Who was she kidding? She knew what was wrong—she was in love with a man who was afraid to love her back, and even if he did, they had, by definition of their kink, no future together.
If she had expected comfort from Annette as she wiped at her tears, she didn’t get it. Annette was grinning at her and shaking her head. “Kiddo, you’re okay. Maybe a little confused, but okay. Come on, dry those tears.” She waited while Jordan dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, before continuing, “I’m going to explain something to you, but first, eat your sandwich—you’ll feel better. Go on, take a bite. I’ll wait.”
In spite of herself, Jordan laughed. “Bossy, aren’t you?” she quipped.
Annette grinned. “Just ask Gene.”
Jordan picked up her sandwich and took a bite, not really tasting it. “Okay. Go on,” she said, suddenly happy in spite of everything as she realized she had a new friend, her first real friend in a long time. “Enlighten me, oh wise one.”
Annette took a long drink of her iced tea and set it down with a regal nod. “Okay, here’s the thing, Jordan. You said you can’t be gay one day and straight the next, but I disagree. In fact, my theory, which I’ve seen born out countless times over the years, is that no one is one-hundred percent gay or one-hundred percent straight. Society wants to stick us in neat little slots, but human nature doesn’t work that way. People are attracted along a continuum, some more skewed toward being straight, some toward gay, most somewhere in the middle, whether or not they ever allow themselves to feel, much less explore, their orientation.”
She took another bite of her sandwich and then continued. “Same way in the BDSM scene, though I agree with you, folks tend to be more hardwired in one direction or the other, but there are times when someone who is primarily dominant has the urge to submit. By the same token, a primarily submissive person can be quite dominant, with the right person or in the right situation. Some of the most sadistic players I ever met were submissive to their primary partner.”
Jordan nodded. “Betsy used to say the same thing. ‘When you give a sub girl a whip to play with, watch out.’”
Annette laughed. “Yep. And the converse is also true. Back when I was a pro Domme, I had a number of clients who exuded power in their daily lives. These were professional power junkies who ran Fortune 500 companies, but they were more than happy during our sessions to wear my collar and kiss my feet. Not only happy, they needed it. It fulfilled a part of their nature that was subjugated and denied the rest of the time.”
She leaned forward, her tone earnest. “Then there’s you, Jordan. You fit into that profile, but in a more direct way. You define yourself as dominant in the scene, but who are you really? What moves you? What gets your heart racing and, if you’ll pardon my French, your pussy soaking? Is it the look in a man’s eye when you’ve got his balls in one hand and a whip in the other?” Annette laughed. “No wait, that’s me we’re talking about.”
She sobered quickly, adding, “Seriously though, I could be all wrong, but I’ve been watching you and listening to what you’ve said about your experience with Donovan this weekend. These are not the words or feelings of a hardcore dominant. It’s quite possible, Ms. Heller, that you are in fact a submissive in Domme’s clothing.” She grinned, adding, “Which isn’t to say you aren’t a kickass Domme. But I have a feeling that might be your vocation, while submission is your passion. And Donovan has been the one to unlock that passion, am I right?”
While Jordan struggled to take in what Annette was saying with her brain, her gut knew instantly that she was right. The realization was at once shocking and a relief, as if she were at last ready to embrace who she’d been all along.
Something made Jordan look up at that moment, as if someone had called her name. She stared across the street, her body registering what she saw before her brain could kick in. Her heart began to pound wildly. “Shit!” she said breathlessly. “That’s Donovan across the street. He’s looking at us! He’s waving!”
Annette dropped her napkin on the table and stood, waving back in his direction. “Ah, the bait worked, and the fly is now approaching our honey.”
“What?” Jordan’s eyes remained glued to the man, who was standing at the traffic light with a dozen other people, waiting for it to change so he could safely cross the busy street. She pulled her gaze away long enough to glance sharply at Annette. “What’re you talking about?”
