making over seven hundred bucks in one night? I guess she felt like she could afford to leave it if she was in a hurry to get out of here.”
“What did the ladies have to say about that? Anybody know why she quit?”
She shakes her head. “No one really knows for sure. I did the makeup of her best friend tonight, and she believes it had something to do with a guy. The previous makeup artist, Alison, mentioned something about a great opportunity that was given to her by a customer, and seeing as all their customers are men, they all came to the conclusion that she fell for someone who was visiting the club from out of town.”
“Interesting,” I state. “I mean, stranger things have happened. We’ve had Doms and subs meet at our club and fall in love. Not often, because there’s not much talking going on aside from limits and preferences. But still.”
She shrugs. “In any case, I’ve now got access to a makeup kit worth thousands, and I made almost two hundred and fifty bucks an hour. I’d say that’s a good day, and I’ll be able to save up for school in no time. The club is closed on Sundays, so you’ll have me all to yourself. And then on Monday, it won’t take as long, since there will be half as many girls. I think this is really going to be great,” she tells me, sounding more optimistic than I’ve ever heard her before.
Chapter 19
Astrid
The next afternoon, I sit across from Neil in a pair of high-waisted black leggings and a baby doll top. It’s the first item of clothing I’ve bought myself in years that wasn’t from a thrift store. Most of my clothes, I’ve had since high school. Yes, I might’ve gotten this from Walmart this morning when I went to pick up stuff to make dinner tonight while Neil did some paperwork for Imperium, but it wasn’t off the clearance rack, and it was truly super cute, and I felt the need to treat myself after earning my first big paycheck. It’s sky-blue with spaghetti straps and flowy around the stomach, and it flares out when I spin around, so I made sure to go braless. After all, we aren’t leaving the house. My session is in the study, and nothing bad ever comes from Neil getting a flash of underboob.
He’s dressed in a black button-up that looks absolutely sinful stretched across his hard, wide pecs with his laser-blue eyes. His gray slacks accentuate his tree-trunk thighs and his trim hips. I swear he could be on one of my romance novels, the hot naughty therapist who fucks his sub on his office couch.
“What’s that look, goddess?” he asks, pulling me out of my fantasy.
My cheeks are aflame, and I press my palm flat to my face. “Um… just imagining you as some book hero. You really could give all those models a run for their money, Viking.” I think for a moment, letting the idea grow. “Would it be weird to roleplay as therapist and patient, just like… bend me over right… about… here,” I taunt, rubbing the leather on the arm of the couch. The only thing that moves are his eyes, to drop to where my hand strokes the padded arm before lifting back to mine. “Or maybe we could do it at Club Alias where there’s all sorts of things you could introduce me to. One of those private rooms must have a couch, right?”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned being interested in going to the club, Astrid. In order to do that, you’d have to become a full-fledged member. That’s one rule the guys and I do not break for our women. Even your sister had to go through the sessions,” he reminds me.
I pout, my hand dropping noisily to the cushion from the arm of the couch. “But I’m fine. You know me. We’ve had sex like… I don’t know. I lost count when we did it like three times that one night. And I haven’t freaked out or been ‘triggered’ or anything,” I argue, highlighting with finger quotes one of the words he uses when he’s using his shrinky voice.
“While we’ve made love, goddess—vanilla sex—and you did a very good job at the restaurant last night following orders when I demanded, we haven’t yet introduced you to punishment or a D/s scene. Also, even if you and I were to take it easy in that aspect if we were to go to Club Alias, that doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t be exposed to it by other people. You don’t think I have an inkling of exactly what tool caused those scars across your buttocks and the back of your thighs? What’s going to happen when you pass by a sub getting whipped or flogged while tied to the public St. Andrew’s cross?” he asks, and I swallow thickly at the mental image. “You could have a flashback, be triggered, and have a full-on panic attack right then and there. That’s why, if you really want to entertain the idea of becoming a member, then we need to take these sessions seriously.”
I nod, looking away toward the bookcases to my left. “Have you spoken to the guys about the possibility of me joining?”
“I have, and they agreed that if we treated you as if you were any other member, requiring you to have the sessions, they trust me enough to make the right decision on whether it’s a good idea or not. Because they know for a fact I’d never allow you into a place that could cause you pain, even if it’s not physical. I… I just got you back to that sassy girl I first met. I don’t want to expose you to anything that might send you spiraling back to that dark place you were in,” he admits, and I realize this really is important. Especially to Neil. I shouldn’t get special treatment when it comes to this, because I need to continue on my journey to heal my past; that way I can truly enjoy the future without worrying something bad is going to happen for skipping the steps that are in place for a very good reason.
