Just a few more seconds.
Unspeaking, resting her head against his shoulder, her breathing regulated. He pulled her in tighter, holding her, moving his hand to rub her back.
Exhausted from the memory, her mind drifted to earlier in the night and Gene’s comment. She should get off his lap. He was just like Jeffrey. Wasn’t he?
Clearing her throat, voice scratchy, she asked the question she was never able to ask Jeffrey. “How can you do it?”
“Do what?” he asked, voice low.
“Hurt women.”
Hand stilling, he pulled back, looking at her. His eyes searched hers — for what, she wasn’t sure. “What are you talking about?”
“Gene said it earlier — you hurt women. ‘Smack them’, remember?”
His face scrunched as his head tilted. “Is that what you think? I hurt women?”
“What else could it mean?”
Inhaling deeply, he shook his head. “Jayla…”
Looking down, running his hand through his hair, he rebalanced her on his lap and took her hands in his. “Jayla, I don’t hurt women.” Eyes rapt on hers, he lowered his voice. “You’ve heard of BSDM, right?”
She nodded. Nowadays, who hadn’t? It seemed BDSM was all the rage. In books, movies, music.
Her stomach churned. She’d never read past the basics: Dominants hit submissives when they “didn’t listen”. It was a punishment and rewards system — submissives received punishments, Dominants the rewards.
“That’s what Gene was talking about — I’ve played around in the lifestyle for years. I’ve never touched a woman without her permission, or without it being previously discussed and agreed upon.”
“But, you have hurt women.” Internet images flittered through her mind — women whose breasts were purple from ropes cutting off circulation; long, deep welts from various weapons. The thought of Alistair doing … that to someone — who supposedly liked it — sickening.
No one could have wanted that. They just couldn’t speak out, too scared of a harsher punishment.
How could she ever look at him the same?
“No, Jayla. I’m not the type of top who enjoys pain as punishment. If a sub is looking for that type of discipline, I help them find the right person.”
The shake of his head indicated his frustration at the conversation.
“I love women, Jayla. I serve women by being a Dominant. My pleasure is granted through theirs.”
Searching his face for signs of deception, Jayla found none.
“Okay,” was all she could muster, lowering her head back on his shoulder.
Pulling back again, his gaze was intent on hers. “You’re not okay.”
Closing her eyes, she agreed. “You’re right. I’m not. This is a lot to take in. You say you don’t hurt women, but I’ve seen pictures of what guys like you do. I don’t … I just don’t want to think about it right now. Please?”
Discomfort flashed across his face.
“We will talk about this, soon. I don’t like leaving you with the wrong impression.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not that big of a deal,” she lied.
“Yes, it is.”
Rolling her eyes, she asked, “Why?”
“Because you matter.”
To me. He didn’t say the last two words, yet she imagined them all the same.
Wishful thinking, Jayla.
Moving, she buried once again into his chest. She was tired. Tired of arguing, of thinking. Of wanting. She’d known him a month. Sure, they’d bonded over a cat, but that wasn’t enough to need him in her life.
Right?
“Jayla…” he began, yet seemed to change his mind. “Are you okay? From before … I mean?” he asked, trepidation lacing his words.
“I will be,” she replied, not offering anymore.
He didn’t respond for a moment, holding her tightly, each lost in thought. When he cleared his throat, she held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t try to broach the subject again.
“I’m glad. Rajah would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”
Lifting her head, she found a small smile gracing his lips. Returning it, she accepted the peace offering.
Alistair now knew something about her past, thanks to the flashback, and he’d likely have questions. And she had questions of her own, about him, about his lifestyle. But she was too tired to think about any of it. All she wanted was to shut her mind off for a few hours. She would be able to better process everything in the morning — maybe.
She pressed against his chest and closed her eyes. In his lap, she was calm. Safe.
Maybe I’m more fucked up than I thought.
Chapter Fifteen
Alistair was not among the group eating breakfast the next morning.
