Trust Me: A BDSM Romance Page 5

  “Bye.” She grins back and then she’s out of my office.

  Holy fuck, how am I going to keep this going? She’s going to be the death of me at this rate. What a sweet way to go, though. I already can’t wait for the next session.

  7

  Miranda

  “Hello?”

  “Miranda, there you are!”

  Crap. I should know better than to pick up my phone without checking who’s calling.

  “Hi Mom. How are you?”

  “I’m wonderful, actually, thank you. The sunrise was beautiful this morning, not that I imagine you were up to see it.” The chide is gentle, but always there. Always little barbs. After nineteen years of being made to get up at dawn or close enough to it, I don’t think it’s too much to enjoy the freedom to sleep in when I can, but to Mom, that’s already wasting the day.

  “I’ll have someone record it for me next time, all right?” The deep sigh at the other end is response enough, and I can’t quite keep the smirk off my face.

  “I do worry about you, lazing the day away like that. How are you paying for your apartment?”

  “I started a new job over a month ago. I thought I told you. I’m working at a cafe.”

  “That doesn’t sound very safe.” My phone veritably oozes disapproval. Right, that’s why I hadn’t told her. “Who knows what kinds of men come by there? I certainly hope you don’t work in the evenings. This is why I don’t like you living in the city. Gladys and Debbie keep telling me that I should have you come visit more often. They miss you at the church group, you know.”

  “To be honest, I worry a lot more about entitled moms with baby carriages, barging through as if they own it the place. It’s in a mostly residential area and pretty quiet as cafes go.” I try to steer her towards a less dangerous topic. To Mom, every man is a probable enemy. It might be natural given her history, but I can’t let it steer my entire life. “Besides, you’ve taught me to defend myself. I’ll be okay. But tell Gladys and Debbie hi and that I miss them.” In a ‘miss them from afar but glad I’m not there’ sort of way.

  “Of course, but I really would love for you to visit.”

  I roll my eyes. Mom might be an imposing figure, but so long as I can keep her at a distance, it’s not so bad. It makes it possible for me to do stuff like see Keegan, and maybe shake some of the many complexes she’s gifted me with over the years.

  “So what are you calling about anyway? It’s great to hear from you, but it’s rarely without a reason.”

  “What do you mean, what am I calling you about? I told you I’d give you a call when I was about an hour away so you have time to prepare.”

  “An… hour… away?” I swallow thickly, an icy sensation of terror crawling slowly down my spine, leaving trail of goosebumps as it progresses. “Wait, you’re… coming here? Now? Like, today?”

  “Don’t you check your messages?” There’s a clearly exasperated tone to her sigh, as if I mess this up all the time.

  “What kind of message? Facebook? Phone? Letter? Carrier pigeon? I don’t remember seeing anything.”

  “You know I don’t get that internet stuff. I left a message on your voicemail.”

  Figures. Other than my mom about once a year, the only ones who leave messages there are the occasional phone sales robot that thinks I picked up when it hears my voice. I check it like once every couple of months.

  “I guess I missed it. I’m sorry.” Crap, crap, crap. “It’s not a problem. I just need to… tidy up a little.” I glance around my mess of an apartment. Not just messy, but there’re BDSM toys all over my bedroom. I might not dare to practice, but Amber keeps taking me shopping and I’ve acquired more than my share of weird stuff, even if I’ve never dared to mess with it. Stuff that Mom would freak if she saw. “You know you’re always welcome.”

  Technically yes, of course. I love Mom. But man, her timing is just never good. Sometimes I think she does it on purpose.

  “Of course. I’ll hang up then and give you time. We’ll talk when I get there.”

  “Sure thing. Love ya, Mom.”

  “Love you too, sweetie.”

  My anxiety, not at all insignificant on its own, shoots through the roof. Everywhere I look, I spot things that are going to rat me out, generate questions, or just flat out be disapproved of. So much for going to the club tonight. And how am I going to explain my therapy sessions? How long is she even going to be here? And why?

