by Kitty Jones
“Mallory?” Taylor smiles. “Would you like to play tonight?”
I think about my friends and their never-ending support. I think about Aaron and our date tomorrow. I think about the fact that he’s definitely going to want to talk about my dead brother and how that affected my life, and I realize that I’m going to need something to get me through until tomorrow.
“Yeah,” I whisper, taking his hand. “I think I would.”
I go off with Taylor and Hank, sparing a glance over my shoulder. My friends are all still standing there. I know they’re still supporting me in their hearts, but they all have a different shared expression now: concern.
I turn back and focus on where I’m going.
Concern is something I don’t need.
Not tonight.
Taylor takes me to a pole in the center of one of the stages. Hank moves patiently, quietly to the side of the stage. He’ll have a front-row view of everything that happens, and that’s fine with me. I’m happy to be their surrogate tonight. As long as it means Taylor hits me and brings me up, anyone in the damn world can watch.
Shit.
I cannot believe I’m having lunch with Aaron Fucking Winters tomorrow.
It’s a bad idea.
I know that it’s a bad idea, but I’m doing it anyway. Somehow, the acceptance was out of my mouth before I could call it back, and I know, I just know, that I’m going to regret it.
“Mallory?” Taylor asks, and I look up at him sharply.
“Yes, sir?”
“I asked you a question.”
“I wasn’t listening, sir.”
Honesty is always the best policy.
Always.
It might mean that I’ll get a couple of extra spankings, but it might also mean saving myself from agreeing to something I desperately do not want.
Tonight, though, Taylor looks at me thoughtfully. I think he’s going to tell me what my punishment will be, or that he’s going to work with me to negotiate the scene, but he shakes his head.
“What is it?” I ask quietly.
“Not tonight, little girl,” he says gruffly.
What?
What is he talking about?
It kind of sounds like...like he’s rejecting me.
“What do you mean?” I whisper.
He steps closer, lowering his voice so that no one can hear. There are a few people looking over curiously. They’re probably trying to figure out what kind of scene we’re going to do and if it’s going to be worth watching.
“Your head isn’t in the game tonight, sweetie,” he says. “I’m not playing with you when you’re like this.”
“I’m okay,” I tell him, but we both know that he’s right, and I hate that he’s right about this. Taylor has a lot of integrity. He’s not about to tie up a submissive who isn’t paying attention and who can’t tell him when to stop if things get too much. BDSM is all about control and communication.
There’s no place for people who aren’t paying attention.
“We both know that’s a lie,” he says gently. “Let’s go sit down and talk.”
To my relief, he doesn’t make a big deal about it, and neither does Hank.
“Change of plans?” Hank asks when we come down off the stage.
“Yes,” Taylor says. “Let’s go sit over there.”
He points to a corner with a couple of empty seats, and we make our way over silently. The music in the club is still pounding, loudly filling my brain, but I do my best to focus on what just happened.
Taylor turned me down.
In all of the time we’ve been playing together, Taylor has never – ever – said no to a scene with me.
So why tonight?
And why can’t I get my head in the game?
Taylor and I sit across from each other in two comfy chairs. Hank pulls up his wheelchair to sit beside Taylor. The three of us form a sort of little circle, and they both look at me, waiting for me to say something.
Only, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say right now, or what I’m supposed to do.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You tell us,” Taylor says.
“It has something to do with Mr. Handsome,” Hank says.
“Mr. Handsome?” Taylors asks, looking at his partner. “Is that the Dom from the other night?”
“He was here again,” Hank affirms.
“And the two of you talked?” Taylor asks me.
This is my chance to lie again.
This is the part where I deny knowing anything at all about Aaron Winters. I can make up some stupid story about how I don’t actually know him, about how Hank must have been mistaken, and about how I’m just feeling stressed with work.
But I can’t lie to him.
I can’t show Taylor that sort of disrespect, and I refuse to throw Hank under the bus by saying he’s lying to his Dom.
“Yeah,” I say. “We talked.”
“Who is he?”
“He...”
That’s such a hard question.
“Spit it out, Mallory.”
“He’s my brother’s best friend.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Taylor says carefully. My body tenses, and I know that both he and Hank notice that.
“I don’t. I mean...not anymore. He...he died. A few years back. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hank murmurs quietly.
Taylor offers no such condolences.
“Why did he come here? Did he come to find you?”
“I think he wants to talk about my brother.”
“Why? Was he involved in your brother’s death?”
“I...”
Shit.
Fuck.
How the hell do I explain this?
The truth is that I’m rarely open with anyone about what happened with Matthew. I don’t like anyone to know that my brother died because I don’t like talking about Matthew. It’s not that I don’t love him. I do. I just don’t like sharing personal stories about my previous life. I don’t like telling people about what happened because I miss him so very much.
If people knew what happened to Matthew, they’d either pity me or they’d want to talk about it.
I don’t want either of those things.
