Make Me (28 page)

She takes my hand, stroking my worries away with her thumb. “I know you care. But it’s time for you to care more about yourself. Darko was right about you. You are one of us. I haven’t seen you this relaxed in, well, forever, even with the situation. This life is good for you and I’m happy to share it—not literally, but more of you in my life is never a bad thing.”

I nod, unable to speak. I know it’s good for me.

She bumps my shoulder with hers. “He’s a great man.”

“How did he convince you to talk to me? You guys know each other, right?”

“Yes, we know each other.”

I swallow hard before asking. “Do you and he have a thing?”

“No. But I do love him.”

“You do?” Tessa doesn’t love easily.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Yes. Not like lovers, and he is so not my type. But he’s always reminded me so much of you. You’re the two most loyal, intense, intelligent people I know. Darko is a good man, though when I heard you were at the mixer, I wanted to strangle him when I found out he had entered you into training—”

“You knew even then?”

“Yes, I knew. I thought it was best to see how you did, give you a taste of the lifestyle. Reiley pointed out that you had to figure it out for yourself, and of all the Doms I’ve ever met, Darko’s the one I’d choose for you.” She grins at my disbelief. “Now it’s up to you.”

The thought of the article makes me feel awful and small. “What if I don’t deserve him?”

“That’s bullshit and I’m not even going there.”

“What if I don’t know how to live in your world?”

She shrugs. “You can go back to your old life, knowing I’m safe and healthy and you’re a submissive, and try to live a ‘regular’ life not looking back at this. But, let me tell you from experience: truths like these don’t like to sit quietly in the closet or in a box under our beds. Don’t do yourself harm by denying who you are and being ungrateful to those who showed you the way.” She looks away. “And don’t throw away a chance with the man who gave you the key to unlocking yourself.”

“In that vein, I need a favor.”

Claudia pours a whiskey without asking. The smile I find for her is genuine, if somewhat weak.

A mirthless laugh shakes my shoulders twice. I’d worried once that Sloane wasn’t interested in me; that she couldn’t tell the difference between attraction to a scene and attraction to the Dom in the scene. I tried to make her see us as people because she was so new to this.

Ironically, I am the one who was unable to separate feelings from submission, not Sloane, even though she’s the inexperienced one.

Even though she would have torn my heart out.

Even though she did tear it out.

She’d have taken it further and taken my world down, made me a figure of harm, a villain for the world to hate. My business would have been endangered because she wanted to make a good story. My friends would have been exposed and hurt.

Maybe.

Probably.

Would she have gone through with it?

Drinking helps numb the feelings but can’t stop the questions. A tension headache crawls across my head from shoulder to shoulder, tightening like a band of pain.

Anger and hurt about what Sloane did, what she was going to do.

Doubt that she’d have actually gone through with it.

A desperate need for her still.

They all scrabble through my heart seeking purchase. I can’t bear to think about her for another moment, but I can’t escape her.

Sloane’s only been here three times, yet she’s everywhere I look.

In my playroom, where I first kissed her and can’t bear to return to.

In the hallway outside my room, where she antagonized me into kissing her, and oh, how she’d responded, she’d wanted me back.

Flash forward to yesterday in her apartment and her trembling lips and devastated eyes.

The whiskey burns a trail of hurt down my throat. I welcome it.

“I hope you’ll share her when you put a collar on her.” Robyn sighs and tugs at the high neck of the blouse beneath her black corset.

“Who?”

Mild disgust washes over her pert features. “Don’t tell me something lame like you don’t realize your feelings for her yet.”

I shake my head and take a sip. “If only that were the case.”

Robyn accepts the martini from Claudia with a wink. “Feelings are as complicated as you make them.” Her words trail off as Thomas takes a spot near us.

“Whose crop do I have to suck to get a drink around here?” Thomas nibbles a section of lime, puckering his face at the sourness. Claudia grins and cracks the top off a bottle of beer for him.

I sigh. “My feelings are not the problem.” Another sip. The burn is good. Maybe I am turning into a masochist.

