by Elle Luckett
I asked Lane those questions, too, bleeding myself dry of everything until I was hoarse.
Lane was crying by the time I finished, and this purge of emotions had finally done the same to me. I hadn't cried while I'd been talking to Mark, but he wasn't my sister. Like I'd said when I'd tried to explain to her, he hadn't known who I had been before and couldn't have mourned the loss of her with me.
“You think Elijah may follow you here?”
“It's a possibility,” I said, accepting the paper towel she handed me. “It scared me last night, thinking I'd put you in danger. I think that's why I hadn't attempted to call you before. I was ashamed, yes, but I didn't want you to be hurt trying to save me from my own stupidity.”
“That's how abusers keep you quiet. They scare everyone away and then trap you so you have nowhere else to go. He probably told you as much when you were too deep in the pain to realize you'd heard him. More of those sick subliminal message abusive douche fuckers use to keep you subservient.”
The way she said subservient drew my eyes to her.
“Why would you agree to let Mark help you?” she asked when our gazes met.
“Because it makes sense.”
“How?”
“What Elijah did to me scarred me on more than just my skin. I haven't had sex since the night the police got involved. I tried to once, about six months after it all went down. There was a cute guy who had come into the dealership where I was working. He was shy, respectful, and sweet—the complete opposite of who I normally went for, you know? It went well until he tried to hold my hand when we took a walk after dinner one night. I freaked out on him and walked away, realizing too late that it was my own brain shutting me down and making me panic. I'd seen red flags where there were none. By the time I'd figured all that out, I was too mortified to call him and apologize. The thought of a man wanting to touch me still leaves me cold. Last night was the first time I'd been that close to a man I was attracted to and not run away screaming. Mark wouldn't let me, and when he thought I was going to, he muttered reassurances, made me listen to his words, eased me until I just gave up and relaxed because I was too tired to fight my own body.”
“He's a Dom.”
I snorted. “I'm aware.”
“You're not submissive.”
“Maybe not, but perhaps I am. There's nothing wrong with either course, and I'm so fucking confused right now that I couldn't answer that with any real validity. The point is, it's not about need. It's not the sexual gratification I'm pursuing. It's freedom. Mark said that Domination is about control and trust, and those were the two things Elijah took from me in spades.”
“You're attracted to Mark?”
I laughed. “Have you seen him?”
“You could do worse.”
“If you hate the whole Dom and sub thing so passionately, why do you work at a BDSM club?” I asked, accepting my second cup of coffee from her and wrapping my chilled hands around the mug. “How did you even get the job?”
“I was friends with one of the women who held my position before me. She ranted and raved about how disgusting it was, but said the money and benefits were amazing. I figured I could live with the depravity for good health coverage.”
“Now you enjoy it.”
“I really do. People respect me. I know everything there is to know about the job and the industry. I have a good rapport with all of the vendors and clients, and people trust me.”
“And now… Thomas.”
Lane gave me a small smile. “And now, Thomas.”
“So, what is it about doing things his way that you're so reluctant to try?”
“I have my reasons.”
I could hear the stubborn edge to her voice that said she wasn't willing to discuss this further, but I had to push a little bit. I'd just bled my heart and soul out to her, and there she was, reluctant to do the same.
“Lane, it helped me to talk about it. Even if it's not with me, maybe—”
“Please, just let this go.”
“Okay,” I relented, holding my palms up. Lane had always buried things deeply. She'd also always done everything in her power to protect me. Even now, whatever was bothering her had its hooks in deep. Lane's secret was something she had repressed and would never let go of.
“Thank you.”
She rinsed her cup in the sink and slipped it into the dishwasher before doing the same with mine after I drank the dregs.
“We need to get ready, or we're both going to be late. You can borrow something of mine again today, but we're going to have to take you shopping. Beaver shirts and jeans aren't a fashion statement you want to make, Zee.”
“Really? I have a beaver shirt with your name on it.” I spread my hands out in the air. “It says ‘I like nuts’.”
She laughed and headed to her bedroom. “Come on. I have more to offer than pencil skirts.”
Chapter Eight
Whether through accident or design, that first week moved slowly. I'd texted Mark rather than called him. I’d been exhausted by the time I'd gotten home after my first full shift at the club, and then Lane dragged me out to get some clothes.
I looked like a news anchor, and now owned a decent collection of dresses, pleated skirts, and blouses that accentuated my curves and assets. When I'd asked if part of the job was dressing in business attire, Lane had simply replied, ”Sometimes, when you work in an atmosphere catered to sex, where the subjects of fantasy are naked and willing, it's nice to remind Dominants that there is an art in the unwrapping of these gifts.”
My sister was a seductress. Either that, or Thomas Hayward had been a world of good for her. Whatever the cause, Lane knew her self worth, and I loved watching that confidence in her shine.