  So many questions, and only some of them will have easy answers. Meanwhile, I’d better shake a leg if I want my apartment in shape for the Mom invasion.

  How come nothing ever is as simple as it should be?

  8

  Keegan

  Miranda definitely said she was going to be here tonight, but I haven’t seen any signs of her. I’ve been back and forth across the play area three, four times already. I even checked the dance floor a couple of times and once up by the bar. Ran into Gabe and that massive partner of his, Caleb, but other than that, no familiar faces.

  I’ve got it bad.

  What happened to not fraternizing with my clients? To be fair, this is the first time my client has been as drop dead sexy as this one. And gets me firing on all plugs like she does. It’s bad enough that I have to stay professional during our sessions. I was hoping to see her at the club where we could be more relaxed, and the disappointment is killing me.

  “Hey, Doc.” The voice is bright, cheery and off to my right. When I turn my head, I find Brandy—no, that’s not right—maybe Brianna… Fuck, how am I supposed to remember Miranda’s friend’s name when Miranda was standing right there, distracting me when we were introduced? Amber. That’s it. I raise my hand in greeting.

  “Hey there. How’s it going?” So technically, I shouldn’t be asking about Miranda, right? I can’t help myself anyway. “Having a night out without Miranda?”

  She frowns. “Yeah, don’t remind me. She had to cancel last minute.”

  Hopefully it’s not because of our session. It got a bit tense there. “Is she all right?”

  “Physically, sure.”

  “But…”

  “Her mother’s in town. Apparently Miranda missed the message or something and barely got her toys stashed away in time.” She winks, as if it wasn’t obvious what kinds of toys she’s talking about.

  But if her mom’s in town… “How long is she going to be here?”

  “She didn’t say.” She smiles and looks at me with a knowing expression on her face. “You seem very curious about someone who’s just a client. There isn’t more to it, is there?”

  “Of course not. I’m just hoping that it doesn’t mess up the scheduling for her next appointment is all.” That sound evasive enough? The glint of amusement in her eyes makes me suspect I’m not fooling anyone. “It’s always a hassle to squeeze in a replacement for an open slot at the last minute.”

  “Uh huh. Right. I’m pretty sure that’s not what you want to squeeze into.”

  I clear my throat, coughing to cover up my reaction to her bluntness. Apparently I’m a lot more obvious than I think. “I don’t comment on my relationships with my clients.”

  At that she bursts out laughing. “You’re lucky I’m already married, Dr. York. Otherwise Miranda would have some competition.” Then she stops and her expression turns serious. “Miranda is my girl, okay? You be nice to her. She’s obviously got difficulties accepting who she is, and I bumble along trying to help her through it, but you’re a professional. I hope you can make her feel better, but don’t take advantage of her or I will cut you. Is that clear?”

  Whoa. My first instinct is to laugh, but her expression is dead serious. “Listen, you’re a great friend for protecting her, but honestly, as her therapist, I can’t have any kind of relationship with her other than professional. The only reason I’m even admitting to her being my client to you, is because I know she already told you.”

  “Sure, but you want to have more than a professional relationship
with her, don’t you?” Her teasing smile comes back. “I’m not blind.”

  I shrug. “It doesn’t really matter. My first objective is to help her. I’m not going to mess things up just because I find her attractive.”

  “Hah! So you do find her attractive.” Her grin widens.

  “Not the point.”

  “It totally is the point.” She grabs my arm as if I’m about to bolt. “Miranda needs someone. Maybe it’s you.”

  “She’s a strong woman. I’m just helping her sort through some things.”

  “I still think she needs someone. And I worry about her mother being here. I don’t know if Miranda’s mentioned it, but she’s a bit… controlling.” She curls her lip briefly.

  “I can’t really comment on that.”

