Page 19 of A Secret and a Lie
This can’t be happening.
When the completed forms hit my inbox, I had every intention of offering this client one of my other girls. Then, I read through his submission.
Typically, Marcus is the one who receives the intake forms and files them away, except for the secrets. Those have a one-time code that only I can access, and they disappear once I’ve read them. Since I rarely take on new clients anymore, I chose to read throughClark’sforms myself.
The answers, and the raw honesty within some of them, had a feline curiosity curling inside me. Based on his replies, I knew he was a top or a Dom, or at the very least a switch who leaned toward dominant. His interests directly contradicted his declaration that he was a submissive. His answers gave him away as someone who was new to this lifestyle and, fuck, I have a soft spot for newbies.
We all start somewhere, and I enjoy helping someone explore themselves and their interests. That alone had me intrigued enough to accept a meeting.
Then, I read his secret, and that sealed the deal for me. Who gives a secret like that? Normally, I would’ve balked and rejected the submission, but something about its truthfulness had me hittingacceptinstead.
Now, I have regrets.So many regrets.
I thought I’d be opening the door to an unsure, timorous man looking to explore himself wholly. Instead, I found myself aliar.Fortunately for him, he’s in good company.
When I scanned the background check Marcus did forClark Campbell,that I’d ordered simply for the hell of it, I read over a file so extensive that it had me questioning if I was actually given a fake name.
Now that the truth is on his knees for me in the center of the room, a different, more potent variety of panic is sizzling to life in my gut. It’s not the same concern that prickles the back of my neck when I think one of my employees is engaging with a dangerous client. This kind of troubled unease is far more ominous.
It’s a version of alarm that I’ve only encountered a few times. It’s the reason I created my dossier, never use my real name, and charge what I do.
When the elevator doors close, leaving us alone, I study the attractive man kneeling before me.
He’s beautiful, gorgeous even. Handsome in its finest form with perfect bone structure, complete with a chiseled jawline that stone sculptures would envy and cheekbones that hail an eastern European heritage somewhere along the line.
His lips are just pouty enough for me to crave a taste, but not quite feminine in nature. But it’s his eyes I can’t look away from. The endless blue of the sky, his irises hold his dreams, and right now, I need to see his desires.
“Look at me,” I demand in my Domme voice, sensual and commanding.
Slowly, his head tilts back until sparkling sapphires hit me like a bolt to the chest.
Fuck.
His hands twitch in their resting position, and I can tell he’s fighting this stance, fighting this position, fightinghimself.
Seeing him this way feels wrong, unnatural, like watching a lionbow to a house cat. Still, he claims to want to submit, and I may as well have a little fun before I dismiss him, because there’s not a chance in hell that I’m taking him on as a client.
“So,” I begin, holding his gaze for a moment, staring into the blue blaze of his eyes. “You’re a submissive?”
He nods, and I click my tongue, shaking my head. “Use your words.”
His pretty throat bobs, and I shut down the impulse to run my tongue over his Adam’s apple. Voice gruff, he finally grumbles, “Yes.”
A smile spreads over my painted lips. “Try again, Superman.”
His eyebrows hike to his hairline. “Superman?”
I laugh then, the sugary sound filling the air. “Clark Campbell? Really? Why didn’t you simply use Clark Kent?”
He does vaguely look a bit like Superman, so if anything, it sort of fits, though I still find it ridiculous.
Choosing not to comment, he simply sighs, shifting on his knees. I’m sure he’s uncomfortable in this position, but I make him hold it for a little longer.
“Yes, what,” I prompt, circling back to my earlier correction, carrying an air of authority.
“Yes, I’m a submissive.”
I shake my head, but decide to take mercy on the Dom cosplaying as a sub. “Yes, Madam Allison,” I correct.
