by E J Frost
“Bren,” Emily says quietly. “You should have made him take out the plug. It is important. Things come up all the time. He doesn’t get to bounce out of here just because there’s a problem. He started something with you and he should see it through. You’re letting him be a crappy Dom.”
Am I? Probably, but I hate forcing people to make me a priority when I’m not to them. And I’m clearly not to Mac.
I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “I’m fine, Emmy. I can take care of myself.”
Always have. Always will.
*****
I wait until I get back to my place before I take out the plug. I’m a little sore, but I’m used to some soreness there after a scene. Since I’ve still got plenty of time before I’m scheduled to be in the shop, I take a bath with some Epsom salts instead of a shower and by the time I’m out, I don’t even notice the soreness anymore. It would make me sad to lose that lingering reminder of Mac so quickly except that I don’t really want him to be on my mind when I’m not on his.
I pull on soft clothes—black yoga pants and a loose sweater—before I head down into the shop. My skin’s still stinging a little even after the soothing bath. I tell myself to take it easy today. It was a big scene. I’m definitely still feeling it in lots of spots. I don’t need to push myself today.
But when Fareena calls thirty minutes after she’s supposed to start to say that her childcare has let her down, I shuffle around her appointments until I’ve covered them all and do nine hours straight, only stopping to stretch out my stiff muscles a few times. By the time I lock up, I’m dragging myself from my station to the desk and back, but I’m much happier about the day’s receipts, even if I do put a third aside for Reena.
Checking the next day’s schedule, my mood takes a hit when I see the hour I set aside in the hopes that Mac might want to get started on his mermaid. I cancel the hold and open the hour. My mood sinks lower when I see Edz’s name at two p.m. I’m sure he’s coming in for more work on the huge back piece I’ve been filling in. But the reminder of another Dom who didn’t want more than a steady supply of scenes and sex from me makes my throat tight and my eyes prickle. I shake those feelings off. I’m proud of the ink I’ve laid on Edz over the years, and tomorrow’s an opportunity to work on what legitimately could be considered my life’s work since he was my very first victim. He doesn’t have to be a reminder of past failures and, if nothing else, Edz is still pretty tight with my old foster family, so I’ll be able to catch up on the gossip.
I shut down the office computer, check the new back-door lock, and stumble upstairs. Thinking about Edz reminds me that I haven’t seen or heard from Ruby in nearly a week. I pull out my phone to message her, the girl I used to see every day, my best friend and soul sister and role model. A couple of missed messages pop up. I turned the sound off on my phone yesterday before the scene and I must have forgotten to turn it back on. There are two messages from repeat clients asking for appointments, a message from Emily, one from Theo, and one, and I could kick myself for how my heart leaps when I see it, from Mac.
But the message that makes me stop cold, my hand on my apartment door, is from Cappa, fellow house-submissive and almost-sweeter-than-Emily-sweetheart.
It says, “911,” and an address in Rose Hill.
The text is over an hour old. Instead of texting or calling Cappa back, I swipe open my phone and call Austin.
“Are you with Cappa?” I ask before he even says hello.
“Yeah, I’ve got him.”
“Thank the Benevolence.” I figured Cappa would call Austin if he couldn’t get through to me. “Is he hurt?”
“Yeah. They’re stitching him up. Probably another hour. Dana’s out of town overnight and I can’t take him back to ours while she’s away—”
“No, bring him to mine. Or tell me where you are and I’ll meet you.”
“CityMD on East Thirty-Seventh, but I’ll bring him to your place. He’s in a bad way, Bren. Asshole used him as a punching bag when he was done.”
“Has he said who it was?” Cappa’s one of the few house submissives who still trolls the New York clubs for tops, and this isn’t the first time that he’s made a bad choice and ended up a victim instead of a bottom. But Cappa’s also come out of a few scenes at the club more torn up than anyone should be. There’s a dark rumor at the club that he won’t use his safe word there and that a couple of the Blunts Doms are taking advantage of it. I’ve never hoped that club gossip is just bullshit more than right now. “Is it anyone we know?”
