And if she was, what then? It was all he could do to contain his lust, even here. How would he maintain control if he got her alone? She brought out something primal in him. A Dom's first responsibility was the safety of his sub, but he wasn't sure he could keep her safe from his own dark desires.
If he hurt her…the cheap beer in his stomach swirled with the acid until he thought he might puke. At the same time, his need for her drained the blood from his brain and sent it surging to all the wrong places, leaving him dizzy. He wanted to strip her bare, tie her up, spill his cum down her throat. She'd be beautiful with ropes pressed into her ivory skin.
He pushed the fantasy from his mind. Never gonna happen. Hell, he'd be lucky to see her again after this weekend. Five years it had taken her to come back. This wasn't her hometown, and she'd never felt comfortable here. Her folks lived in Connecticut now.
He clenched his jaw against the voice in his head, the one telling him not to blow this chance. She could be yours. But did he dare risk it?
He was letting his desire get in the way of his judgment, like he had when they were teenagers. That night at the party, when he had kissed her…it had been a stupid thing to do. She was coming off a breakup. No wonder she ran away. It was too much. And now, after five years, he was having these crazy fantasies about her, and acting like maybe she'd go along. Even if she was a submissive—they barely knew each other anymore. She probably wouldn't trust him enough to give herself to him that way.
And if she wasn't a submissive, she'd think he was a monster. Like Emily had. After two years together, he had trusted her with his darkest secret, and she'd rejected him.
Rick brushed by and bowled two quick frames, getting the spare. Cyn was up again. She shook her ass as she walked past.
I will lose my fucking mind if I don't get out of here.
Cyn bowled two intentional gutter balls, apparently with the goal of pissing Rick off—at which she succeeded, if the volume of his swearing was any indication. She sat beside Trent and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"
"It's weird," he said, "like a time warp. Being a teenager sucked. I didn't need a reminder of that. You're the only reason I came to this stupid reunion."
"You're the only reason I came, too."
His spine lengthened, and a thrill rose from his stomach to his heart. "Cyn." He breathed her name as if it were a talisman.
She took his hand and squeezed it, a smile spreading over her face.
"You're up, Trent." Jordan's voice broke the spell. Trent stood and bowled the next two frames. By the time he was done, Cyn was talking with Rick again, his arm around her shoulders.
***
Cyn got up to bowl the final frame, swaying her hips for Trent's benefit as she walked. She was past caring whether she knocked any pins down, so when she bowled a score of three between the two frames, she was happy. It was time to go.
She made a pit stop in the ladies’ room. As she stepped back into the hallway, Max was coming out of the men's room, and she had to stop short to keep from running into him. "Oops." She giggled, a high-pitched nervous sound.
Max smiled and grabbed her arm. "It's okay. Have I mentioned how great that dress looks on you?"
"Thanks. I feel better now that I'm out of those dumb bowling shoes."
"Don't be self-conscious. You're a beautiful person, Cyn. I think you and Jordan are the only ones who didn't make fun of me in high school."
"There was nothing to make fun of. You were a late bloomer, that's all. But boy, did you bloom. That spread in GQ was…impressive."
He beamed, a faint blush on his cheeks. He looked so different now, but that open expression was the same ingenuous one he wore all through high school—like a kid with no pretensions, as if he were the source of the joke and not the butt of it.
"I've got a personal trainer," he said, modest as always. "Otherwise, I'd never make time to work out. You know how it is. When you're creative, you want to spend all your time doing that."
"When I'm writing, I lose track of time. I have every intention of working out, but I look at the clock and it's two in the morning. Fortunately, I forget to eat, too."
He chuckled. "I read your debut. It's awesome."
Her ears grew hot. "Um, thanks, I'm glad you liked it." Her voice came out thin and soft, like dandelion down floating on the breeze.
"It seemed authentic. The BDSM, I mean. You must have done a lot of research."
"Yeah, I did, I…"
He laid his hand on hers. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm in the lifestyle."
