Page 10 of Healing the Heart

The answer was simple: foolish pride. She refused to let a critical asshole scare her off. Today was day 365 of her membership, which she’d paid dearly for, and she was determined to make a night of it because it would likely have to last for a lifetime.

She’d miss the sights and sounds, even the smells of the club, and being around people who understood her dark desires. But, after tonight, she’d have to lock those away and learn to enjoy bland and comfortable.

Was there even a dom out there for her? She wasn’t a prude, and no one judged subs who came only to play. There were divorced and widowed members, although not all that many of the latter, but no one pointed at them and called them nameswhen they came to get their needs met. The doms scened with a sub du jour all the time, so why not her?

Perched on a couch in subspace, Fiona scanned the room. It was the perfect vantage point for her and her fellow unattached submissives, all six of them, to watch the action on the main floor and be noticed. That was the best part about subspace. A potential partner wouldn’t have to wonder if she was interested in playing and could approach. But, as the adage went, you can lead a horse to water. The attraction and negotiation, like drinking, was up to them after that.

It was unusually busy for a Monday, and most of the stations were in use. There were lines at all the crosses and spanking benches, the most popular stations, and voyeurs crowded the circuit, standing two- and three-deep at the velvet ropes, taking it all in.

The cushion next to her dipped and shifted her into a large male body. She looked up into a pair of deep-blue eyes with little crinkles bracketing them and fanning out toward the silver hair at his temples. She’d always appreciated older men. Life experience had taught them patience, and most often they were kind, but not this one. She had to have one or the other and he, obviously, was lacking in both.

“Excuse me, sir,” she murmured, straightening and scooting over so they were no longer plastered against one another from hip to knee.

“No excuses necessary, little subbie. I shifted you into me.”

She didn’t know what to say, and really didn’t want to speak with him, so she returned to watching the activities on the main floor.

“How are you after the other night?”

Like he cared. “I’m feeling just fine tonight, sir,” she said coolly, still not looking his way.

“You’ve been avoiding me since you joined. That’s been a year, hasn’t it? I want to know why.”

“You’re mistaken,” she lied. “Why would I avoid you when I don’t even know you?”

“That’s another thing. How would I go about that? Getting to know you, that is, when every time I look in your direction, you scurry away like a timid rabbit. Do I scare you?”

The truth? Yes! He scared the crap out of her. He was her fantasy dom since day one, then he showed his true colors in the bar. She was afraid if she gave him a pass, and they had a scene, he’d be better than her dreams and completely shatter her heart when he moved on to someone else.

“Again, sir. Why would I be scared when I don’t know you?” she asked, trying not to lie again.

Being evasive wasn’t like her, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. It hurt when he’d toppled from his pedestal. Besides, Master Axyl’s warning still rung in her ears. She might be able to have a scene with another dom and walk away unscathed, but not with Doc. In his case, she firmly believed it was better never to have played at all, so she wouldn’t.

“Prove it,” he murmured. “Come play with me.”

Her fingers curled into fists, deliberately digging her nails into her palms to keep from climbing him like a tree. But that awful name, Fat Fiona, and the C-word, and even worse, the mocking laughter of Friday night still echoed in her head.

“Just this once?”

“Yes,” he replied, the flash in his eyes revealing he thought he was winning her over. Then he gave what must surely be his coup de gras come-on line. “That’s all I can offer. Other than to ensure you’re flying by the end of our time together.”

“I’ll have to decline. Sir.” She’d almost forgotten that last bit of disingenuous respect.

He frowned, obviously expecting a different answer. “Why?”

“I don’t think we’d do well together.”

“You’ve come to that conclusion how?”

“Your scenes always draw a crowd of onlookers. I’m looking for someone less...notorious, I guess is the word. I’m a low-key kind of sub, perfectly content not to be in the spotlight.”

“Not an exhibitionist but a voyeur, then?”

“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally.

“I can work with that or whatever you’re into, within limits.”

The notion having never occurred to her before; her feigned disinterest slipped. “You’re a dom. You have limits?”

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