“Yeah,” Layla agreed, busying herself with her own coffee, adding milk and more sugar than she usually allowed herself— she needed it today. She stirred it with her straw, watching the milky swirls disappear into the dark coffee. She caught herself and looked up at her friend. “I’m sorry. I’m brooding.”
Kitty smiled at her. “Yes, you are. You gonna tell me what’s really going on?”
Layla sighed. “In retrospect I sort of can’t believe I did this, but I went by his motorcycle shop yesterday and told him off. Or tried to.”
Kitty’s brows raised. “You did what?”
Layla wrapped her fingers around her glass, keeping her gaze on the moisture clinging to the sides. “Jamie’s a regular at the club, and everyone knows he owns SGR Motors, and that his cousin is here to open a motorcycle branch. It was easy enough to find him.”
“You know that wasn’t what I was asking. What did you do, exactly?”
“When he suggested I bottom for him, I kind of told him . . . to fuck off.”
Kitty laughed. “Oh my God. Really?”
“I’m afraid so.” Layla looked up, leaning in and keeping her voice down. “And here’s the thing. I realize I’m annoyed because Duff got to me. That’s why I went to see him, and it was even worse after. I feel like such a fool, but he hit a sore spot.” She sat back in her chair, shaking her head. “You know my history, Kitty—you’re one of the few people I’ve ever told the whole story to. Adrien and Marcel. Vincent. And Jimmy . . . Fucking Jimmy. You know why I can’t get involved with a Dom, why I pretty much swore off men almost a year ago. It’s been eleven and a half months since I did anything more than fuck some guy for my own pleasure—and that was just the one guy right after things ended in that shitstorm with Jimmy. I sure as hell haven’t submitted to anyone. I can’t do it. I can’t. Never again.”
She hated the tears burning behind her eyes. She hated that her long string of bad boys—her long string of mistakes—still had some power over her.
Kitty reached across the table and laid a hand on her arm. “Honey, are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Both?” Layla blinked hard. “I don’t know. This guy has my head spinning. He’s arrogant and sarcastic and . . . fucking gorgeous. And I can feel the power in him. As soon as I was in the same room with him, up close, it was as if there was something drawing me in. It wasn’t simple chemistry. And as hard as I fought it, I couldn’t—not entirely. I had to get the hell out of there. I had to catch my breath. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong, hon. Maybe you’ve just finally met your match.”
“Oh!” It came out on a puff of air, forced from her throat by shock and the realization that Kitty could be right, as much as she hated to admit it.
The waitress stopped at their table to deliver their food, giving her a chance to calm down a bit.
As soon as the server left, Kitty leaned across the table toward her. “I am about to tell you something important, Layla Adele Chouset. There is not a damn thing wrong with giving in, with giving yourself over. Isn’t that what you told me when you were holding my hand through my early days in kink?”
“But you’re submissive.”
“Yes. But it’s more about the connection than anything else, isn’t it? Who we are, the good and the bad, goes into making the connection and the energy people generate between them. That’s my understanding of what you told me power exchange is about. Did I get it wrong?”
She huffed out a breath. Kitty was simply parroting the words she’d said to her when she’d been mentoring her friend through her introduction to BDSM, but she didn’t want to think about it now, not applied to herself. Instead of addressing the issue she said stubbornly, “I haven’t known him long enough to establish a connection. I don’t know him at all.”
“Maybe you should. Connection can sometimes start as powerful chemistry. And I’d say you two have it in spades, because I have never seen you like this. Never.”
Layla shook her head, her cheeks going hot. “I do not want to deal with this . . . this situation, chemistry or not.”
“I think you’re gonna have to, honey. This Duff guy is setting down roots in our town, establishing himself at our club. Sooner or later you’re going to have to deal with whatever it is between you two. I think you’re going to have to face your response to him. Something this powerful? It can’t be ignored forever. Especially when you’re bound to run into him.”
She was afraid Kitty was right, afraid of what Duff brought out in her. Long-buried feelings were rising to the surface, reminding her of times that were better forgotten. People who were better forgotten.
But Duff . . . what was it about him that put all her issues with men in her face? Just another bad boy. Just another Dom. Except no one could ever say Duff Stewart was “just” anything.
He was exasperating. Irritating. And she didn’t owe this man a single thing, but maybe she owed herself.
Fuck.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I probably need to apologize to him. No, I know I do. As a Dominant myself I should have more self-control. I should be able to exercise better manners. I’ll have to swallow my pride and go see him again.” She rubbed her forehead. “Goddamn it.”
Was it pride that was making her behave like such a bitch? And had she been hiding behind the title of Domme to allow herself to be bitchy with him? Despite the fact that they’d just met—had one conversation!—Duff was making her look at herself and discover some things she didn’t like. She could cuss him out all she wanted—to his face or in her own head—but the fact was his mere presence had made her see she still had issues to deal with. And first on the list—always—was personal responsibility for her behavior.
“Kitty, I have to go. Will you forgive me?”
“Of course. Especially if I can have your French toast. Right now it’s looking a lot more tasty than my shrimp.”