Chapter Three
~Annabelle~
I unlock the door to my apartment, dump my bags unceremoniously on the floor as I enter, then turn to re-lock the door behind me. It’s not that I live in a bad neighborhood, but I do live alone and have always erred on the side of caution. Something ingrained in me by my father once upon a time.
“Nyla.” I toe off my sneakers, leaving them by the door as well, and walk further into the apartment as I call out again, “Hey, Nyla, Momma’s home.” I smile, bending down as my gray tiger kitty appears out of nowhere and weaves between my feet, purring loudly. I stroke her soft fur and bend to plant a few kisses on her head. She rears up on her back legs and butts her head against my mouth in return. “Did you miss me, baby? You sure are a love bug tonight.”
I stand, glancing at her food dish, and notice it’s empty. Ah, the real reason for all the love; she wants me to feed her. “Come on then.”
I walk to the cupboard to pull down a can of food. After opening it, I pull a fork out of the drawer before moving back to the bowl to scoop out the contents of the can. She gives me one final rub against the leg in thanks and then dives into her food. “Enjoy, baby.”
I drop the can in the trash, set the fork in the sink, then walk back over to the door to remove and hang my coat up in the small closet off my kitchen. I need a shower. I went to the gym after my last patient and put in a grueling workout. I’m still sweaty, and I’m sure I stink. But my curiosity gets the better of me, so I stoop next to the bags on the floor and pull out the worn leather bomber jacket I shoved in my large purse before leaving the office.
What the hell am I doing? This is wrong on so many levels. I should have just left it hanging on the coat rack in my office. For when he comes next time. But here I am, in my own apartment, holding his jacket in my hands. I raise it slowly to my nose and inhale, pressing it against my face, my lids closing. It smells like him. Or, at least, like he smelled today when he was looming over me, almost pressing his body against mine. Warm and musky and slightly spicy. A flush of heat runs through my veins when I remember the way his hot breath felt against my ear.
I open my eyes slowly and lower the jacket. I have seriously lost my marbles. I’m the one who needs therapy now. But I can’t seem to stop myself and the incessant need I have to know more about him, since he certainly isn’t opening himself up to me. I carry the coat with me over to the couch and sit. I lay the coat flat on my lap and am about to unzip one of the front pockets when there’s a loud knock on my door, startling me into an upright position, the coat slipping off my lap to the floor.
There are usually only two people who come knocking on my door unannounced. I stride over to the door and peer into the peep hole, my brows furrowing. I step back, unlock and pull the door wide. “Holly, what’s the matter?”
She enters, strolls by, drops a quick kiss on my cheek, and continues to the kitchen. “Why would anything be the matter? Can’t I just drop in?”
I follow, watching as she sets a bottle of wine and a bag of some kind of take-out, I’m guessing Thai by the smell, on the counter. “Because when you show up with wine and food, it generally means you’re fighting with Billy again.”
She shrugs, making her way around the counter to grab the corkscrew out of a drawer. “Billy’s an asshole.”
“I’ve been telling you that for six months.”
“I need to break up with him.” She reaches for the bottle on the counter and begins the process of screwing the opener into the cork.
“I’ve also been telling you that for six months,” I repeat dryly.
“He’s just so god damn good in bed.” The cork pulls out with a loud pop, causing us both to laugh out loud.
“Well, sex isn’t everything.” I approach the counter and begin opening the square brown bag to see what she’s brought.
“Ha!” Holly snorts. “Says the girl who hasn’t had sex in what? A year?”
“Shut up!” I pull containers out of the bag, Thai as suspected, and slam them down on the marble. “Just because I haven’t had sex in ten months —” I glare at her pointedly, “not a year, thank you very much, doesn’t mean I don’t know what good sex is.”
“Listen, Belle, if you were getting good sex, really good sex, even if the guy was an asshole, you’d probably put up with half the shit I do, too.” She fills two wine glasses, grabs a couple forks, and carries them all into the living room.
I sigh, following with the food. “Maybe you’re right.” I sit next to her on the couch and place the food on my coffee table. “But, unfortunately, I only seem to get the asshole part of the equation. None of the guys I’ve dated do anything for me in bed.”
“See?” She points her fork at me, a long noodle dangling from the tines. “You don’t know good sex yet.”
My eyeballs roll heavily to the ceiling, but I don’t disagree with her again. She’s probably right. I’ve certainly never had a guy give me an orgasm without some other kind of stimulation involved. Sex just always seemed like a necessary inconvenience with the men I was with, so it just seemed easier to stop dating. “So, you wanna talk about what happened between you and Billy?”
“Nope.” She takes a big gulp of her wine. “Same old shit. I’m pretty sure he’s screwing some girl in his office.” She looks up at me and sighs. “I really do need to break up with him.”
I laugh and nod my head. There’s no point in telling her again that I agree. One thing I’ve learned about Holly in the six years we’ve been friends, she’ll leave when she’s good and ready. And when she does, it’s done. No crying. No muss. No big scene. She just moves on. I so wish I could be like that. I wallow for weeks and wonder about every little thing I may have done wrong.
“Do you have something you want to tell me?” She looks over at me and then down at the jacket on the floor. “‘Cause that sure don’t look like something you’d wear.”
I feel my cheeks heat as I wave my hand and try to dismiss her question casually. “Oh, that’s a patient’s. He forgot it in my office.”
“And you brought it home because?”
So much for trying to brush it off. “Oh, I was thinking I might drop it off tomorrow. He doesn’t live too far from here, and he doesn’t have another appointment with me until Friday.”
