Finding Master Right Read online

  He didn’t say anything for a minute, and she panicked. Shit, maybe he was vanilla.

  “Do you know what a Dom is?”

  Chuckling, he nodded. “Yes, I know what a Dom is. I just didn’t know this was a matchmaking event.”

  “Well, it’s a Halloween party too.” She ducked her head, feeling silly. “It isn’t all about me.” Way to make a first impression.

  An awkward silence filled the space between them. What now? She wasn’t in the mood to get hit on again. Maybe this whole idea was stupid. Who’d ever heard of a BDSM matching party, anyway? Janine had insisted on it after Kate had been propositioned by creeps one too many times, and here it had happened again. But finding a partner wasn’t like playing a TV dating game. It was more complicated than that, which was why she’d grown desperate enough to agree to this in the first place.

  She sighed and thought through ways to duck out of there and go home. Curling up on the couch with her dog and a good book was starting to sound welcome. And she couldn’t wait to peel the corset off. She probably had indentations in her ribs.

  He finally broke the tension. “Can I get you a drink?”

  She shrugged.

  “Please? You look a bit pale.”

  Space might help clear her head, and she was thirsty. “Sure.”

  “Water? Soda? Juice?”

  She noted he didn’t ask if she wanted alcohol. “Soda’s good. Thanks.”

  “Okay.” He stood, making her crane her neck to see his face. God he was tall. It was hard to find decent men that were taller than her. In high school, the volleyball coach had seen her five-foot-nine-inch frame walking the hallways and had begged her to try out for the team. It turned out she was pretty good. The only reason she’d gone to a decent university was because of a volleyball scholarship. Being tall was good for athletics, but she’d outgrown the boys in her class by middle school. She never lost the impulse to stalk any guy that was taller than her. Now was no different. This maybe-Dom was starting to grow on her. It was possible she could train him to give her what she wanted. She’d heard of others doing that with their vanilla partners. For someone as hot as he was, it was worth a shot.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She watched him walk away, her gaze sliding down to his ass. Damn, he had a nice ass. In her early twenties, a guy being hot and verbal would’ve been enough incentive to pick him up. Now, at twenty-seven, her standards were higher. Still, polite and possibly kinky could win him a date. Was she getting ahead of herself? He hadn’t even asked her yet.

  Where had that dommy side of him disappeared to? Dr. Jekyll was okay, but Mr. Hyde was much more interesting.

  Janine appeared at her side. “Scoot!” She motioned for Kate to move down the couch, then squeezed in between Kate and the arm. “What are you doing talking to him?”

  Annoyance boiled up. “Why did you send me that pirate? He was an asshole!”

  She cringed. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought. I’ll have to put the word out that he’s a bit pushy. I was about to come charging over, but your new hero beat me to it.”

  Kate scowled at her.

  “I wouldn’t have let you leave with him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, the other guy getting you a drink? Stay away from him too.”

  “What?” But he was tall! And hot! And he’d rushed to her defense. Her heart sank.

  “No, no.” She waved a hand. “It’s not like that. He’s a good guy. Really. But he’s not your type.”

  Annoyed, she snapped, “Well, what’s my type, then?”

  “Not him. Trust me.”

  What did that mean? Janine should have known not to say shit like that to her. It only made her more curious. And she liked a challenge. “Why not?”

  She hesitated. “I just think he’s . . . too much for you.”

  Just as she was about to protest, Chris came up behind Janine. With a proprietary hand on the back of her neck, he bent down and said, “You causing trouble over here, my girl?”

  Her friend’s lashes fluttered. “Of course not, Sir.”

  He chuckled darkly. “I know that look. What are you telling poor Kate?”

  She watched, transfixed, as he ran a finger under Janine’s public collar, as if reminding her of her place with him, of his ownership. Janine shuddered.

  Kate stayed quiet, hoping she wouldn’t scare them off. Watching them when they got like this seemed pervy, but their dynamic was so sexy and romantic that she could never look away.