“Okay,” I concede, my face serious. “I… I really liked what happened at
the restaurant yesterday. It was… exciting and… arousing. It’s confusing, the fact that I liked it so much, after being with such a controlling man and wanting nothing more than my freedom. You’d think I would hate being ordered around. That I would want to stay as far away from someone who wants to dominate me as I can. Any normal person would… I don’t know, learn from her past mistakes and lose all interest in submitting, but… not me.” I look down into my lap, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.
“Astrid, you are a submissive. Right down to the very core of you, you are a sub. No matter what happens to you, nothing is going to change who you are deep down inside, because you are stronger than you believe. Look what you survived. Look what you went through and still came out on the other side with such an amazing, lovable, and loving personality. Your ex might’ve left scars on the outside, but he wasn’t able to touch what’s on the inside,” Neil tells me, and my breath catches.
I’m suddenly choked up, my heart fluttering in my chest. I never thought about it that way. I thought something was truly fucked up in my head that I was still turned on by the idea of a D/s relationship.
“Now, what I really want us to work on today is this obvious guilt you carry when it comes to your sister and what happened to her,” he adds, and I swallow, sinking back into the cushions, knowing I can’t avoid talking about this any longer if I want to get past everything that happened before.
I sigh and nod solemnly. “I… I was doing all right. I mean, when Twyla came and got me that night, we closed our eyes and I pointed to the map, and my finger just happened to land on this little town on the opposite side of the country. We got here, and she had a nice little chunk of savings, so we found the cheapest apartment in the safest neighborhood according to Google. Once the excitement and adrenaline settled from my sister and me being on this big adventure to escape the evil ex, that’s when I realized everything Twyla had given up for me. She was a big deal, you know. Like a big, big deal in her field, and she just… left it. Left everything. For me. Because of the stupid decisions I’d made when I was young and because I wasn’t strong enough to leave him on my own.”
I push my hair back out of my face and look toward the ceiling to keep the tears from falling where they pool in my eyes. I let out a huge sigh and then continue. “There’s nothing in this small town for a brilliant scientist. It was my stupid finger that landed us here on that stupid map, and it landed us somewhere she wouldn’t even get to do what she loved.”
“But goddess, you realize it was that stupid finger that was playing into fate’s plan, because otherwise, how else would Twyla have met Seth, the love of her life?” he asks, shaking his head, and then he lowers his voice. “How would I have met you, the love of my life?”
My chin wobbles, and I fight to stay in my seat, the urge to run into his arms completely overwhelming. But if I do that now, we won’t get through this session, and I need us to get past this. I need to find a way to get rid of this guilt.
He continues, apparently not realizing the magnitude of what he just told me. “And, Astrid, wouldn’t you have done the same thing for Twyla had the roles been reversed? And on the same side of that coin, would you have wanted her to feel guilty if something happened to you after you rescued her?”
“God, no. I’d tell her it was my fucking choice to rescue her, and as such, it was on me if something happened to my ass while playing the hero,” I reply, still hung up on what he said before to realize what I just said.
“The two of you are incredibly close. As close as sisters can be. That’s saying something, seeing as your ex did everything in his power to isolate you from all your friends and family. He couldn’t even touch your bond. You cannot feel responsible for what happened to her, when you would’ve done the same exact thing for her.”
I nod, letting the sentiment finally click into place, and it’s this overwhelming rush of emotion that slices through me. Tears sting my nose, and a whimper fills me as the guilt over my sister getting hurt finally releases its death grip on my heart. And just as the grip releases, another one, one entirely different, seizes my lungs.
“You… you think I’m the love of your life?” I finally wheeze, coming back to what’s been echoing inside my mind since he said it long moments ago. A single tear falls down my cheek, and my stomach dips as if I just tipped over that first hill on a roller coaster.
“I tell you every day how much I love you, goddess,” he says, his brows furrowing even as he smiles.
I nod, sniffling. “Yeah, but like… that’s different. You can love me and still not think I’m the love of your life. When someone says that, that means they believe you’re the one person they were meant to be with. Like… their soul mate. Their love for this lifetime.”
He nods slowly, his face softening. “That’s right, Astrid. That is what that means. And you are mine.” No hesitation. Just matter of fact. Not even a blink.
