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Chin-length brown hair and blunt bangs aren’t exactly a forgettable or common hairstyle. Not to mention, she’s still dressed like a kindergarten teacher in her knee-length skirt and tight white tank top. I’m actually a little surprised they even let her in like that.
“Come on in,” I stutter, opening the door wider so she can enter. The chorus of group sex echoes behind her from the curtained-off VIP room. She glances back, clearly spooked by the sound before I close her in with me.
It’s quiet in my room. There’s only light, sultry house music playing in the speakers overhead, and with the soundproof walls, it’s enough to mask what’s going on just a few feet out the door.
As the girl turns around to face me, I realize I’m supposed to be the one to speak. But I can’t stop staring at her face. That is definitely the one from the movie theater. Even without the hairstyle, I’d remember those freckled cheeks and her cute button nose.
She’s the kind of girl who stops you in your tracks. She exudes the sort of beauty that makes you either want tobeher orkissher…or both. Stunning and perfect like a gemstone.
“Welcome…” I say with hesitation. “I’m Madame Kink—”
“Do you remember me?” she asks, eagerly cutting me off. Her fingers are twisted in front of her, and her legs are pressed together as if she’s tense.
My mouth opens awkwardly. I don’t know how to answer that question.
“I probably should have told you in our emails that we met the other day, but I sort of felt weird about that. Plus, I thought you might not meet with me if I told you.”
I must look like a deer in headlights because she takes one look at my face and starts rambling again.
“I’m not here to, like, bombard you or anything. I’m not crazy, I promise. Although I feel a little crazy right now. I just…I looked up some stuff, and I found your blog.”
“Are you here for a consultation?” I ask slowly, trying to make sense of everything.
“Yes!” she chirps with excitement. “And before you ask, yes, Clay told me that he and you…you know.”
I blink again. The room is bathed in awkwardness. If the dark-red rug on the floor suddenly swallowed me whole, I wouldn’t be mad about it.
When the girl opens her mouth to start rambling again, I hold out a hand. “Stop,” I command her.
She closes her mouth before so much as a squeak can slip out. For a moment, I keep my hand out and stare at her without a word. I need to get my bearings, but this ambush feels the same way you do after you’ve been spun around too much and the world is tilting. I need everything to stop moving around me so I can think.
I should tell her to leave. That’s the first thing I realize. This is clearly a conflict of interest and asking far too much of me to give a kink consultation to an ex…client’s new girlfriend.
I’m sorry, but you should leave.
Just say those words, Eden. Just say, I think you should leave.
Maybe it’s the innocence in her eyes or how afraid she looks at this moment. It must have taken some serious guts to make this appointment and walk in here. If I turn her away, that would be humiliating. Something she might never get over.
It has nothing to do with how precious she looks standing there on my rug with her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. In the split second it takes me to stare at her lips, I imagine him kissing them.
I think you should leave.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” I say instead.
Rule #6: Keep your walls up.
Eden
“So let me get this straight,” I say with a wrinkle between my brows. I’m clutching an empty glass of red wine in my right hand while staring at a meek and sweet Jade on the couch across from me. “You found out your boyfriend used to pay me to be his Domme, and after doing some internet research, you decided to schedule a consultation with me? Does Clay know you’re here?”
She clears her throat. The entire time she spoke, telling me all about her conversation with Clay and her little investigative research later that night, I couldn’t get over just how innocent she seemed to be. And I don’t mean innocent in a pure, angelic sort of way. Her innocence is like naivety mixed with confidence. She’s not afraid to look me directly in the eye and say what’s on her mind. And I like her for that.
“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “And I don’t plan on telling him. I just want to understand.”
“Understand what?”
She leans forward. “Not once in the last five months has he asked for me to be…” She waves at me as if I am the embodiment of some internalized desire.