She let out a breath. "I kind of figured. Are you and Bernie together?"
"Not yet, but I'm hoping to change that." He squeezed her hand. "How about you? Are you involved with anyone?"
"I've been afraid to experiment, you know? I'm not looking for someone to play with. I want a relationship. If I go to a club, what will I have to choose from? Established Doms who've been through tons of subs, or newbies who might think BDSM is a synonym for abuse."
He took out a business card and handed it to her. "I can introduce you to some people, if you like. Or if you ever want to talk, get some advice."
"Max, I can't bother you. You've got a business to run."
He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "I'm not too busy for you."
Tension drained from her shoulders. "Thank you. I've never been able to talk with anyone about this, except online."
"Go to a munch. People in the lifestyle accept you for who you are. You don't have to be embarrassed. This is our normal."
Normal. She let that word embrace her like a warm bath. She hadn't felt normal for a long time—maybe ever. High school had been a confusing mess, trying to do the right thing, never knowing how people would react to her. People wanted to get to know her because her family had money. But she'd had hardly any friends, people she could confide in. The only person she could be truly honest with was Jordan. The girls were jealous of her, and the guys wanted to fuck her. Jordan just wanted to be her friend.
And now, it seemed Max did, too. Obviously, someone with his submissive tendencies didn't want to be with her. Unless…was he into group sex, where the Domme orders him to fuck someone else's sub? Hell no, she wasn't going there.
She slid his card into her purse. "Rick's probably waiting."
"Bernie, too. She won't be amused."
"Uh-oh. You're in trouble."
He smiled and laid his arm across her shoulders as they walked out. "Cyn, at its heart, BDSM is a role-playing game. Don't take it so seriously that you can't have fun with it."
"Thanks. That's good advice."
Role-playing. She liked thinking of it that way. She could enjoy being submissive in the bedroom without it changing her identity as an independent person. The part of her she never wanted to lose.
Chapter 3
They pulled into the parking lot at the hotel and got out of the car. Trent stood with his hands in his coat pockets, his mind reeling. Coming here tonight had been a huge mistake. He'd told himself that seeing Cyn would be okay, that she wouldn't have the same effect on him as in high school, but he was wrong. She was more beautiful, more poised and confident, more of everything he wanted. He ached to hold her, to wrap himself around her, to clutch her tight in his grip while he fucked her until she screamed his name over and over.
He leaned against Rick's car and patted the top with a gloved hand. "Guys, I think I'm gonna go." His heart hung like a rock weighing down his chest.
"Go where?" Cyn's voice was high pitched and tight.
"Home."
"You mean to your room?" she asked.
"No. To Delaware."
"Why?" Her voice shook. "We had a whole weekend planned."
"I've got some labs running. My partner said he can handle it, but I should be there—"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Rick's voice was hard, insistent. "Cyn came all the way from New York. You're not leaving."
He scuffed
his shoe against the asphalt, then looked into the inky sky and found Orion's belt. In the cool fall air, the stars seemed brighter somehow, crisper.
He was being an asshole, he knew that. Cyn was staring at him, Rick rubbing her arms. She let out a little cry, and Rick enveloped her.
It was like a knife slicing into his chest, seeing them together like that. He wandered down the parking lot, away from the building, out of the lights. Footsteps followed. A hand grabbed his arm and spun him around.
Jordan's face was deep in shadow, his voice a low growl. "Look, I get it, okay? You think it's not killing me, seeing them together? You leave now, it'll break her heart."
"I thought I was over her. That I could see her again and remember the good times. And instead, all I can think about is how she should have been mine." He kicked an empty beer can into the grass. "Rick acts like she's his, like he's the one who needs to protect her. She's not his anymore."
"She's not yours, either."
Ire burned in his throat. "Think I don't know that, fucker?"
"Maybe she could be, if you didn't run."
He drew in his shoulders and stared at the ground. "I'm no good for her."
