by Cara Dee
Inside, I find a pair of jeans and a T-shirt once I've taken out the jacket Rio let me borrow—screw underwear. I'll be naked in the tub soon enough.
When I'm dressed, I walk down the stairs slowly, not wanting to get caught. Oh, shit. Didn’t even make it three steps! Stopping short, I watch as two guys walk briskly toward the front door carrying furniture that was used at the play party.
So maybe it's not Dante and Gretchen who are here already. It could be whatever company Rio hired to turn his patio into a Roman villa.
"What are you doing?"
I suck in a breath and whip around, only to see a sleepy Dylan rubbing his eyes and yawning.
"Um, hi." I don’t really know what I'm doing, so I don’t answer. With people milling about and Rio returning any minute, I might as well wait with my extra mile. "Did you just wake up?" He's dressed, but it looks like he threw the clothes on seconds ago. His hair is sticking out in every direction.
He nods and hikes a bag up his shoulder. "Master Dante's driving me to Gabriella's place."
Gabriella, huh? I raise a brow at him. I don’t know him very well, but after having my hands all over his body—and vice versa—during the contests last night, I think it's okay to be curious.
"Shouldn’t it be Cade's house?" I ask carefully.
Anguish flashes in his eyes, and he tries to cover it up with a tight smile as he descends a couple steps. "I'm done with that. He can't expect me to ask permission for every little thing when he doesn’t want more than a casual arrangement. I don’t function that way."
My face falls, and I feel sad for him. "Have you told him you want more, sweetie?"
He nods again, this time a quick jerk as if he's uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather not talk about it." He offers a weak smile and passes me with a kiss to my forehead. "I'll go check if Dante's here yet."
Blowing out a breath, I wait until he's outta sight. Then I slump down and sit on the landing, thinking of ways to help Dylan. But I don’t know him enough yet. I'll call him later and offer support—
My thought flies out the window when I hear Rio's voice. Back already? "It doesn’t matter," he chuckles darkly, and I peer down to see him heading toward the living room. He's on the phone. His back is facing me, and from up here, he looks slighter. "You're clearly more forgiving than I am." Definitely not dressed in workout clothes. Instead he's wearing black dress pants and a light blue button-down. His black hair is slicked back, which…huh. Didn’t figure Rio as one for having his hair styled all prim and proper. "I would've fired her immediately. She stole—simple as that."
I freeze at those words.
"If you say so," he says dryly. "But I can't believe Nicholas isn't pressing charges. What she did is unforgivable."
Oh, my God.
My stomach drops and rolls with nausea. Hurrying back to the bedroom, I only have one word on a loop in my head, along with the crushing blow of rejection. Run.
I've done it before, though it's usually my own fault. Whenever a guy's gotten too close, I've reacted by fleeing.
Even worse was when I was younger. Then I'd deliberately push anyone away from the get-go. That way, there was never any risk of getting close at all.
I shut off the water in the bathroom and then grab my duffel and zip it up. There's no way I want to face Rio now—God, that lying motherfucker—so I do my best to sneak downstairs without being seen.
He said he'd forgiven Miranda after the punishment. He fucking told me.
Humiliation burns hotly in my eyes as I stumble in an attempt to put on my shoes in my escape. I manage at last, and I yank the front door open just as another couple movers pass me with furniture.
Dylan's waiting down the driveway by Rio's mailbox, so I join him there, praying to God Dante can pass up breakfast.
"You okay?" Dylan tilts his head at me, concern creasing his forehead.
I nod curtly. "Yeah. No." I shake my head. Fuck, I'm stupid. Fucking sub frenzy. I wasn’t careful enough with Rio. I didn’t guard my heart enough. Or even at all. I wanted it too much. Still goddamn do. "Ugh." I shudder against the cold and blow out a breath. "I'll be fine."
Dylan's eyes soften, and he takes a step closer to squeeze my arm gently. "You can talk to me, you know."
At that, I let out a shaky laugh. The irony. "That goes both ways." I look to him pointedly.
He smiles sheepishly. "Fine. I'll talk if you will."