  After an audible breath, Janine looked up at her Dom. “I’m telling her to stay away from him.” She nodded toward the man getting her a drink.

  Chris squinted into the dim lighting, and then recognition hit. He grinned, then gave Janine a squeeze. “Come on, love. Kate’s a big girl. She’ll figure things out.”

  Janine’s mouth dropped open. “But—”

  “Now.” He snapped his fingers, and her mouth clamped shut. Head down, she stood and let Chris pull her away.

  Kate knew better than to interrupt Janine’s dynamic with Chris, even if she did want to grill her friend. From a few feet away, Janine stopped and turned to look at her. Good luck, she mouthed.

  Good luck? She wished she was more commanding and could demand answers from Chris, but the man could out-Dom James Bond.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a shadow hovering over her, holding out a red Solo cup. “I hope Pepsi is okay. It’s all they had left.”

  She took the drink, smiling slightly. “It’s fine. Thanks.” Chris and Janine didn’t seem concerned he’d drug her drink at least.

  He sat back in his spot on the couch, but Janine had moved her away from the edge so now their thighs touched. She tried to inch away politely.

  “So you’re here to meet a Dom?” he asked, ignoring her attempt at escape.

  “Yeah. At least, I think so.” She stared down at the bubbles in her cup. “I don’t really know what I want anymore.”

  Silence again. She glanced up at him. He wore a white T-shirt that fit snugly across his wide chest, and plain dark jeans. Beautiful ink on his arms. God, he was huge. It was a good thing he didn’t have the Dom vibe or she’d be terrified of him. With the slicked-back hair and heavy brow, he almost looked like a greaser from the fifties. All he needed was a thick chain around his neck. And maybe a leather jacket.

  Mmm. Leather.

  Giving her head a shake, she asked him, “What are you supposed to be anyway?”

  He looked down at his clothes then back up to her. A smirk hinted at his lips. “This is my vanilla costume.”

  She laughed. “Jeans and a T-shirt? What’s your not vanilla getup then? Leather? Mesh? Duct tape?”

  An eyebrow arched. “And here I thought you weren’t ready to play yet.”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks.

  “What about your costume?”

  Slightly embarrassed, she straightened the cat ears she’d thrown on last minute. “The corset’s not mine.” It was too tight and too pink. Janine had insisted though. A matchmaker and a fairy godmother. Wasn’t she lucky?

  His gaze roved over her naked shoulders then down to her waist and back up again. His smile was sinful but authentic. She could almost feel his fingers running over her exposed skin. But it wasn’t creepy, like other men, it was sensual and complimentary. And it made her feel all shivery inside.

  “I like it,” he rumbled.

  She tugged on the top, feeling self-conscious. “I’m not really the dressing-up type.”

  “No? Well, cross that off your fetish list.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

  She almost rolled her eyes. Not another pushy one. She wasn’t ready to talk turn-ons with this guy yet either.

  “Relax,” he said, chuckling. “I’m teasing you. I’m not interested in bringing you home to fulfill your deepest desires or whatever bullshit line Vince fed you.”

  For one crazy moment, she was offended. Why didn’t he want to take her home
and recite cheesy pickup lines to get into her pants? Wasn’t she pretty enough?

  “You’re a beautiful woman, obviously,” he said, “but I doubt you want what I do.”

  That struck a nerve. It was the same sentiment Janine had expressed. Proudly, she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eyes. How did he know what she wanted, anyway? He didn’t know her; she barely knew herself. She hated when people made assumptions—a product of working with the people she had as clients.

  “And what’s that?” she asked.

  “A slave.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh.” Janine had a friend who was a slave. She wasn’t allowed to talk, or sit, or even look at people without permission. No fucking way. That wasn’t for her.

  He chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

  “It’s kind of hard-core for me. I mean, I don’t even know if I’m a sub or just a bottom or what.” She shrugged, a bit disappointed in the turn of events. “I could even be a Domme. I haven’t tried any of it yet.”