Unfortunately, I can already tell that Taylor isn’t going to let me off the hook.
“No.”
“But you were.”
“Sort of.”
“What happened, Mallory?”
“You want to talk about this here?” I look around.
“No one is listening.”
“But, still...”
My voice trails off. He wants to ask me questions about Matthew dying and we’re in the middle of a sex club. This seems like a horrible way to mix up real life and fantasy.
“You obviously need to talk about it. I’m willing to listen. In fact, neither Hank nor I will be leaving until you spill the beans, so spill.”
Taylor doesn’t seem threatening. He doesn’t seem mean, and I don’t get the impression that he’s going to try to top me right now. He’s just being blunt. No, scratch that: he’s being a friend, and I think that’s actually what I need right now.
Only, I still hate thinking about that night.
I hate remembering what happened to him.
“I was a senior in high school,” I finally say. It was two years after the horrible Mallory-and-Aaron kiss. Since then, I’d turned into quite the slut. I’d never gone all the way, but there weren’t many people I hadn’t fooled around with. I’d done whatever it took to get my mind off of my crush, and it had taken a toll on me. Matthew was worried about me.
He told me Aaron was a good guy, but that there were plenty of good guys.
He wanted to help me move on.
“My brother and I had been spending more time together. He lived near campus with Aaron – that’s the Dom’s name – and the two of them were best friends. I didn’t speak to Aaron because...we
ll, that’s a long story...but Matthew and I hung out when we could.”
“But there was an accident,” Taylor says patiently.
Yeah.
That’s putting it lightly.
“It was supposed to be a normal night,” I say. “I’d picked up pizza and brought it home. Mom and Dad were out to dinner and then a show with some friends. It was just supposed to be me and Matthew, but I’d totally forgotten to grab the DVD. I was supposed to pick up a rental for us to watch.”
“You didn’t rent it digitally?” Hank interrupts, asking quietly. I don’t think he’s trying to be rude. He’s genuinely asking.
“This was almost eight years ago,” I say. “And I mean...it was a different world back then. People didn’t just rent movies on their phones, and besides, my brother and I liked walking through rental shops or even browsing a Redbox.”
“So he went to get the movie,” Taylor fills in the blanks.
“And he never came home. There...I guess there was a drunk driver? Someone wasn’t paying attention. They ran through a red light and hit Matthew’s side of the car. There was no chance of him surviving. The guy had been driving too fast. He died instantly.”
At least, that was what the paramedics told me.
My nightmares penned a different tale, though, and I constantly worried, even after all of this time, that my brother had suffered alone. I always worried that he’d been there in pain before he finally let go of the world. I worried about that even now, and sometimes, it really ate me up inside.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Taylor says. “But I think you know that.”
I just shrug and close my eyes.
“I know,” I say.
“She doesn’t believe it,” Hank says thoughtfully.
“I can see that,” Taylor says. “So you don’t want to talk to Aaron because you know he’s going to tell you the same thing.”
“Pretty much,” I admit, embarrassed.
I don’t want Aaron to promise me that everything’s going to be okay. I don’t want him to tell me that I’m going to be fine.
I want Aaron to go away, and I want to pretend that none of this ever happened.
Taylor watches me thoughtfully, and then he leans closer to me. He takes my hands, and he squeezes them, and he looks at me.
“I know that we play together at the club, and I don’t have any say over your life,” he tells me. “But I’d like to say that we’re friends, Mallory, and friends are honest with each other.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“So I’m going to be honest with you right now, little flower. You need to talk to someone. You can talk to me, or you can talk to Aaron, or you can talk to a therapist, but this is a burden you don’t have to face alone, and you shouldn’t, okay?”
I nod, swallowing hard.
“We’re both here for you,” Hank says. “Anytime you need to talk or vent.”
I nod again, but I don’t say anything else.
I opened up, but somehow, I still feel just as sad and nervous as I did before because saying everything out loud made it feel real.
It feels real and tangible and tomorrow, I agreed to meet Aaron at fucking Chipotle to talk.
Shit.
I shouldn’t have said I’d go.
“What is it?” Taylor asks.
“I...I’m meeting Aaron for lunch tomorrow,” I tell him.
“Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me or Hank to come with you for moral support?” Taylor asks. “We can rearrange our schedules to help you out, Mallory. All you have to do is ask.”
My heart is warmed by the fact that they’re so willing to help me, but...
I think this is something I have to do alone.
“That’s okay,” I tell them carefully. “I can do it.”
Taylor nods, and then he reaches into a pocket I didn’t know he had, and he pulls out a business card. He presses it into my hand.
“This is my real name, phone number, and place of business,” he says. “If you need anything, you call me. Understood?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. I don’t look at the card here. I don’t want to out Taylor in front of anyone else. “I understand.”
“Good.” Taylor turns to Hank and motions that they’re going to leave. “We’re going home, Mallory. It’s been a long night. I suggest you do the same.”
