Page 24 of Feel Me

This time when I look up, I meet his gaze and hold it.

“Do you think Stephanie doesn’t respect you because you’re hearing impaired?” His voice is steady. There’s no apology behind what he’s asking, but there’s no malice either. “Or that she respects me because she finds me attractive?” He plays with the pen in his hand. “Your inability to hear well reflects in your speech, making the unnoticeable, noticeable. So who were you referring to, you or me?”

“Maybe both,” I admit.

There’s more I can say about Stephanie, but I don’t want Declan to mistake my dislike of her behavior for jealousy. There’s nothing of her to envy. I don’t desire her looks, insecurities aside, I’m comfortable in my skin. And if given the choice, I’ll always choose kindness over gain. I’m not certain Stephanie would agree.

“All right,” Declan says, his smile returning as her reaches for his bottled water. “Next question. “How do you know so much about being dominated?”

“I’ve spent a few nights at Club Hurt.”

Water spews from his mouth, drenching the plastic takeout bag in front of him. I rush around the desk when he starts to choke, smacking his back a few times. “Are you okay?”

He swipes his mouth with a wad of napkins. “You’ve seriously been there?” he asks.

“I have,” I say, toying with whether to come clean. My hand slips down his back and away. “Tricia asked me to go so I can understand her lifestyle. Those things I said, about being stimulated and sexually freed are more or less what she and her Doms told me.”

Declan stares at me, his expression split with fascination and shock. “Just so I’m clear, you went to Club Hurt and watched Tricia get spanked?”

“Whipped,” I clarify.

“Whipped?”

“That’s her preference. But I only went because I wanted her to trust me and open up.”

“Bywhippingher?” Declan asks incredulously.

I throw back my head, laughing. “I didn’t whip her, Declan. And I didn’t watch either. I simply met privately with her and her favorite Doms. No one was in leather, in fact, one of the Doms was dressed in flannel.”

“Why?”

“It was cold in the office.”

He laughs. “You know what I mean. Why did you meet with her and her buddies?”

I return to my chair. “I told you. So she’d trust me. A woman in Tricia’s position wants be understood, but given her history, she has some serious trust issues. She wanted me to be sympathetic to her lifestyle before she’d open up. So I went.” I shrug. “The ball gag made it a little hard to breathe through, but I did okay.”

He laughs again, but then quiets the longer he watches me. “Do you do that a lot? Go to places outside your comfort zone to better understand victims of crime?”

“I do.” I let out a breath when I start to think about it. “I’ll admit, though, sometimes I’ve gone too far.”

“How so?”

I debate whether or not to answer, mostly because I worry who it will get back to. “Will this stay between you and me?”

“Depends. Is it legal?” he asks.

It’s a fair question given his role. “It is. I would just prefer my father not know.”

“You, a grown woman, doesn’t want her daddy to know what she did?” he asks. “I thought you were closer than that.”

“We are. But what I have to say will only upset him.” My voice quiets. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“All right,” he agrees, suspicion drawing his brows tight.

“Okay. Here goes,” I say, slapping my hands against my lap. “I’ve helped social workers search for runaways on the streets, rushed into warehouses known to house addicts to pull young girls out, and driven around in the dead of night talking with prostitutes about giving up their lifestyles.”

“Shit,” he says, completely caught off guard. “Any success?”

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