  “Well, she’s probably terrified that her little girl isn’t living up to the family ideals. Which, in this case means her ideals. If her mom knew anything about this place, or that Miranda likes to come here, she’d go ballistic.”

  I make a non-committal noise, uncomfortable with the way this conversation is going but wanting the insight Miranda’s friend might provide.

  “You have no idea. I was at Miranda’s place once, and overheard a phone call. That was bad enough. Even over the phone she was trying to micromanage her daughter, who’s freaking twenty-two. Time to let your kid fly, you know?”

  I nod. There’s obviously more to it than just micromanagement, but I need to cut things off before this gets out of hand. “Listen, I appreciate your input, but I can’t talk about this with you. Miranda needs to be able to trust in my confidentiality.”

  “Good, right, so we’ll just talk as friends. We can do that, right? I know something’s bothering her, but I don’t want you to tell me. I can guess, but if she wants me to know, she’ll say.” She pauses and thinks. “But, just as a friendly suggestion, I think you should take her out. Maybe I can deflect her mom for a while.”

  “Take her out? Did you miss what I said about keeping things professional?”

  “I’ve seen how you look at her, even just the other evening. She doesn’t dare jump into participating in the games here for her own reasons, but you’re holding back from her in the exact same way. Isn’t it better if you do what you actually want to do, and not just wish you did?”

  It’s tempting, but I’m already deep into unethical territory just by thinking about it. Inappropriate relations with a client is the number one reason for therapists losing their license, and she’s my goddamn client. She needs to be able to trust me. And I need to be able to trust myself with her.

  It’s not just the fear of losing my license, or jail time, it’s the damn principle of it all.

  “I don’t think that’ll be possible, unfortunately. I have to do this by the book, as much as I can. But I do appreciate your input.”

  She grins. “I think you’re making a mistake. It wouldn’t take much to have her begging for your input, if you know what I mean.”

  And Amber claims Miranda’s mother is controlling. I try to keep my expression neutral. “I think it might be best to leave the therapy to me, and let me help her the best way I can see how.”

  She rolls her eyes, but it’s with a smile. “Oh fine. Do it your way. I bet you have diplomas and books and stuff that say that my way isn’t the right way, but sometimes all someone needs is the right human contact. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “And in a situation where it wouldn’t create an ethical dilemma, those are wise words. She’s lucky to have you as a friend, but don’t go so hard on her, okay?”

  “I don’t go hard on her. If it was up to me, I’d already have her tied up and flogged until she admitted that that was exactly what she wanted.”

  “And that’s why I’m the one with the diplomas,” I say with a wink.

  “Oh, fine,” she responds with a mock pout. “Are you going to check out the demos? Gabe and Dawn are making their big comeback after their kid was born. No rough play while she was pregnant.”

  “Sounds sensible, but I just realized I’ve got some things to do. I’ll catch them next time. Gabe always does good work.”

  She nods. “Oh, yes he does. Anyway, there’s my husband. I’ll see you later, then.” She rushes off towards the stage area, leaving me to find my own way out, which is fine.

  Much as I hate it, I need to dial it back a bit with Miranda. There are plenty of guides on what to do when you find yourself falling for your client. Usually it involves recommending them to someone else and removing yourself from their lives. Definitely not encouraging it, since a client-therapist relationship will never be on even ground. I’m finding it really hard to consider that right now, but I can’t fuck this up for her. She deserves better than that.

  So when I’d rather take her into my arms and kiss her silly, I’ll stick to the therapy plan.

  Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.

  9

  Keegan

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it today.” I smile as Miranda enters my office and closes the door behind her. The sun coming in through my window lights her up, giving her a soft yellow halo. Like an angel. Every so often, as the boughs of the oak outside move in the breeze, they casts dappled shadows on her, bathing her in a patchwork of dark and light. I have to blink it away as she settles into her chair and I’m reminded this is another regular session.

  Well, as regular as they get when Miranda is here.