It would be nice to ramble a bit, maybe host a pity party that isn't only about me. And Kayla would get too upset. She would involve Nicholas and try to figure things out before I'm ready for it. Besides, what is there to figure out?
Once a thief, always a thief, huh?
"Is Gabriella expecting you?" I ask, my throat closing up.
He hesitates then shakes his head no. "I just don’t wanna spend the day alone, and she's my best friend."
"Okay." A particularly harsh wind blows past, and I clutch my stomach, beyond nauseated and embarrassed. I can't get Rio's voice outta my head—his words, what he said. It wasn’t the rich warmth I've gotten used to so fast. His tone was clear and crisp. "Wanna come to my place?" I look up at Dylan. "I have ice cream and bourbon. We can bitch and moan about the Domly fuckers who say one thing and mean another."
Dylan's mouth tightens grimly. "I'm really lookin' forward to hearing what happened. I mean, you were happy like a minute ago."
I don’t reply, merely waiting for his answer.
He sighs. "All right, darlin'. Count me in. You better have real ice cream—not the nonfat shit you girls seem to love so much."
Oh, please. "Häagen-Dazs." One of the few things I don’t skimp on. "Now we just gotta convince Dante to drive us home without breakfast." Dylan appears confused at that, so I elaborate. "He and Gretchen are coming to pick us up, and Rio invited them for breakfast, too."
"Oh." Dylan frowns. "I didn’t know that."
But for once in my fucking lifetime, I get lucky. When Dante and Gretchen show up a couple minutes later, he takes one look at my face and demands to know what's wrong. Guess my poker face has run off.
"Please just take me home," I ask beseechingly. I glance over my shoulder, fearing that Rio will walk out, but so far, nothing. "I'll explain everything, but I-I can't stick around."
Dante gives me a serious look. "If Rio hurt you, I need to know. There could be a misunderstanding or at least an explanation. He's a good Master, Chelsea. And I know he wouldn’t let you leave upset."
I have no doubt about that. "It's personal," I reply. "I heard him say something about me—" The pain of rejection flares up once more, fiercer and ruthless. "Fuck. I'm sorry, Sir." I cover my mouth for fear I'll throw up.
"Christ—come here, sweetheart." Dante hugs me to him, and Gretchen moves close to offer comfort, as well. Fucking comfort. Am I that weak? "We'll get to the bottom of this, but if you feel like you can't do it right this minute, I'll take you home."
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Chapter 9
Several hours later, Dylan knows everything. Every little thing.
It hadn't been my intention to spill the beans about my friggin' past, but the little fucker drew it out of me. And maybe, just maybe, the bourbon-splashed ice cream helped coax the words out of me, too.
Occupying either end of my bed, our pajama-clad legs tangled together in the middle, Dylan and I form a friendship that is as easy as breathing. Perhaps it's easier to open up to a stranger and go from there, as opposed to opening up to someone who already knows so much about you. Additionally, it's nice to get a new perspective on things. A submissive guy's perspective, to boot.
I hadn't been able to speak this freely with Dante, who spent the entire ride from Rio's place asking me what had happened. In the end, I blurted out the latest events—that I had heard Rio downstairs on the phone, talking to whoever-the-fuck, about stealing being unforgivable.
To give Dante a clearer picture, I also told him my childhood was rough. I wasn’t alwa
ys honest and law-abiding. I did what I did to survive, and I left things at that, and Dante grew silent and pensive.
With Dylan, the rest came out in a jumbled mess. My past, how I met Rio, losing my brother, getting into BDSM, meeting Kayla…all of it. Even the Facebook-stalking part.
It's liberating to get it all out, especially with someone who seems genuinely interested and concerned.
In return, Dylan gets quiet for a bit before he scoops up another spoonful of ice cream and tells me he can't imagine Rio holding my past against me. "He doesn’t seem like that kind of person," he adds and sits up to lean back against the wall.
"I didn’t think so, either." I sigh and take a swig from the bottle of bourbon. Damn. Fire slides down my throat. "I know what I heard, though." The smooth numbness that takes over is my number one reason for loving bourbon. The aftertaste is exquisite, too. "I am so fucking stupid."
