Page 67 of Dare to Love Again

“My story?”

“You arrive with Ryan Paxton, a good dom, handsome, hot, masculine—if you go for that kind, and I know you do, which is my loss—but you don’t play. I didn’t think much of it at first. You were new, taking it all in, but weeks passed, and that’s all you ever did. Then, like that,” she snapped her fingers, “he’s gone. I take a shot, along with half the other tops in the place. We’re taking bets to see what you’re into—men, women, both. I got nowhere, fast, so I knew you didn’t swing my way. But weeks passed, and you didn’t swing at all, only watched. Then, out of the blue”—she clapped her hands together making Esme jump—“you’re hitting on every dom in the place. They say no, their egos bruised after you already turned them down flat. Damn fools.”

The domme reached out and caught her chin, her touch soft but unyielding, a lot like Master Finn’s, except she scared the holy crap out of her.

“Had you asked me, I wouldn’t have let pride stand between me and a taste of you.” She smiled, desire flashing in her sultry brown eyes, along with a dark, merciless promise, rather like the short whip coiled at her waist. Esme shivered in response.

Mistress Latrice noticed, let out a little chuckle, and released her, but not before she trailed her long red nails along her jaw. “If you change your mind after Master K is through with you, come find me.” She tapped her crimson-tipped fingers against her lips while she considered her thoughtfully. “That’s another piece of this puzzle that doesn’t fit. Keiran plays, but not with the same submissive, and never three times in a week. He’s never here enough for that until you came along. So, I ask again, what’s your story?”

“I don’t have a story,” she replied, lowering her eyes to avoid the intensity of the pint-sized domme’s penetrating gaze. If she were into women, Esme wouldn’t have been able to resist her draw, or the power of her dominance, and would have folded for her as quickly as she had Finn. “I’m just trying to figure out where I belong, mistress.”

“You like cock?”

Her mouth fell open. Latrice was as blunt as she was intimidating. “Yes, ma’am,” she stammered.

“There sure is plenty of that around here,” she muttered as her gaze swept the room. “Women who like women, not so much. I need to speak to Eric about adjusting the blend before I end up a voyeur like you.” Her eyes cut back to her and dipped down her front. “You look dressed for role-playing tonight. The hayloft?”

“Yes, mistress, as soon as Master Finn arrives.” She had to shout to be heard over the music and roar of the crowd as the band began their next song.

“Who?” she leaned in to ask.

“I mean, Master Keiran. I thought his name was Finn at first. It got stuck in my head. Then his friend called him that—” When the domme frowned at her, she realized she was babbling. “I’m, uh, meeting Master Keiran this evening.”

“You could do a lot worse. Though I don’t know him well, he’s got a fine reputation, both here and on the streets.”

“The streets?”

“And on the six o’clock news,” she added without answering her question. “Doesn’t help with anonymity at the club with cameras following members, especially owners, around. Though we have enough celebs, we should be used to it.”

“Wait. He’s got paparazzi following him? Like a movie star?”

She laughed, the sound lovely and soft, making the mistress seem much less scary—except for the quirt.

“He’d look good on the big screen, but no, I’m talking real news crews, little missy. If we had movie stars here, the paparazzi would camp outside our doors. We’ve got a few soap stars and B-listers, but mostly athletes, producers, and behind-the-scenes low-profile types. Master Eric is careful about that. I doubt he’s happy your man is in the headlines, but as the head of the fastest growing PI agency in town, it’s to be expected, I guess.” She eyed her for a moment. “Don’t you watch the news or read the Times?”

Esme shook her head, a knot of dread tightening in her belly.

Please, don’t let it be true. Just when she decided to give it a go again.

“He and his team, which make up about half the club’s masters, took down Martin Lopez, one of the leaders of Hermanos de Venganza. They call themselves a drug cartel.” She snorted derisively. “But they’re just another thug gang running drugs, guns, and hos through the streets of LA. His arrest is a big deal—huge, really—especially since they’re rumored to have loose ties to the Mexican Mafia.”

“But...I thought Rossi did security systems or were bodyguards to the stars.”

“Yeah, that’s some of it, and security is in the Rossi title, but they hire law enforcement and ex-military. Why would that be, do you think? I heard in Texas, where it all started, they ran black ops missions off the books for the government, and they took down a major drug cartel operating in south Texas. You must have heard about that unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past five years.”

“Excuse me,” she whispered, feeling sick.

“You’ve gone pale,” the mistress said, standing when she did. She grabbed hold of Esme’s arm when she swayed on her feet. “Sit down,” she ordered, sounding every bit a domme now. “I can’t catch you if you go down.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. Esme would likely crush the petite mistress if she fainted on her.

Taking a gulp of air, she shook her head. “I’m fine, ma’am, really,” she said while tugging on her arm. “I remembered something urgent I must do. It’s a work thing and can’t wait.”

“If Master Keiran is expecting you, you’d better stay.”

She ignored the domme’s warning and twisted free. “I’ll call him, but I really have to go.” This last part she said while bolting for the door. There was no other word for the way she charged into the crowd, bumping into people who frowned at her with irritation. Without excusing herself, she rushed for the exit.

Esme had lied to the mistress. She wouldn’t call, she couldn’t.

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