Chapter 11 #2
He looked startled. “Yeah? I know Claudia and Faylee”—he smiled at the women on each side of her and got smiles back—“but I must have missed you.”
“She’s new, Shawn. But a good one. She worked the bar with me last weekend,” Claudia said.
“And Drake likes her.” Faylee waggled her eyebrows.
Shawn’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, you mean likes her, likes her?”
“Oh yeah.” Claudia made kissing sounds.
Ray’s face turned hot. “Behave. What are you—in middle school?”
Thank the elder gods, the assembly line started up, diverting their attention.
Bag after bag came down the table. Faylee would toss in a hand sanitizer, hand the bag to Ray who’d put in a pen and give the bag to Claudia. At the far end, the line turned the corner and bags flowed down the other side of the tables.
As people mastered the art of filling and passing on, conversation started back up. To Ray’s delight, the others started discussing the various kinds of BDSM they’d gone through over the years.
Faylee had tried Master/slave and D/s, and found her niche being a “little girl” with her own Dear Daddy.
Shawn was a switch—something Ray had trouble wrapping her head around.
In contrast, Claudia wasn’t submissive or dominant. She called herself a pain slut and was in tight poly relationship with two people as well as being extended kin in a leather family.
So confusing. Where would I fit?
The thought of taking charge was a big ugh. I’m definitely submissive. And, huh, coloring books sounded cool, but being treated like a child? Noper, not for me.
Pain slut—no, but… The spanking. Mmm, it’d been all kinds of erotic.
Sheesh, how many kinks were there?
The line paused as Faylee switched her empty box for a new one.
With a relieved sigh, Ray stood up and stretched—odd how bag-filling used muscles wood carving didn’t—and looked around.
A woman farther down the table saw her stand up. Ray smiled at the woman who was quite striking with smooth dark hair and eyes. Rather than smiling back, the woman compressed her full lips and turned away, saying something to the woman beside her. Who then frowned at Ray.
All right then. Guess not everyone here is friendly. Feeling totally awkward, Ray turned her back, pulled another box out from under the table, and emptied the last pens from the old one.
Sitting back down, she checked the two women out of the corner of her eye. They were laughing and kept glancing at Ray.
Great, nothing like being laughed at.
Why don’t humans come with shells like a turtle? It’d be nice to be able to tuck my head and arms inside something unbreakable.
Perhaps she should develop thicker skin. After all, anyone Master Drake kissed probably ended up as gossip fodder.
With a sigh, she tossed a pen in a swag bag…and kept going.
Faylee started another round of telling stories about the club with Claudia chiming in with tidbits. Some of the stories were hilarious. Or terrifying.
After a couple of hours, no more bags came through. Ray blinked at her empty hands. What happened?
The person who’d checked them in climbed up onto a chair.
“We are done! Way ahead of schedule as it happens. You’ve been wonderfully efficient.
There are other volunteers to pack away the boxes, so your work is finished.
Since we’d planned to have a break about now with snacks”—she pointed to the back of the room—“go ahead and grab a cookie and water to go. And thank you!”
The man beside her with military-short hair yelled, “Dismissed.”
Laughing, people began to move away from the assembly line.
“I’m for some water and a cookie or two,” Claudia said.
“Me too,” Faylee answered. “You, Ray?”
“Bathroom break.” She needed to move. Between the overload of too many people and having to stay in one place, she felt as if her skin had ants on it. “Afterward, a cookie will be good.”
Outside the room, Ray eyed the line at the bathroom door and turned away. Instead, she stretched her legs on a long walk down the carpeted hallway. The edginess eased up and finally disappeared with a third trip down the hall. And her knee didn’t complain at all.
After a bathroom break, she returned to the room, detouring between clusters of people to the snack area.
Cookie, cookie, cookie.
The water was cool and refreshing; the oatmeal cookie had exactly the right chewiness. Yum.
Near the table, people were still chatting in small clusters.
Maybe I can make more friends? Unfortunately, Claudia and Faylee had left.
From serving soft drinks at Chains, she recognized a few of the club members in one group. She met a woman’s gaze, and they looked away with a curled-up lip. Two of the others gave her cold stares before turning so as to not have her in their sight.
What in the world?
Oh, hell. Had she been too annoying today? Laughed too loudly at Faylee’s stories. Or talked too fast or too much and disturbed others in the area.
She didn’t think she had. Am I being hypersensitive? Over-reacting?