“He said it’s no one we know and he’ll put the guy on the club blacklist just in case, but I don’t know, Bren. I think he’s lying. Maybe you can get it out of him.”
If he’s not too much of a mess, I’ll try. “Okay. Text me when you get here so I can open the security door for you. Should I call anyone?”
Austin’s silent for a long moment. “Master Logan.”
Hell.
“Are you sure? What about Mistress Maude or Ryan?”
“I’m sure.”
I blow out a long breath. I’m just endearing myself to Logan all over the place today. “Okay, I will.”
*****
That’s how, for the second time in fourteen hours, I find myself in Logan and Emily’s guest bedroom. I’m wearing Mac’s clothes again, this time a T-shirt, because Logan didn’t even give me time to pack an overnight bag before he swept me up in an Uber on the way to CityMD. I’m in the guest bed, curled around a man’s back again, but this time it’s Cappa’s slender, bony back instead of Mac’s huge frame and it’s the smell of sweat, antiseptic, and Cappa’s patchouli cologne in my nose instead of Mac’s warm tea, tobacco, and leather scent.
Cappa’s sleeping deeply now, and like last night, I’m lying awake, staring at the ceiling, looking for answers in the shadows.
Why is it that everything exciting, everything really satisfying, is dangerous? I know submission is dangerous. Giving my physical and mental safety over to a man who wants to hurt me is dangerous. There could be no clearer example than Cappa, lying next to me with sixteen stitches and strapped ribs. Why couldn’t knitting fill my soul the way submission does? Of course, I’ve never tried knitting. Would knitting give me orgasms? Probably not. Unless I pierced my own clit with a knitting needle. They’re sharp, right?
I sigh and lift my phone off my chest to check the screen. It’s dark. No response from Mac. I’m being an idiot. It’s after two in the morning. He’s probably asleep. Everyone else is. I should be. I’m going to really regret two nights of fucked up sleep tomorrow.
My phone screen lights up, chasing back the room’s shadows.
I found her. She’s a mess. I’ll need to stay a few days to get her help. Rain check on this weekend?
I smile stupidly at the screen before I text back.
No problem. Glad you found her. Hope she gets better soon.
Mac sends back a thumbs up, which deflates my smile a little. But he’s probably exhausted. I am, even though I can’t seem to close my eyes and turn off my mind. Beside me, Cappa shudders and whimpers in his sleep. I rub my hand up and down his arm, avoiding putting any pressure on his broken ribs, while letting my phone drop back onto my chest so the room falls dark again.
*****
I’m still clutching my phone to my chest when the door opening wakes me. Emily peeks in and I see the hall behind her is filled with light. I blink blearily, feeling like I haven’t slept at all. I shift away from Cappa, so I don’t wake him when I stretch. Every muscle complains. First separately and then all together. Damn, I feel like Mac hit me with a dozen rubber mallets instead of a few strips of animal hide.
Rubbing my very sore neck, I roll carefully out of bed and pad over to the door.
“I let you sleep in as long as I could,” Emily whispers.
What the hell time is it? I check my phone and feel surprise ripple through me like a cramp. Five minutes to noon.
“Thanks for waking me, hon. I’
ve got to jet. I’m gonna be late.”
Emily nods. “Daddy asked me to ask you if Cappa said anything more to you about who hurt him?”
I shake my head. “He’s sticking to the same story as last night.”
“Daddy says he’s going to stay with us until the weekend. Can you come back tonight?”
I lean in and kiss her on the head. “Yeah, I’m closing tonight, but I’ll come straight here afterwards.”
“I’ll keep dinner warm for you.”
“You don’t need to feed me.”
“I know. It’s chicken chasseur with sourdough bread.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Fruit tart for dessert.”
“Sold. I’ll be here by ten-thirty. Cappa had pain-killers at one, so he can have them again whenever he wakes up.”
Emily nods but she looks devastated, and I don’t think it’s because of my reaction to her dinner menu.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hug her tight. “It’s going to be okay. Cappa will heal and we’ll talk and talk and talk him to death until he tells us what’s really going on and we can be sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Austin said this has happened before.”