I didn't see Mark much in the club that week. He did call me every night, though. We talked for hours on end, and he didn't try to pull any more information or feelings about my past from me. Our calls were a strict getting-to-know-you routine. He would ask questions about me, including what I liked and didn't like, and what I ultimately wanted from life. In turn, he answered every question I threw at him. He never seemed to shed that gruff manner of his, but I found his directness sexy when it should have been a little too assertive and domineering.
It wasn't until Thursday that I saw him again. He arranged a casual dinner for us. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal, and he'd even gone out of his way to avoid calling it a date. Yet, when the time came for him to pick me up, I was nervous.
“You're fidgeting again,” Lane told me as she leaned over the counter of her master bathroom and ran the pad of her middle finger over her lipstick to even it out. She was heading out for a secret rendezvous with Thomas later.
I was currently standing behind her in a black dress that had never really been in my wheelhouse. It was gorgeous, with a full shoulder on one side, and a thin strap on the other. It was tight with the skirt dropping below my knees, but the slit came so high up my thigh, I'd been moving my leg around to see if any exaggerated movement would show too much skin.
“I just want to be sure.”
“No one is going to design a dress that shows your hooha.”
“My what?” I sputtered, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She hadn't used that word since I was a preteen.
“Shut up.”
“Say it again. You make it sound so sexy.”
“You're an asshole.”
“I may be an asshole, but I don't want to be an asshole with her hooha showing while at dinner with a friend.”
“Friend?” Lane snorted in the same sarcastic tone in which I'd said the word hooha.
“Yes, friend.”
“You couldn't be more attracted to him if you tried.”
I hated how right she was. As much as Mark intimidated me, he also seemed to hold every quality I found attractive in a man, including pierced nipples. He was big, broad, tattooed, and gorgeous. He also made no apologies for who and what he was. I had it on good authority—I'd made som
e friends over my week at the club—that he was one of the good guys, and it only served to make him more appealing.
“He's just trying to help,” I lied with the truth.
“He's not the one who's too invested.” She turned and rested her ass on the marble bathroom counter before she gave me an inscrutable look. “Mark is a good guy, and he does want to help. He may even give you the best sex you've ever had if you let him, but he can do all of that and still be just your friend, and all the while you're going to be feeling more because you're you.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“If you decide to let someone in, you don't take your time. You don't protect yourself from what could go wrong or even read the warning signs. You open the floodgates and give all of yourself.”
I held my sister's eyes and tried to find the words to deny it.
I couldn't.
“I love that about you,” Lane continued softly. “I never wanted you to be as jaded as Kyle and I are. But you have to protect yourself. Mark is a Dom.”
The bitter little girl in me wanted to say, So is Thomas, but I was better than that now. Lane had found someone that I think she loved, and I was genuinely happy for her. This instinct rising in me was just that same petulant little girl that had cut Lane out of her life for saying Elijah was bad news. I was now the girl with hearts in her eyes, and panic in her heart who wanted more than she could have.
“You're right.”
“I hope I'm not. I just want you to go into this with your eyes open. Follow your instincts, but hold some of yourself back so you can be objective.”
I heard the chime of the doorbell before I could respond, but the eagerness in me had eased off to a dull pulse in my temples.
“Don't overthink it,” Lane said, watching me in the mirror. “Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, but I couldn't watch you throw your heart into this and get let down. I don't want to see you hurt.”
I nodded my agreement and backed away before turning and heading to the front of the apartment, where Mark was waiting just outside.
He looked amazing when I pulled open the door. His broad shoulders looked impossibly bigger in an oxford shirt, his biceps stretching the material to their capacity. His dark jeans hung low on his hips, and he had that telltale five o'clock shadow that said he hadn't shaved in a day or two. Adding to his sex appeal, his mouth was curved into a gentle and confident smirk as he took me in.
“You look good.”
“So do you.”
His smile grew at my compliment, and I inadvertently pressed my thighs together, even as Lane's warning swam through my head. How the hell was I supposed to let myself go and trust this guy? All I could think about was getting in too deep, too soon, with no reciprocation, while also considering the opposite and wondering what would happen if he did.
What if he did?
“You look confused.”
Mark's voice pulled me out of the rabbit hole I was falling into, and I raised my gaze to meet his, a smile coming almost the instant I did. I'd been talking to him all week—his voice planting confidence and coating some of the insecurities rising in me.
“I'm always confused.” I grinned. “Shall we go?”
Mark stepped aside, welcoming me into the hall with him. He waited until I pulled the door closed before we set out. We exchanged small talk on the way to his car, and it continued as we traveled to a small restaurant that was tucked away off the beaten path. It was dark inside, and the smell of Cajun spices swept over us as we slipped into a private booth in a dark corner. The staff smiled and offered nods as we got ourselves comfortable, and Mark reciprocated with a tip of his head in response.
“You come here often?” I whispered after the hostess promised our server would be with us soon and sashayed away.
