CHAPTER TWELVE
Palisade
Three days after Holly's wine night, I sat in my car outside the clinic staring at my phone.
The Sassy's website was still open in my browser from last night.
I'd spent two hours reading through their policies, their safety protocols, and their member reviews.
Then I'd created an account, filled out the experience questionnaire, and stared at the "Submit" button for twenty minutes before closing my laptop.
But I'd reopened it this morning.
Yesterday, Easton had brushed past me in the narrow hallway between the kennels and treatment room.
It was innocent, unavoidable in the small space.
But the brief contact had sent electricity through my entire body, and I'd seen his pupils dilate, his breathing quicken.
We'd stood there frozen for a heartbeat too long before he'd cleared his throat and moved past.
Neither of us had said a word.
This couldn't continue. I was a professional. A mother. A woman who'd spent six years maintaining perfect control over every aspect of her life.
And that control was unraveling thread by thread every time Easton looked at me.
I clicked on my saved draft application and read through my preferences one more time:
Experience level: Beginner
Seeking: Experienced Dom for private session
Interests: Sensory exploration, trust exercises, surrender
Hard limits: No pain, no degradation, complete anonymity required
Preferred date: Saturday evening
My finger hovered over ‘Submit request.’
This was insane. I was a mother scheduling anonymous sessions at an exclusive club like I was booking a massage appointment. What if someone found out? What if—
My phone buzzed with a text from Easton.
Easton:
Running 10 minutes late. Flat tire. Sorry.
I looked at his message, then back at the application.
Casey needs stability. You need clarity. This is how you get it.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit submit.
The confirmation came through immediately: Request received. You will be notified when a Dom accepts your session.
My hands shook as I locked my phone and got out of the car.
What had I done?
The morning passed in a blur of appointments. I forced myself to focus on each patient. Mrs. Patterson's elderly beagle, the Parkers' anxious cat, and a puppy with an upset stomach. But part of my mind kept drifting back to that submitted request, wondering if anyone would even respond.
Around ten, my phone buzzed while I was suturing a minor laceration on a terrier's paw.
"Monique, can you check that?" I asked, not wanting to break my sterile field.
She glanced at my phone on the counter. "It's an app notification. Want me to dismiss it?"
"No, leave it. I'll check it later."
But my heart raced for the rest of the procedure. An app notification. It could be only one thing.
After finishing with the terrier and washing up, I locked myself in my office and pulled out my phone with trembling hands.
Your session request has been accepted. Saturday, 8 PM, Room 7. Your Dom's profile indicates extensive experience with newcomers and a strong emphasis on trust-building. Please review all safety protocols before your appointment.
I sank into my desk chair, staring at the screen.
It was happening.
My finger moved almost of its own accord, pulling up the Dom's profile. The club kept identifying details vague, but his ratings were visible. All five stars.
"Patient."
"Respectful of boundaries.”
"Made me feel completely safe.”
"Knew exactly what I needed before I did."
A knock at my door made me jump. "Dr. Honors?" Monique called. "Your next appointment is here."
"Be right there," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.
I locked my phone and tucked it away, trying to calm my racing heart. Saturday was only three days away.
Three days until I did something I'd never imagined myself doing.
Saturday evening came faster than I expected. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, second-guessing every decision that had led me here. The black dress Holly had loaned me months ago felt like a costume. The delicate lace mask felt like armor and exposure all at once.
"You look pretty, Mom!" Casey called from her room, where she was packing her overnight bag for Lily's sleepover. "Are you going on a date?"
My stomach flipped. "Meeting a friend," I called back, which wasn't technically a lie.
"Okay! Tell them I said hi!"
The innocence in her voice made guilt twist in my chest. But Casey was happy, settled, thriving with Uncle Easton as a regular part of her life.
This wasn't about her. This was about me managing my attraction to Easton without destroying the careful balance we'd established.
His growing bond with Casey, our working relationship at the clinic, and the tentative friendship we were building.
After dropping Casey at Lily's house, I sat in my car outside Sassy's. My hands gripped the steering wheel.
You can still leave. You can text them, cancel, drive home, and pretend this never happened.