Really. Only a fool would let herself go so completely the way I did. Ten years of nothing—a crush lingering from a single encounter—and then I allowed him to take so much from me in one night. What was I thinking?
Scooting close, Dylan ends up next to me, and he bumps his shoulder to mine. "Hey, none of that crap. If you're just gonna sit here and berate yourself, I'll go out and flirt with your hot roommates instead."
I snort at that. "Oh sweetie, we both know that’s not what you wanna do." Dylan doesn’t respond, so I set the ice cream and bourbon aside and then place my cheek on his shoulder. "Your turn. Tell me about you and Cade. And Gabriella."
"Nothing much to tell," he mumbles, the side of his face resting at the top of my head. "Since I moved to San Francisco, I've wanted Cade. I watched him scene a few times before Kayla set me up with him. He's…he's fucking amazing. But he only wants a casual arrangement. He's honest about it too, so I can't really be mad at him." He shrugs dejectedly. "Maybe I need a break. I could always visit my grandparents in Texas for a few months."
"What—no. No, Dylan." I lift my head to face him. "Don’t do that."
He offers a small smile and tugs on a strand of my hair. "I have to get over him, Chelsea."
"What about Gabriella?" I'm ready to grasp at straws, but I really don’t want Dylan to move. "Kayla mentioned something about Gabriella having problems with her Daddy Dom. She'll need you, you know."
"Fucking John," he mutters, releasing a breath in frustration. "I'm waiting for her to dump that asshole." At my look of question, he goes on. "They got engaged two years ago, so one might think they're serious. Well, she is—was, whatever. But he stopped giving a fuck a long time ago. Work is more important." Dylan's clearly pissed. "More often than not, John left her with Cade and me."
"The three of you have played together?" I ask curiously.
He flushes and nods. "Some, yeah."
I purse my lips, studying him. It's obvious Dylan doesn’t mind scening with both of them. Hell, I bet he loves it. And seeing it from Cade's perspective, I can imagine feeling…hmm, not threatened, but cautious?
"Do you have feelings for Gabriella?" I ask softly.
He lowers his gaze. "I don’t know," he whispers. "I didn’t even consider it before. I've denied it to Kayla, but…" He sighs heavily. "I'm so fucking in love with that bastard." I assume he's talking about Cade now. "But when he started pulling away from me—well, he didn’t really pull away, but he got more, um…" He thinks for a beat, phrasing himself. "He realized I wanted more, so he focused on playtime instead. Before, he'd text and call every now and then; he showed interest in my career, came to the pool a couple times when I practiced—stuff like that. Then all of a sudden, it was all about Switch. He said he preferred it if we only played there. But, anyway—I got off track. Gabriella and I grew closer, and I guess I started wondering if there was more there. I'm not sure, though."
Gotcha. "How long have you and Cade been together?"
He rolls his eyes for some reason. "That’s the thing. Not long. I mean, I fell hard and fast, so I knew I wanted him before we even got to the first date. But it's barely been two months since Kayla set us up—" Before he can finish the sentence, Dylan's phone vibrates against my hardwood floor. "It's probably Cade." He rolls his eyes again.
Reading his text, he frowns at first, only to widen his eyes the next second.
"Um." He shows me the screen.
Hello, Dylan. If you're still with Chelsea, please have her call me. I'm incredibly disappointed that my subs left without a word this morning. I've spoken with Dante, and I'm expecting apologies from both of you. —Rio
"What the hell?" I bristle. "He's got some fuckin' nerve…"
"I screwed up, though." Dylan grimaces. "I really shouldn’t have left like that. Master Kelly was incredibly nice to me yesterday."
Biting my thumbnail, refusing to admit anything, I reach over to my nightstand where I put my phone earlier—after having made sure a hundred times I'd shut it off. Now I'm wondering if perhaps that was a stupid idea. Then again, seriously? Who the fuck does he think he is, telling me I shouldn’t have left without a word?
He shouldn’t have lied to me. He should get off his high horse and smell the shit. Not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth. I grew up with an abusive alcoholic for a mother, a deadbeat father, no money, and I lost my brother to drugs.
