Trust Me: A BDSM Romance

by Cate Bellerose

  I pray to God that’s not a euphemism. “Mr. Broswell? The butcher? His wife just died!”

  Mom raises an eyebrow. “Three years ago, dear. This is why you should come home occasionally.”

  I’m starting to understand why Mom didn’t want details, but the tension between us is gone, replaced by something fragile, but more real than we’ve had in a long time.

  It’s not perfect, but it’s a start, and if I can have a conversation like this with my mother, it gives me hope that maybe I haven’t permanently screwed everything up with Keegan.

  25

  Miranda

  Can I call you?

  Keegan’s text drops in with a loud pling that startles me enough that I almost drop my phone. And here I was, trying to formulate a message to him that sounds more meaningful and less whiny than “Please don’t hate me.”

  God, I’m still so embarrassed about last night. And how must he feel? Left behind and looking like the bad guy. I hope he didn’t get in trouble at the club. Even in my state, I couldn’t miss some of the ugly glares people were sending his way. I owe him big time.

  So instead of texting back, I grab the bull by the horns and call him.

  “Miranda,” he answers. “How are you doing?”

  How am I doing? I take stock, feeling myself out. “I’m okay, I think. Still a little rattled after yesterday, but a lot better.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  We blurt the words out at the same time, but after a shared awkward laugh, I’m the first to keep going. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Keegan. You only did what I asked you to. I’m sorry for messing it all up. I made you look terrible. Did you get in trouble?”

  “Nothing that I couldn’t handle. I had a chat with Gabe after, and Eric confirmed my story. I’m sure he’d like to speak with you, too, but no rush. The person I’m worried about is you. I shouldn’t have let you get in so deep. You weren’t ready, and I should’ve seen that.”

  “I was ready. At least I thought I was. You were amazing.”

  He snorts. “Sure. Amazingly good at ignoring the obvious. Miranda, I was terrified that I’d broken you. Hell, I fucked up.”

  I shake my head, even if he can’t see it. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just wasn’t as ready as I thought. We’ll try again—I mean, if you still want to. Please still want to.”

  “You have no idea how much I want to, and that’s the problem.”

  “What? No, that’s not a problem. We’ll just be careful. We can go slower. It wasn’t your fault. It was Dad’s.”

  “Your father’s?”

  “Yeah, I… well, with all of this thinking about the past, the old bastard’s been cropping up a lot in my mind lately. Even in my nightmares, and I haven’t had those since I was younger. They’re scary, but… well, I didn’t think they’d affect me like that.”

  His sigh comes clearly through the phone. “You should’ve told me about this. Especially given your therapy.”

  “I’m telling you now. I swear, I’ll tell you everything. Don’t give up on me.” I bite my lip and wait for his reply.

  “I’ll never give up on you, and that’s why I have to do this.” He draws a deep breath. “I should’ve seen it coming, but I’ve been blinded by how crazy I am about you. I pushed you too quickly, and I let you run the show when I’m the one who’s supposed to know what he’s doing. I failed you, Miranda.”

  Oh no. My stomach drops at his words. It’s not so much what he’s saying as what he’s not saying that’s beginning to sink in.

  “I guess, in the back of my mind, I’ve known for a while,” he continues. “I just haven’t wanted to admit it. But what happened last night, it showed me just how far wrong I’d let things go.”

  I blink, my eyes stinging. “That doesn’t mean we can’t fix it. We’ll go slower. I’ll do everything you say. Just the way you tell me to.”

  “We can’t. This is why there are laws about this, why I should never have agreed to be your therapist after that first session, and definitely not after we kissed. You’re amazing, Miranda, but you’re my patient, and I can’t get you out of my mind. That immediately should’ve disqualified me from helping you, much as I hate to say it.”

  I quell the panic attack building in the back of my head. “Okay. Okay, that’s bad, but we can figure this out. Sure. We just have to sit down, talk it through and see what our options are. We can fix this.” And here I thought things were heading in the right direction after my talk with Mom. You’d think trying to get her over on my side would be the most challenging thing for me to do today.

  “I can’t. I’m hurting you.”

  “You’re helping me!”

  “I’ve got some recommendations for other therapists I know who have experience with the kinkier side of things. They’ll be objective enough to get you the help you really need.” He sounds resigned and sad, like he’s reading a eulogy.

  “No! I want you!” Wetness slides down my cheeks and I’m sure Mom can hear me from her room, but I don’t care. “You’re the man who finally managed to pry me out of my shell, and now that I’m finally becoming who I want to be, you’re pulling out? You can’t do this.”

  “Miranda!” His voice turns stern, his Dom voice. I shut up immediately. “I have to do this. I need you to get better, and I am so fucking blinded by my love for you, and my desire to be with you, that I can’t ensure that you do. I know you’re hurting, and probably angry at me right now for saying it, but buried under all of that, you’ll find that much as I hate it, I have to do the right thing. And the right thing for both of us is for me to let you go. You need someone who isn’t blinded by their feelings.” He sighs. “Just by caring for you, even if that was all it was, I’d be risking your health. I can’t be responsible for that, and I shouldn’t be. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay. Fine.” My voice quavers, much as I try to keep it steady. My lips are tightly pursed, because if I don’t force them into place, I’m going to lose it. “So if I see a different therapist, then we can be together, right? Because then you’re no longer my therapist, and I’m no longer your patient.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “It is that easy!”

