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So I allowed him to teach me, and I found I was a natural submissive. I grew to enjoy the lifestyle. But with Lucas, I wasn’t simply a submissive. I was his lover, too. We didn’t only play scenes together.
We had regular sex, too. Vanilla sex, he called it. And it was enjoyable for both of us—at least I thought it was, even when he said we were no longer dating in the traditional sense. That we were Dominant and submissive, nothing else.
Still, I thought he loved me.
With Lucas, I felt I had it all. The love that I thought I needed, and the sexual satisfaction that came from submitting in a club environment. Plus we kissed. We kissed all the time. And I loved the kissing.
I learned my hard limits with Lucas. He was good to me. But it only lasted until I left college. After two years, when my father died and I couldn’t afford to go back, Lucas ended things—and his timing was impeccable. I’d just confessed that I had fallen in love with him.
Then I realized what his true fetish was.
As a professor, he fetishized students. He was very careful. He made sure to find a student who wasn’t interested in what he taught, which was sociology.
I intended to be a business major, so I fit the bill.
I considered going to the dean and reporting him for dating students at the school.
He told me it was okay, as long as they weren’t students in his classes, but a careful reading of the university’s rules indicated otherwise.
“Mary, don’t do it,” Brenda said. “All it will do is keep the wound open. It will fester. You may take Lucas down, but you’ll do more harm to yourself. It’s better to move on.”
She was right.
So I moved on.
I left school when my father died, and I found employment at Treasure’s Chest, made peace with the fact that I wouldn’t finish college—at least not yet—and I began to do some research on how I could continue in the lifestyle but stay out of a relationship.
Because I was done. No more love. And no more kissing.
I could have the sexual satisfaction I craved, the submission I craved, but steer clear of relationships.
They only lead to heartache.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ronan
“I think I want to go home, Ronan,” Mary says to me after wiping the powdered sugar from her lips.
We’re back at Mémé’s for beignets—Mary’s request, because she wanted to see Mémé again—but I am planning to take her to Café du Monde tomorrow so she can get the full experience she said she wants.
Or perhaps not…if she chooses to leave now. Disappointment wells in me. After the night we had, why does she want to leave?
I put my beignet down on the plate and glide my napkin over my lips. “Why? I haven’t shown you any of the sights yet. Don’t you want to see the graveyards? They’re legendary.”
“Of course, I would love to see everything. So far, this place is spectacular. It’s everything you said it was and everything I’ve read about it. But I—”
She bites her lip, looks down at her plate, which is full of crumbs and powdered sugar. She takes a sip of her café au lait and wipes her mouth again.
“Tell me what’s going on, Mary.”
“I’m not sure I can give you what you want,” she says.
“I see.”
“But let me be honest with you. I have no intention of leaving the lifestyle. I enjoy it, and I’m good at it. I like being a submissive.”
“We can go as slowly as you need to,” I say.
