“Wonderful. I feel I should be asking your intentions with my daughter, but you’ll only give me the answer you want me to hear. So, we’ll do a speed round. Where are you from? How did you meet my daughter? Where do you see this going?”
Oh my God. “Mom! Lay off the third degree, could you?”
“I’m your mother, sweetie. I have every right to learn a little bit about the man you’ve chosen to let into your life.”
“Mom…”
Keegan puts up a hand. “No no, it’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m from a bunch of places, really. My parents are from New Hampshire, but we moved to Arizona when I was pretty young. Then Mom got fed up with the heat, and we headed north to Washington, where I completed high school. I did my studies at different colleges until I finally got my doctorate at University of Michigan. Then, after a couple of years of internships and further studies, I came here and started my own practice.”
Mom nods. “Impressive. I do love the Pacific Northwest, even if it rains all the time.”
He reaches out and takes my hand. He’s so warm, and yet I’m trembling. It’s the first time we’ve done any actual public display of affection, and I’m not prepared for that. It’s… really nice. It doesn’t even feel like he’s pretending.
“So… about how we met.” He looks at me, and I cut a terrified glance right back at him.
“Uh, yes… that.”
We really should’ve prepared a story for this, at least. It’s the most obvious question. Keegan clears his throat. “It was at Wegman’s actually. In the produce section.”
“Oh yeah,” I chime in. “He was shopping for melons, and—” I stop short. That sounded idiotic, and like a terrible innuendo, all at once.
His smile widens, but he just keeps running with it. “It’s been a great season for them, especially the locally sourced ones. Amazing.”
Seriously? He’s going there?
Mom looks like she’s trying to figure out if we’re making fun of her or not. “Melons?” There’s a distinctly skeptical tone to her voice.
“I know, it sounds ridiculous, but the cantaloupes were amazing that day.”
“Cantaloupes,” Mom parrots. Not even a question this time, just a disbelieving statement.
I have to save this before it goes out of control. “Yeah, we bumped into each other reaching for the same one, and it was a whole Lady and the Tramp moment.” I shrug. “We got to talking, and then talked some more, and then he bought me a hot chocolate at the cafe.”
“Your daughter has quite the sweet tooth.”
Mom nods. “She’s always had a weakness for treats.”
Since Keegan’s hand is still holding mine, I use my other one to pull up his sleeve so I can see the face of his watch. “Hey, shouldn’t we get going? We wouldn’t want to miss our reservation.”
“Oh, you’re right, we should. Ms. Larson, it was a joy to meet you. Hopefully next time we’ll have a little more time to chat.” He crooks his arm for me to grab onto, and I happily link mine with his.
He gestures at the hallway. “Shall we?”
Amazingly, Mom doesn’t make a single snide comment. Keegan works some serious magic.
“You two have fun tonight.” Her eyes narrow as she looks right at him. “But not too much. I’m trusting you to keep my baby safe.” I guess she needs to get in at least one barb.
Keegan smiles. “Safety is of the utmost importance to me, I assure you.” I half expect him to quote the safe, sane and consensual adage from all the BDSM blogs.
“Then have a good time. I’ll just curl up with a book and relax here tonight. Don’t worry about me.”
To be honest, by this point, I’m not. I’m too busy pretending to go out with a hunky dominant who’s shown me that I can take a whipping without losing my mind. It’s all good, I just wish it were real.
As soon as the door closes behind us, I look up at him, and he looks down. Keegan’s perfect gentleman mask is gone in a flash, replaced by a hungry look that slides slowly down from my face, across my cleavage and then over my entire shape to my toes before returning back up to gaze at me with smoldering emerald heat in his eyes. For a moment I wonder if he’s reconsidered keeping our relationship strictly professional.
It makes me want to climb him right there and beg him to take me.
Hard.
But he softens his expression to something more neutral, and says quietly, “We should get going, before your mother gets suspicious.” He’s probably guessed that mom might be listening at the door. Keegan’s totally got her pegged.
I need to find a way to lure feral Keegan back out. I give his arm a little squeeze, then tell him, “Lead on, Mr. Driver.”
His car has a really smooth ride, and he drives with confidence. It’s not long before he pulls up in front of an Italian place called Giuseppe’s. “I took the liberty of reserving a table for us. Hope this is good.”
“Wait, you’re taking me to an actual date? What’s going on here?” I look at him, flabbergasted. “Aren’t you the one who said we needed more distance.”
He shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. “I didn’t like the idea of just dropping you off somewhere on your own, and I don’t know about you, but I need to eat dinner. Since your mother expects you to be out for several hours, and you were saying that while she’s here, it’ll be more difficult for you to make it to our sessions, I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”
I grimace. Spending more time with Keegan sounds great, but a session at a restaurant? That’s not exactly romantic. “Really? What can we do there?” Does this mean he likes me after all? Or is he just being thoughtful? I don’t know what to think.
He sends me a sly grin. “Oh, I have some ideas if you’re game. But we can also talk. It’s a casual atmosphere out in the open. So long as we’re in public, I don’t think we can get in too much trouble.”
My stomach rumbles, making the decision for me. “Is this a bad time to mention I had spaghetti yesterday?”
