Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Lorcan
Master Dante was an attractive man with dark hair, dark eyes, a gentle smile, and an inviting nature.
I’d liked him from the very first moment we’d met.
He’d made it clear he protected the submissives, bottoms, kitties, and pups who came to the club.
Also, the Dominants, Tops, Mommies, Daddies, and handlers.
That he was here to ensure no abuse took place.
And if something untoward happened to me, I was to speak out.
Personally, I really couldn’t see anything happening—anyone dumb enough to mess with me would regret it.
I didn’t say that, but he must’ve sensed my bristling, because he added that if someone stepped out of line, he needed to know—so he could throw the person out of the club and warn the community.
Okay. Fair.
He’d caught me casting surreptitious glances toward the two gentlemen at a nearby table. Well, and the pup as well. A cute South Asian guy who enjoyed sitting at the feet of his Black handler.
Okay. I needed to fess up. The couple were adorable.
My attention, though, was on the man with light-brown hair sitting next to them.
Gorgeous hair that went nearly to his shoulders and haloed his head.
Stunning blue eyes that, even across the dim club, mesmerized.
Whoever the guy was, he was fit, handsome, and way too fucking young for me.
Yet Dante offered an introduction. Said the guy and I were both from Cedar Valley. The valley was big enough that I’d never seen him before, and likely never would again. So saying hello tonight felt safe.
The man’s khaki pants and light-blue silk shirt suited his coloring. Matched his eyes. And he strode confidently next to Master Dante as they crossed the club.
I gripped my ginger ale as if it were a lifeline.
They stopped before me.
“Lorcan, may I present Cody? I believe you might have something in common. I shall be circulating—just wave if you need anything.” Master Dante did a little bow and then stepped away.
I met Cody’s warm gaze.
He held out his hand. “Cody Litwin.”
“Lorcan.” I shook his hand. His warm-but-sure grip. Versus my sweaty palm.
He arched an eyebrow, but didn’t respond to the fact I withheld my last name. A search of Lorcan would likely bring me up, regardless. Just for tonight, I didn’t want to be that guy.
“Would you like to sit?” He gestured to a high-top table and two barstools.
“That would be nice.”
“Lovely. I’m going to grab another tonic water with lime, and then I’ll join you.”
“No booze?”
He shook his head. “I’m driving. Also, I don’t generally drink and never at the club.”
“Oh.” I held up my drink. “Ginger ale.”
“Good to know.” He offered a dazzling smile with perfect, bright-white teeth. “Just give me one moment.”
I nodded and headed toward the table. Once there, I hefted myself onto the stool.
I wasn’t short by any means, but the stool definitely was tall.
How do shorter people manage? Even as I glanced around, I spotted a group of women clustered around a table, sitting on stools, not caring about dangling feet, and wearing corsets with stockings and outrageously high heels.
All were attractive and were clearly enjoying themselves.
Pretty to look at, but not my preference.
Cody slid easily onto the seat across from me. He offered me a little salute before sipping his drink. Then he smiled. “Would you like to go first?”
“I feel like I should because I might lose my nerve, but no, please—you first.”
“Sure.” He offered a dazzling smile. “I’ll start by saying I’m a psychologist.”
My breath caught. Of all the things I’d considered, this definitely hadn’t been one.
“No worries, okay? I only psychoanalyze folks when they pay me too.” Said with an easy grin and a disarming manner.
“Right. Okay.”
“I studied hard to earn my PhD in psychology so I could get out into the world and start counseling clients right away. My first paid gig, though, was as the resident psychologist at Mission City’s inaugural Pride Camp.”
I cocked my head. Somehow, I hadn’t heard about this.
“A couple donated some land and then built an entire camp on the site. Cabins and everything. Then hired a director, several counsellors, and me. We ran a couple of cohorts last summer. Queer kids in need of support—or those just needing to be with other kids like them. I have to say, that was an incredibly rewarding experience. Next year we’ve got even more camp sessions planned—including one for the siblings of queer kids. Sometimes they get lost in the fray.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I wish something like that had been around when I was younger. But I don’t know if I would’ve had the courage to go.”