“Then what’s the issue?” Thomas takes another sip of beer. “She’s yours, right?”

“She isn’t mine.” Unfortunately.

Robyn rolls her eyes. “Sure. And I am an African diplomat who needs your bank account numbers to get my millions out of my war-torn country, but I’ll let you keep a few hundred thousand as a thank you for your troubles.”

I set my glass down hard in frustration. “No. There’s more to it than that.”

She stabs an olive from her martini and sucks it off the toothpick. “There sure is. So when you’ve collared her, if she’s into it, I am wide open to sharing my bed with that little minx. Her response to Shibari was delightful.”

Too exhausted to explain, I shake my head.

She jabs me with her toothpick. “It’s not like you to be such a wimp, Serbia.”

I smile. “Nice try. But it’s been a long week.”

“I could do it a bit longer.”

“You always know how to make me feel better.”

She shrugs. “I always know how to get the girl. And that one? Is yours. All you have to do is ask.”

“I know.” But is that best after what she’s done? Or rather, what she almost did?

“I don’t know what your issues are, but I’ve seen how she looks at you and I’ve seen the way you look at her. I’m not the only one who’s noticed the change in you since meeting her. And that’s all that matters. The rest is”—she waves her hand—“unimportant.”

Is Robyn right? Or has that vision of the future turned to ash? “I don’t know if I can get over this.”

“What, you’re the one holding up production?”

I nod.

She rolls her eyes. “Christ, man, haven’t you had enough hard things to brood about in your life? You haven’t had enough misery and hardships? You get hurt when you let people in. Get over it. Some things aren’t worth losing the relationship over. Give happiness a chance, try it on.”

Hope winds through me, as sinuous and fragile as a line of smoke rising from an idle cigarette. One puff of air, and it will evaporate.

I leave it alone and focus on Robyn. It’s been a while since we spoke properly. “Has anyone else stolen your heart lately? Is that the reason for your new focus in matchmaking?”

“That tasty little English of Carey’s would be sexier if he didn’t have such a thing for Marielle. I’d fix them up if I could. Other than that, Kiyoshi is my favorite new sub. He makes you feel as though you’re topping him like you stole him.” She sips her drink like she tastes him in the glass.

He was the one who had a crowd of Doms around him night of the mixer. I’ve heard good things. “I remember him but haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting him.”

“Pleasure is the right word for it. I’d be hard-pressed to choose between him and Sloane.”

“Perhaps now, but Sloane is new to the lifestyle. Imagine how good she will be in a few months or a year.”

She grins like the cat who got the cream. “It’s certainly something to think about. Funny how you defend her even during your issues. Very telling, that. You should forgive her. Then collar her. Then share.”

“Heavy-handed, but heard.” I order another whiskey when Robyn sashays away. Claudia gives me a look, but something in my eyes silences her words of caution. Two drink maximum and I am on my third. It’s this or drink alone in my room, and that is probably not for the best.

One of the blonde subs, Geena, from New Orleans gives me a vicious once-over that only a few weeks ago would have inspired a night of mutual pleasure. Now it leaves me feeling old and empty. Sure, we could participate in some bondage, spankings. Do a scene together, maybe bring in another sub, and I could top them both to take my mind off things. We could fuck and it would be hot. Hot and empty. I don’t want that anymore. I want more.

I want my Sloane.

I head toward the hallway, turning into the first empty room I find. Of course it’s the one from the first night we met. My playroom.

I should be out moving on or sleeping this off. But I am not ready. My heart needs time to get used to the idea of breaking. How do I begin to let Sloane Winters go?

The door bangs open.

“I knew I’d find you in here, licking your wounds like a drama queen. Robyn told me everything.” Carey Clark is the last person I want to see, but he shuts the door behind himself and pulls a chair up to the table like we’re old friends.

“If leaving quietly to sit alone for a moment makes me a drama queen...”

“We both know you’re doing more than that.” He takes a sip and sets his glass down harder than necessary, as though to punctuate his statement. “Seriously, do I have to do everything for you?”

