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“Okay,” he finally said and took her arm in his warm iron grip. Why did she melt so easily at his touch? “Let’s go sit down, and we’ll talk. But not at the bar. Too many people are listening.” He glared at a few of the men who were hovering and hoping she didn’t choose him. “I’m not interested in putting on this kind of show tonight.”
As soon as they were seated, Kimberly crossed her legs and watched his eyes trace every inch from hip to pointy heel before he met her look. He swallowed. “First off, psychologists don’t take the Hippocratic Oath; that’s for MDs. Secondly, me being here has nothing to do with being your therapist or being a therapist at all. Exercising your sexual preferences is normal and healthy. This would be no different than if you saw me at the same gym as you.” He smiled his panty-melting half smile that had cost her two sets of batteries already and added, “Admittedly, it’d be a bit less awkward though.”
Kimberly felt a flush of embarrassment climb over her from her navel up as the reasoning behind his words sank in along with the enormity of her overreaction. She didn’t care. This fucking sucked.
“Plus, I don’t make a habit of telling my clients where my sexual proclivities lay.” He gestured at her outfit, unable to hide the heat in his eyes as he took her in once again. “Neither do you it appears.”
No, she hadn’t. She’d told him though, just last week and now here she was face to face with the last person she’d expected to see in a place like this. Kimberly couldn’t get her thoughts straight enough to find a reasonable and rational excuse to make him leave. Fuck reasonable she fumed and whispered fiercely, “But I told you about mymother!” as if that alone was evidence enough that he should depart immediately so she could concentrate and investigate her friend’s disappearance.
His face crumpled up in his “I think you’re adorable” look, and Kimberly wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. How could he be here?
“I know you did, honey.” Oh God, did he just call her honey? Kimberly wondered frantically if patent leather was fire resistant. “And I’m a professional. You know you can trust me. Things stay the same between us. You can relax about that.”
The only consolation Kimberly could take from that was that he looked almost as disappointed as her.
She inhaled and took a leap. “What if I didn’t want it to be?” His eyes snapped to hers, green to green. “What if I wanted this to change things?” In a gesture she’d become familiar with, Dean cocked his chin to the side and pursed his lips while he clenched both fists on his knees. When he’d done this during their sessions, she always assumed he was stretching. Under these conditions, she saw the move for what it was and wanted to pounce on him.
Restraint.
He wanted her, and he was physically restraining himself. He’d always wanted her. The knowledge flowed through her like a drug, and Kimberly felt her eyes go dreamy.
Dean groaned.
“No, Kimberly,” he said, and his voice croaked. “No. I’m sorry to tell you that would be crossing an ethical line, so no, we won’t be going there. Not even if we end our professional relationship. It just wouldn’t be right. I’d have an unfair emotional advantage over you. There are laws about this. Besides, think about it. Could you go on respecting me if I violated my ethics that way?”
Well, shit. Kimberly felt deflated and slouched. Well, she tried to slouch but found out her suit was too tight and almost cut her cooter and tooter into one. She shot to her feet with a yelp, then tottered for a second before smoothing her hands over herself as if that’d all been intentional. She didn’t bother looking at him to see if he bought her act. She just straightened her shoulders and walked away. “Okay then, I’ll see you tomorrow at five, I guess.”
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Dean’s thoughts were pretty much on a loop of stupidity, and he couldn’t figure out how to get off. He watched the roundest, most luscious ass he’d ever seen walk away from him on heels just begging for a man to hang onto and use as hand holds while he pounds the hell out of that pu—
“Is that who I think it is?” Sam sat down next to him and placed a beer in his hand.
“Yeah.” Dean took a long pull, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “She can’t be here, Sam. She fits the profile exactly. Dammit, like I wasn’t having a hard-enough time with her.” He finished on a huff—no other word for it, he supposed. “If she wasn’t a patient of mine,” he said like the doomed man he was.
“You know,” Sam said, “we’re working undercover as therapists. Everything on the websites are fake. The bureau was careful to make sure the credentials we work under aren’t in any way affiliated with our licenses either. That’s why we’re ‘mental wellness counselors.’ Shit might as well have called us fortune tellers. You’re in the clear if you wanna go there.” He took a drink of his own beer, and Dean considered for no more than a second.