“It’s tough. I mean, being a kid is rough enough—even at the best of times. To be queer as well? Sometimes outed without permission? That can be so traumatizing. Our focus is to create a safe space where the kids can just be kids.” He sipped his drink. “And learn coping skills as well.”
“That sounds like a really important job.” Unlike me, sitting on my ass. Well, I had a job now. So that was something.
“I think the important thing was the kids accepting the help. It’s not easy—being that vulnerable.”
Tell me about it. I’m here and I don’t remember ever feeling so exposed. Well, except in the courtroom, but I was really trying to forget that experience as quickly as possible. I cleared my throat. “And once camp was over? Or does it go on year-round?”
“Just for July and August. Now I work as a counselor at Healing Horses Ranch—a place up in north Mission City.”
“Never heard of it.” Because I couldn’t conceive what a psychologist might be doing at a horse ranch.
He grinned. “We’re a therapy ranch. A client will come to see a counselor.
Amongst the services offered is equine and canine therapy.
So, a patient might choose to learn how to ride a horse.
While they’re learning to trust the horse, we hope they come to trust their counselor.
Bonds form. Eventually, we hope for healing. ”
“And canine?” This sounded a little bonkers—but I was totally intrigued.
“We have a therapy dog. Tiffany. She sits in on sessions with patients who are comfortable with her. She’s incredibly empathetic and can be a way for people to open up. Even just petting her can calm someone—lower their blood pressure.”
“People…heal?” Now the name of the ranch made a bit more sense.
“That’s the hope. For some clients, they only need a few sessions. They’ve got a particular issue they need to work through. We do our best to get them through the problem, and often they’re able to move on with their lives.”
“And others?”
His face was shadowed for a moment—almost like he was in a bad memory—but then he appeared to shake it off and offered another smile.
Admittedly, this one was more guarded. “Sometimes people have mental illnesses that require intensive therapy. Or their trauma is more profound. Occasionally, we have patients who are in counseling for years. That’s okay too.
We let ourselves be guided by what the client requires. ”
“Years?” I rubbed my face.
“Everyone has a different trajectory in their lives. For some, counseling is the lifeline they need to get through a rough time—whether brief or ongoing. For others, it’s just there to help them perceive things differently.”
“And you listen to other people’s problems all day?”
He laughed. “Yep. And I couldn’t be happier.
” His smile slipped a little. “I can’t help everyone—I know that.
But I can set out every day to do my very best.” He sipped his drink again.
“And I get to spend my day around horses, dogs, and amazing coworkers. I get to feel like I’m giving back to people who have given me so much. ”
I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but I didn’t have the guts.
“That was a lot.” His blue eyes sparkled. “How about you?” He gestured to my wrist with the yellow band. “Are you comfortable sharing?”
Doubt flitted through my mind. This guy was so far out of my league that we weren’t even in the same realm.
Still, I’d found the courage to come here.
Might as well try. “I, uh, am also from Mission City.” Damn that we were from the same town.
“I work construction. I’ve got more than a few miles under my belt, and my story’s pretty boring. ”
“I doubt that.” He said the words casually, but I read an underlying meaning.
“You know who I am.” Dread sat in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t know you.” He held my gaze. “You can share whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“And you can google the rest.”
“Not if you don’t want me to.” His gaze was steady. “If Master Dante wanted us to meet, I’m quite certain he’s already vetted you.”
I had undergone a decently complex process to join the club.
He’d also waived the membership fee—saying something about a rich owner who never wanted money to be a barrier for kinky people to join.
I was so desperate, I accepted that explanation without really thinking about it until later.
If I enjoyed myself, and once I was back on my feet, I’d start paying the membership fee.
“Yeah, he asked a lot of questions and delved into my background. I was honest with him.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m a supporter of honesty.” Yet another brilliant smile. “I think we all have some secrets.”
“Do you?”
Slowly, he nodded. “I have things I don’t share with people I’ve just met. Or with my patients.”
“Ah. Well, I won’t ask, then.”
“That’s fair. Perhaps when we’ve gotten to know each other better. We can have fun together without baring our deepest souls, after all. Unless and until we want to.”
Sounded almost too good to be true. “I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings. I’m a good guy and I didn’t do what I was accused of.”
“I believe you.”
“You shouldn’t.” The bitter words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.