Something Real

by Abigail Grey

  With a smile for her former mentor, who was likely charming yet another lost little lamb into his den even at this moment, Marcy flipped open the first chapter of the book.

  A few pages in, Marcy heard a familiar voice.

  “I’m serious! Could you please just come get me? No, I’m not walking!” After a pause, the conversation continued. Marcy realized she was overhearing a phone call and again she was struck by the familiarity of the voice. “I’m stuck here, Aaron. I need your help. My car won’t start, and I have to pick the kids up from the in-laws. Can you please be a good big brother for once?”

  With another cringe at the situation that had left her here instead of Jen, Marcy got up from the comfortable chair. Rounding the corner of the bookshelf, she waved silently to another of the book club group.

  “Oh, thank God, Marcy’s here. Hang on, Aaron.” Kayla Baxter dropped her phone to her side. “I don’t suppose you know anything about cars?”

  “Sorry, I don’t. But I couldn’t help overhearing. Are you okay?” Marcy hoped the answer would be positive.

  “My in-laws are jerks about keeping Katie and Dillon longer than I tell them. Evidently their golf game is more important than their grandkids…and I’m stuck.”

  Kayla was a practical soccer mom type who had just happened to fall in love with one of the country club crowd. Unfortunately it left her as the warden at the loony bin sometimes, judging by the stories she had told about dealing with her husband’s family. “And my brother”—she began, lifting the phone to her lips—“is being a big jerk and won’t come pick me up!”

  Marcy heard the protest from the other end and smiled when she realized he was assuring her he would be there. Kayla made sure he knew where before she hung up.

  “Would you like someone to wait with you?” Marcy asked. “I’m not always great company, but it’s better than being bored, right?”

  Kayla grinned, looking more approachable than the designer hairstyle and clothes made her seem. “That would be great. It’ll take him a bit to get here, I’m sure.”

  They claimed a smaller table in the café this time, for just the two of them. They traded titles of books they had read recently outside the book club. Kayla pulled one from her book bag that jogged a memory for Marcy.

  A book open on a coffee shop table. The same jacket, the same font, the same odd heading for a chapter. “Hey, do you mind if I take a look at that one?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Go right ahead.” Kayla pushed the book across the table. “My brother really liked it, actually. I told him he should join the book club if he liked it so much.” An incredulous laugh bubbled up, having amused herself at the thought of the unseen brother surrounded by their group of women.

  Marcy held her favorite book in her hands. Obviously it was not her copy. Hers was held together by love and packing tape. She ran her hand over the inner jacket where the author’s signature splashed boldly across the blood red parchment. She flipped the pages open to where the spine had been creased recently, seeing the page she had noted open on a coffee shop table days before.

  “I…um… I didn’t know you had a signed copy,” she stammered. “It’s a great book.”

  “Actually it’s his. I’m just borrowing.” Kayla took the book back and put it back into her bag. “His company did some work for the author, so she sent a few copies.”

  Marcy nodded absently. “It’s not a book most guys would like, I think.”

  Kayla agreed. “I think he kept it for his girlfriend. She used to be in the book club. Did you ever meet Sara? Or did she move before you joined?”

  “Yeah, just once or twice. She seemed…nice?” Marcy didn’t trust her memory enough to say more than that. She remembered hearing some nightmarish things about a Dom who wanted her to give up her dream of running a kitchen as an executive chef.

  Kayla laughed. “Way to be diplomatic about it. At the end she was kind of a bitch, honestly. And I’m saying that as one of her best friends. She broke his heart when she left.”

  “But I thought she said something about him keeping her from leaving? She said it was a dream job for her. Kind of makes it seem not cool at all for him to hold her back. How long were they together?”

  “On and off since college. It was close to ten years that we all knew each other. I think they’d dated for something like four or five. And he didn’t keep her from going, but of course he wanted her to stay. No one wants to see their relationship die. If she had just asked, he probably would have even gone with her.” Kayla’s gaze was drawn out of the windows of the store. “Speak of the devil… Thanks for waiting with me, Marce. See you soon, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Marcy sat dazed at the table for a moment before also glancing outside.

  His hand shielded his eyes from the midday sun as he stood next to the driver side of his Jeep. The glare on his sunglasses didn’t diminish the memory of blue eyes. Today his shirt, a casual polo, was a deep navy that made her think of picnics and sailing that would have highlighted the dark blond of his hair. She stood, walking closer to the window as she saw Kayla—tall, slim, blonde Kayla who she now realized looked so much like him—run up and jump into the car, clearly trying to hurry him along.

  He dropped his hand slowly as she gaped at him. She realized he was staring back at her, dropping his jaw. She raised her hand in silent greeting. He mirrored the gesture, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  Kayla clamored across the seat, grabbing his shirt and yanking him into the car. The spell broken, Marcy shook her head and moved quickly away from the window. She heard the Jeep, a loud ‘guy car’ model, roar off.

