Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(51)

But he needs to know all of that if he’s going to really help me. So I grab another coffee, sit back down, and start at the beginning.

When I finish, Brody looks a little shell-shocked, which says a lot about how f*cked up everything is with Dallas and me. Because Brody has seen a lot.

“And now you’re afraid it’s over?” he asks. “Because of the way he freaked out and left.”

I nod. Then I shake my head. Then I nod again. “I guess I’m afraid that what I thought was the beginning was really just us ending with a bang.”

Brody leans back, his arms crossed over his chest as he studies me.

“I’m scared,” I admit.

He nods slowly. And then he leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off me. “Bullshit,” he says, and the word is so unexpected that I shift to sit more upright. “Yeah, I said bullshit.”

“What the f*ck?”

“You’re not scared. At least, you’re not scared of it ending. You’re scared of where it’s going. Of how hard it might be. You’re confused because he’s not acting according to script and you don’t know what to make of that.”

I hug myself. “No, I—”

“Oh, come on, Jane. You’re vulnerable; I get that. And maybe you two really are sliding backward, but backward doesn’t mean it’s over, just that there’s more work to be done.” He reaches out and takes my hands. “Listen, kid. As hard as it was for you seventeen years ago, it was even harder for him, right? And everything you two do together brings it all back for him. There’s a connection in his mind between you and that place. That time. That torture. He’s used to that—hell, he’s even been handling it in his own way. Then you go and suggest that he put you in the role of the woman who tortured him and, yeah, that’s gonna f*ck anyone up.”

I nod slowly, because he’s right.

“And except for this hitch, you two were moving forward, right?”

“Yeah. We’ve stumbled a bit, sure. But this is the first time I’ve been really scared.”

“So, that’s good. That’s progress.”

“I guess so.” I frown. “Except he’s been holding back all along, keeping me on that damn pedestal. I mean, we still haven’t done anything in the playroom,” I add, referring to a converted maid’s room in my townhouse.

His brows rise. “Well, that was a huge waste of my considerable talents.” After Brody told me in confidence that he knew that Dallas belonged to a kink club called The Cellar, I’d had him help me redo the room with a BDSM flair in an effort to convince Dallas that he could trust me to go with him as far as he needed.

Apparently that’s a battle I’m still fighting.

“So what do I do?” I press. “I love him. And I’m so damned afraid I’m going to lose him.”

“Like I’ve said all along, you have to prove to him you can handle it. That you can take whatever he gives.”

“And like I’ve been saying all along, I’ve been trying. So far, not succeeding.”

“Honestly, kiddo. I’m not sure what the best approach is. But I’d start by going to The Cellar.”

“Seriously?”

“Hell yeah. If you go and tell him you’re there to play, I promise you he’ll show up, if only to keep you away from anyone else.”

“But I wouldn’t do anything with anyone else. And he knows it.”

Brody lifts a shoulder. “Knowing it and knowing it are two different things. He’ll come.”

I nod. About that, Brody’s probably right.

“You need to make it clear that even though he’s the one in control, he won’t hurt you. Pick a safe word. I can’t guarantee it would have made a difference, but if you’d yelled a safe word—something offbeat—I bet it would have crashed through his dream, zen state, whatever the f*ck it was. And if he knows you’re thinking in those terms—”

“Then maybe he’ll understand that I can handle it. That I want to handle it.”

“Maybe.” He sighs. “Honestly, this is out of my league. But that’s my best advice. We’re not talking a normal dom/sub relationship, here. You get that, right? This is all Dallas. All pain and past, and I don’t really have a road map for you.”

“I know. I don’t need a map. I just need—I don’t know, I guess I just need help.”

“I’ll always give you that in spades.”

“I know. And I love you for it.” I exhale, then nod. “Okay. So, back to The Cellar. Do I just … show up?”

“I’ll arrange it for you. And I’ll make sure you two have a private room available, too, because—hang on.” He tilts his head, obviously considering something. “You know what? I take it back. Forget The Cellar.”

“What? Why?”

“This is not a man who wants to share you, and we already know he’s afraid of freaking you out or humiliating you.”

I lean forward, listening. “Go on.”

“Dallas wants the kink, sure. Hell, he needs it. But he doesn’t want to need it. And he sure as hell doesn’t like that he wants it. He goes to the club to fill a need, not because he likes it there or is comfortable being there.”