Switch (Belle Argo Escorts #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Fallon

“Red.”

The word rips painfully out of my throat. No sooner has it left my mouth than Mistress Shanna’s riding crop hits the floor.

“Talk to me.”

Dizzy and ashamed, I slide off the padded bench I’d draped myself over and kneel at her feet.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel right.” I manage a shaky breath. My voice is too quiet for this big room, but right now it’s all I’ve got. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

I’m butt-ass naked as the day I was born in Shadow’s VIP dungeon, and I’ve used my safe word before she even touched me. My friend Daniel crowed about it for weeks when he hired her. “The best of the best,” he’d said.

Mistress Shanna’s an intimidatingly gorgeous woman with knowing eyes, seductive curves, and copper skin. Her waiting list is so long that there have been bidding wars to move to the front of her line. Daniel slid me into her schedule as a favor.

And I’ve blown it.

She taps her finger under my chin, quietly commanding me to look up. I’d rather she look pissed than see the pity shining from her eyes.

“Daniel told me about your wife,” she says. “Would it help to talk about her?”

Would it help? Probably. Am I going to? Probably not.

My feelings since Marina’s death have been so muddled that I wouldn’t know where to begin. How do I unpack losing the person who controlled every aspect of my life? If I pull those threads now, I might unravel.

I clear my throat. “I thought it would help, coming here. My family’s been on me to get back out there, so to speak.”

“Fallon.” By simply saying my name, she closes my mouth so fast my teeth click. If I ever need a war general or a CEO, Mistress Shanna would be my first call.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You’re not running a race. Don’t let anyone else tell you when you’re ready or what you want.”

Her kindness eases the tension in my shoulders. It also makes my insides squirm. “To be fair, I did think I was ready to try again. Guess I was wrong.”

I’ve fucked up in plenty of ways in the last year. Of all of them, this one burns the most.

“No right or wrong, honey. You either win a victory or you learn a lesson. Tonight you learned you’re either not yet ready for this—” She gestures between us. “—or you’re not yet ready for this.” She gestures around the room. “It’s not failure. Just information.”

Another deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. I think you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Forget what anyone else thinks you need, Fallon. Including any past version of you. You’re a different person now that you’re on your own again.” She takes my chin in the palm of her hand. “Be patient. You’ll get there. Soon, I think. I have a sense about these things.”

I want to believe her so badly. “Thank you, Mistress.”

She pats me on the shoulder. “I’m going to leave you to get dressed. You know where to find me if you need me.”

Before I’ve processed what she said, the door clicks shut quietly. She’s already left.

After a minute, I sigh and get myself dressed. It’s hard not to wonder what Marina would think as I pull my pants on and button my shirt.

Would she be proud that I’m moving on? Amused that I safe worded before the scene began?

Or is she thinking of nothing, because she’s dead?

And she’s not coming back.

Taking the back stairs down to the main floor of the club, I’m grateful to see things have picked up for the night. Daniel’s not around, thank goodness. I don’t need his worry or his knowing looks. I’m already feeling too frayed around the edges. Too…cracked open at the seams.

I’m halfway past the bar when I see two men fucking on a platform inside of what looks like a human-sized birdcage. There’s a crowd gathered around. Everyone’s enraptured by the couple.

And they must be a couple. Their body language makes it so clear that they’re lovers. The slow undulations, the straining muscles, the way the top caresses the bottom’s cheek and whispers in his ear. They’re in a room filled with people, but they’re only aware of each other.

It’s love. Intimacy. Connection.

My pulse rushes as I watch them, my arousal tempered by a bittersweet longing. What they have together is remarkable. I’d give anything to have someone lay claim to me that way again.

“Amazing, right?”

I jerk my head to the side. There’s a man there, a few inches shorter than me, thin, with glasses. A smattering of body jewelry gives him a goth vibe. Experience also suggests to me a submissive vibe.

“Uh, yeah. They’re…” I turn back to look at the couple.

They’re wrapped around each other so thoroughly I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

I only know something aches deep inside of me when one sinks his teeth into the other’s neck, leaving an obvious sign of ownership.

The same spot on my body throbs with phantom pain.

You’ll get there.

Will I? At the moment, those two men and what they have feel so much further away than the other end of this massive room.

“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?” The man with glasses is too close. Trying too hard. He looks almost sweet in spite of the goth vibe. Too hopeful. Too submissive.

You’ll get there. Soon, I think.

Today’s not that day.

“I was just leaving.” When his face falls, I clear my throat, adding, “We wouldn’t be a match. Trust me.”

People tend to make assumptions based on my size. While I’ve had thoughts about being the one in the driver’s seat once in a while, it’s not what I want now. What I want is what I lost when I lost Marina.