  She smiles awkwardly. “Mom thinks I’m at work. I feel terrible for lying.”

  “Well, to be totally up front, your therapy is none of her business unless you choose to include her. I think a white lie here and there isn’t too dangerous.” I start the machine to make hot chocolate while giving her a searching look over my shoulder.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She doesn’t sound completely convinced, but I let it pass.

  “It’s for the best, at least until you’re ready to talk to her,” I say and hand her the mug. “Don’t forget, it’s hot.”

  “Oh yeah.” She was already raising it to her lips, eager for her dose of creamy sweetness. It’s amazing how excited she gets about hot chocolate, especially when it’s just out of a machine. Maybe one day I’ll make her some from scratch. It’ll blow her mind. Except that I can’t, not if I want to remain detached.

  It’s turning to out to be much easier in theory than it is in practice.

  She licks her lips. “So what’s the plan today?”

  I sit down with my black coffee and try to make my expression as placid as I can. If nothing else, so I won’t look like a wolf pacing around a sheep’s pen. “How are you feeling after last week? Was it too much?”

  “What? No.” She pauses, then a faint tinge of pink flushes her face. “Well, maybe a little. But progress is bound to be a little uncomfortable, right?”

  “Yes, sometimes. But I don’t want to push you too quickly.”

  “I don’t think you are.” The words fall out of her, coming quickly. “In fact, if we could maybe do some of that again? I promise I won’t spook as easily.”

  I look at her intently, trying not to get too distracted by how beautiful she is. And brave, facing her fears like this. Trusting me. My jaw tightens. “That’s a bit of the point. I don’t want you getting spooked, and if you really feel that it’s too much, I don’t want you to not call out your safeword just for my sake.” I swallow, remembering how goddamn sexy she looked on her knees. What about this made me think that I could do it without being affected, exactly? “Remember, I’m just here to help you. We take this at your pace.”

  It’s funny. The first time she came in here, she was the one nervous and looking away. Today, I want to do the same thing. She’s temptation in the flesh, and I’m supposed to ignore it and give her the help that she wants. That she needs. Rather than making her mine, which is what I really want to do.

  Her voice takes me out of it. “Are you okay?”

  “Who? Me?”

  “Yeah, you.
You seem… I don’t know. If I didn’t know better, I’d say nervous.”

  I laugh softly, trying to make it sound natural. “I’m worried that you’re pushing harder than you should. Maybe this time—”

  “I’m fine.” It’s the most confident I think I’ve ever heard her. “I trust you.”

  Those three little words, and I feel like I’ve already betrayed them, just by thinking of the things I want to do to her. I draw a deep breath. I can do this. I’ve counseled plenty of people in the lifestyle and there’s no reason Miranda should be any different.

  I pick up my notepad, holding it like a professional shield against the impulses she probably doesn’t even know she’s causing. “Good, but I still have some questions. How do you feel about last time?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What did you like? What didn’t you like? What can I do to make you feel safe while we practice?”

  “I…” A deep flush creeps up her neck and floods her cheeks. “I liked when you ordered me around. Even if it was stupid stuff, there was… I don’t know, a kind of freedom in it. I didn’t have a choice because you were in charge, and it didn’t matter whether I had a problem with it or not.”

  I nod. “True. A lot of people feel that way about submission. It lets you be free to enjoy what you feel you shouldn’t, but even if you enjoy it in the moment, the shame and guilt might hit you twice as hard afterwards. After all, the submission is, ultimately, your choice. When lifestylers claim that it’s really the submissive who’s in charge, they’re not too far off the mark. You decide when it starts, when it stops, and how much is too much. Otherwise it’s not BDSM, it’s abuse.”

  “Yeah. I mean, I know the theory of it. God knows, Google is probably sick of me at this point.” She pauses with a little smile. “Either that, or there’s some employee there getting a kick out of my endless list of kinky searches.”