Page 29 of Puppy on a Leash

“Yes.”

I ignored the way my throat tightened. Maybe something would go my way, and he wouldn’t catch on to it. I was more old school than most at the club. Showing vulnerability in front of a sub was not something I did. It wasn’t for me. I didn’t know why I wasn’t closing off. I could dismiss him, tell him to pick up his food and his backpack again and forget this ever happened. I’d done similar things before—grunt out an answer that kept Sergio or any other sub at a distance, toeing the line between asshole behavior and the type of behavior that would get me kicked out of Plumas.

The line kept getting thinner, but I’d mastered it.

“Okay…?” Jaime narrowed his eyes. “So what’s different?”

I couldn’t stay in bed with him, not if I wanted to actually have the conversation he was asking for. The one I knew we should have. I didn’t want to find a way to get out of it. I just needed to breathe.

Before he could prod me for an answer I had yet to formulate, I slid off the bed. With my back to him and a few steps between us, the pressure in my chest didn’t feel as overwhelming. Itdidn’t feel like I was about to lose all control. Without the evidence of what I’d been doing—or was about to do—in sight, I could convince myself to go back to that headspace I’d been in. It had been fleeting, but for a few minutes, I could just be a Dom. Slipping into that role was easy, like a second skin. I stopped thinking about genders, identities, or anything other than the fact that I was a Dom with a sub on my lap.

“You can’t tell?” I scoffed.

The problem with toeing the line between an absolute asshole and a Dom who could be kicked out at a moment’s notice? It had become ingrained in me. Habit, almost, one that was harder to get rid of than I would’ve first thought.

“Obviously not,” Jaime retorted. There was more of that attitude he’d had when he’d stormed inside my house. It felt like a setback. I didn’t like the way my chest tightened. “I’m sorry if this wasn’t the perfect scene for you. Big news, real life works that way sometimes.”

“Easy.” I lifted my hand. My back was still to him, but I could hear the rustling. It quieted with just that hand movement. I breathed out. I needed to get the conversation back on track, back to the place where I could forget he was more than a sub or any different from the subs I was used to. “Back in the living room, if I’d let you ride my leg, you would’ve come in two seconds flat. What changed between them and now?”

Seconds passed without an answer. I ran a hand over the spanking bench I’d stopped at. The padded leather was something I kept in perfect condition. The cool, smooth feel of it grounded me enough I could glance back toward the bed.

Jaime had unmade it so that he could cover with the duvet, now draped around his hips. His eyes burned with a silent challenge. I supposed he was baiting me to say something. I didn’t. I just raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer to my question.

It came eventually, just as I thought it would. “I wasn’t thinking before.”

I hummed. “And what are you thinking now that’s becoming an issue?”

There could be a myriad answers to my question. Some of them would be harder to accept.

I did not want to put an end to this, even when I was already planning on giving Erika a call the second Jaime was out of here. As frustrating as I found the Domme, I had to give it to her—she was the one constant who had been there ever since this whole nightmare exploded. Did I curse her out often? Yes. But she picked up the phone every time. Most times, I didn’t like what she had to say, but at least she had something to say that didn’t involve ending the call or telling me I was a disgrace to the family.

Fuck.

I shook the thoughts off.

“It’s a long list.” Jaime pursed his lips. He lifted his hand, starting with one finger. I leaned against the spanking bench. It didn’t take a genius to realize this was going to take a while. “Sergio will fall into one of his depressive episodes we’re not supposed to refer to as depressive because he’s not diagnosed with it or whatever. I still don’t know how the hell you see me, or if you’re safe, so this is kind of self-sabotaging. But the main thing? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, because I don’t do D/s. It’s not a thing.”

It was that third finger I focused on. There was nothing I could say about Sergio. A considerable chunk of my day consisted of avoiding thinking about it, and the reparations Erika kept drilling into my head I needed to work on.

I couldn’t say anything about the second point, either. It made me the worst person on Earth. It should be grounds to call this off completely. That’s what someone fully sane, with all themorals one theoretically needed to engage in the kind of play we did, would do. The fact that I wasn’t left a sour taste in the back of my mouth, but it wasn’t enough to deter me.

“What do you mean you don’t do D/s?”

For a second, Jaime just blinked at me. Then his eyes crossed, his eyebrows turned down into a scowl. “I don’t. I mean, the Domms in our group who happen to be around? Fine. But I’ve never gone on a proper date with one or done anything that mattered.”

He shuddered as he said the words while I tried to reconcile this new information with the image I’d had of him. The very incomplete image I’d had of him.

“Why’s that?”

“What do you mean?”

I looked upward. This playroom was the thing I poured all my energy into when I moved here and needed an outlet, but the walls were still too bare. It almost felt utilitarian—or it would, if not for the touches of leather and treated wood.

“You’re a sub. You’ve attended munches, workshops, and plenty of play nights. You are amemberof a BDSM club. Why wouldn’t you be looking for a Domm?”

It didn’t take a genius to see he was about to chew me a new one. I didn’t even have time to figure out what it was going to entail before he started talking.

“I can be a sub without needing, wanting, or being remotely interested in a Domm, thank you very much.” He huffed, shaking his head. Once again, it brought me back to being here with Marga and Jen. Marga would get frustrated when her thoughts ran faster than her tongue could, and she’d do similar gestures. “We’re in the twenty-first century. Maybe keep up with the program.”

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