I laugh once, the noise sounding pained through my tears. “But… how could that possibly be? You’re—” I wave my hand in his direction. “—you’re perfect. Perfect in every way. One of my book heroes come to life. And I’m… damaged goods. With so much fucking baggage. A Louis Vuitton store’s worth of freaking baggage. How can someone who has absolutely all of his shit together think this dumpster fire of a human being is the love of their life? I love you, Neil. I love you with my whole heart.” My hand presses to my chest as I continue.
“And that makes sense. How can I not love you as much as I do? You’re wonderful, and smart, and handsome, and a real-life fucking hero. It makes sense that I feel like I hit the goddamn jackpot and believe you’re the love of my life, because no one will ever compare to you. When you finally come to your senses and see what a shitshow I am and then realize you have some… savior complex wreaking havoc on your life right now, you’ll be able to leave me and find someone worthy of you, to find the one you’re really supposed to be with. And when that happens—” I shake my head, my hands dropping along with my eyes to my lap as I deflate. “—I’ll have nothing. I might be able to find someone to… I don’t know, be somewhat content with. But they’ll never be as good as you. No one will ever live up to you. It’s like… giving someone a Maserati then taking it away and replacing it with a junker.”
A loud snap! echoes in the room, and my eyes lift, trying to find where the sound came from. It’s not until I see black ink spilling over Neil’s knuckles that I realize he broke his pen in his hand. My surprised gaze travels upward until I reach his face, which is full of barely contained rage. I swallow at the look, my heart taking flight at the anger aimed at me. But even so, I’m unafraid. I know he won’t hurt me. I just don’t like the fact that my calm, mostly serious, gentle giant of a man suddenly looks like he wants to destroy something much bigger than his pen.
“Neil, the ink!” I squeak, seeing it ooze from his first to his second finger, and I shoot up from the couch to run get a towel, but he stops me with one low, demanding growl.
“Don’t. Move.”
It’s like there’s a chip inside me that only he can control. My body freezes before his words even register in my brain. I do, however, glance at his hand, seeing the ink sliding precariously closer to his ring finger. I have to get him something, anything to stop the ink from falling to the floor and staining the rug beneath our seats. I may be really good at cleaning, but even I don’t know a way to get black ink out of a cream rug. He’s going to have a hard-enough time getting it off his skin.
“Neil, it’s—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the goddamn pen. I care about the woman I love. The woman I know is the love of my life. My soul mate. The one I am meant to spend the rest of my life with. Who I’m not going to wake up beside one day and decide she’s not good enough for me.” His voice is low, even, and some of the rage has gone out of his expression, but his eyes are still just as intense. “It’s been twenty-four years since my last relationship. Since the only other relationship I
ever had in my life. She was the one I thought I was supposed to be with,” he says, and my heart sinks as jealousy screams inside me.
I’ve never asked about this woman in his past. I never dug deeper when he mentioned her before. But now, hearing him say he’d thought she was The One, I need to know what happened. I need to know why she left, how she could’ve given up this dreamlike hero of a man, what she did to break his heart so thoroughly that he hasn’t had a relationship since, until he met me over two decades later.
My eyes flit to the ink once more, seeing its descent along his pinkie, knowing it’s about to drip on his carpet, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him ruin something in his home because of the self-deprecating shit I spewed, knowing he can’t fucking stand it when I do that, but I had to get it out. That’s what therapy is, right? A safe place to voice the bad shit inside your head? Even so, it would be my fault for pushing him like that. And since he’s ordered me not to leave, and I can’t run get a towel to catch it in, I do the first thing that pops into my head.
Right as the ink builds at the bottom of his fist, looking like a droplet of dark blood about to fall to the cream carpet below, I grasp hold of the bottom hem of my new sky-blue baby doll shirt, whip it over my head, and fall to my knees at his feet, catching the ink as I wrap his hand in the soft fabric.
I feel his fist between my hands and glance at the rug below, seeing no blackness touched its flawless cream fibers and sighing in relief. When I look back up at him, his eyes hold a new emotion, one I can’t clearly read, and it’s not until he lowers his gaze to my chest that I remember I hadn’t been wearing anything beneath my shirt. So now I kneel before him, my breasts naked as I clutch at his hand like a peasant begging her king on his throne.
And I am, aren’t I? This home is his castle, and I was the beggar he took in and made me fall in love with him. And now I’m waiting to hear a story I know will break my heart. I’m sure he’s going to tell me something about the one he loved and who dumped him, and how he’s now settling for me just so he doesn’t have to be lonely in this big fortress anymore.