But I didn't want to pretend anymore. I was tired of being in control every second of every day. Every choice felt like a physical burden, heavy on my shoulders and exhausting. Just for tonight, I wanted to trust someone else. To surrender. To let go.
I checked my appearance one last time in the rearview mirror, adjusted my mask, and got out of the car.
The club's entrance was understated, with a sleek black door and a small silver "S" etched into it. I pressed the buzzer, and a panel slid open, revealing kind eyes that assessed me briefly before the door opened.
A woman stood there, elegant and poised, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a chignon. She wore a simple black dress and no mask.
"Welcome to Sassy's," she said, watching me pass through with shaking knees.
I nodded, unable to find my voice.
"First time?" she asked gently, gesturing for me to step inside further.
"Yes."
"You're in excellent hands. Let's get you checked in."
Inside was nothing like I'd imagined. No dungeon aesthetic, no intimidating equipment visible.
An upscale lounge with tasteful lighting, expensive furniture, and well-dressed people moving quietly through the space.
Everyone wore masks, creating an air of mystery that was comforting rather than sinister.
The woman led me to a discreet desk and checked me in, confirmed I'd read all the safety protocols, and reminded me of my safe word.
"Red stops everything immediately," she said gently. "Don't be afraid to use it. The good Doms actually appreciate clear communication. They want you to feel safe."
She handed me a small card: Your Dom will arrive at 8:00. You may wait inside Room 7 and prepare yourself, or you may wait in the lounge. The choice is yours.
I chose the room, needing privacy to calm my nerves.
I stood in the hallway outside room seven, hand on the doorknob, and froze.
You can still leave.
The thought was loud, insistent.
I could walk back down that hallway, tell the woman at the entrance there'd been a mistake, get in my car, and pretend this never happened. Go home. Crawl into bed. Forget I'd ever considered doing something this reckless.
I turned the knob and stepped inside.
The room was beautiful in its simplicity. Soft lighting created pools of warmth. A padded bench sat at the center, elegant and functional. Silk restraints were laid out with care on a side table, obviously expensive. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket beside two crystal glasses.
No intimidating equipment. No cold metal. A space designed for trust and sensation.
I set my purse on a small table by the door, my hands shaking so badly the clasp rattled. The time read my Dominant would be here in two minutes.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Pressing a hand to my chest, I tried to slow my breathing.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. It was the breathing exercises I'd learned during labor with Casey. A hysterical laugh burst out at the irony that they'd come in handy now, in a situation so completely opposite to motherhood.
What am I doing?
I sat on the bench, then stood. Paced to the window. Paced back. Sat again.
My palms were sweating. I wiped them on my dress and then immediately regretted it. What if he wanted to hold my hands? What if they were clammy and gross?
Stop. Breathe.
I looked at my phone again.
One more minute.
The silk restraints gleamed in the soft light. I reached out and touched one. The fabric was impossibly soft against my fingertips. I imagined them around my wrists. Holding me. Making me helpless.
Making me safe.
My breath hitched. Heat pooled low in my belly, mixing with the nerves until I couldn't tell which was which.
I noticed the champagne bottle dripped with condensation. Should I pour myself a glass? Would that seem presumptuous? Or would sitting here drunk be worse?
I left it alone.
This is insane. I should leave.
My pulse spiked as footsteps came closer to the door. Blood rushed in my ears while I smoothed my dress with trembling hands. I sat up straighter on the bench, then second-guessed the position and folded my hands in my lap instead.
The footsteps stopped.
Right outside the door.
Time seemed to slow.
I could hear my heartbeat.
The lacy dress against my skin suddenly felt too tight, too warm. My nipples hardened, pressing against my bra. Between my thighs, I was already wet.
He's going to know.
The doorknob turned.
Easton
I'd left Palisade's house before dawn three days ago because staying felt like torture.
The guest room had been comfortable enough.
Firm bed, clean sheets, the faint scent of lavender from wherever she kept her laundry detergent.
But I'd barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face in that hallway.
The way she'd looked up at me, tears on her cheeks, wanting me to kiss her.
The way she'd leaned in, just slightly, before pushing me away.
We can't.