To be fair, none of the guys were, but Jayla couldn’t help the slight pang of loss she felt at the lack of his presence.
The rest of the girls giggled and chatted about the previous evening, but Jayla sat quietly, picking at her food. Alistair had stayed until he was certain she was okay, then left her to get some rest. Fat chance. She’d slept, but her dreams were a crazy mixed-up montage of Jeffrey and Alistair. She’d woken up more exhausted than ever.
After breakfast she’d hurried upstairs to pack her bags. Later, while sitting with Snow in the foyer, waiting on Sirena so they could share a cab home, she drummed up the courage to ask Snow the question that had been plaguing her mind since breakfast.
“Can I ask you something?” Jayla whispered, looking around to make sure they were alone.
“Why are you whispering?” Snow responded, brow cocked.
“What do you know about, uh … BDSM?” she barely voiced the last word, her face heating up almost instantly.
Instead of shock, Snow laughed. “You caught that comment too, huh? Lucky girl.”
“Lucky?”
“Hell, yeah. If I had someone like Ali spanking me, I might never leave my room,” she laughed.
Jayla’s brows drew together. Is she crazy?
After a moment, Snow’s laugher softened. Patting Jayla’s hand, she sighed. “Oh, honey. What’s the matter?”
Looking up, ensuring they were still alone, Jayla answered. “He … hits women, Snow.”
Tilting her head, Snow’s face scrunched. “Jayla … what do you know about BDSM? ’Cuz I’m getting the feeling it isn’t totally accurate.”
“Well, I mean. It’s punishment and pain. And control. Men are Dominants and women are expected to do whatever they say. And if they don’t, they get punished. Sometimes horribly.”
“Where’d you get that idea?”
“A bunch of places,” she defended, less conviction in her voice. “Like all the stuff after that book came out, I forget what it’s called. You know, the one that had everyone talking about how abusive the relationship was and everything. I got curious and looked some pictures up online and … man, they were intense.”
Smiling, Snow shook her head. Reaching into her back pocket, pulling out her phone, she spoke. “That book was horrid. It was supposedly about a Dom/sub relationship but it really wasn’t. That’s why so many people were upset,” she explained, fingers typing against her screen.
Scooting closer to Jayla, she turned the phone so Jayla could see images — ones she hadn’t seen before. Men in suits with women over their laps, assess in the air, caressing their cheeks.
Women with their hands tied behind their back, smiling up at the camera.
Women with crops, their heels against the chest of men.
“Oh, wait. I have a better idea,” Snow exclaimed, switching the site. Images with captions across them littered the page.
Handing Jayla the phone, she instructed, “Now, read through these and tell me if you still find it repulsive.”
Jayla could hardly believe the images, the words.
Restraints, and ropes, and collars … oh my!
The women, obviously enjoying themselves, had men kneeling at
their feet. Others were on their knees, heads bent with palms open, along with varying quotes about the perfection of the position. Even more unbelievable, she imagined herself and Alistair in some of the poses … and began to feel hot.
A picture of a woman in a corset-like bodice, with straps around her ribcage, breasts left open, and a leather collar around her neck was especially titillating. Recalling Alistair’s reaction to her negligee, her palms began to sweat at the thought of his reaction to something like this.
Clicking to enlarge an image about the use of the term “Sir”, she read how it demonstrated not submission per se, but trust of one’s Dom. Reading the responsibilities of a Dom, especially those concerning aftercare and safety, surprised her.
You’re safe, Jayla, Alistair’s voice ran through her memory of the night before, holding her, rocking her back to consciousness. Whispering sweetly into her ear. Calming her.
How long was he rocking me? she wondered, knowing from past episodes that it had probably been the better part of an hour.
Is that what aftercare with him would be like?
