for her future. She’d have to do something about that.
“Ok, dickhead,” she said aloud. She reached for her phone, ready to send some sort of withering response against her better legal judgment, and saw that it was not from her husband.
It was from Ford.
“ Soren served again, new plaintiff, former sub,” it said. “Allegations of abuse. Not good.”
Cate read it again. And again. And then again.
Allegations of abuse from a former submissive. It wasn’t really a surprise; it was exactly what she expected Mark Cheedham to come up with when the target was a sexually promiscuous self-professed dominant BDSM practitioner. Cheedham had probably had his investigators looking for plaintiffs for months. And yet it still sent a current of fear coursing through her nervous system, lighting up well-worn pathways, dredging up that familiar feeling that told her to run.
For a second, she was glad she’d never given Soren her phone number. She’d fretted over it not long ago, but now?
This wasn’t something she wanted to handle over text. This was something she needed to see for herself. She ignored her shaking hand and mashed out a question to Ford: “Where is he?”
“Here at Volare.”
Cate didn’t even have to think about it. “The clock’s already started,” she typed out. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
She stood up and felt her blood rush away from her head while her heart pounded in her chest. She had no clue if this was a good idea or not, but it still somehow felt like something she had to do.
The only trouble was she had no idea what she was going to do.
***
Cate pulled into the Volare compound with something approaching trepidation. By the time she aShee time ctually got out of the car, it was full-on panic. She’d somehow forgotten that this was the one place where keeping her professional life separate from her personal life no longer worked. Soren was the man who could see through her, who already had a piece of her that no one else had seen. And the truth was that Jason’s antics were wearing her down. Every day she felt the strain, and every day she was worried that she’d crack and reveal herself as a woman who let herself get kicked around.
And she was here as the lawyer who was supposed to kick ass, instead.
And there was Soren. This man she was unaccountably attracted to, the man she now thought of as a Dom—as her Dom, good Lord—was now accused of abusing a sub.
She could really, really pick ‘em.
Cate took a moment to smooth down her skirt, her hair, her top. Took a moment to put on her game face. And then she walked inside the club.
And the first thing she saw was Soren.
Off in the back corner, under a single, swaying light, playing pool by himself. His forehead creased with lines, his eyes intense, his muscles rippling with unreleased tension. He looked like he needed something to whale on, and yet every movement was controlled, calm, fluid.
Cate took a moment to stare.
Then she snapped herself out of it. Good Lord, she’d met this man once—why was this so important to her?
Did it matter? Maybe it just was . Like Soren had reminded her: some things just are. She just needed to hear it from him. Needed to watch him as he told her whatever it was he was going to tell her. Needed to see if she’d imagined everything, if this man really had recognized things in her because he understood, or because he was…like Jason.
Because Jason had a talent for finding her weak spots, too. It was just that men like Jason found them and then applied pressure to the point of pain. She’d thought that Soren was different. She’d felt that he was different.
Hadn’t she?
“Oh, fuck it,” she said. She hadn’t been able to look away since she’d entered the building. No point in just staring.
Easier said than done. Every step closer brought her blood pressure a little higher, made her pulse a little faster, made her breathing a little more ragged. The man loomed large even
“Ok, dickhead,” she said aloud. She reached for her phone, ready to send some sort of withering response against her better legal judgment, and saw that it was not from her husband.
It was from Ford.
“ Soren served again, new plaintiff, former sub,” it said. “Allegations of abuse. Not good.”
Cate read it again. And again. And then again.
Allegations of abuse from a former submissive. It wasn’t really a surprise; it was exactly what she expected Mark Cheedham to come up with when the target was a sexually promiscuous self-professed dominant BDSM practitioner. Cheedham had probably had his investigators looking for plaintiffs for months. And yet it still sent a current of fear coursing through her nervous system, lighting up well-worn pathways, dredging up that familiar feeling that told her to run.
For a second, she was glad she’d never given Soren her phone number. She’d fretted over it not long ago, but now?
This wasn’t something she wanted to handle over text. This was something she needed to see for herself. She ignored her shaking hand and mashed out a question to Ford: “Where is he?”
“Here at Volare.”
Cate didn’t even have to think about it. “The clock’s already started,” she typed out. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
She stood up and felt her blood rush away from her head while her heart pounded in her chest. She had no clue if this was a good idea or not, but it still somehow felt like something she had to do.
The only trouble was she had no idea what she was going to do.
***
Cate pulled into the Volare compound with something approaching trepidation. By the time she aShee time ctually got out of the car, it was full-on panic. She’d somehow forgotten that this was the one place where keeping her professional life separate from her personal life no longer worked. Soren was the man who could see through her, who already had a piece of her that no one else had seen. And the truth was that Jason’s antics were wearing her down. Every day she felt the strain, and every day she was worried that she’d crack and reveal herself as a woman who let herself get kicked around.
And she was here as the lawyer who was supposed to kick ass, instead.
And there was Soren. This man she was unaccountably attracted to, the man she now thought of as a Dom—as her Dom, good Lord—was now accused of abusing a sub.
She could really, really pick ‘em.
Cate took a moment to smooth down her skirt, her hair, her top. Took a moment to put on her game face. And then she walked inside the club.
And the first thing she saw was Soren.
Off in the back corner, under a single, swaying light, playing pool by himself. His forehead creased with lines, his eyes intense, his muscles rippling with unreleased tension. He looked like he needed something to whale on, and yet every movement was controlled, calm, fluid.
Cate took a moment to stare.
Then she snapped herself out of it. Good Lord, she’d met this man once—why was this so important to her?
Did it matter? Maybe it just was . Like Soren had reminded her: some things just are. She just needed to hear it from him. Needed to watch him as he told her whatever it was he was going to tell her. Needed to see if she’d imagined everything, if this man really had recognized things in her because he understood, or because he was…like Jason.
Because Jason had a talent for finding her weak spots, too. It was just that men like Jason found them and then applied pressure to the point of pain. She’d thought that Soren was different. She’d felt that he was different.
Hadn’t she?
“Oh, fuck it,” she said. She hadn’t been able to look away since she’d entered the building. No point in just staring.
Easier said than done. Every step closer brought her blood pressure a little higher, made her pulse a little faster, made her breathing a little more ragged. The man loomed large even
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