  Knowing what he was into had moved him from harmless to slightly dangerous in her mind. His polite air was probably a smokescreen for what he was really like. Visions of him towering over a helpless girl, whip in hand, popped into her mind. She didn’t want to be the girl, but she’d buy tickets to watch.

  “A kink virgin.” A sly smile appeared. “Well, if you’re serious about finding a play partner, you should take some precautions.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to meet up with any cock-shot guys.”

  He smiled. “I figured you were smarter than that. But what I mean is, you could probably use someone to look out for you. Someone who knows people in the lifestyle and can give you personal recommendations.”

  “Well, that’s what Janine was doing. Or trying to anyway. I don’t know how that Vince guy slipped through.”

  “It’s up to you. I have more contacts than she does. She and Chris have been out of the club scene since they got married two years ago.”

  She snorted. “So you’re offering to what? Dom-shop with me?” She was half-joking and expected him to laugh and brush her off.

  Instead he looked her in the eye and said, “Yes. I am.”

  Was he serious? She eyed him again. Oh yes. He was the kind of person who never said anything he didn’t mean. Definitely the type to star in her fantasies. But Vince had put her on the defense. “Why? What’s in it for you?”

  He shrugged. “Brownie points with Chris? The knowledge that I’m doing some good in the world? Boredom?” With a dark chuckle, he added, “I’m a sadist, so maybe protecting you will balance out my karma.”

  There had to be an angle there somewhere. She continued to stare, trying to read the answer on his face. The way the light hit his cheekbones but shadowed his eyes, making them look sinister, was pretty distracting. She sighed, lost in his dangerous aura.

  “You don’t have to answer now,” he assured her. “I’ll give you my number, and you can let me know after you think about it. Ask Chris about me too. You should always check people out before agreeing to anything.” He smiled. “Like secondhand car shopping.”

  Chuckling, she pulled her phone out of her purse. “Are you saying you’re a sleazy car salesman?”

  “Only sleazy enough to make me interesting.” His smile was enigmatic.

  For some insane reason, seeds of trust started to root. A man who made fun of himself had some humility at least. She started to enter him in her phone as a contact, then stopped and laughed. “I just realized I don’t even know your name.” Sticking out her hand, she said, “I’m Kate.”

  Smiling, he shook it, his big hand swallowing hers, making her feel small and dainty. Would he mind if she crawled into his lap and enjoyed the feeling for a while?

  “Nice to meet you, Kate. I’m Banner.”

  Her brows shot up. “Banner? That’s your first name?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Jennings.”

  Banner Jennings. Why did that ring a bell? She gave him a quizzical look. “What do you do for work?”

  A sardonic smile graced his face as he hesitated. After a moment, he answered, “I run a family business. You?”

  Work. Now, there was a safe topic. She sat forward in her seat. Before answering, she glanced around them for eavesdroppers. Talking work in the kink community felt strange. But it seemed most attendees had left, and the few stragglers were busy with other things. “I work at the rehab center downtown. I’m a drug abuse counselor.”

  “Really?” His gaze flickered over her face. “You look young for that.”

  “I graduated early.” She raised her chin. “You look young to run a business.”

  “I grew up early.”

  They had a brief staring contest, and then she looked away, fighting back a smile. Hot and he had his shit together? Too bad he wanted a slave. What a waste. Still, he could feature in her fantasies instead of the faceless men who were usually there, so tonight wasn’t a total write-off. The guys in her fantasies almost always wore suits though. Maybe there was a fetish for that. Doms in suits.

  She chuckled at herself.

  “What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

  God, he didn’t miss a thing. “Nothing. I was just thinking about something funny.”

  “Are you gonna share with the rest of the class? It’s only fair.”

  She shrugged. “Doms in suits. Sounds like a funny movie title. Like Doms in Space.”

  He laughed for a moment, and then his gaze turned heated. “Doms in suits, huh? Does that turn you on?”

