Chapter 20
Isabelle
The steam of the shower feels cleansing, but it can’t wash away the guilt gnawing at me.
Did I hurt James? What else was I supposed to do?
If I made him leave a place where he could grow, feel safe in his desires, and find acceptance…
that would shatter me. I remember how badly I needed that when I first started.
Tonight, I want to look like me. I hope James comes, even if it’s just to talk. Maybe I can help him find a mentor. But there needs to be no question that I’m there as Isabelle, so the moment he walks in, he sees my face and knows I’m being honest with him.
The music throbs in the main room, the deep bass vibrating through my bones, the slow, heavy beat that calls to the primal parts of our nature.
Yes, Miss
As I got dressed earlier this evening, I came to a conclusion; if James walks away and doesn’t want to talk, then on Monday we go back to normal. Nothing more will be said. We’ll stay professional. I’ve done all I can.
Now, I wait to see how things unfold.
Sitting at the bar with a drink in hand, a familiar voice calls my name. One I haven’t heard in ages, but it wraps around me like my favourite blanket. Gregory. The barman from my old club.
“Jesus, Gregory! What are you doing here?” I shriek, unable to hide my excitement as I leap into his arms, giving him a massive hug.
His familiar warmth is exactly what I need after this weekend.
Pulling back, I take him in. His sharp, slim-cut suit, his slicked-back hair—every inch the commanding Dom he is.
We settle at a table near the corner stage, watching the performance while we catch up.
“Well then, Iz,” he says, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.
“Victoria tells me you’re finding your feet here.
Good to see you again. We’ve missed you, you know.
” His smile is genuine and warm. It’s hard to reconcile it with the sadist he is once he gets going.
Gregory loves to inflict pain, and he has a regular sub who lives for it, but his slender frame hides a brutal strength with a whip.
“Yeah, it’s going okay,” I sigh. Then, dropping my voice, I say, “But Greg… I fucked up.” I confide in him about
Alexandra Ravensbrook
James. About who we are to each other and what's happened. The guilt I feel and the fear, but also the want and excitement. I bare my soul for a moment and finally talk, releasing all the pent up frustration.
He studies me, his expression softening but remaining serious. “Iz… Do you like him?”
“Greg, that’s not the point—”
“Isabelle.” His voice drops low, stern. That Dom tone always had a way of grabbing attention, and it pins me in place. “Answer me. Do you like James?”
My mind races. Thinking of his smile and those deep brown eyes, his broad shoulders and the way he held me when I was injured, making me feel so safe and cared for. How he kneels like he was born to worship. How he rearranged everything on the trip just so I could still be a part of it.
Yes.
Yes, I do like him. He made that clear for me, too.
“I do, Greg.” My lips turning up into a smile at the thought of James. “But what do I do?”
“Just go with it, Iz.” His gaze flicks over my shoulder toward the entrance of the bar.
When I turn, my heart stops.
Yes, Miss
James stands there, hands shoved in his pockets, scanning the room nervously. Our eyes meet. His whole body goes still. When he spots Greg, his expression freezes.
Greg stands. “I think this is my cue to leave. I’ll see you around, sweetheart.
Look after yourself.” He gives me a hug goodbye, then strides towards James.
He pauses, leans in to murmur something I can’t hear, and pats him on the shoulder before walking away.
James watches him go, then turns back to me.
A small, tentative smile dancing on his lips.
I rise from my seat, steeling myself for what's to come, and walk to him, grateful I opted to wear flats tonight.