What do I say to that? It’s a big, scary world out there, particularly for defectives like us who need to be hurt by those we want to love. Emily’s been shielded from it, mostly, by living in the sticks and by seeking out Daddy Doms who are protective by nature. Not all of us have been so lucky, and Cappa definitely hasn’t.
“Talk to your Daddy about it, okay? Don’t carry around your worries all day. I’ve gotta go.”
Emily wipes her eyes quickly. “I’ll call you an Uber.”
“Thanks, hon.”
I end up wearing Mac’s T-shirt to work and doing a quick PT-and-A with a pack of baby wipes that Emily hands me as I’m running out the door, and hoping his warm scent covers up any objectionable smell from underneath. One of the downsides of what I do is how close I get to my clients. I know all about their personal hygiene, and they also know about mine.
I’m reminded of why today would have been a good day to spend a little extra time on my appearance—and get more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep—when my ex and first Dom walks in on the dot of two.
Edz looks like an underwear model, all sexily spiked hair and cheekbones that could cut glass. He used to give me shit about my dreads, but he’s working the mixed-race look today with bright green contacts that pop against his brown skin. He’s advertising his venue, Edz Muze, on a T-shirt under a leather jacket, and his jeans are just the right amount of distressed.
For the very first time since meeting Edz in a group home a decade ago and thinking he was the coolest person I’d ever met or ever would meet, I find myself preferring craggy features and pinstripes.
“Asshole,” I greet him.
He comes around the counter like he owns the place, grabs the back of my neck, exposed because I’ve put my dreads up in a big bun, and drags me into a hug. “Jizzbucket,” he growls into my ear. His old nickname for me.
I push him away. “No flirting today. I’m on a schedule. Which sketch did you pick?”
He pulls out his phone, which is the latest model smartphone, only the best for Edz since he started earning more than enough to keep himself fed, and thumbs over to the sketches I sent him after our last appointment. His pick is my second favorite of the four I sent. I liked the more subtle shading of one of the others better, but Edz is anything but subtle, so maybe the brighter colors and high contrast of the one he’s picked suit him better.
“This one but can you add some of the orange from the tiger on my trap?”
Only Edz would call his shoulder a trap. I bet his personal trainer has a set of exercises to get him “trap” definition, too. Vain ass.
“Sure.” I take out my own phone, flip to the sketch he’s picked, send it to the thermal-fax, and grab the stencil before I lead Edz back to my station. He strips off and settles into the chair out of long familiarity and sighs as I start prepping his skin.
“You look tired, Bren,” he says.
“I am. I was up all night with Cappa.” Edz has met Cappa several times over the years. If they’ve scened or slept together, which is likely given the two of them, neither has shoved it in my face. “Some asshole ignored his safe word, ripped him up, and then used him as a punching bag for daring to tap out.”
“Anyone we know?” Edz asks.
We don’t move in the same circles anymore, me and Edz. He’s strictly underground clubs while I’ve gone as close to legit with Blunts as a sex club can get. Still, the kink community isn’t that large, even in the Big Apple, so we know a lot of the same players.
“Cappa says no, but I’m not sure I believe him.”
“Because?”
“Because it’s Cappa and he’d protect freaking Ted Bundy if he had a crush on him.”
Edz snorts. “True, that. You get a name, send it to me and I’ll put the word out. Ignoring a safe word is never okay.”
To be fair, Edz never ignored my safe word, so I can’t give him shit about that. Plenty of other things he did to sabotage our relationship—not that he ever called it a relationship—but it’s all very old news and not worth giving him shit about, either. Not when I can so easily get under his skin with other things.
“Dude, it’s time to start waxing back here,” I say as I shave the peach fuzz from his lower back. There are definitely some longer, darker hairs that weren’t here the last time I made a close inspection of his ass.
“Fuck off. My new bitch plucks me clean back there with her teeth.”
Mac didn’t call me a bitch, and I have the sense that he wouldn’t because he’d think it was disrespectful. That makes me smile as I toss the disposable razor and wipe Edz down again.