She read a pointed quote. The responsibility of a Dominant is to care for your submissive in every way. Especially the mundane details. Is her favorite snack in the pantry? Is she comfortable? Does she need the strap of her shoe fixed? One is never more Dominant than when bending to care for your submissive.
Isn’t that almost what Alistair described last night? Is this what he meant by finding responsibility?
Scrolling through the seemingly endless images, a number of them called to her, piquing her interest, reminding her of Alistair.
“Still think it’s about pain and punishment?” Snow asked.
“These images — totally different than I imagined,” she said, handing the phone back to Snow. “How do you know about this stuff? Are you into it, too?”
Snow laughed. “I had a boyfriend who liked light bondage. Restraints and stuff. Vanilla by some people’s standards, but it was fun. He was really good at choking me.”
Jayla recoiled. “He choked you?” She couldn’t imagine someone hurting Snow. Or her enjoying it.
“Oh, yeah. Just enough pressure for me to really feel it. Really heightened my orgasm. He knew I loved it,” she finished, wiggling her brows.
Come to think of it … Jayla thought back to stolen moments with Alistair, last night, just inside from the patio. His hand had caged her throat, pressing gently. Then, she had been too aroused to care. Now, she couldn’t believe, considering her history, a move like that hadn’t sent her into a meltdown. In fact, recalling it now, it was … hot.
Holy shit.
“Loved what?” Sirena asked, walking into the conversation. “What’d I miss?”
“We were just talking about Gene’s comment from last night,” Snow explained.
A sly smile crossed Sirena’s face. “Are you crushing on Gene?” she asked Snow.
“No. It’s for Jayla.”
Sirena’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, no! I thought you and Alistair were, like, a thing or something. You’re so cute together.”
Looking back and forth at the girls, Jayla shook her head. “I’m not crushing on Gene. And Ali and I are not a ‘thing’. We don’t have a ‘thing’.”
“So why are you talking about him?” she asked, arms crossed, interrogating.
“The whole spanking comment,” Snow explained. “We were discussing how men like to spank a girl’s ass every once in a while. Good guys. Sexy guys. Guys like Alistair. Who you totally have a ‘thing’ for,” she added, directing her comment to Jayla.
Rolling her eyes, she stood. “Whatever.”
Sirena laughed. “Don’t be embarrassed. If you hadn’t gotten to him first, I might have a ‘thing’ for him myself.”
Standing, the girls moved to the front door, conversation changing to Snow’s sister. It turned out that she had gotten a ride home from some guy she had met the night before last. Snow was not pleased, but there was nothing she could do.
Listening, Jayla tried to focus on the conversation, but her mind kept returning to Alistair.
Whom she most definitely had a “thing” for.
Chapter Sixteen
Three days later, Jayla walked through the crowded floor, dropping a round of drinks off at one of the table on the floor on her way up to the bookstore.
With only an hour left before closing, most of their expected patrons were already in the building, so her shift would mostly be downtime.
Some of the other girls had expressed dissatisfaction of having to work upstairs, but Jayla loved her bookstore shifts. The vibe was so different from downstairs, and she enjoyed the secrecy, the thrill of maintaining the ruse of “just a little slice of book heaven”. Not all guests understood the whole speakeasy thing — the confusion rampant on their faces. Last week, she had followed a couple practically out onto the street, laughing as she explained the secret password.
Walking up the stairs, she waved at Sirena, who sat reading a book behind the counter. “All right, doll, down you go.”
“Already? Pity, I was enjoying the view,” Sirena responded, placing a mark on one of the page edges, nodding to the corner. Max, one of Alistair’s men, stood looking out the window. “He’s so hot,” Sirena whispered. “Quiet though.”
Raising her voice, Sirena called to her shadow. “Max. Here, boy. Time to move,” she whistled, a flirtatious smirk crossing her face.
Turning, he crossed his arms. “One of these days, Sirena.”
“Promises, promises,” she called, jumping from the stool and walking down the stairs. Shaking her head, Jayla took the seat, sending Max a look of pity as he trailed after her.
