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"Right before Veronica got here, I was thinking about the pain session and being a little afraid," she admitted. She lifted her hands to his face before he could say anything to that. "Now I know I picked the right Dom to show me the ropes, so to speak."
He blinked, covered her hands with his own, a light hold on her wrists. "So you've decided."
"You know I have." She took a breath, looked toward her back room. "Will she go back to him?"
"Maybe. It's not the first time a criminal sadist has used our world to cover his sickness. Most Doms have a sadistic side, but it's one they use for mutual pleasure, for them and their subs. Unfortunately, a woman with low self-esteem like that will fall into the wrong kind of Dom's lap like candy. But we'll do our best to make sure she doesn't end up there again."
"How did you know I had a problem?" she asked.
"The security cameras in my store include the entrances and exits to yours. We watch out for our neighbors, and the situation gave me a wrong feeling. I came through the back so if it wasn't anything, I could leave without interrupting you. Troy insisted on coming, too. He's become quite fond of you." Stroking a wisp of hair from her brow, he tapped the librarian glasses lightly. "That makes two of us."
"Well, that's good, because I was going to trade on your affections to draft you and Troy for a fashion show I'm planning. I need some handsome escorts for the models, and someone to show off the male outfits. You know, pirate outfits, the studded leather harnesses and thongs . . ."
"Uh-huh." He snorted. "Good luck with that. That's my cue to get back to my store, talk to Veronica about where she'll be staying tonight."
"And that will be?"
"There's a shelter in the area. It's run by a woman who's been in the lifestyle. Becky was with an asshole like that for three years too long. She handles not only the standard abuse cases, but those that get outed by the BDSM community. We take care of our own there, too. A guy like that gives us all a bad name."
That fierce light flickered again. While she'd wanted to blow up his car, it was obvious he would have preferred to beat Veronica's Master to a pulp with his fists. Logan was a very hands-on type of male, after all.
"If I can convince Veronica to stay there a night," he continued, "long enough to find out there are better, healthier ways to exercise submissive tendencies--and determine if she actually has them, rather than just being a woman with a bad self-image--things will be more in our favor that she'll stay another day, and another, and get her life back on track."
"Would it be okay if I stopped in and visited her tonight?"
He squeezed her hand. "You've got a good heart. I'll ask Becky. The location of the shelter is secret, for obvious reasons, but I know she won't object to you coming as long as she feels it's the right time. She'll likely want to spend the first few hours just feeding her and doing some one-on-one work. But after that, I expect it would be good for Veronica to talk to as many women as possible who know how it's really supposed to work."
She liked that he included her in that number, and was kind of amazed at her personal pride and ownership of that. I am a submissive. "Whatever Becky and you think is best. Anything I can do to help, just let me know."
He bent forward, dropping an unexpected kiss to her forehead. Then he slid an arm around her, held her closer. "I'm glad you're all right. But next time anyone gives you wrong vibes, you get your pretty ass back behind your counter and have that gun within reach."
"You know about the gun?"
"Yep. Alice would go to the range with me sometimes to stay in practice. I gave her a few tips to improve her aim." He leaned back, gave her a sharp look. "You know how to use one?"
"Yep. Our daddy taught us both when we were kids. I haven't used one in awhile, but he said I was a natural. We'll go to the range sometime and I'll smoke your pretty ass on target rounds."
He grinned at that. Leaning down again, he put his mouth on hers. It was reassuring and promising, all at once. Her toes curled in her shoes as he slid his fingertips into her hair, his other arm banding around her waist to hold her even more securely to him. When he lifted his head, she saw a rare instance of sheepishness in his gaze.
"Sorry. I needed that."
"Anything I can do to help," she repeated, a little breathlessly this time. "You know, I still wonder if that whole 'pain-can-help-heal-and-deal-with-guilt' thing is just an excuse to spank me."
The set of his jaw eased, his lips curving. "I have half a mind to do it right now, purely for my own enjoyment."
"See? I knew it was more than a selfless desire to help me."
He sobered. "Madison, you're joking about it, but I want to say it. Remember what I told you from the beginning. There is absolutely nothing more important to a Dominant than the care of his or her sub. We might use pain for mutual pleasure, and that mutual pleasure may not be how other people define it. But what he's doing to her, manipulating her emotions, taking advantage of her weaknesses, that's so far from what BDSM is supposed to be about, it's like a dirty cop versus a good one. There is no comparison, even if they look the same at times. You understand that, right?"
"You look nothing like him," she said, meeting his gaze. "And I don't mean physically. From the first moment I met you, I knew I could trust you. Even when I've been afraid, that comes from me, not anything you've done. My sister told me I could trust you with anything." She swallowed. "Even my soul. You haven't done a thing yet to make me feel differently."
It was the truth, she knew it. All her fears about Logan came from her own history, her lack of faith in herself, her certainty that fate or her own actions were going to destroy what seemed to be a growing bond between them, because they always did.
Since Logan had been Alice's primary caregiver until three days before her death, Madison had assumed he'd seen Alice's final letter to her, the part where she'd said Madison could trust Logan more than anyone. Yet his reaction now told her otherwise. He wasn't a man to show softer emotions easily, so she reached out, closed her hand over his arm, reinforcing her belief.
"Thank you," he said quietly. He put his hand over hers for another brief squeeze, and then he moved toward the back room. He needed to go, she knew he did. She wasn't sure if Troy could hold Veronica there indefinitely the way Logan could, though Troy was far more resourceful and determined than it had first appeared. She'd jumped to some pretty stereotypical assumptions about a man who wanted to belong fully to a Mistress.
But what about herself? When she'd thought I am a submissive, she'd felt that was true. Yet she was running a business, had just held her own against an asshole who outweighed her and got through life by bullying others. "Submissive" didn't equal "timid" or "doormat." It seemed the more she embraced that side of herself, the better opinion she had of herself.