I won't apologize for how I survived, whether I sold my body, stole food, or pickpocketed.
As I switch on my phone again, I square my shoulders and let my internal guard slam right back up where it's supposed to be.
Text after text, all from Rio.
My run took longer than I thought, but not long enough for you to bail. Is something wrong, Chelsea?
That must've been before he talked to Dante, and the next text confirms it. There's a sense of urgency to it, as well.
I spoke to Dante. Pick up the phone when I call you.
But…hmm. My brows furrow at the first message. His run sure as fuck didn’t take long, did it? He was showered and dressed when I heard him on the phone, which doesn’t explain his request to find me in the bathtub.
I'm serious, Chelsea. Answer the fucking phone. It's all a misunderstanding.
I swallow hard, wishing it could be a misunderstanding, but unless he's got a split personality, the fact remains. He said he'd forgiven Miranda for stealing, and the next morning, his tune had changed.
Given how I treated you when you arrived in San Francisco, I understand why you ran off before I could explain myself, but my patience is wearing thin. Get back to me immediately.
"Shit, double shit, triple shit." Unease tightens itself like a fist around my heart, and I begin to doubt my initial reaction. I heard what I heard, but when I think about it, it doesn’t add up to what I've learned about Rio. Same goes for what those closest to him say. Everyone seems to agree that he's a great Master and a good man. A man of his word. Fair. Reliable.
Just then, a new message pops up. A lengthy one.
It was my brother you heard. It's taken me all goddamn day to puzzle everything together, and I didn’t want to do this through a fucking text message. But since you refuse to call me, there you go. I hired my brother's company for the party. He was at the house while I was out. We argued over the phone. It was his end of the conversation you heard. It wasn’t me, Chelsea. Now I'll stop bothering you. Thank you for yesterday.
I slap a hand over my mouth and run toward the bathroom, nausea winning at last.
The. Bourbon. Wants. Out.
"Chelsea!" Dylan calls after me.
I don’t answer, too busy losing the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Oh God, oh God, oh God. The relief of finding out it was Rio's brother was short-lived and has already been replaced by anger directed at myself and shame. Oh God, oh God, oh God. It was his brother. Gabriel. Gabriel Kelly. Holy fucking hell, I'm stupid. I should know better. I do know better! Having checked Rio's Facebook so many times over the past decade, I'm no stranger to Gabriel. I know how similar they look. Practically twins, no
t counting the few inches Rio has on his younger brother. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Outside the bathroom, I hear Jase and Robby asking Dylan what's wrong.
"I-I don’t know," Dylan answers helplessly. "She was reading messages from a Dom—uh…"
"We know about her lifestyle," Jase says wryly.
I'd chuckle if another round of nausea hadn't made me puke again. Tears roll down my cheeks, and my lungs burn with my need for air.
I'm so sorry, Rio.
The girl I once was, the one who pushed everyone away, screams at me. Tells me my hasty exit was justified, and I agree to some extent; I thought it was Rio. I saw Rio. Well, his back. And the words cut deep. Fucking Gabriel.
Combined with our rocky start, yeah, my departure was a bit justified. But the level-headed person I usually am these days would've stayed behind to confront the bastard. Yet, I ran like the child I was years ago.
Rio apologized several times for running hot and cold—or rather, cold then hot as fuck—and now I hope I can get a chance to do the same.
Time to call Kayla.
Chapter 10
The following Friday, there are two public demos at Switch. It means the music won't be as loud as it usually is, and if the guests are focused on the demo, it might mean fewer eyes on me.
At the play party last weekend, Rio wanted me to worship him. Cling to him. Make everything about him.
Tonight I will offer to do it publicly.
I've been a nervous mess about it all week, but the brief contact Rio and I had through Kayla on Sunday evening was enough for me to go on. Like a middle schooler passing notes in class, I called Kayla and asked if she could speak to him on my behalf.
"Ask him if he can allow me to apologize," I'd said.
I would've called him myself, but I was afraid I'd lose my shit and not make any sense of what I was saying.
"He said yes!" Kayla had responded with a squeal.
I'd released a breath and nervously requested, "Ask him to be at Switch on Friday."