It had been just over three weeks since Duff had declared he’d give her flowers, and true to his word, flowers showed up at her door every single day—other than those nights when she saw him and he brought the flowers himself. It was adorable, really—if one could ever call a six-foot-seven man built like a wall “adorable.” He’d stand in her doorway, a bouquet of roses or daisies or lilies clutched in his hand, a self-satisfied grin on his face. And those damn dimples. Okay, so maybe he really was adorable.
They’d done everything together in these last weeks—walked the French Quarter, gone bowling, climbed over the walls and explored one of the city’s infamous cemeteries, made out in the back of a movie theater—even though he and Jamie were in the final stages of putting SGR Motorcycles together. The mural on the back wall of the shop was done, and it was gorgeous—a trio of vintage bikes against a background of smoke in blue and black and silver. Very fitting for the man she knew, and for the business. They’d been working hard, and although Duff had been tired, he seemed to be sailing through this, utterly fearless about the success of his business venture with his cousin, and Layla admired his confidence and positive nature, something she knew she needed more of in her life.
She got to see him on the nights he wasn’t working late, and even sometimes when he did—some nights he’d come over at midnight and climb into her bed, curling up behind her and spooning her. And she liked it—loved it, which she’d been trying not to think too hard about. They’d played a bit, and he kept a toy bag at her place now since it was often easier for him to come by after his late work hours than for her to meet him at his place. Their sessions had been less rough, even when he used the violet wand on her, but she didn’t mind. She knew that if things worked out and they kept seeing each other, they would have plenty of time to go back to the hard play they both loved. This was a time when he was investing his energy in his future in New Orleans. And she liked the fact that the break from the harder-core BDSM play was allowing them to explore each other on a deeper level than even the kink dynamic could take them. They were really getting to know each other, which was amazing, even when it made her want to run from the sense of vulnerability it created. But it was too damn good not to stick it out and see where this could go, despite the fear and the doubts.
The sex was unbelievable, and she was realizing it was because of the connection. Their meals together often ended up with them feeding each other bites, then with the food abandoned on the table so they could be naked and touching each other. She’d never felt such desperate need for a man’s body before, for his hands, his kisses, as though she required him in order to breathe. That part really scared the hell out of her, but she was trying to move past the fear.
And that’s where she was this morning—a confused mass of happiness and worried anxiety that it would be taken away from her. And the very real fear that she would be the one to do it to herself if she couldn’t get her act together and wrap her head around the fact that a real relationship seemed to be developing, something she knew now she’d never truly experienced before. Which had kicked off all sorts of other complex thoughts about who she was, what she’d come from and what it all meant now.
By nine that morning she wasn’t able to hold off any longer, and she grabbed her phone and called her best friend.
“Layla?” Kitty’s voice was rough with sleep.
“Shit. I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“Nope, I opened my eyes half an hour ago, but my brain hasn’t kicked in yet. It’s fine, honey. What’s up? You okay? Do I need to get the shovel out?”
“I need to talk.”
“Okay.” Kitty yawned. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Now that she had Kitty on the phone, she wasn’t sure where to start. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s all right. Just let it come and you’ll figure it out as you go.”
“I love you for knowing me so well,” Layla told her.
“Love you, too, honey.”
“I know you do. Okay. This is about Duff and me. Or maybe more about me. You know I told you what he said to me a few weeks ago, about needing to be with me?”
“How could I forget? It was an important moment for you guys.”
“It was. But now that I’ve sort of come down from the initial high, it’s made me question some things that have come up since I’ve been seeing him.”
“Like what?” Kitty asked.
“Like, am I even a Domme anymore? Because even to be a switch . . . I don’t know if a switch can fall as deeply into subspace as I do with Duff. So was I ever truly a Domme? I have to question the person I see within myself, what I am at this point.”
“Layla, you were the one who taught me that no one else gets to define who we are in kink, and that there’s an ebb and flow. You have both sides in you. Isn’t it possible the side that’s prevalent at any given time is simply a response to where you’re at in life, and who you’re with? Maybe this just happened at the right time, with the right man.”
She let Kitty’s words run through her brain and tumble around until they sorted themselves out. “You have a point. But there’s more.”