  “No,” she said too quickly. “I mean . . . That’s not what I meant.”

  His brows shot up, and his lips tightened in what looked like suppressed amusement. Then he leaned in. “I can help you figure out what your thing is, if you’re honest with me. I’ve been doing this a long time. I’m pretty good at reading people. And you don’t have to worry about me being creepy. You’re not my type.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “But I can help you find your type. We can figure out what you want, without having to kiss a few frogs first or getting yourself into a dangerous situation.”

  She stared at him, reading the earnest look in his eyes. If Chris said Banner had a good reputation, then maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. It wasn’t as though he was hard to look at, or hang out with. And if it kept her from experiencing guys like Vince, and cock-shot creeps, it would be worth it. It might even be an adventure. A dark, exciting adventure. Her sex life had gone stale years ago, and her fantasies only took her so far. It was about time for something new.

  “I’ll think about it,” she finally said. And she’d probably think about him too, later that night while she wore the batteries out in her vibe.

  ***

  “Are you excited for your discharge?” Kate shut the door to her office behind her as she followed Sean into the room. As always, he took the couch, and she sat in the chair across from him. Though her large desk dominated the room, she felt less approachable sitting behind it, so she used it mostly for doing paperwork. The last thing she wanted was to feel removed from her clients.

  “No,” he admitted with a sigh.

  “No? Usually patients in your position are practically climbing the walls right now.”

  Sean’s forehead crinkled, aging him. He couldn’t have been older than thirty, but the drugs had taken a toll on his body. Yellow teeth, thin hair, haunted eyes—he looked like a stereotypical addict.

  Discharge was bittersweet. Hope was there, in the distance, trying to shine bright. But reality was a mean son of a bitch. Only a small fraction of her clients made it in the real world. Most of them came through those doors a second, third, fourth time, having just finished detox—though repeat clients were better than funerals. Kate cared about every client, guided them, and the one thing she wished for at every discharge was never to see them again. That, to her, equaled success. />
  “I’m scared.” Sean’s voice quavered.

  She glanced at him and felt only compassion. He’d have been easy to give up on. The first month of treatment, he’d given her a hell of a time. Volatile, uncooperative, verbally abusive. Everyone’s recovery process was different, but she’d recognized the signs of his withdrawal, even though he displayed them in a very . . . aggressive way. She’d waited to see who he was, underneath the addiction.

  Kate Lambert didn’t give up. Not ever. Sure, other staff whispered about hopeless cases, but she didn’t believe in such a thing. Becoming jaded by the work was all too common, but she refused to let herself go down that path. Slowly, she had won Sean’s trust. She’d showed him she wasn’t giving up on him and, in turn, he hadn’t given up on himself.

  “Everybody has something worth fighting for,” she’d told him, during their previous sessions together. “A reason to fight for your life. You just have to find your something.”

  Over those next few months, they’d talked several times a week about what that something could be. Many times it was a client’s children. Or a spouse. Sometimes a brother or even a pet. But Sean had nothing. He’d burnt all the bridges with his family a long time ago.

  Together they’d worked on finding his place in the world, what he had of value. Helping Sean address his issues was the biggest challenge in her career so far, but in the end she hoped he’d be successful.

  She watched his gaze drift to the floor. His hands shook in his lap.

  After a deep breath, she said, “Change can be scary. But you’ve got this. We worked out a plan for getting help when you think you need it. You have your friend Jim on speed dial. You have my number. You’re ready. You can do this.”

  He smiled slightly. “Do you like John Wayne?”

  “Um. I’ve never really given him much thought.”

  “I grew up watching his movies.” Sean lifted his gaze and looked at her. “He said once, ‘Courage is being scared to death . . . and saddling up anyway.’”

  She nodded. “That’s good. I like that.”

  “What do you suppose it means?” He cocked his head to the side. “John Wayne was known for being fearless. Why was he talking about being scared to death?”