"A minute ago, you said—"
"I fucked up, okay? Made a play for her, but did it all wrong. I wasn't smart. Lost control. I'm afraid of hurting her."
He sucked in a breath, trying to pull the words back.
Jordan laid a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what happened between you two, but not much would hurt her worse than you leaving right now."
Cyn's form approached through the darkness, gliding on those heels.
"I don't want you to go." Her voice pulled taut like an overstrung guitar.
The air left his chest, and his shoulders slumped. He drew her into his arms. "I don't want to go, either." He said in her ear, "I can't watch you with him."
She stepped back, head angled to one side, lips parted. "I'm not with him."
"Time to go inside, losers," Rick called. "I'm freezing my ass off."
Cyn chuckled. "We'd better hop to it. The master has spoken."
Jordan joined in her laughter as they headed back toward Rick's car.
"What's so funny?"
Trent punched his shoulder. "You're an asshole."
***
Back inside, they hung up their coats and headed into the ballroom. The crowd had started to thin a bit, and the hors d'oeuvres were looking tired. Cyn got a bottle of water from the bar.
Trent's talk of leaving had wrung her out. Her throat ached, and her chest felt battered. Was he jealous of Rick? It was time to clear the air. She needed to get him alone.
The four found an empty table and sat. Rick set a plate of appetizers in front of her. "Eat."
"Yuck."
"Did you have dinner," he asked, "or just that rabbit food I saw you with earlier?"
"I had a couple of meatballs."
"Well now you're gonna have a couple more."
"Rick…"
"Cyn," Trent said, his voice firm, his expression hard. "Remember Homecoming Dance junior year? You passed out. When you get keyed up, you lose your appetite. You still need to eat." He stuck a fork into a crab-stuffed mushroom cap and held it up to her mouth. She took a bite and realized how hungry she was.
Trent continued to feed her, his other arm resting on the back of her chair. She relaxed for the first time that night. A glow settled over her at being the center of his attention, being cared for so intimately. She barely had a chance to speak, so intent was he in getting nourishment into her.
Once she had eaten enough to appease him, she sat back. Rick and Jordan were no longer at the table. She looked around but couldn't spot them. Now was her chance to tell Trent that he was the one she wanted, not Rick. She patted her lips with a napkin and turned toward him.
"Cyn." Max came up beside her and leaned over her chair. "Can I have this dance? I'd like to talk to you about something."
"Sure." She rose uncertainly, noting the deep scowl on Trent's face. A twinge of disloyalty tickled her stomach. Not like anything was going to happen between her and Max—he was a good ally to have. Still, she felt like she should ask Trent for his permission. It wasn't as if he were her Dom…at least not yet.
She brushed Trent's shoulder with her palm, the wool of his suit jacket rough on her hand. "You don't mind?"
"Of course not." His light tone didn't match the hard look in his eyes. She pursed her lips but said nothing.
Max led her onto the dance floor and swallowed her in his arms. He was tall and broad, with so much lean muscle he probably weighed twice what he had in high school. She realized people were staring—jealous, of course. Max was hot and rich, and ironically, not at all her type. She preferred Trent's slimmer frame, well-toned but not so bulky. And blonds had never been her thing.
He leaned in, and she caught a whiff of his cologne, notes of bay leaf and grapefruit. "I texted a friend," he said. "She runs an exclusive club in Manhattan. I can get you in if you like. That way you wouldn't have to worry about the lowlifes."
Cyn swallowed. The idea of a club…She wasn't into voyeurism, and she certainly didn't want anyone looking at her.
"You'd be the most sought-out sub there," he said. "Someone new, with your looks and temperament…"
"I'll think about it."
"The membership fee is pretty steep, but I can take care of that for you."
She chuckled. "Normally, I wouldn't accept a handout, but in your case…"
"It's awful to say, but I won't miss thirty thousand dollars." He bit his lip. "I know how lucky I am. I could talk about how hard I worked, coding late into the night, finding a business manager, wooing investors, hiring the best software engineers in the business. But timing is everything, and I developed the right product at the right time."