“Absolutely.” He grinned at me. “I own the place.”
“What?”
“This is one of my restaurants.”
“One? How many do you own?”
“Four,” he replied smoothly, pushing his menu aside.
“A restaurateur,” I said wistfully, propping my chin up with my hand. “The way you handle my problems, I thought you were a shrink or something of that caliber.”
“Nope. That's just the fixer in me. The sexual dominant needing to put you back together.”
“You believe Dominance is the answer.”
“To what question?”
I leaned in a little, my hand sliding to my neck. “You sure you're not a psychologist?”
“Pretty sure psychologists don't look at their patients and mentally undress them.”
“Is that what you're doing now?”
“No.” He smirked. “I was doing that five minutes ago. Right now, I mentally have those lips of yours around my cock.”
The blush crawled up my neck and stained my cheeks; a flutter of excitement rushing into my bloodstream.
Mark hummed. “Now, I can imagine your ass the same shade as your beautiful cheeks are.”
As exciting as the prospect was, the self-doubt tangled with my past chilled that arousal, leaving me more confused than anything else.
“Move past the memories, little bird.”
I smiled at him.
“Working on it, Freud.” I paused for a breath before the next question came. “Why do you call me little bird?”
“When you walked into the club, before you saw me standing at the desk, you looked like a nervous little bird, eyes moving fast, head turning quickly as you read your surroundings. I guess it stuck.”
“I should probably be offended.”
Mark opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the appearance of our waiter. He didn't growl at the poor guy as I'd expected him to. He just flipped a switch inside himself, turning on the calm professional he'd been when we'd entered.
Mark ordered for us both, ignoring my scoff of indignance as he thanked the staff member and leaned back in the leather booth bench with satisfaction. He looked pleased with himself, the small twitch of his jaw settling into place as he watched me.
“That was unnecessary.”
“That was me taking control.”
“For food orders?”
“I own the restaurant. You're going to trust me to know what's good.”
“What if what's good for you is utter shit to me?”
He smiled.
“What?”
Mark shook his head. Smile still in place.
“You're infuriating.”
“You're becoming a brat.”
“Excuse me?”
Mark's gray eyes turned to molten steel as he stared me down. The confusion was still burning through me, but arousal was slowly beginning to pull ahead, forcing my thighs to press together under the table.
“So, you're going to start by taking control of the little things first?”
“Did I start easily with questions for you?”
Nope. Mark had moved backward with those. Starting with the harder questions and moving back to the easy ones. The last conversation we had covered my shoe size and favorite retailers.
“You're going to tie me up and fuck me in the ass to begin with, and work back from there?” I asked sweetly, ignoring the beading of sweat on my top lip. Even talking about sex with this man started a small rise of panic inside. I was pathetic. He was a sex god, and I was sweating in fear.
“No.” He deadpanned, all heat gone from his eyes. “I can see you starting to panic at the very thought of it. So I'm not going to talk about this with you. We're going to eat, converse, and have a little bit of fun. Then I'm taking you to my house, where we can have a cup of coffee and talk some more.”
“Like a date?”
“Not like.”
“A date.”
Mark inclined his head as two wine glasses slid onto our table, and the waiter poured us both a drink with a small flourish. He left the bottle and wandered away with nothing more than a nod when Mark approved.
“You enjoy t
his,” Mark said after taking a small sip of wine.
“Are you telling me what I enjoy now? I haven't even tasted the wine.”
Mark stared at me without so much as a hint of humor on his lips. It made me feel uncomfortable and awkward. I'd been trying to lighten the mood. Shuffling on the bench, I dropped both my hands to my lap and clasped them together, only realizing what I'd done when those gray eyes followed the movement with hawk-like precision. I felt as though I were being hunted.
“Why did you do that?”
“What?” I asked, playing dumb.
“You just shut down. Why?”
“You didn't laugh, so I shut up.”
“You didn't succeed in pleasing me, which was what you were trying to do.”
“That's bad?”
“It's a submissive trait—only not willingly. That…” Mark gestured to my hands and curled-in shoulders, “is subservience from fear. You weren't sure what you'd done to earn that response from me. You weren't sure how I was going to react when I was displeased, so you made yourself smaller. Your ex conditioned you into that, using his actions and your submission to ensure you retreated. Willing submission means you react in a certain way because you want to please your lover—to make him happy because it makes you happy to do so. Not because you fear the repercussions.”
“Then how would a submissive you wanted to fuck react to that behavior?”
“Smirk and drink the wine anyway.”
I picked up the glass, raised my eyebrows, and defiantly took a sip.
The wine was divine, and he could see that was my opinion the moment it touched my lips. Smirking in appreciation, Mark took another sip of his wine in victory.
“Do you ever turn off your…?” I struggled to find the word. Dominance didn't feel right at this moment, even though that was the generalization.
Mark raised his eyebrows, unwilling to help me find the word that would end the struggle.