“Oh.” His face falls. “I can find another place if—”
“No!” I laugh. “Italian is fine. Honest. I’m starving.”
“Good.” He parks and gets out quickly enough to open my door before I’ve got myself together. “You look gorgeous tonight,” he says as I step out.
“You’re looking pretty good yourself, Sir,” I counter playfully, then laugh at the brief flash in his eyes. He might find it unethical to pursue this connection we obviously have, but we’ve done too much for me to believe that he’s not at all interested. That kiss we shared… I’ve never felt anything like it. Maybe he’ll be on his best behavior, but I feel safe when I’m with him, and that means there’s no reason I have to behave too.
The restaurant is cozy, and while we’re not way overdressed, it straddles that divide between casual and formal. I cling to Keegan’s arm. He’d look good anywhere, wearing anything. The greeter guides us to a table by a window that looks out onto the street. Outside, traffic streams by busily, but inside it’s quiet and calm. It’s the kind of place you can dress up for, but also relax in without it seeming stuffy.
I smile up at Keegan, and he rewards me with a brilliant smile of his own. Now that we’re here and sitting across from each other I’m suddenly unsure as to what to say, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I can’t believe you had Mom wrapped around your finger like that. Normally, she’d be chasing you out at the end of a broom for being a threat to her precious daughter.”
He laughs, then replies in a smooth voice, “Maybe she can tell I have your best interests at heart. I really do, Miranda.”
My heart flops at the sincerity in his eyes. Oh jeez. Like I wasn’t already falling hard enough for him. “If that were true, we could take this dinner back to your place,” I mutter under my breath.
He stiffens again. “I should watch what I say. Despite how this might look, I didn’t intend to imply anything by having dinner tonight. You know that, right?”
/>
It looks like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is me. I can appreciate that. He’s being strong. I like that about him, but while he wants to do what’s right, in my opinion the right thing to do is me.
I let out a little sigh. I’m being unfair. He really is trying, and just because I’m feeling like a big ball of hormones doesn’t mean that I have any right to jeopardize his career. On the other hand, it’s not exactly easy to control how I feel.
A waitress comes by, classically Italian with long, lustrous brown hair and big brown eyes that latch right onto Keegan. I don’t think she realizes, but she licks her lips while she waits for his order. I can’t say I’m not a little jealous, but he hardly seems to notice her. He looks at me instead. “Do you like calamari?”
Do I ever. “Yes, please. That sounds delicious.”
“I’d like an order to share, please,” he says to her. “Other than that I think we’ll need a little time.”
“Sure thing,” she nearly sighs before going to put in our order. Her hips swing enticingly with her steps, but Keegan looks only at me, and that pleases me to no end.
“So…” He leans forward, keeping his sexy voice low. I lean in too, so I can hear better. “I was thinking about the exposure therapy, and how it seems to get us into trouble when we’re in private.”
I nod eagerly, totally up for going somewhere private and getting into trouble. Down, girl. I’m just going to frustrate myself when I know it’s not going to happen.
“Instead, we’ll do it in public. Exposure, but no trouble.”
My mind flits from one possibility to the next, from being ordered into weird positions to being flogged over my chair right here in the restaurant. There’s something so illicit about my thoughts that I squirm a little in my seat, but he can’t possibly be thinking of the types of things I am. “We’d get arrested,” I whisper.
He chuckles at my shock. “As much as the idea of you in handcuffs is now going to distract me for the rest of the evening, that’s not what I’m planning.” He glances around, making sure no one’s listening in. “I’m going to find ways to command you throughout the whole evening, right here where everyone can see.”
My eyes widen. “You’re crazy.” A million feelings rush over me at once, knotting together as a solid clump in my gut. Fear, excitement, embarrassment, shame… just a little of everything. What can he make me do in a place full of people?
He watches me intently, waiting for a response. I can turn him down, and I’m sure he’d accept my no, but if this is the only way he’s willing to play, can do I really want to? It’s a trust fall, and so long as he’s there to catch me...
I meet his gaze, determined and trying to look as confident as I want to feel. When I nod, a smile spreads on his face, sexy and tingles-down-below-inducing. I swallow once, nervously.
Suddenly, he’s very much in charge.
“Take your panties off,” he orders, voice low.
“What?” I squeak loudly in response. The couple at the next table over turn to look at me. I flash them a quick, hopefully reassuring, smile before turning back to him. “What?” I repeat in a lower voice. “Here?”
“Up to you, but I want them off before the appetizer is here.”
He’s insane. In public? This feels like a bigger step than the flogging. When I was alone with him, there was the safety of it only being the two of us. Now? If I twirl too fast, anyone might see.
I blink at him, eyes wide. “Is this supposed to be part of your exposure therapy? Because I don’t think that’s what they mean by exposure.”
He laughs, eyes sparkling. “It’s important for you to test your limits. How much trouble this gets us in is up to you.”
“Easy for you to say. You won’t be the one flying free.” I hiss, but he’s probably right. It’s not like I’m wearing a miniskirt. I just have to stay mindful of how I move.
He points at a waiter coming this way with a tray. “That looks like our calamari.”