Am I more intoxicated than I thought? He makes no sense. “What are you talking about?”

“The night of the mixer. I told Sloane you had feelings for her, though maybe I lied a little about the extent. I used Milena to make Sloane jealous. It helped her realize her feelings for you. I used your jealousy to launch you into admitting your feelings for her. I’d top her for you too, only then she’d be in love with me instead of your mopey ass.”

I need to sit down. I am sitting down. That explains why she was so hurt when she mistook my actions that night for rejection. She wouldn’t have been hurt if she didn’t care. “Why would you interfere like that?”

“Because you’re a good guy. A nice guy. And they finish last. I manipulated the situation when you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He finishes his drink with one large swallow. “Hell, maybe I’m a sucker for happy endings. Hooking you up with Sloane meant Milena would be free to be mine. Maybe it’s a thank you gift for sending a certain gorgeous little submissive my way that night—something I hadn’t planned on happening, but it sure felt like a sign from the Universe that I’d done something right.”

Milena. That makes more sense than any altruistic tendencies from Carey Clark. “That, I believe.”

“It’s too early to know where it’s going. I just know that Milena’s fucking perfect. That woman loves to be debased and I love to debase her. It makes her squirmy and wet and perfect for me. I couldn’t let myself be beholden to you for setting her in my path so nicely.”

“And why are you here now?”

“Can’t have you moping about with no smile on your face.”

“You do this for a smile?”

He snorts at my dubiousness. “Fuck no. I’m annoyed you’re in here letting all my efforts go to waste. Where’s Sloane? Why the long face? Why has the serious drinking begun?”

I shrug. “I’m not ready for my happily ever after to be obliterated, yet I’ve already experienced the detonation.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

He stands and walks to the door. “With all you’ve been through in your life, I never would have taken you for someone too scared to fight for something so right.”

“You have no idea what she did.”

“What did she do?”

I shake my head, unable to know where to begin explaining. “It’s what she was going to do.”

“What she was going to do? Are you kidding me? You broke up with her because of something she didn’t even do?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He tilts his head. “Then why aren’t you with her now if it doesn’t matter?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“So you won’t mind if I give her a call?” He raises his eyebrows at and leaves the door open behind him.

I gnaw my nails into ragged stubs while Shawna reads the article. It’s the most of myself I’ve ever put into my writing, and while I know it’s amazing, it’s horrifically personal. But Shawna’s seen a lot in her thirty-seven years and doesn’t shy away from graphic.

There are a few new marks on my ass from a few new Doms, making me shift uncomfortably in the chair, but I got what I wanted, what I needed. I won’t know how the story ends until tomorrow night.
If
Shawna goes for the changed angle, which I think she will. It’s better than the old one.

My gaze bores a hole in the roots of her brown curls until finally she looks up. “Sloane, this is...”

“The best thing I’ve ever written?” I grin.

She pulls her glasses off and frowns, a thin vertical line appearing between her eyebrows. “It’s not the article we discussed.”

Not the reaction I was hoping for. “No, but it’s better, right? Hookier, more romantic. Suspense. There’s real human interest here.”

“No.”

“Okay, what edits do you have in mind? I’m open to some tweaks, but it—”

“No tweaks. I want the original article or nothing at all.”

I sit up in the chair and uncross my arms to be open and non-defensive. “I know it’s a little different, but we were going for truth, Shawna. And what I’ve written is nothing but the truth and we both know it’s amazing. Give me that at least.”

“It is. And I get it, this is important to you, but journalism has to be about the truth—but with a saleable angle. The original was a perfect counterpart to the feminazi piece. This just doesn’t fit.”

Appeal to her emotions. “How long have we been friends? Three years? Maybe I haven’t made it clear, but this isn’t just an article to me. I, this is my life. This article means so damned much to me and I can’t change it. Please print it. I’ll tweak it, but you know why I can’t change it. You’ve read it. You know why it has to be published, you’ve seen what’s at stake. Please, as a personal favor to me?”

