Page 12 of Irish

It felt good to laugh.

Makenzie couldn’t remember the last time she’d genuinely laughed. Irish led her with a hand on the small of her back, a gesture firm yet protective, guiding her through the clubhouse until they reached a smaller seating area in the back where another woman sat.

“Kylie, this is Makenzie. She’s going to be here for a couple of weeks,” Irish said, introducing her to a beautiful woman sitting in an oversized armchair. She looked oddly familiar, but Makenzie couldn’t place her. “I’m going to grab us some coffee. Be right back.” Irish told her after she sat, turning to head back to where Tater was still placing food.

Makenzie looked closely at Kylie. Where had she seen her? The long-legged woman was poised like a queen, surveying her court, her back to the wall, her front facing the entire clubhouse. She could see every person who came and went from her vantage point.

“Hi, Makenzie,” Kylie greeted, her voice smooth and self-assured. She turned her focus from the coming and going of the room to Makenzie.

“Nice to meet you,” Makenzie replied. “I’m sorry if I’m staring. You look familiar. Have you ever been to the East Coast?”

Kylie's eyes snapped to hers, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. “Wait,” Kylie murmured, her voice barely audible. “Are you 'LittleMak93’?”

Makenzie's throat tightened, the secret part of her identity she used in the shadows of LittleLife threatened to spill into the harsh light of day. Kylie was also on KinkLife, they’d spoken a few times on the boards. She wasn’t a part of the subboard community of LittleLife, though, and likely didn’t know what had occurred over there.

“Please, don't tell Irish,” she whispered urgently, clutching at Kylie's arm. She wasn’t sure what Irish would think of her. After yesterday, she wanted him to see her as an adult, not his best friend’s annoying little sister who followed them around. Her plea was laced with vulnerability, the fear of judgment wrestled with an inexplicable urge to confide in someone who might just understand her hidden desires.

Kylie gently squeezed Makenzie's hand. “Your secret's safe with me. It’s not my place to out you.”

“Thank you,” Makenzie murmured, releasing a deep breath. The surrounding air filled her lungs, laced with the scent of oil and leather—so alien, yet now tinged with the faintest hint of safety. The men in the room, large and several covered in tattoos, might seem scary to other people, but Makenzie recognized the military service threading through the ink, and how the men stood and walked. On the walls, the large American and POW flags showed a sense of pride and patriotism. A varietyof special forces’ insignia were also hung as decor. She felt safe here with these men.

Kylie leaned in closer to Makenzie, as if making sure they couldn’t be overheard. “Exploring who we are—it's a journey, not a crime,” she said, her words soft but firm. “I understand not wanting the entire world to know, but I promise you, in here,” she moved her hands to show the room, “you are safe. We are a kink friendly group. All of us are members of the local BDSM club, The Citadel, owned by my good friend Jay.”

“Allof you?”

“All of us.” Makenzie understood the trust Kylie was placing in her. In a way, she was outing everyone in the room, although she didn’t say what roles they played in their lifestyles or even if they were active participants, just telling her they were all members of the BDSM club would be frowned upon in a lot of circles. “I only tell you this because I know everyone in the club intimately and know they wouldn’t mind me telling you. I would never betray anyone’s trust. They would want you to feel safe here. Why don’t you come to The Citadel with me later this week or there’s a submissive coffee once a week at Day & Night.”

“Maybe. I don’t know what my schedule is going to look like. Irish hired me to look over his books. I’m an accountant,” she explained before glancing around to see where he was. He stopped to talk to another club member. She made a promise to herself to never get involved in BDSM again. After making multiple poor judgment calls, she couldn’t trust herself.

“Irish is one of the kindest men I know,” Kylie said. “Rough around the edges, but his bark is far worse than his bite. Are you scared of him finding out for a reason?”

“I’ve known him literally my entire life. There are pictures of him and my brother Sean staring into my crib when my parents brought me home. I knew him before he got the nickname Irish at wrestling. But I know the boy he was, the teenager. A lot haschanged in two decades. I was barely in middle school when he joined the military. I know war changes people. He’s been married and divorced. He’s a father with kids who were my age when he left. I mean, I’ve seen him over the years. He was my brother’s best man in his wedding, he’s been in and out of family events, I’ve seen him at mass during holidays. I don’t think I ever really looked at him beyond being akin to another big brother. Like I saw him, but I didn’tseehim. Not as a man, just a boy. Now…”

“Now you see him differently.” Kylie nodded, understanding. “You don’t trust him to tell him about your kink desires?”

“I don’t do those things anymore.” Makenzie wondered if Kylie could hear the sadness in her tone, or the longing. “I used to read romance novels written about Daddy Dominant Little Girl relationships, domestic discipline and BDSM. There was something about the power exchange elements that drew me in. The idea of giving over control to someone else in a safe, sane, and consensual way was intriguing. The kink inside of them—the spankings, discipline and sex—turned me on. It was so much more than that. The stories made me laugh and cry. I easily imagined myself as the main character, and for a few hours, could escape from my boring, predictable life. The shenanigans of the Littles, the playfulness…”

“You craved it.” Kylie said, as if she understood intimately what Makenzie was saying.

“It wasn’t only the romantic relationship I craved; it was the friendship with other Littles. Having people I could talk to and hang out with who didn’t think I was perverted or bad for loving the escape being a Little gave me. I craved all of it.”

Irish appeared beside her and handed her not only a mug of coffee but a plate with some delicious looking baked goods on it. “You craved all of what?”

“Being one of the boys when I was little. I was just telling Kylie how I knew you before you were Irish,” Makenzie teased, feeling slightly guilty for lying. “I was about to tell Kylie about the senior prank day you and Sean?—”

“Don’t you dare,” Irish warned. “I don’t need her thinking of me as a scrawny teen with pimples on my face.”

“You have never been scrawny. You skipped right over that phase. He had six pack abs at ten!” Makenzie countered.

“Hey Irish, got a second?” An older man called from across the room, interrupting them.

“That’s Lucky,” Kylie inserted, “Club President.”

Irish glanced apologetically at Makenzie. “You two okay?”

“We were having a great conversation,” Kylie said. “Go.”

“No more talking about my teenage self. Or my childhood self, either!” Irish commanded over his shoulder as he headed toward Lucky.

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