  Walking on autopilot to her car, she pondered the information her brain now had to process. She knew his name. She knew he was, or at least had been, part of a lifestyle relationship. She knew people who knew him. The knowledge that he was a dominant player fit with the assertiveness he’d shown at the coffee shop. That tidbit of information nearly made her mouth water in anticipation of standing before him, so small before his height. The question it presented now was what to do with this new intelligence on the mystery man from the café the week prior. Marcy started the engine of her little car and, juggling between the numb grip of her left hand and the sure grasp of her right, dialed the phone.

  “Hey, Jen?” she said carefully when the call was answered. “How are you doing? Yeah? Cool. Can I come over?”

  Chapter Six

  “So, brat, anyone new in book club?” Aaron had to shout the question over the rush of wind.

  “So, Aa-ron, get any lately?” she shouted back. “Why do you insist on driving this thing without a top?”

  “Topless is sexy. Quit being a pain in the ass. I’m being interested,” he attempted.

  His little sister laughed, grabbing the frame of the roll cage as he pulled a hard turn. “Okay, there are a few. Two of them are lesbians, so I don’t think they’re your type. Willa’s a sweetheart if you’re looking for a cougar. I don’t think she’s really looking, though. Her ex did a number on her confidence. Then there’s Marcy, but I don’t know exactly whose type she would be. She could be a crazy whip-wielding warrior woman who wears leather on the weekends, for all she shares. And I think you just answered my question.”

  “What?” he shouted back, his mind on the brunette he hoped wasn’t one of the lesbians—or the whip-wielder.

  “You wouldn’t be asking me about girls if you were getting some,” Kayla shot back. “Aren’t there any beach bunnies out at the party house today?”

  Laughing, he replied, “Yeah, but I leave the beach bunnies to the boys now, remember?” Aaron brought the Jeep to a stop in the driveway of the house Kayla and her husband had built on land gifted to them by her in-laws, inconveniently located just yards from their own front door. “So glad you’re watching out for my sex life, brat. What would I do without you?”

  “You’d be a sad, wrinkled old man.” She reached over and patted his leg. “As opposed to just the wrinkl
ed old man you are now.”

  Aaron barked a laugh and good-naturedly swatted her hand off his leg.

  Kayla smiled at him and leaned over for a quick hug. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll get the car towed to the dealership, so I should be good now.” She climbed out of the truck, her long legs easily reaching the ground and avoiding the mud from the beach spattered on the frame. She strode around the hood, heading to pick up her two little rug rats.

  “Say hi to the monkeys for me!” Aaron called.

  Kayla turned with a wave, but stopped with a look of realization. “Oh, I almost forgot!” Pulling his book from her bag, she handed it to him. “Thanks for the loan. You were right. It’s really good. Marcy said it’s one of her favorites, and it’s written by a woman, so maybe we can do it for book club.”

  “Huh. Sure. See you, Kay.” Aaron watched her run across the yard before revving the engine and speeding off.

  With a determination he didn’t entirely understand, he drove back to the bookstore. His phone continued to chime and vibrate with messages from friends who had expected him for their backyard barbecue. He parked and entered the store with a sure stride.

  His feet carried him to where the two women had been sitting. On the table was a book. He recognized the name of it as one that had been popularized recently and one that his sister had claimed to have read already.

  Skimming the summary on the back of the paperback, he quirked his eyebrows when he realized it was the story of a Dominant and his strong-willed submissive. He slid into the seat, flipping through the pages. The story began to weave around him. The girl in the book revealed early on her fear of submitting. The strength of her need, and the desperation with which she wished to be cherished, terrified her.

  A quiet, thoughtful “huh” once again escaped him as he walked to the checkout, a night of reading replacing his previous agenda.

  * * * *

  Once home, Aaron set the book aside. He retrieved his phone and sent a quick text message as he settled into his favorite chair.

  Hey, what’s the story with Marcy?

  He found himself back in the book, engrossed again with the description of the scene that ended with a Dominant’s arm cramping and sore from the repetitive motion required to give her the complete flogging she had requested. He was shocked at the author’s description of the straight-backed posture of the submissive as she was released from her bindings. Every submissive, male or female, he had ever seen endure a beating of that degree was a complete and total mess afterward. The aftercare required after such a scene was extensive. But he felt as confused as the fictional Dominant who watched her, completely calm and collected, walk away from him.

  His phone dinged at him, indicating his response had finally come from David.

  What story with Marcy?

  Who is she? What’s she like? Has she gone to any events with you guys?

  What, haven’t you met her?

  I don’t think so.

  The phone went silent, without even a progress indicator that he was typing. Aaron set the phone down, trying to temper his patience by turning back to the book. He found his eyes being drawn repeatedly, though, to the face of the cell phone.

  Finally, as he stared blankly at the gray screen of the television, he heard the phone.

  I’m not sure of the story. Maybe you should ask her.

  “Fuck.” Aaron’s curse rang out in the room. If David wouldn’t tell him openly, she was a bigger mystery. Did it mean she was considered hands off? Was she claimed? Was she Dominant? Was the book nothing more than a possibility to present to the book club?

  Aaron tapped the phone on the arm of his chair before sending one more message.

  Are you still planning to go out tonight?

  * * * *

  “Jen, is this really necessary?”