“You know that’s just a technicality, Sam. Come on.” He nudged his buddy with his elbow and swallowed his next drink along with his fate. “No, I’m her therapist, and that’s a line I just won’t cross.” Dean finished off his beer and stood up to find out where she’d gone. He may not be able to top her, but now his job in this place had become twofold—find his way into the sex ring, and keep Kimberly out of danger in the meantime. Because just like she couldn’t tell him to leave, neither could he tell her.
Dean circled one side of the club while Kimberly stalked the other. He could admit in his own mind that he was looking forward to seeing her top someone. Decked out like that and wielding a whip or a flogger? God, Dean hoped she was gay right then with his whole being and spared a moment to sweep the room for the woman he would pair her with if given the choice.
At least she’s a Domme, he thought to himself. Femdoms were fucking hot but not compatible with him sexually, so it helped to tamper the disappointment, even if just a little.
Then the woman went and dropped to her knees in front of the biggest damn Dom in the whole place. The guy looked like a mountain with hair, and Dean felt his eyes cross in a primal urge to fight over the kneeling beauty like a caveman. It wasn’t the size of the man keeping him from acting on his urge or—in that moment—even his moral high ground, because primal outweighed instinct apparently.
No, it was Mary and her uncanny timing as a Dungeon Master that held him to the spot.
Mary was the only submissive DM he knew of, and she’d made quite an impression on him from day one. Retired Army, sixty, and comfortable with it, she had a sassy personality that was as peppery as her short cap of hair.
“Whatchya thinkin’ a doin’ there, Sir? Yer glarin’ awful hard at them two. Now, I done had this talk with you on your first day here; the sub is the real one in charge between these walls. It’s clear she told you no back there and has picked someone else. Now, I suggest you accept that and stop thinkin’ what I know yer thinkin’. ‘Cause sub or not, woman or not, sixty or not, I’ll throw yer skinny ass right outta here if you hurt one a my subbies.” She glared at him, and Dean knew she meant it. At any rate, he wasn’t going to test this woman on anything she’d decide to take a stand against. He unclenched his fists, held his hands out for permission, and after it was graciously given, he clasped her shoulders and laid a kiss of genuine affection on her soft cheek.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Mary. This place is lucky to have you.”
“Damn straight.” She continued to scowl up at him, but now there was a definite flush to her cheeks while she did it. “Now, I can see ya got a hold of yourself like a gentleman Dom again, so why don’t ya take a seat and watch? That there is Master Leviathan, and he does things with a flogger that I bet ya never seen before.” That wiped the affectionate smile off his face, and she said a motherly “Aww, cheer up, honey. You’ll catch the next one who comes along. Ye’re pretty enough.” Then she walked away, chuckling under her breath.
“Master Leviathan?” he demanded after her, feeling almost insulted. Mary only cackled louder and kept walking.Master Leviathan?Who the hell had the balls to go around calling himself Leviathan, for fuck’s sake? Dean fumed as he took a seat where he had a clear view of both Kimberly and the room.
He—Dean refused to think of him by his ridiculous name—was strapping Kimberly to an O-ring in the middle of a flogging/whipping station, sectioned off so no one got accidentally hit by a back swing. Thankfully, it looked as if she was leaving herself clothed for the scene, and Dean felt an insane sense of relief that he wasn’t about to watch her get fucked. Of course, he had no right to that feeling, he reminded himself. They had less than zero commitment to each other, and in fact, he shouldn’t even be watching this. But he found his limit and couldn’t force himself to look away.
Kimberly wasn’t a small woman; she stood about six feet in those fuck-me stilts she had on. She also had a figure reminiscent of pre-weight loss Adele, and that was right up Dean’s gold-paved alley. Apparently, it was this dickwad’s too, because he was running his big fat hands all over her shiny curves as Dean watched. He stood behind her and cupped those mouth-watering breasts, even his baseball-glove-size mitts too small for that gift from God. When he pinched her nipples and her head fell back onto his shoulder, Dean felt the weight on his own. All three of them hummed in pleasure.