“Sloane, you’re a damned good writer and I love working with you.”

“Thank you.” My shoulders sag in relief.

“But I’m not printing it.”

I take the papers from her hands. “If you won’t print this, I’ll never work with you guys again.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry, but my decision is final.”

“You’ll regret it. I’ll take this somewhere else and they’ll print it, and you’ll kick yourself for all the readers you could have had.”

“I hope that’s true.”

The sad thing is, I know she means it.

Rob Preston works his jaw with an inscrutable expression in his light blue eyes. “This is all true?”

“Every word.” When Shawna refused to print it, I immediately took the piece to her biggest rival, using my dad’s connections and my resume to get in the door. He’s interested, but is he interested enough?

“But you want the story credited as anonymous, and you say that the name of the club is changed, and a different city was used as the location.”

“Yes. I don’t want the real club or members to be outed.”

He leans back in his chair and lowers the pages. “The way I see it, there’s one huge flaw with the piece.”

Shit. As the second biggest paper in town, they’re the only ones able to get this out there in time and with the chance that Darko will see it. I’m going for a grand gesture here, not a pathetic lurch. “What’s the flaw?”

“Resolution. Readers won’t know what happens, if he shows up.”

I smile. “Is that a flaw or an opportunity to sell even more copies when people buy papers the next day and the day after that looking for an update?”

He smiles and opens a drawer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “I’ve read your articles before, Ms. Winters.”

“Oh?” I accept the glass he passes me and take a sip of the high quality amber liquid.

“I can’t say I’m sad Shawna screwed up, but I think you’ll be very happy here with us.”

“I’m not actually planning to write articles anymore. But I’ll give you the update to satisfy the readers.” I hold up a hand at his ‘about-to-protest’ face. “And if I do write anything else in this format related to this article, you’ll have first refusal.”

“I can’t ask more than that. It’s going to grab the female demographic, that’s for sure. Telling about your journey from judgmental critic to sexually empowered willing participant, falling in love with the man who showed you how to be yourself. Hurting him and asking for his forgiveness. Asking him to meet you to give you one more chance to explain yourself. Are you sure you don’t want your name on this? It’s going to go viral. There will be all kinds of opportunities for publicity, maybe more. Television. Your career could be launched with this.”

I take another sip. “Yes, I’m sure it could be. But I’m not interested.” Not interested in exposing Darko or any of the other amazing people I’ve met in BDSM circles. Not interested in fame or exploiting this to make money—in fact, the fee I make from this, I plan on matching and donating to a women’s shelter.

He brushes his steel grey hair back from his temples. “They’re going to be foaming at the mouth with questions. Will he show up, won’t he? Will he forgive her, won’t he?”

“Yeah.” I drain my glass. “I know how they feel.”

“Do you think he’ll show up?”

“God, I hope so.”

I haven’t reached out to Darko yet, but I text him asking him to please read the paper today and link to the online copy of my article. I get no reply, but I head to The Underground at seven-thirty in the evening anyways, hoping. This was my Hail Mary pass, and if he saw it, there’s a chance sliced so thin it’s almost transparent that he’ll meet me.

I flash the pass at the guards at The Underground. The doors close behind me, and I head to the left and downstairs, choking on my heart the whole way to the rooftop garden—where I asked Darko to meet me. English and Edda meet me at the entrance there and give me nervous smiles and warm hugs before ushering me inside. They agreed to run interference and let no one in but Darko.

I don’t want an audience for what will come next.

The garden is just as beautiful the second time around. It’s cooler now, visiting in the evening instead of lunch, which makes the air easier to breathe, though no less rich. Nerves have me heated and flustered, so I remove my cardigan as I wind through the narrow pathway, trying to find my way back to the table I remember.

Too tense to sit, I lay the sweater on the back of a chair and check my phone. Ten minutes to go. I pace back and forth in the small space surrounded by plants. Did he get my message to read the paper? Did he read it at all? Will he show up?

What the hell am I going to say to him?