Annette laughed. “I set him up. Last night after you left, he and Gene were at the bar. I overheard him say he might give you a call. Just to discuss a possible joint show for later in the week, he said. Seeing an excellent opportunity, I leaned right over the bar and informed him you were having lunch with Brent at Café Rose at two o’clock today. In an Oscar worthy performance, he shrugged and said oh-so-casually, ‘You don’t say?’”
“You said that?” Jordan squealed.
“I sure did. And just to make sure he got the point, I added that you seemed to be quite taken with the guy.”
In spite of herself, Jordan laughed. “I can’t believe you did that! I would never agree to lunch with a guy I just met. And certainly not with Master Brent, who was entirely too full of himself.”
“You know that, and I know that, but the Master doesn’t know that. And look.” She gestured with her chin toward Donovan, who had crossed the street and was walking rapidly now in their direction with a determined stride. “Here he comes, ready to challenge Master Brent to a duel.”
She turned toward Jordan, speaking rapidly. “Now listen carefully. I know you don’t like to play games, and hopefully this will be one of the last ones you play, but don’t fuck this up. Master Brent had something come up, so you asked me instead. You don’t have to pretend to have feelings for the guy, but don’t let Donovan off the hook too easily. He needs to figure out all by himself that he wants you. Think wild mustang. You can hold out the lump of sugar, but he has to come to you. You move too fast now, and he’ll bolt. Got it?”
Jordan looked at Donovan approaching. He was wearing faded blue jeans that fit him perfectly, hugging his muscular thighs, but not too tight down the leg. As he got closer she could see snakes curling around his biceps beneath the short sleeve of his red T-shirt. He wore sunglasses, his sensuous mouth compressed in a thin line, though without seeing his eyes, she couldn’t tell if he was angry or just nervous.
He slowed as he got closer and finally stopped in front of them. Jordan’s heart was beating so hard she wondered if the others could hear it. She forced a casual smile as she looked up at him, shading her eyes with her hand.
Annette spoke first. “Well, hey there, Mr. Cartwright. What a small world. You had your lunch yet?” She pulled out a chair, waving for him to sit.
Donovan took off his glasses and looked from Jordan to Annette and back to Jordan. Then he looked past them at the other tables, a question on his face. Annette and Jordan exchanged a quick glance, Annette smirking, an I told you so expression on her face.
“Looking for someone?” Annette asked in an exaggeratedly innocent tone.
“You said—” Donovan began, before catching himself. He took the chair Annette had pulled out.
“I said Jordan and Brent were meeting for lunch. Unfortunately he got called into the hospital, poor bastard.” She turned to Jordan with a guileless smile. “I’m so glad you called me to take his place, Jordan. I have a feeling we’re going to be the best of friends.”
The waiter arrived, a menu in hand. “Would you like to order something, sir?” he asked.
Donovan, who still looked confused, shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll just have a beer. Something on tap.”
The waiter rattled off half a dozen options and Donovan selected one. He turned to Jordan. “So, you get a good night’s rest? You sure were missed last night.” By whom, he didn’t say, but he was gazing at her with intense earnestness, as if she were the only person in the world.
Jordan nodded, not mentioning she’d tossed and turned for over a
n hour before finally deciding to masturbate to calm down, and certainly not mentioning the fantasies that unspooled in her head as she touched herself involved the Master, front and center.
Annette pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket and stared down at it, shaking her head. “Gene’s texting me. He needs me. I swear to god, I don’t know how he survived before I took him in hand. He can’t do a thing without me.” She laughed affectionately and stood, dropping some bills onto the table. “You’ll forgive me if I leave abruptly? Now that you have each other to keep you company?”
She was so convincing that Jordan wasn’t even sure if she was making it up or not. Jordan glanced at Donovan, who was smiling. “No problem. Gene needs you.” He waved his hand. “Go on. I’ll make sure Jordan gets home. I’m parked the next block over.”