Crap. Decision time. “Ok, but I’m going to use the restroom to do it.”
“That’s fine.” He grins and leans back in his chair.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Just back there and to the left,” he says and points.
“Thanks,” I respond with a grimace.
I can’t believe that I’m doing this, but I also can’t deny that my heart’s pounding like a jackhammer from the excitement. He might be right when he claims this is less intimate than a one on one session in a private room, but if he thinks this isn’t trouble, he’s so so wrong.
Two minutes later, I walk back to our table with a pink thong balled up in my trembling hand.
Is it a little breezy in here, or is that just me?
14
Keegan
When Miranda returns from the restroom, she looks so nervous that there’s no doubt she obeyed. Am I going too far? I’m letting my own desire for her override my duties as her therapist, but I can’t help it, and out here in the open, I can only go so far, right?
There’s something in her hand, a quick flash of pink visible between her fingers. She looks at the table. “How’s the calamari?
“Delicious.” I pick a piece of deep fried squid off the plate and dip it in marinara sauce before slipping it into my mouth. They really are very good. “Would be even better with a little melon on the side.”
She wrinkles her nose. “No thanks. And I’ll have you know right now that we’re not playing any games that end up with my cantaloupes on the table.”
I laugh. She might be nervous, but her snappy comebacks are still there.
Miranda doesn’t go straight to her seat. Instead, she bends in front of me. “You spilled a little sauce on your jacket. Here.” She picks up my napkin from the table. And then, expertly enough that I should ask her later if she has any pickpocketing experience, she uses it to pretend dab at my jacket near the pocket while slipping a pink bundle into it with her other hand. “There, got it.” She returns my napkin to the table with a mischievous smirk.
Well, there’s frilly pink proof in my pocket. In my mind, I imagine the slide of the soft fabric of her skirt directly against her smooth skin and how she must be feeling every draft that comes by with a bit of trepidation. How she now has to be even more careful of how she moves. “Thank you. Well done.”
Her lips spread into a grin that’s part excitement and part relief, then she sits down and dabs her mouth with a napkin. From the way her eyes sparkle, their corners crinkling, I suspect there’s one hell of a smile behind that innocent piece of cloth.
“So was it true? All that stuff you told Mom?” She wiggles a bit in her seat, probably getting used to going commando in a nice restaurant.
“About where I grew up and all that? Of course. I didn’t see any reason to make anything up when I didn’t have to. Why, was it adequate?”
“If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never have believed how well she took to you. You have a way around the women of the Larson family, I’ll say that much.”
“I think one is more than enough for me to handle. If she’s looking for a therapist, I’m sure I can field some recommendations.”
Miranda pinches her lips. “She certainly could do with one. You’ve helped me a lot, you know. Even if you don’t think we’re right together, you’ve done more for my confidence in the last few weeks than years of pining have done for me. You’re the kind of miracle worker I want all to myself.”
Not right together.
The words sting. Because, fuck, if we weren’t stuck in this situation, I could be all kinds of right for her. Beautiful, smart, sassy… and so damn responsive. Ordering her around gets my engine firing on all cylinders. I refuse to psychoanalyze myself right now, because I fear I already know what the diagnosis will be. I didn’t have to take her out tonight, and I sure as hell didn’t need to start playing games with her at the restaurant.
Am I enjoying the benefits of breaking a few boundaries? Sur
e. But mostly I just love the idea of her sitting across from me with nothing on underneath that beautiful dress. Forbidden fruit hanging right in front of my own face.
I school my expression to something I hope is professional. “I appreciate that. Thank you. I’m glad you feel this is working for you. You already seem so much more confident, so much stronger than you were that first day at my office.”
We finish the appetizer over small talk, and our waitress is soon back with the main course. A tasty-looking ossobuco over risotto for me, but Miranda’s seafood Alfredo looks good as hell too. And a big basket of focaccia rolls to go with it.
Miranda sighs and licks her lips. I picked well, it seems.
When our waitress comes back with a bottle of red wine, Miranda glances at me. “I couldn’t drink the whole bottle myself. Aren’t you driving?”
“I hadn’t planned on drinking, but the food just calls for it. I’ll call a cab when we’re done and pick up the car tomorrow.” After the waitress allows me to taste the wine, I nod, and she pours both of us glasses before leaving the bottle at our table.
“Why, thank you, good Sir.” She stresses the Sir in a way that makes her meaning obvious. “You know, for this not being a real date, you’re doing a pretty good impression.” She smirks.
She’s right, of course. Is this really therapy? Or just an exercise in frustration? I can’t exactly claim I’m keeping a clinical distance here. “It’s just another session. I’ve never liked being conventional in how I work, that’s all.”
Yeah, I’m not even fooling myself, much less her. The arched eyebrow I get in return over her glass as she takes another sip makes that clear.
Absentmindedly, I pat at my jacket pocket, making sure the little surprise I brought is still there. Something for her second assignment. She’s right. I am crazy. Just for bringing that, if nothing else. But I’ll keep telling myself it’s for the therapy. Man is not a rational creature, but a rationalizing one.
Trust Me: A BDSM Romance Page 9