A few seconds later, Gene stomped up the stairs, grumbling to himself.
“Busy night?” she teased, knowing for the men, every night was busy.
She had to hand it to them, they worked like a well-oiled machine. Their movements from one position to another perfectly synchronized, a girl never alone for more than thirty seconds.
“You have no idea. You girls are the biggest ball-busters,” Gene remarked, rubbing his neck. “Glad to be here. One woman’s much easier to deal with.”
Jayla snorted, unable to help herself. “Guess Cyn was right about you, huh?”
Looking up, Gene’s eyes widened. “Cynthia? Why? What’d she say about me?”
Rolling her eyes, Jayla patted his hand, reaching for the book Sirena left behind. Turning the cover over, she registered a black and white image of a couple in an embrace. Falling petals, a rose, and the title the only splotches of color on the front. Reading the back, it was an erotic romance. Of course it is.
She’d learned on her first shift in the bookstore, all the books were romances of some sort.
The bell of the door jingled, and an attractive older couple walked in. The woman, looking to be in her mid-fifties, with dark hair graying at the temple, was dressed in a tight-fitting leather skirt and red belted sweater. Her partner, still fit and about the same age with salt and pepper hair and deep blue eyes behind a pair of wide-rimmed black glasses, had his hand on her lower back, guiding her.
Watching them, Jayla grew envious. She could feel the man watching his woman, lust and reverence all rolled into one look.
Walking around the shelves a few moments, whispering to themselves, her voyeurism was interrupted by warm breath at her ear.
“You think they have any idea?” Gene asked, startling her.
Jayla shrugged. “I hope so. Why else would they be in a bookstore at two in the morning?”
“Everyone has their kinks, darlin’,” Gene commented, moving next to her.
She hid her smile. This couple, kinky or not, was likely not here to cause trouble, but Gene stood guard as if everyone around her were an enemy.
Turning to the couple, she asked if they needed help.
“Yes, dear,” the woman stated. Looking up at her partner, who winked at her, she turned to Jayla, smiling. “How can you read
this? There are no pictures!”
Nodding, Jayla accepted the code to gain admittance to the lower level. Standing, she drew back the curtain hiding the staircase, smiling and holding a finger against her lips as she ushered them downstairs.
Gene waited until they were inside the club before turning back to the front of the store.
“Nervous they were going to rob us?”
Gene narrowed his eyes. “Nah.” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles. “They looked like fun,” he added.
“They certainly did,” she replied.
“Speaking of fun,” Gene drew out the words, mischievousness in his voice. “What’s doin’ with you and Alistair? Any fun happening there?”
Looking up, crossing her arms, she couldn’t help her smile at the earnest look on his face. “Even if there was, why would I be talking to you about it?”
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked, mock hurt in his voice.
Rolling her eyes, she uncrossed her arms. “Where to start?” she joked back.
Having been “assigned” to her every night, they’d formed a friendship. He often teased her — teased everyone — but never maliciously. She sensed a good heart under all his jokes.
“You’re right,” he said, rubbing his abs, then flexing one arm, and then the other. “We don’t have enough time to talk about how great I am. Now … about my little buddy, Al…” Pulling the extra chair to the desk, turning the back to face her, he sat. Arms on the backrest, legs wide, he pressed her. “Spill it, sister.”
“Spill what?”
“Everything. What he says, what you do … how you feel. I want it all.” He was teasing, but she knew he meant it.
“You’re worse than a gossiping teenage girl,” she commented, trying to divert the conversation.
Raising his voice a few octaves, he held out his hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, I’m Genie. Now… about Al. Do you like him? You know, like … like him, like him?”
Even if she wanted to, what would she say? Yeah, Ali is sweet, and funny, and I’ve spent more than one night imagining what his body would feel like on top of mine. But, I can’t get over him being a Dom because of my own fucked up past.
Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2) Page 10