  “It’s not. I’ve explained this to you before. I’ll just look like I’ve been grooming you. By law, we should wait at least two years.”

  “I don’t care. Who’s going to know?”

  “That’s part of the problem. You should care. You should have the perspective to understand why we need some time apart. I might not mean to be, but I’m a bad influence on you. I do the wrong things just because I care too much. It may seem right, but I’m telling you, I’m bad for your progress. That’s not going to change just because you’re not coming to me for therapy anymore. The damage is already done.”

  “This isn’t fair, Keegan.” I sniffle, and not too delicately. There’s a silent pause on the other end of the line.

  “Listen, Miranda. You’ve found yourself, or at least started down that path. If I’ve done anything right, it’s to help you find direction, but I’m not the right guide for you. I can’t be, not with the way I feel.”

  “How can you possibly claim to love me, when all you’re going to do is leave?”

  “Don’t you get it?” His frustration carries clearly through the line. “That’s exactly why I have to leave. Because I love you. Nothing we have can be real until you have the distance and help you need, and it’s very likely that you won’t want me by the time that happens. You deserve better.”

  “I deserve you, but I’m starting to wonder if you deserve me!”

  “You’re right. I don’t. I fucked this up from the start, and now I’m cutting it off before things get any worse. I’m sorry, Miranda. I truly am. I’ll always love you.”

  “That’s it? You’ll always love me, but from afar?” Anger drives my words. “Good thing you’re leaving now then, before I get really attached. You… you…” A w
hole slew of bad names flash through my mind, but I can’t quite bring myself to say any of them.

  “I can only say I’m sorry so many times. But I am.” His voice sounds pained and tired. “I’ll send you an email with some recommendations, okay? People who I know are good at what they do, and can be trusted to be professional. They’ll take care of you, if you’ll let them. Goodbye, Miranda.”

  “Fuck you, Keegan,” I seethe into the phone, and then it goes dead. That doesn’t keep me from yelling at it, “And if you’re such a good therapist, maybe you should take a look at yourself and your goddamn martyr complex.” Then I throw the phone with a clatter onto my nightstand and throw myself angrily on my bed.

  “You stupid idiot,” I mumble while tears crawl down my cheeks.

  There’s a cautious knock on the door. “Miranda? Are you all right?”

  No. “Yeah, Mom, I’ll be okay.” Eventually. Probably.

  “I’m coming in,” she warns, and when I don’t deny her, she does. Sitting herself down next to me, she takes my head and cradles it against her chest as she embraces me. “I think I overheard enough to get the general gist of what happened. I wasn’t listening, mind you, but you weren’t exactly quiet.”

  I nod into her tear-soaked shirt. I hadn’t been exactly subtle. “He doesn’t want me anymore. You were right. Men can’t be trusted.”

  “Shh, not now.” And then she rocks me like she used to when I was little. It’s comforting, but it doesn’t fill the big, black hole that Keegan just punched into my chest, right where my heart used to be.

  26

  Keegan

  Well, fuck, that might be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  Goddamn it.

  Motherfucker.

  But it was the right thing to do. I’m going to keep telling myself that until I believe it.

  Tossing my phone on my bed, I get up to look out the window. Three floors down, the city moves in its regular patterns, oblivious to my world coming apart up here. Cars come and go, people walk past, everything seems so fucking perfectly normal out there. With a growl, I stomp out of the bedroom to go make myself a coffee.

  I pace the kitchen while the machine, identical to the one at the office, grinds the beans and heats the water. I’m like a lion in a cage, refusing to leave even though the door’s wide open.

  I did the right thing. Better to cut the rope now and drift away. She’ll get better, stronger, and find someone else.

  Fuck, that cuts too deep to think about.

  Outside, the wind’s kicked up and dark clouds are coming in quickly. It’s going to be stormy tonight, which feels very appropriate. Something to accompany my dark mood. Out on one of the balconies, something blows around in the wind and bangs against the outside wall.

  I was expecting to feel some kind of relief after talking to Miranda, but all I feel is numb. It’s very tempting to spend the day getting flat-out drunk and put this out of my mind, but then what? I’m supposedly good at counseling others, as long as they’re not Miranda, so why is it so hard to counsel myself?

  Returning to my bedroom, I set my coffee on the nightstand and drop back onto my bed. I should do something today to get my mind off this. Get out a little or something.

  My phone’s blinking at me. Probably nothing good, but trained by years of keeping my phone notifications at bay, I pick it up to check. Email. I should know better than checking, right? But I do.

  From Miranda.

  Hi Keegan,

  You’re probably not even reading this, but I had to write something. You’re making a huge mistake. I hope you realize that, but you’re probably still proud of yourself for how you’re doing the right thing and how this is best for me. *insert bossy masculine voice here*

  I’ll admit I chuckle a little. In my mind I can picture her putting on a gruff voice and imitating me, right before I give her a solid spank for her impertinence. Fuck, I’m going to miss her.

