Chapter 17
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“S top,” Isla orders with her hand pressed firmly against my chest. “She safe worded. You’re done.”
Nia’s frame pulls away from me all too quickly, disappearing through the main room of the club until she slips through the entryway and out the front door.
And all I want to do is chase her down and explain this to her.
“I respect your rules,” I tell my friend, “and I understand, but I need to talk to her.”
“Not tonight.” Her hand wraps around my bicep, turning me toward the bar, and she leads me to sit on one of the stools. “What the hell was that?”
“She’s a client,” I explain. “She shouldn’t have been here.”
“Ew,” she says, scrunching her face at me, “I know you did not just try to Kink Police someone.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Pulling off my glasses, I drop them onto the bar and press the heels of my palms into my eyes.
Flagging down the bartender, Isla orders a cocktail and a soda, each of which are placed in front of us respectively. Her eyes pierce through me while she brings her drink to her lips, and I leave my glasses in their place on the bar top. Feeling her eyes on me is enough; I don’t need to see them, too.
“I’ll be fucked,” she gasps with a shove to my shoulder, “you like her.”
“I’m perturbed by her,” I argue.
“Whatever,” my friend says with a cackle. “It’s all the same thing. You can put your eyes back on, darling, I’m off to the public room.”
Using her hand on my shoulder for balance, she drops out of her seat, reaching for her drink before leaving me alone at the bar.
With nothing but my own fucking thoughts and the image of Nia practically running away from me playing in my mind.
I didn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t.
It was all that I could do to keep myself in my bed and not in my car, driving to Nia’s house to explain myself. It’s been a long time since I last felt ashamed of my lifestyle and the things that I enjoy doing, but the surface of that shame was scratched at as soon as her eyes landed on me.
I sigh into my coffee as I pull open the front doors to the office; I try to avoid drinking too much caffeine when I can, but if I don’t suck this down, I’ll be dragging all day, and I can’t afford to do that. I can’t afford exhaustion or distraction.
Pretty and unnerving as that distraction may be.
“Good morning, Linda,” I say with a smile as I greet the third floor receptionist.
“Good morning, Mr. Montgomery,” she echoes. Reaching for a stack of files and notes, she passes them to me. “You’re a very popular man this morning.”
With a grateful nod, I take the papers from her, heading down the corridor toward my office.
I nearly forget to close the door behind me as my eyes land on Nia fucking Cavanaugh, kneeling on the carpet of my office floor with her palms on her thighs. Her head is dipped low, her eyes avoiding my gaze, and I’m not sure if my heart speeds up or stops completely at the sight of her like this.
“What are you doing?”
“Isn’t this what you like?” She asks, looking up at me through her thick lashes. “A vulnerable woman at your mercy, hoping that you might give her just a crumb of attention?”
“Get off of the floor, Ms. Cavanaugh,” I order her as I clear my throat and move toward my desk, dropping my attaché case next to it. “My personal life has nothing to do with my professional life.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she argues as she pushes herself off of the ground.
The carpet leaves reddened divots in her knees as she stands as if to tell me that she’s been there for a while; waiting for me. My jaw ticks at the realization.
“Whatever it was that you were doing with that woman, I think you use it in your job. And I…” She hesitates, letting out a breath as her lips pinch together and she moves her eyes from mine. “I want you to teach me about it.”
I pause, resting a hand on my desk as I crease my brow. “You what? ”
“I want you to teach me about it,” she repeats.
“No.” Moving around my desk, I drop into my chair, reaching for the mouse on my computer. “As I said, my personal life is completely separate from my professional life. I don’t— that isn’t an option.”
Her shoulders are pulled back. She’s standing tall. Her gaze on mine is now unwavering.
She’s showing me her confidence.
Moving to one of the paired leather chairs in front of my desk, she drops onto the cushion and crosses one leg over the other.
“I want to know why people like doing that,” she tells me, “and I want…I want to know if I like it.”
“You’re telling me that you want to be a—”
“I want to be the woman on her knees,” she nods.
My eyes move to the door behind her, but my mind goes on a journey of its own. My home dungeon. Nia on her knees there. Using a cane, a flogger, a crop to mar her smooth skin with stinging streaks of red.
The sounds that she might make as they made impact.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling myself back into reality, “but I can’t help you.”
“Brody.” Her eyes darken, pinning me in place. “I think we can both agree that I have some trust issues, right? I want to know how to be that woman. I need to learn how from someone that I can trust.”
“I don’t sleep with my clients,” I counter.
She looks almost offended that I’d even think to say that. As if she isn’t sitting in front of me, asking me to dominate her. Asking me to—
“I didn’t say anything about sleeping together,” she argues. My brow pinches in response. “I’m in the middle of a divorce. My heart is in about four million pieces and it will probably never be the same again. I’m not asking you to have sex with me. I’m asking you to teach me.”
Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest. I’ve gotten plenty of requests since I entered the lifestyle; most of which, I’ve said yes to, some a vehement no , but never once has the request come with the caveat of the interaction being solely educational in nature.
“Take some time,” she tells me. “Think about it. Just…let me know when you decide.”
And just like that, she’s on her way out the door, and I’m left sitting at my desk looking like a complete idiot.