  Marcy peered into the mirror she sat before. Her eyes drew her. Jen had lined them with something that gave them an exotically dark look while keeping the rest of her makeup subtle and neutral. She nervously eyed the bundle of clothes nearby, seeing scraps of leather and lace that seemed hyper-sexual. Her hands gripped the wine glass tightly in her lap.

  “Marcy, honey, you have to get out. The community here is so great. There are so many people you could meet and talk to. Even if you don’t, at least it will help get you out there to see how the events are run.”

  Marcy took a large swallow of the wine she held. “Jen, I’m still not sure I want to. I’m not fit company.” She turned in the computer chair she had been unceremoniously pushed into for this beauty school torment, intending to rise.

  Jen gripped Marcy’s shoulder, turning the younger girl to face the mirror again. “Marcy, I don’t know what it is that has you holding back. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Silently Marcy held the glass to her lips again and shook her head. At the tip of her tongue, his name was knocking to escape. Aaron. She longed to reveal the identity of her coffee house stranger to Jen, knowing the response would be genuine. Jen would have known the entire sordid tale of Aaron and Sara and, as always, would be more than happy to share. All Marcy had to do was ask. She yearned almost to the point of physical ache to know more about him.

  She tipped the glass back, taking gulps of the wine she had been sipping to this point. The rush of heat infused her and she sighed as the clean, crisp taste seemed to help her straighten her spine. After discussion about the things that had occurred after the meeting—Adriana’s difficulty and Kayla’s car trouble—Marcy could tell Jen was in caretaker mode. The shiny, secretive smile that had lifted Jen’s lips had long since faded, so Marcy knew she had come down from whatever space David had put her into that morning. Asking about Aaron would direct all that energy to Marcy, likely in overwhelming waves of information and pushing to contact him.

  “Nuur il-’en, I brought the new stuff up!” The lightly accented voice that belonged to Lila trilled from the hallway. “I didn’t know you got the pretty corset I showed you!”

  Jen’s smile returned, but one full of pleasure as she watched for Lila to enter the room.

  Marcy smiled at the sight of Lila, a common occurrence around the infectiously cheerful beauty. Her long hair hung straight down her back, framing her perpetually smooth dark skin. Her smile seemed lit from within as her eyes met Jen’s in the mirror.

  “It was a surprise, love,” Jen replied. She tilted her head back to receive Lila’s kiss. Marcy’s smile dimmed slightly, watching the obvious love that passed between the women. When they parted, satisfied smiles spreading over both their lips, Jen turned back to the handling of Marcy’s sometimes riotous hair. “Did you try it on? Does it fit?”

  “Like a dream, rohi. I cannot wait to see it captured by you. The lights should show the fabric effect nicely.” Lila held up the jacquard printed piece.

  Marcy realized she was right. The print was so close to the shade of the satin that it would likely seem like a shadow on the corset at the right angle. The subtlety of the design would play extremely well in Jen’s series of black and white photography. Even in color, the corset would add texture and depth to an image. The jewel tone of the green would make Lila look positively regal, like a modern-day Cleopatra bent on seducing Caesar.

  “This one, however”—Lila pouted—“did not. The sleeves were far too tight.” Holding up a piece that seemed to echo the design of a dancer’s leotard in dress form, the sleeves designed to fit close to the wrist, Lila pressed it to her frame. She turned slightly, pulling at the skirt before dropping it with a huff.

  Marcy gaped at the dress that hung from Lila’s hand. “Um… Would you mind if I…?” The dress seemed much more her style than the latex and leather Jen had encouraged her to try.

  Lila shrugged. “Absolutely. If I cannot wear it, I would be honored if you would.” She placed the dress in Marcy’s lap.

  The material would breathe well. She knew it to be Lycra-based, but the black lace would afford enough airflow to keep her comfortable. She pet
ted the material down one sleeve. Her eyes met Jen’s in the mirror.

  “I’ll just go try it on, okay?” She stood, making her way to the walk-in closet that afforded her a small bit of privacy. She closed the door without latching it, staring at herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the inside of the door. Slowly she removed her long-sleeved T-shirt and denim capris. She smiled at the full vision that greeted her. Jen’s expertise with hair and makeup made her look fresh from a sensual day in bed. Her breasts, always a matter of pride for her, rested high in the bra she had bought on a day of retail therapy that had helped her spirits as much as it had hurt her wallet. Something in her subconscious must have known where life would lead her today when she’d dressed in panties that would keep her modesty intact while not disturbing the sexual sleekness of the dress.

  Marcy reached behind her to remove the bra. As the straps slid down her arms, she felt the familiar interruption of sensation when they skipped over the slightly indented scar on her left biceps. She curled her hand over the spot, covering it. Marcy stared at it in the mirror, her fingers feeling the flesh they trembled over, as she ran her hand down the arm. Her doctor had been pragmatic about the return of feeling, informing Marcy that the nerve damage might never be repaired.

  She had loved the feeling of rope. The unforgiving restraint had always been high on her list of desires when playing with a rope group in the city she had moved from. Jason had introduced her around and had made her feel welcomed there. The experiences and knowledge had been passed willingly, happily and freely to the girl who had been new to their practices. She had been so excited to try the things she had been learning, she’d negotiated a date with a Top from the group.