  Mom said I shouldn’t try to talk to you yet, or ever, and that I’m better off putting you behind me, so I guess you two have finally found something you agree on. I told her to mind her own business, so now she’s glowering at me from the couch as I write this. You’d better appreciate what I’m going through here.

  That ease of mind I was looking for earlier comes seeping in, at least just a little, while I read Miranda’s words. If our situation wasn’t so fucked up, it might almost be enjoyable. She doesn’t understand that I’m doing this for both of us. I couldn’t live with myself if she looked at me one day with doubt in her eyes.

  I’m rambling, I guess. You’re probably used to it. Anyway, you never let me say goodbye. If you’re really set on this, and planning to remove yourself completely from my life, then I want you to know that no matter how it ended, what you did for me can’t ever be expressed fully in words. I could only show you, and now you’re going away so I can’t even do that. And that hurts. It really hurts. I’m really mad at you right now, but I still don’t want you to go.

  Please, rethink this. We can figure it out together. Maybe I’ll get hurt doing it, but I think what we have is worth fighting for.

  At least I did.

  If you really don’t think we do, then there’s nothing I can do about it by myself. And I’ll probably think you’re a jerk for the rest of my life. So you’ll have to live with that.

  I love you (jerk or not).

  Miranda

  Well, fuck. I lay back on the sheets, scrubbing at my eyes with the palms of my hands. Never mind feeling better. Now I feel even more like an ass than I did before.

  I didn’t even think that was possible, but it doesn’t change anything.

  She needs space to figure herself out, and so long as I’m there, she’ll use our feelings as a crutch to ignore what’s really going on inside her brain. I wish there was another way, because this hurts like hell and she’ll probably end up hating me.

  I could try to still see her occasionally, but I don’t trust either of us to do that right now without making another mess.

  Should I write her back? What would be the point?

  Goddamnit!

  No matter what I do it feels wrong.

  I did the right thing!

  Wish it felt that way.

  27

  Miranda

  I wrap my shawl closer around my shoulders. It was cooler tonight than I planned for, and even within the club, I’m not quite thawed enough to let that one flimsy layer go. I don’t know exactly what I expect to do here, but after three months of cautious counseling after the Keegan debacle, I couldn’t put it off anymore.

  He did as promised and sent me a list of therapists. All women, of course. It took a few days of angry sulking, but I did eventually start calling them. Apparently, he’d contacted each one in advance to let them know I might call. Not sharing any details, but asking them to consider me as a new client. After a few conversations, I even found one I liked, though I miss the excitement of my sessions with Keegan.

  After three months of working with Doctor Wendy, I definitely feel better. I haven’t dreamed about Dad in over a month, and at her recommendation, I took a break from the club. It’s frustrated Amber to no end, but it’s given me the opportunity to reframe what I want, both from BDSM and the rest of my life.

  Even though I hated him for what he did, Keegan was looking out for me in his own way. He never replied to my email, but he got me the best help he could. In some ways I wish I still hated him, because there’s this giant hole in my heart that aches for him every day. But as Amber has told me several times over, it’s his loss.

  One day I might even believe her.

  Why am I here, again? I’m in no mood to dance, but find myself pressing into the gyrating crowd anyway, just to warm up. It works. Once I’m surrounded by sweat-slicked bodies with energy to spare, it’s not long before I’m wearing my shawl like a sash and wishing I could strip further to stay cool. A topless woman langui
dly squeezes by while dancing with a shirtless man in black jeans. For a second, I consider following their lead, but only a second, I’m not quite there yet.

  Besides, without Keegan, what’s the point? Showing myself off to strangers isn’t my thing. In theory, Keegan isn’t my thing either, not anymore. That doesn’t mean I’m putting myself on display for anyone else yet, though.

  Somewhere in this mob, Amber’s waiting for me. After three months off, that familiar itch to be here came back and when I took it up with Wendy, she surprisingly agreed, so long as I promised to go easy. I’ve come a long way in her care, and although our sessions have been more talk than action, she cleared me to give it a cautious go.

  I have to call her in the morning to let her know how it goes, though. Scanning the room, I don’t think there’ll be much to report. As much fun as people seem to be having, Keegan’s still too fresh in my mind.

  A large man I’ve never seen before dances my way, moving sinuously in time to the heavy beats of the music. His crisp white button-down shirt is open to display an undeniably impressive chest, and the rolled-up sleeves reveal a pair of powerful forearms. He’s definitely got the physique down. The shirt’s haphazardly tucked into a well-fitting pair of ripped jeans, giving him a classy bad boy combo look that’s surprisingly sexy.

  It would look even better on Keegan.

  No, I’m not supposed to be thinking about him tonight.

  I force myself to look up to actually see the guy’s face, and it’s nice. He’s got a sexy smile, and deep blue eyes under an intentionally untidy shock of brown hair. In fact, if I weren’t still coming down from the guy I thought might be the one, he’d be the kind of guy I’d happily check out.