Before Glasses Guy can say more, I’m heading out through the nearest door.

The muggy Florida night weighs me down. I’m already greedy for a shower and my comfortable bed. Not that I’ll sleep, but at least I can be introverted and unsure of myself without having to put on appearances.

My phone rings as I’m traversing the winding road that leads from Beacon Hill to my home in Belle Argo. My brother’s name and picture pop up on the screen. It’s tempting to let it go to voicemail, but he’ll only call back.

“Can’t talk long, Wes. I’m driving.”

“Wow. You went out? Or am I catching you on a late-night pickles and ice cream run?”

“What?”

“It’s a joke, bro. Pickles and ice cream, like they say pregnant women have cravings?”

“You’re hilarious,” I sigh.

There’s a pinch in my sternum that I try to ignore. Marina and I were fighting right before she died. About having kids.

This stretch of road I’m on is dark and quiet. I’m only now realizing I have a headlight out. “Wes, I gotta focus on the road,” I tell him.

“Cool, cool. Real quick: I’ve set up a date for you. Mama Elisabetta’s. Friday. My treat.”

A deer shoots across the road. I slam on my brakes.

My heart is racing. My chest is tight. I’m back in that dungeon again, dizzy and defeated. Frayed around the edges.

“So? What do you say?” Wes prompts.

“Fuck.” I forgot I was even holding the phone. “You did what?”

“Blind date. Free food.”

“No, Wes. Hard pass. Stop trying to get me to go out. I’m fine on my own.”

“You’re not fine. You drift around that mansion like a fucking ghost. You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You’re scaring Mom. Me too, if I’m being honest.”

He’s not wrong. After tonight, though, I’m interested in my family’s interference like I’m interested in a root canal.

I put my foot on the gas. “Wes, I don’t want to go on a blind date. Worry about your own love life, okay? You sound so excited, maybe you should go on this date.”

Which is a low blow. Things with Wes and his wife seem tense, especially lately.

I’m vibrating with this…this mix of anger and want, frustration that my brother keeps pushing me to get out of the house, and envy over that couple in the cage. Confusion, because right now I want connection, and I also want to be left the fuck alone.

I blow out a breath. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not up for a blind date, though, okay?”

“I get it. I hear you. I’m overstepping. The thing is, Mom said last time she saw you there were bags under your eyes. Even I can tell you’ve lost some weight.”

He means well. They mean well.

“If I promise to eat a sandwich, will you get the hell off my back?”

“I’ll get off your back if you have a nice big plate of pasta at Mama Elisabetta’s on Friday.”

“No. Blind. Dates.”

For a brief, blissful moment, I’m convinced I’ve won, until he says, “Just this once. Please? I’ve already set it up with the guy and called the restaurant to provide them with my credit card information. It’ll appease Mom until at least Christmas. One date.”

“The guy?”

He seems to hesitate. “You dated a couple of guys before Marina, right?”

“I’m surprised you remember.” By the time I’d finished high school, my brother was already finishing college. Back then, he’d had no interest in my personal life. Boy, do I miss those days now.

“Look.” Wes clears his throat. “I was talking to a buddy of mine who recently got divorced. He’s been on the dating apps, and he said sometimes he goes out, he sits across from a woman, and then after a while she’s all, ‘I don’t think we have much in common, but I’m up for fucking if you are.

’ So, maybe even if you’re not all that interested in the guy, you could at least… you know?”

“Are you…telling me I need to get laid?”

“No way. Course not. That would be way over the line.” He clears his throat. “Except, maybe, it might also help.”

“I don’t think so, Wes.”

How do I tell my extremely vanilla brother that if I wasn’t ready for a scene with the most sought-after domme in the Southeast, I’m not prepared for awkward conversation over salad that may or may not, but probably won’t, lead to orgasms?

“Would it matter if I said I can’t get my deposit back from the restaurant?” Wes asks.

Argh. Dammit. It does. Wes works long hours teaching during the day and managing a hotel at night. Meanwhile, I’ve done the bare minimum this past year thanks to the money Marina left behind.

“One date. One. Then you agree to butt out.”

“Got it. No more blind dates.”

“No dates of any kind. Blind or otherwise.”

“Yes! Agreed. All right. I’ll text you the info.” He hangs up before I can say anything else.

As I pull up to my oversized beach house in Belle Argo, I’m already thinking up ways to tell Wes it didn’t go well. Maybe I can cancel. Pay him back and somehow convince him that the restaurant changed its mind about a refund.

Mistress Shanna says I’ll get there, but after tonight’s disaster? I don’t think so. Not tonight. Not Friday.

Maybe not ever.