“Okay,” I say. Somehow, it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of my body. I follow the two of them out to the parking lot, hug them both goodbye, and then go get in my car, but I sit there for a very, very long time.
I don’t know how I’m going to make it through tonight, much less tomorrow, but it looks like I don’t have much of a choice.
Chapter Six
Aaron
She walks into the restaurant exactly on time. Mallory is wearing a thin white sundress that’s covered in bright blue flowers. The straps of her bra are showing just a little bit, and she’s wearing a matching blue choker. Her hair is down and it looks wavier than ever, and she smiles brightly when she sees me.
I’m not embarrassed to admit that my heart skips a beat, even just a little, when I see her.
Mallory is fucking incredible.
Any man would be lucky to get to know her and me?
I get her for an entire lunch date. I really am the luckiest guy around. She comes into the restaurant and looks around. It’s busy already with the lunch crowd, and she glances at the table in front of me.
“You already ordered,” she says.
“I hope that’s all right.”
“You remembered what I like,” she looks surprised.
“Barbacoa bowl with white rice, pinto beans, and lots and lots of cheese,” I laugh, gesturing at the food.
“Thank you,” she reaches into her purse and pulls out her wallet, but before she can hand me cash, I place my hand on her wrist and stop her.
“That’s not necessary.”
“But it’s not exactly cheap, Aaron.”
“Trust me, I can afford it.”
More importantly, I want to.
Mallory looks like she wants to argue, but she’s also uncomfortable at the idea of meeting me here. We’re in a corner and we won’t be disturbed, but the restaurant isn’t exactly quiet or cozy. That’s one of the reasons I chose it.
I want to talk to Mallory, but I don’t want to do it in a place where she’s going to feel cornered or scared. You can’t get much more casual than a place like this, and I have a lot of questions for her: starting with her time at Club Shadows.
“So,” Mallory says, taking a bite of her food. “What brought you back to town?”
“A job.”
“What kind of job?”
“The kind that pays money,” I laugh.
“You know what I mean,” she says. “Or are personal questions not allowed?” She raises an eyebrow. “Well, I can go first, you know, if you want. I’m a teacher. Third grade. I’ve got 28 students and I’m tired all of the time. Now your turn.”
She looks at me expectantly, and I can’t help but smile. She’s so precious. Mallory has always been sweet and cute, but now she’s positively adorable. I can tell that she likes what she does, and I’m glad because so many people hate their own jobs.
“I’m a translator,” I tell her. “I work with companies to translate their documents from Chinese to English or vice versa.”
“And you have a job here.”
“A big one,” I smile. “I freelanced for a long time, but now, well, I guess I’ve found my thing. A software company offered me a full-time position, and it sounded like fun, so I took it. Besides,” I wink at her. “Now I get to live in town again. I can come play at the club, and I can have lunch with beautiful young women.”
She blushes, but she smiles just a little.
“I’m not really young,” she points out.
“You’re 25,” I laugh. “That’s pretty young.”
“You’re 2
7,” she says pointedly.
But somehow, I feel so much older than that.
“What made you decide to start going to Shadows?” I ask.
Instantly, she looks around, wondering who might overhear our conversation, but we’re basically alone. Everyone here is focused on one thing: getting their food into their bellies. No one is paying us any mind. It’s the best way to be alone in a crowd.
“I...Well...”
She blushes, but I don’t know why she doesn’t want to talk about it. Most of the time, both Doms and subs are perfectly content to tell you what led to their interest in BDSM. Whether someone likes to be tied up, whether they like to spank other people, or whether they’re into serious role play, most people are quite happy to let you know exactly what they love and why they love it.
So why is she nervous?
Is she always shy?
Or is it just because of me?
“That’s a long story,” she says. Mallory takes a bite of her food, and I decide not to press the issue, even though I probably should. She’s not my submissive, and I need to keep reminding myself of that because there’s a part of me that really wants her to be.
“Is it longer than the story about why you don’t talk to me?” I ask.
She stills.
Okay, maybe that was a bit too abrupt, but I don’t like to mess around. I am a straightforward guy, and I’m blunt in just about everything I do. I have to be, in my line of work. My translation work has to be utterly precise. There might be a dozen different words to describe “run”, but I have to pick the word that most closely matches the original documents I work with. Everything I do at my job has to be completely detail-oriented, and I’m going to be that way with Mallory, too.
For example, I notice that she hasn’t touched her drink yet. Does she dislike soda? Or maybe she doesn’t like ice. She’s taken a few bites of her food, but they’ve all been meat. She hasn’t tested out the rice yet, and she hasn’t tried the beans. Does she eat her food in a certain order? Or did I choose food that she no longer eats?
Only time will tell, but there are the types of things I notice all of the time.
“I think you know why.”
“Amuse me,” I shrug. “Tell me.”
“Because of the party,” she whispers, and now I’m a little bit surprised. She had said something at the club that reminded me of that night so many years ago: the night when we kissed for the first – and only – time.