"It must be stressful, all that responsibility."
"You can't imagine. I've set up a foundation to put the money to good use. My mom manages it. But running a company…I make one wrong decision, and it could cost investors millions. I've got great financial people, and officers with MBAs and PhDs and tons of industry experience. But the buck stops here, you know? Half the decisions, I make with my gut. They're creative, not business-oriented. No matter how much you focus-group new products, you don't know how people will react. Most of the time it works out, but sometimes it doesn't, and I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about it."
"Different people want different things. I get five-star reviews from people who love the angst in my novels, and one-star reviews from people who hate it. I like angst, so I'm keeping it."
"That's all you can do, ultimately. Create a product you love that will appeal to your core audience. If other people don't like it, they're not your customers. They're someone else's."
"Exactly." She sucked in her cheeks. "I want to ask you…about the submission thing."
A smile broke out over his face. "Yes?"
"I mean…I guess because you have so many decisions to make in your work life, it's a relief to have someone else make decisions in your personal life."
"That's part of it. Plus, in my job, I don't have anyone to answer to. Obeying a Domme keeps me centered, and focused on someone besides myself. When I screw up, I have someone to hold me accountable. It's kind of like going to confession. It's good for the soul."
She giggled. "I sort of understand what you mean, from watching my dad, and how he deals with the stress of being a CEO. When he comes home from work, he enters this sort of catatonic state. He jokes that his favorite phrase is 'yes, dear.' My mom takes over, bringing him a drink, his dinner, massaging his feet, making sure he gets to bed on time."
She relaxed into his arms, a memory washing over her. "When I was about thirteen, I got so mad at her, and asked why she was always serving him. She got mad right back, saying she wasn't serving him. She was caring for him. And wasn't I a brat for not understanding his need to rest when he came home, after making tough decisions all day
." She smiled. "Mom hardly ever got mad at me, but it really bugged her that I didn't understand the dynamic between them. She said, 'Marriage isn't a competition, it's a partnership.' That's what I want, you know? A partnership where you take care of each other's needs, and no one keeps score."
Max turned silent, his eyes downcast. "I thought I had that once, but she…well, you know how it is. She wanted my money. When I realized I couldn't trust her as a Domme, I knew I couldn't trust her in any other part of the relationship, either."
"Oh, honey." She ran her hand soothingly along his back. "What about Bernie?"
"Bernie I can trust. The question is, can she let herself trust anyone else. After the way her mom left, she has a hard time letting people in."
Cyn nodded. Bernie had never confided much about her family life. Her mom left when she was nine, and that was as much as Cyn knew. "I hope it works out for you guys."
"Me, too." Max smiled, his eyes full of boyish excitement. He was so ready to trust, so ready to believe. With a pain in her chest, she hoped his faith wasn't misplaced.
***
Trent gritted his teeth, watching Cyn with Max on the dance floor. What did Max want with her? As gorgeous as she looked, he couldn't blame him for being interested. Cyn had gone out of her way to be nice to him in high school, especially when their classmates tormented him.
Cyn looked comfortable in his arms, her gaze turned up to his, her black hair grazing her shoulders. She hung back from him, though. She sure as hell wasn't pressing her body to his the way she'd done to Trent at the bowling alley. The corner of his mouth quirked up at the realization.
"Dainty little thing, isn't she." Bernie deposited herself in Cyn's chair. "She looks like a bird in a cat's paws."
"Except she's not trying to escape."
"Yeah, all that fluttering is for show."
"Jealous?" he asked.
"What, me? Of Cyn?" Her good-natured response dripped with sarcasm.
He put his hand on Bernie's. "Sorry I wasn't a good boyfriend."
"You were a terrible boyfriend. But you were great in bed, so I forgive you."
He nodded. "Sex was the only thing we got right. Considering neither of us knew what we were doing."
Handling Cynthia: A Second Chances Novella Page 3