Page 33 of Bound and Branded

“Yes,” she whispered. “I mean, not entirely. I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know why started fantasizing about being held down and… Restrained.”

“Avery Carmichael,” I say, fighting the urge to smile and then giving up on fighting it altogether. “Do you have a crush on me?”

“No. I fucking hate you. That’s what makes it so confusing. That’s what makes it so… It’s so confusing. I’m supposed to hate you. But you did something to me.”

I know exactly what she’s talking about. I fucking felt it. I knew that I wanted her then. But she was way too young. She’s still too young. And it’s one thing for me to take the lead in teaching her about responsible BDSM – hell, I can consider thata service. I can consider that keeping her safe. But it’s quite another entertaining the idea of keeping her, even remotely.

“But you had no idea that I was a Dom?”

“None,” she says. “I thought it was just my own twisted, weird fantasies, and then I started… Digging around. Trying to find out if anybody else felt the same way I do. I mean,Fifty Shadesis a thing. It’s not like BDSM isn’t in the mainstream. But I was still… It took a while for me to figure out that’s what it was. And when I did, I was in a relationship with somebody that I could never share that with.”

“Why not?”

“We had a different dynamic.”

Yeah. I had a pretty good sense for what that dynamic was. She likes to be in control in her everyday life.

“He made you top,” I say.

She sputters a laugh. “Nothing that kinky. Though, in many ways, yes. I was in charge of frequency, and initiating, and all of that. It’s like he couldn’t quite figure himself out. It was my job to do it.”

“I can’t think of anything less interesting to a woman like you.”

“He was just another project. That’s what it comes down to. He just ended up being another project, and I couldn’t make myself enjoy that. I told myself it wasn’t a good reason to break up with somebody. Sex. But then I discovered the Club app. And I found your profile.”

“You broke up with him around the time we made contact, didn’t you? I seem to remember your dad mentioning that.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I did. Two weeks after I first made contact with you. I didn’t know was you. I swear. I had no idea.”

“Oh, I believe you. Because if you had known, you certainly wouldn’t have looked the way that you did when you heard the app chime.”

“No. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

She told me everything. And I suppose I’ll her my story. Even though it’s not one I ever share. But this is different. No matter how much I might like to pretend it’s not, it is.

“You know I was in foster care, right?”

“I heard something about that,” she says.

“Yep. Bounced around constantly, no permanent home. Partly my own fault. I was an unpleasant shithead. And I basically pushed everyone away who tried. Before I was taken away from my mom, I was living in total squalor. My mom was a hoarder. She had everything she ever bought stacked up in our one-bedroom apartment. It was horrible. There was no control there. Nothing.”

I’m so aware that I’m sitting in my minimalist house that is kept ruthlessly clean, and that it says a lot about my psyche. Maybe a whole lot more than I want anyone to see.

“I got removed from her care, which…” I sit there, the silence around us like an oppressive bubble. “It was just a different kind of not having control. In some ways, I would’ve traded everything to go back to her. To go back to all that mess. Because at least… She was there.”

And as an adult I have so much compassion for my mother. Compassion that I can never give to her, because she took her own life shortly after losing custody of me. All I see is on dealt with trauma, which for her was expressed through holding on all those things. The state failed us. And I never had a say in any of it.

“So after that, I just made everyone’s life hell because it was the control that I had. But I have a lot of issues forming attachments to people. For obvious reasons.”

“How did you… How did you get rich, though?”

“The internet,” I say. “Fucking seriously. I ran a campaign doing trading up, have you ever heard of that? Where you startsmall and trade for progressively bigger things. My campaign for that went mildly viral on a platform that’s defunct now. Ended up making a lot of money and revenue on that, plus got my first building. Made a big show out of turning it into a hotel. And it was famous. So I was successful. I kept building up from there. And made a shitload of money, because it turns out I’m good at this.”

“And…”

“The being a Dom? I don’t think I’m a Dom because of all my control issues. But you can’t prove it. I don’t find anything hotter than having all the power. I might’ve felt that way anyway. Who’s to say?”

But maybe not. Doesn’t matter. I like what I like. My life is the way that it is. And there’s a perfect fit for what I like. What does it matter?

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