Page 31 of Dare to Love Again

“Do you need me to call your ride, little one?” the gruff bartender asked. She eyed him with interest. He also had two sides it seemed; a hard outer shell, but a softer, protective inside.

“No, thank you, sir. I’ll run and grab my phone from my locker and take care of it.”

A half hour later, while staring out the window on her way home, she felt the whirl of emotions she always did after leaving the club—envy, melancholy, loneliness.

It was past time for her to move on. She knew that. But her ever-present anxiety crept in. What if one shot at happiness was all fate had in store for her? Even if she were lucky enough to find someone she wanted to take a second chance with didn’t guarantee a happily ever after, like Val had with Eric.

Andrew’s sudden death had proven that.

Fairy tales didn’t exist, at least not for her, or her parents who were T-boned by a drunk driver coming home from dinner out. Thinking they did only gave her false hope and set her up for more heartache.

She’d do a scene or two with the dominant selected for her, to keep in good standing with the master dom and the other club members, but she wouldn’t get her hopes up. It would be best to focus on the physical, get her needs met at long last, but leave the shields around her heart in place. If they melted, and she felt the pain of such devastating loss again, she didn’t think she’d survive.

Chapter 9

THE UPCOMING SCENEwith a mystery dominant had taken over Esme’s thoughts, leaving her unable to focus on anything else. This made for long, stressful days at work, but they were better than the interminable nights filled with disturbing dreams. Each was different, some bizarre and amusing, others terrifying, and one was downright nauseating. None involved Prince Charming who swooped in to sweep her off her feet, but most featured a somewhat obscure celebrity.

Like the small, quirky, balding man who tried rather ineptly to give her a spanking. Esme couldn’t keep from giggling at his awkward attempt to strip her and pull her over his lap and ended up offending him. When her eyes popped open, she realized the dom was Woody Allen, and she’d fallen asleep with the TV on,To Rome with Love, droning in the background.

They’d gone downhill from there.

Like when Newman fromSeinfeldreruns made her serve him drinks in the Decadence lounge while wearing four-inch spiked heels and his USPS uniform—the one with Bermuda shorts. Not a sexy look at all. Or how the chef fromHell’s Kitchentied her to a post, spanked her with a spatula while lecturing her about serving chicken raw. And, finally, when Michael Keaton, who made her wear a skin-tight, black rubber suit, tied her hands over her head to a rope suspended from the mile-high Decadence playroom ceiling, and got in her face and repeated, “I’m Batman. I’m Batman.”

She didn’t find out where it went after that, thank goodness, because Phineas jumped on her chest and meowed loudly in kitty-speak that it was breakfast time. She’d hugged him close from sheer relief until he squirmed out of her hold, even more perturbed over the further delay of his morning meal.

And that was only Wednesday night’s dreams.

On Thursday, she took a four-year-old Xanax, hoping it would have enough potency left to help her sleep, but she’d had the scariest dreams of all.

First, Carlos had accosted her again in the dungeon, but this time, the Irish DM hadn’t been there to help. While he laughed maniacally, he tied her to his cross as promised and unfurled a twelve-foot bullwhip. She’d cried for help, as he’d cracked it ominously.

Her screams had scared Phin out of a dead sleep, frightening him so much, he’d used her as a springboard to leap off the bed, leaving painful burning scratches on her arm.

Never again, she swore. No more old medicine.

After showering and changing into a dry nightgown, and changing the damp linens, she had calmed enough to go back to sleep.

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