“That’s okay,” Jordan said, suddenly enjoying the power of her position. “I drove my own car.” She glanced at her watch and used the tone she employed with her sub boys. “I still have a few minutes though. I’ll stay while you drink your beer.”
Chapter 15
“So, Master Brent, huh?” Donovan said with exaggerated casualness. He raised his beer to his lips and drank as he appraised Jordan over the top of the glass. “I don’t really see you with that guy.”
“Oh?” Jordan lifted her lips into a small smile. “Who do you see me with?”
Me, Donovan started to say, before catching himself.
Though he’d thought of little but Jordan and Master Fucking Brent since the night before, Donovan had promised himself he wouldn’t give the slightest hint that he cared what Jordan did with another man. He couldn’t stand that kind of needy, possessive behavior in a woman, and had no intention of exhibiting it himself.
Yet he couldn’t deny when he arrived at the café and saw, not the arrogant MD, but Annette at the table with Jordan, he’d nearly cried with relief. At that moment he couldn’t pretend to himself any longer that he didn’t care who Jordan hung out with, that she didn’t matter more to him than any other of his casual submissive play partners. He’d had to physically restrain himself from pulling Jordan into his arms so he could kiss every inch of her face.
Instead, somehow keeping up the Mr. Cool façade, he’d agreed to join them for a quick beer, especially pleased when Annette suddenly needed to vacate the premises. Talk about good timing. Now he was alone with the girl he hadn't been able to get out of his head since their amazing weekend together. He would feel her out—see where she was with this Master Brent character—and take it from there. He would start with something innocuous, like if she got a good night’s sleep, and try from that to determine if she’d slept alone or in another man’s arms.
Her nod, however, hadn't provided the information he’d been seeking. Mr. Cool forgotten, Donovan found himself blurting, “Are you really seeing that jackass, Master Brent?”
Jordan, who had been sipping her iced tea, sputtered into her drink. Wiping her face with her napkin, she set down her glass and peered at him with a confused expression. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
Embarrassed at his outburst, which had come out of nowhere, Donovan tried to backtrack. “Oh, you know. I mean, uh, I saw you talking to him last night. Then you had to leave early. From the way you were ogling each other, I thought it was a reasonable assumption that you might leave together. Annette said you were having lunch with him today so…”
Jordan frowned, a what-the-fuck look on her face. She glared at him for a beat and then two. But she didn’t deny it.
So it was true. God damn it.
Jordan cut short Donovan’s rising ire by suddenly pronouncing, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
What the hell was going on? She was the one who was upset? Donovan tilted his head as he looked at her, trying to rein in the jumble of emotions wrecking havoc in his head. “Can’t do what?”
Jordan rubbed her hands over her face and sighed. “I can’t keep playing this game. It’s just—silly. I mean, I know Annette’s heart is totally in the right place. But this just isn’t how I operate.”
“I’m sorry. You’ve lost me. What does Annette’s heart have to do with anything?”
Color rose suddenly into Jordan’s cheeks. “Well, if you want to know, Annette’s been busy playing matchmaker behind the scenes.”
Fury rose in a sudden bitter rush in Donovan’s chest. How could Annette betray him like that? “Annette’s trying to match you with Brent Underwood? Is she nuts? I thought she was my friend, for god’s sake.”
Jordan laughed, her cheeks still pink, her green eyes suddenly sparkling. “No, not Master Brent and me. You and me. She’s been coaching me on how to tame wild horses.”
Donovan shook his head. “Okay, now I have no idea what you’re talking about. Where do horses come into this, other than Brent, who can be a horse’s ass, no offense.” He forced a laugh at his own admittedly rather weak joke, though he remained perplexed and angry.
Jordan took a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay,” she said. “First I’ll clear up something for you. While Master Brent seems like a decent guy, I’m not interested in him, not in the least. And frankly,” some of the anger edged its way back into her face, “I can’t believe you’d think I’m that fickle—after what you and I shared this weekend.”