Maybe. Then again, why else would they be acting like she smelled worse than a rotting pile of aged manure?
With a thick lump in her throat, Ray left, dropping her cookie and water into the trash on the way out.
So much for her goal of making new friends.
Her stomach hurt as she walked out of the hotel. And all she wanted was to go back home and hide out—turtle style.
She was supposed to text Drake.
No. The thought of seeing him again… She bit her lip. After this, she’d be thinking of how she sounded, not wanting to talk, to laugh.
I know I’m being too sensitive to…to rejection, but…
In his office, Drake pulled out his phone and read the incoming text from Ray.
The assembly line finished up early. I didn’t want to mess with your schedule and am boarding the ferry back to Bainbridge now. Since I’m way behind on everything, I’m going to spend today in the shop. Thanks for looking after me when I got hurt. It’s appreciated.
Drake read the message again and considered the tone. Formal. Distancing. Very different from when he’d dropped her off.
Hmm. He could understand her having second thoughts if their time had been acrimonious or even uncomfortable. But she’d been all in with open enthusiasm. “Want to come and commit some crimes in my big bed?”
What had happened in the last couple of hours?
His jaw tightened. Ray was as friendly and open as a golden retriever. But not everyone else was. BDSM communities tended to be welcoming…but people were people.
Perhaps she’d heard gossip about him and had second thoughts? Doubtful, since he wasn’t a sadist or into any of the more unusual kinks. Wasn’t an abuser.
His brows drew together. She had at least one ugly incident in her past, maybe more. No telling what might bother her.
If she truly wanted him to go away, he would do so. First, it’d be good to know she hadn’t tripped over a trigger and simply panicked.
Now how to find out what had sent her to hide in her cave.
Three loud thumps on the workshop door startled Ray so badly she dropped the sandpaper block. “What the heck?”
More thumping. Ooooh, someone was knocking.
As she straightened, every vertebrae in her spine cracked. Ouchers. How long was I in here sanding? No sunlight came through the windows.
A shiver of anxiety ran through her. She was alone. And it was dark.
“Ray, it’s Drake.”
Her tension disappeared. He wouldn’t hurt her.
Not Drake. Then her brain came online. No, oh, no, no, no.
He was here. Hadn’t her text given the right message?
Okay, so she hadn’t spelled out—don’t call me again—but he wasn’t stupid.
In fact, she’d never met anyone more capable of reading between the lines.
He opened the door and halted in the entry. George must have educated him since he didn’t open the inner door. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His level, patient gaze met hers. The black beard didn’t conceal the sternness of his jaw.
He didn’t appear angry, but…
“Come out, Aralia Lanigan. Let’s talk.” His baritone was calm. Controlled. He’d used her formal name in the same way George would when he wanted her complete attention.
Why couldn’t she summon up any defiance?
Because her heart was already breaking? Why can’t I be normal?
She stepped out, skin covered in sawdust, hair yanked up in a messy top bun, in stained, gritty scrubs. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. This”—she motioned between him and herself—“it won’t work. You should just go.”
“Ah.” He paused for a moment. “No is always no, but it would make me feel better if I could know your thoughts on why things won’t work. Can we talk for a bit?”
When she didn’t manage to come up with a reason immediately, he put an arm behind her back and ushered her out of the workshop, down the tiny path, and up the front steps of the house.
He took a seat on the porch swing, the one Faj had made for her, despite teasing her it belonged in the deep south.
When he pulled her down beside him, she tried to edge away. “I’m filthy and sweaty and—”
“And I have never seen a sweaty woman before?” His deep chuckle silenced her, reminding her he was a Dom…and exactly how sweaty and tear-stained she’d been after being paddled.
How he’d held her afterward.
“Tell me, chérie. Why do we not work?” He touched her chin lightly, only enough to bring her head around so his gaze could meet hers.
Tears prickled a warning at the backs of her eyes. “I know you’re attracted to me now, but… that’ll change. Like with Theodore. You’ll get to know me and won’t want me anymore.”
He made an uncomprehending sound. “What didn’t Theodore like?”
Honestly, did she have to spell it out? She threw her hands in the air—the way Theodore had hated. “I’m too loud, too scattered, talk too fast. Too emotional, too dramatic.”
He eyed her hands, and amusement lit his eyes. “Ah. Go on.”
That…was not the response she’d expected.
“Theodore says I act like a toddler, complete with tantrums.” Even saying the words made her mouth taste bitter.