“Well, either she’s gap-toothed or she missed a spot,” I say, just to keep digging. “Do I know the new girl?”
“Uh-uh,” Edz mutters, before he tells me all about her. She’s more than me. She’s the best, of course, because Edz always has to have the best. When we were together—not that we ever were together, because exclusivity is for vanillas, as Edz told me a million times—that was what Edz always wanted from me. To be the best-dressed woman in the room. The best dancer. The best submissive.
I pause in setting out the ink caps to run my gloved hand over my face. I parted ways with Edz more than six years ago. I stopped trying to be the best and just started being myself. Is that where I fell down? If I’d been the best would Ten have collared me? Would Rob? Would Mac have stayed, or at least called today?
I shake myself. No one tells me what I am. For the past five years, I’ve lived strictly on my own terms. I’ve turned my skin into something I’m comfortable inhabiting every day. No one, least of all a blue-eyed silver fox who called me goddess for a scene and then disappeared, gets to tell me what that skin should be.
I pick up my machine and start on the line work and if anger fuels my artistry, then Edz will get a fierce fucking tattoo today.
*****
When I close, I discover Edz has sent me a hundred-dollar tip, which makes me laugh. He’s such an asshole. A loveable asshole at times, but still an asshole. I split the hundred between me and Nicky, since Fareena called off again and it’s beginning to annoy me, and splurge on an Uber back to Logan and Emily’s instead of walking. It’s only six blocks, but they’re long fucking blocks when my ass is dragging this hard.
Emily greets me at the door with very red eyes. She holds her hands out for my clothes and I strip down to Mac’s T-shirt. She hands me a pair of her fuzzy socks and after I pull them on, I sling my arm around her shoulders.
“Tell me,” I say.
“Daddy punished Cappa for lying but he still won’t tell Daddy the truth.”
Damn. I know Logan’s a responsible Dom with a deep understanding of a masochist’s needs, but punishing Cappa the day after he was been beaten so bad he needed sixtee
n stitches doesn’t seem like a good idea. And Cappa worships the ground Logan walks on, even if Logan doesn’t see it and Cappa won’t ever admit it to the man, so if Logan can’t get the truth out of him, I have no chance.
I squeeze her shoulders, not sure what to say.
I expect Logan and Cappa to be in the great room when we walk through, but the room’s empty. They don’t appear while I eat the late dinner Emily’s kept warm for me, and fuck if chicken chasseur with homemade, sourdough bread isn’t my new favorite thing. Finally, I ask.
“Where are they?”
“Upstairs. Daddy’s helping Cappa take a sponge bath without messing up his dressings.”
Good, that’s one less thing I’ll have to do before bed.
“Did you talk to your Daddy about your worries?” I ask.
Emily nods. “A little. I didn’t want to distract him from Cappa, but Daddy said we’ll have Knee Time tomorrow night and can talk it through for as long as I want.”
“Good.”
Emily’s told me about Knee Time. She kneels at Logan’s feet, they each share one thing they’re happy about and one thing they’re worried about, and then Logan can ask her anything and she has to be completely truthful and forthcoming in answering him. The idea of Knee Time both attracts and terrifies me. Complete honesty and full disclosure about anything a Dom wanted to ask me? Hell to the no. But I’ve seen how much trust Emily and Logan have. Does that come from baring your soul to your Dom on command? From knowing you have no secrets from each other? The people I’ve been closest to in my life—Bebe J, Ruby, Nicky, Edz, Ten, Rob—I’ve loved them all, but there’s no way I’d let them peer into my damn soul. And yet it stings that none of the Doms who have topped me have ever demanded, or, hell, even offered, something like Knee Time.
I shake off that thought as I help Emily clear up and do the dishes. It’s after eleven already and Logan’s really, really strict about Emily’s bedtime. He’s not going to bend his rules just because Cappa’s having a crisis.
I’m not looking forward to another night in Logan and Emily’s guest bed, particularly because I’m going to be in it with Cappa instead of Mac—who still hasn’t called or sent a single text since his lame-ass thumbs up in the middle of the night—but I figure I’m so tired that I’ll just crash out.