Despite himself, Donovan felt some of the tightness in his chest ease, though he remained unclear as to what was really going on. “So, wait,” he said. “Why were you having lunch with him then? I don’t get it.”
“I wasn’t!” Jordan’s tone was exasperated. “Annette just floated that out there for bait, and you apparently swallowed it.”
Now it was Donovan’s turn to flush. He felt manipulated. Worse, he felt foolish. Why would Annette have done such a thing?
“Here’s the thing,” Jordan continued. “Annette has it in her mind that you’re like a wild horse when it comes to women. You don’t like to feel, to continue the metaphor, corralled. You need for it to be your idea when you want to be with a woman, and if she makes it her idea first, you feel hemmed in and you bolt. So she’s been counseling me on how to be a horse whisperer and trick you into wanting me by offering lumps of sugar without seeming to. She’s been teaching me to play it cool with the Master.”
She reached over, placing her soft hand on his, her eyes flashing. “I’ve been doing my damnedest to pretend I didn’t really mind that you just sent me packing yesterday morning after the most amazing forty-eight hours I’d ever spent with another human being. I’ve been trying to pretend you aren’t the most exciting man I’ve ever met, and that you haven’t opened a whole new world for me that I want to continue to explore with you.”
She pulled her hand away and shrugged, her face suddenly closing. “Look, I’m sorry, I tried it her way, and even if it’s working—if it got you here by artifice and feminine wiles—it’s just not my style. I’m going to lay it out for you, and if you can’t handle the truth, then so be it.” She paused, as if daring him to contradict her, but Donovan stayed silent, still trying to process what she was saying, and his part in it.
Jordan’s voice grew more determined, “I’m not saying I want to marry you, Donovan. I’m not saying I want to own you or be owned by you. I’m just saying I don’t like to be treated like a one-night stand, and then have to pretend that how you behaved didn’t hurt and confuse me. I’m saying I want to continue where we left off without having to worry I’m going to scare you away by expressing honest feelings. If that’s a strike against me, so be it. This is who I am. Take it or leave it.”
Donovan stared at the strong woman beside him, who was gazing back at him with a look of resigned defiance. And suddenly he felt as if he was in a movie, and the camera had moved in for a close-up, the world shrinking to this one moment in time, everything and everyone else falling away.
He realized in that one moment that for all of his adult life he’d been doing just exactly what Annette had accused him of—running at the first sign of rea
l intimacy, scared to death of… Of what? Of being loved? Of being truly happy? Or of losing that love and ending up lonelier than when he’d started? He honestly didn’t know.
All he knew was he wanted this woman sitting across from him like he’d never wanted anyone else. And hadn't he known that since the moment he’d contrived the bet so he could get her into his dungeon and into his bed? Yet even then, before he’d given them or her a chance, he’d already begun to push her away, at least in his head. The instant things threatened to move from casual play into something that might matter, he’d pulled his usual MO and hit the ground running.
But Jordan Heller had called him on his shit.
She was looking at him now, waiting, he knew, for some kind of response to her ultimatum that he could take what she offered—a chance to really connect in a meaningful way with someone he might truly be able to love—or leave it, and continue as he always had, footloose, fancy free, and alone.
He reached for the hand she’d pulled away, drawing it to him. He lifted her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed her palm.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
~*~
“You did what?” Annette shouted into Jordan’s cell phone.
“I told him I don’t want to be a horse whisperer,” Jordan repeated. “I told him I don’t want to play games—that what we’d shared mattered too much to me.”
Jordan was lying on her bed in her studio apartment. As if the gods had conspired against them, Donovan’s cell phone had buzzed urgently in his pocket just after he made his earnest pronouncement. He’d been called away on an emergency with the volunteer ambulance corps, though he’d promised to come by the instant he was free.
BDSM Club Series Box Set Page 59