Page 19 of Dare to Love Again

He flipped through the pages as though looking for something specific.

“Your last master was how long ago?”

“Five years, sir.”

His blue eyes narrowed on her as he frowned. “That’s a long time for a submissive to be alone. Did something happen—perhaps something traumatic—to make you so wary about playing again?”

Echoes from the day filled her head—shouts, screams, her screams, and Andrew’s gasping whispers—and horrific, vivid images flashed before her eyes. Her pulse raced faster, and a tightness encompassed her chest. Recognizing the symptoms, she quickly slammed the door on the memories rushing forth.

Compartmentalization, her therapist called it, a finely honed defense mechanism she’d learned to keep the trauma of her past from becoming overwhelming again. During the day, she could hold the memories at bay by firmly locking them away. Most of the time, it worked. Eric’s questions had caused a tiny crack to open.

“Where did you go?”

His voice, softer than she’d ever heard it, still made her jump. Caught in the middle of a flashback, she became flustered, struggling to recall what they’d been discussing. When she couldn’t, she asked, “I, uh...excuse me, what was your question?” Then tried hard not to cringe at her stammering.

“I asked about past trauma. That’s why you’re reluctant to play, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “If you mean abuse, no, sir. My last master—my husband—was very good to me, but he died unexpectedly. He was only thirty-two, and it took time for me to grieve his passing.” It wasn’t a lie. All of that happened; she just left out important details. Now she had to hope he wouldn’t get out his shovel to dig deeper.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I can see it is still very difficult to discuss.” He leaned forward and caught her chin, bringing her face up to his. “I don’t mean to be cruel when I say this, but after five years, perhaps you have more work to do.”

“He was special,” she whispered. “I loved him very much.” Also, not a lie.

“You had professional counseling?”

She nodded. “My therapist and Pax both recommended I get back out there and start living again.”

“When was that?”

She averted her gaze. Damn dominants had the innate ability to know when a submissive was hiding something. They probed and prodded, burrowed and dug, threatened, and yes, sometimes punished, until the truth, no matter how ugly or painful, came rushing out. Once uncovered, they wanted to fix things, work on deep-seated issues, drawing feelings and emotions out of a sub to help her grow. The good ones were tricky that way.

But Esme didn’t want a stranger digging into her past, ripping open old wounds, and stirring up emotions better left buried where they couldn’t hurt her anymore.

“If you keep stalling after each question, we’ll be here all night.” Said gently, but with firmness, it reminded her how he felt about evasion.

“That was two years ago.”

“Do you still see her?”

Esme shook her head. “I saw her in Baltimore.”

“You’re stuck, little subbie, and hanging out here by yourself, watching others play will not get you unstuck.”

He held out his hand. It took a moment for her to realize he had a business card between his fingers.

She took it and flipped it over. Embossed in bold black print was the name Valerie Thornton, LCSW. The address listed was in Long Beach.

Her gaze rose to his in question.

“Valerie is my wife and my submissive. She’s also a lifestyle-friendly therapist and you can trust her to keep everything confidential. If not her, she can recommend someone else because after this long, you’re fooling yourself if you think you’re not stuck.” He closed her file, twisted, and dropped it back on the desk. “This brings me to the tough decision about your continued membership here at the club.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

He grimaced. “Not so drastic as that. Perhaps delay your full membership until you’re ready. When Pax gets back—”

“But, sir, there’s no telling how long that could be.” Tears, something she hadn’t experienced for a long time, pricked her eyes. “Please. I don’t want to leave. I’ve got nowhere else to go. The public clubs are awful.”

“I agree, and don’t recommend them, but I must consider all my members in my decision.” He folded his arms over his broad chest, one hand stroking his chin as he studied her at length. “I’m willing to give you another chance,” he said at last.

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