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"Would you prefer the change-room? It's still an option." He nudged my knees apart. "Just say the word. You forfeit and we can take this someplace more--"
I leapt up. He hung on to my hands... until they swung up and clipped him in the chin. I scrambled out from under him. He lunged for my legs, but I backed out of his reach and shot to my feet. As he rose, I kicked his legs out. He went down, landing hard on the mat. I straddled his chest.
He sighed.
I victory punched the air. He shot up, grabbing me under the arms and tickling me. I squealed and caught his hands, and was about to pin him when I noticed a figure standing in the doorway.
It was Joey, watching us.
"You wanted to talk to me?" he said.
I scrambled off Clay, and stood, tugging my shirt down. It already covered me just fine, but I tugged it anyway, cheeks heating.
"Yeah, we did," Clay said. "You had breakfast?"
"Yes, but I suppose you haven't." A smile cracked Joey's composure. "And if I remember correctly, we'd better attend to that first or I can't expect to get a rational sentence from you."
"You two go on," I said. "I'll shower and catch up."
WHEN MY BLOOD stopped pounding, I switched the cold shower to warm, tilted my face up into the water and tried not to think of how much more fun this shower would have been if Joey hadn't shown up. I could still feel adrenaline slamming through my veins, the lingering euphoria better than any chemical buzz. And it was more than adrenaline. It was confidence, my anxiety over facing Travis Tesler again fading.
Given my background, my dominance play with Clay might seem odd. Disturbing even. One day I'm reduced to gibbering terror by a mutt pinning me to the ground and threatening rape. Less than twenty-four hours later, I'm letting my partner pin me, threatening public sex.
I'm sure I don't want to hear what a psychiatrist would say about that. But for me, it works. It makes sense. With Clay, it was different. When we'd first met, he'd taken his time. Friends first, then, very slowly, shifting to lovers. With Clay, I was always in control. I still am.
Dominance play is about control. For some, the thrill is giving it up. For me, it's about taking it back. I don't need "release words" with Clay. If I so much as tense, he stops. I choose to take the lead or I choose to give it to him. My choice. Always. That has healed me more than years of therapy ever could.
As strong as I felt right now, I knew my gut would seize with terror when I saw Tesler again. But for now I felt ready to handle it.
NOAH
CLAY AND JOEY were in the hotel restaurant, deep in conversation when I entered. Or, at least, Clay was deep in conversation, explaining something, his hands waving, a slice of toast in one, crumbs flying. I headed for the buffet, but a large table of businesspeople beat me to it. Clay caught my eye and waved me over. As I approached, he kicked out a chair for me, then moved his plate between us.
"Clayton sharing his food?" Joey said with a strained smile. "Must be love."
"No, he's just trying to make a good impression. Normally, he'd be stealing mine."
Clay started sliding the plate back his way, but I caught it and held it between us.
"Clay was just telling me about Nick," Joey said. "He said he's doing graphic design for his dad's company. I'm still trying to figure out if he's joking."
"He's not. Nick seems to like it. He's got a good eye for design."
"Now, that I can see. I remember how long it took the guy to buy a shirt. I bet there are a lot of nice-looking young women working in graphic design, too."
We laughed. Five years ago, I'd have guessed that was indeed the reason for Nick's interest. But lately he'd been making changes in his life--finding a job he liked, actually showing up for it and taking a more active role in the family business.
Around the time I got pregnant, Nick had started getting restless. He'd even briefly flirted with the idea of having a child of his own, which lasted until the twins arrived and he decided babies were really a bigger plunge into the sea of domesticity than he cared to take.
Thinking of Nick reminded me that he'd left a message on my cell last night. Nothing urgent. Just touching base, looking for an update, and wanting to talk about Reese.
Clay and Joey chatted for a while longer, catching up. It wasn't the most comfortable conversation, but Joey was obviously making an effort, so Clay answered all his questions.
As the line for the buffet vanished, I went up for a plate. I came back to a silent table, as if the moment Clay finished updates, they'd hit a brick wall, the amiable mood dispersing as they realized how little they now had in common.
"So you got my message," I said as I sat.
Joey nodded and picked at his omelet, moving the mushroom pieces aside. I glanced at Clay. He shrugged and resumed eating.