“Nope.” She leans over and pulls the jacket off the floor. “I can tell just by the look on your face that you’re hiding something.”
I put my food on the table and grab the sleeve of the jacket, trying to yank it back from her. “Don’t be ridiculous!” I tug again. “Give me that!”
“Uh-uh!” She tugs even harder, ripping it completely from my grasp. “You’re hiding something!” Her eyes are sparkling at the knowledge that she’s caught me at something. “Tell me!”
I groan and throw a hand over my face. “This is so unethical, Holly!”
“Oh. My. God.” She yelps. “You had sex with a patient!” Instead of disgust though, her face is filled with delight.
I slap her on the arm. “No!” Then I lower my head into my hands, mumbling, “But I’ve sure thought about it a few times.”
“Annabelle Murphy!” She giggles. “How unbelievably unprofessional of you!” Holly is a hairdresser, so she’s never going to be in the same boat as me. “Tell me everything! ”
I reach for my wine and take a fortifying gulp. “There’s nothing to tell. I mean, he’s gorgeous in that tall, dark, and deadly kind of way. He just transferred to me about five weeks ago, with some serious PTSD issues we’re trying to deal with, but he’s not opening up. So, I mainly just sit there for most of our sessions, staring at him, staring at me.” I look up at her, my cheeks flushing again. “I mean, he’s really good-looking, Holly. Dark brown hair, piercing green eyes, and he has this nipple ring that has me?—”
“Whoa!” She sits up straight, her hand slapping down on my knee. “How the hell do you know he has a nipple ring? I thought you hadn’t slept with him?”
“Because I can see it through some of the t-shirts he wears. I swear to God, he does it on purpose. Like he knows he’s driving me mad.”
“Girl, you need to assign him to a new therapist and then find that man and get busy with him.”
“Believe me, it’s crossed my mind.” I scowl and blow out a breath. “I certainly don’t feel like I’m making much progress with him.”
“So, why do you have his jacket?” She lifts it up off her lap then drops it back down again.
“I don’t know. I was curious. I wanted to see if it gave me any clues to who he is, what he does, where he goes.” I look up at her and throw my hands up. “Is that the most pathetic thing you ever heard?”
Her eyes lock with mine as she crinkles her nose. “Honey, I’ve heard and seen a lot worse.” Then she bends down, inhales, and looks back up at me. “And Jesus, if he smells as good as this coat, I get it.” She starts shuffling the coat around, stopping when she finds one of the pockets, her eyes darting back up to mine. “Should we?”
“This is so wrong,” I whisper, but nod my head up and down at the same time.
“Well, technically, I’m doing the snooping, if that makes you feel any better.” She winks, unzips the pocket, and slides her hand inside, pulling it out a second later, several items between her fingers. She releases her hold, dropping everything on the couch between us. I look and take it in. A pack of gum, a condom, and some kind of card. We look at each other, equally unimpressed. “Well, he has the important things covered; fresh breath and protection.”
We both laugh, some of our nerves dissipating with the realization that we haven’t made any real breach to his privacy. Holly reaches out and turns the card over, then rears back. “Oh! Well, this is interesting.”
“What?” I grab the card out of her hand. It’s a membership card, with his name, picture, and an identification number to some place called The Den. I look up at her. “What’s The Den?”
“It’s an underground BDMS club.” She snags the card out of my fingers and holds it up again. “He is hot!”
I grab it back from her and hold it against my chest like it needs protecting. “How in the world do you know about a sex den?”
She laughs and rolls her eyes at me. “It’s not a sex den. It’s just a club where you can go to meet other people who might like to do things that you like to do.”
“What kind of things?” I feel like an idiot asking her these questions. I’ve seen Fifty Shades of whatever, so I’m not totally oblivious that there’s more than missionary sex happening out there, but I didn’t know there were clubs right here in the city where you could go and actually do that sort of thing.
Holly takes a slug of her wine and continues. “Oh, you know, bondage, or ménage, or maybe another woman, or maybe you’re into someone whipping you.”
My eyes fly wide when realization dawns that this is where Patrick must go to receive the punishment he tells me he enjoys. “Do you go there? How do you know so much about this?” I sit up and lean closer to my friend, wanting to know everything.
“Let’s just say that vanilla sex doesn’t really do it for me, and leave it at that.” She looks down into her wine glass before lifting it to her crooked lips to drain the rest of the glass. “Want more?” She rises and heads to the kitchen.
“Um, hell yes. I need more!”
Somehow, after our second glass of wine, we end up on The Den’s website. Holly gives me a tour of the different rooms that can be visited there, and instead of feeling disgusted, I’m surprised when I feel myself getting turned on. I shift in my seat at the counter and grip my wine glass as I take another gulp in relief.
“Oh!” Holly points to a calendar of events that’s pulled up on the screen. “They’re having a demo night. This Thursday!” She turns to me and shoves her shoulder up against mine. “We should go! How much fun would that be?”
My heart starts racing at the idea of it, but I brush off her suggestion with a nervous laugh. “I could never! What if Patrick happened to be there? That would be awful!”
“Would it really?” she asks, smirking. “You could wear a costume. Everyone is pretending to be someone else while they’re there anyway.”
“Yes, I’ll just throw on my leather dress and boots, wear a wig, and saunter in there. No one will ever know it’s me.”
“I’ll totally do your hair! I have a blonde wig that would be perfect on you!” She claps her hands in delight at the thought of dolling me up.
“I was joking, Holly,” I deadpan, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest at the very thought of being in that kind of room, doing those kinds of things, with possibly the one man I shouldn’t be.