Two years ago...

“Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Feel the world sink into place like your body sinks into the couch after a long day.”

Jacob shifted in his chair, letting out a scoff that told me he was breathing, but only because he had no choice in the matter.

Just like he had no choice in showing up here today, I thought, letting the guilt streak across me and fade away. He did have a choice—to make (and keep) his own, personal therapy sessions, or come up with a better solution. After I drew the line in the sand, Jacob sat me down—after making the best chicken alfredo I’d ever tasted—and told me he needed help. After the kidnapping, he had to get the ugliness out of his head or it would swallow us whole.

But he could only do it if we did it.

Couple’s therapy.

Four missed appointments and here we were, staring awkwardly at the woman before us. A woman with kind eyes and good intentions, but I knew that it would take more than deep breathing and sinking into the couch to convince him that this was important.

The caftan wearing therapist inhaled deep, then wafted the air toward her nostrils so she could really get a good whiff. I doubted all that extra stuff was necessary since I was pretty sure the entire building could smell the super charged incense she was burning.

I watched the smoke dance and writhe in the dim light, wondering what it must be like to be nothing more than a wisp of smoke. Nothing more than a secret. To leave your bones behind and flutter through the air...before you disappeared altogether.

“Now picture a room. Four walls-”

Panic gripped me instantly the moment I heard the word ‘room’.

Like the duct tape.

Like the terror when I realized that my life was in the hands of a madwoman and-

“This is ridiculous.”

Jacob’s voice slashed through my descent into the past. It was me who had to breathe in, breathe out. Remind myself that I was safe.

Brittany is locked away.

On a good day, I was able to take it a step further, tell myself that she was getting treatment, which was more than she deserved. On a not-so-good day, I told myself that she was somewhere as terrifying as the place she’d held me. Locked up in an institution where she couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Today, I did my best to put all the memories and anxiety on the back burner. I could weather this storm. It was Jacob who needed help.

He needed me.

I gripped his hand, saddling him with a look. “Jacob, we both agreed we’d try this-”

“And I’ve sat here for-” He glanced at his Rolex. “Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes I won’t get back, might I add. What’s next, doctor? Maybe we should burn some sage to go with the incense. Manifest a happier existence?”

“Jacob!” I hissed, eyes bulging with embarrassment.

“No, it’s alright, Mrs. Whitmore. This is a safe place.” She lowered her hands to her lap, smiling too serenely for Jacob’s peace of mind. He let out another sound of disgust.

For someone that wasn’t too excited about going to therapy, Jacob had meticulously researched her. Dr. Kim Covington was legit. She had several awards under her belt, including published papers on her work with couples recovering from trauma.

It didn’t get more traumatic than being being kidnapped and held for ransom by your husband’s lost brother and a homicidal teenager.

Still, when we arrived at her office, four walls that could have just as well been a showroom for Free People: The Office Collection, Jacob looked ready to cancel again.

It was my voice, gently reminding him that this was a good thing, that we needed to talk about the things that went bump in the night. My voice that was quiet, because it was clear Jacob had plenty to say.

“I don’t know what kind of alternative therapy you think we signed up for, but-”

“Who signed up?”

Jacob looked stunned. Angular face carved out of stone, jaw lowered a few inches, eyebrow arched. He wasn’t used to being interrupted, and Dr. Covington’s sunshine-filled, kids television voice grew up real quick. She’d only uttered three words and both of us perked, gaping at her until we glanced at each other.

“Who signed up?” Jacob answered finally, straightening his tie. “Leila did, but we-”

“And was couples therapy your wife’s idea?”

Jacob raised his chin. “Actually, it was my idea.”

She was talking about me like I wasn’t sitting on the couch beside him, but that wasn’t as shocking as the fact that Jacob, who claimed that therapy didn’t work, was on the edge of his seat. My cool, jaded, unaffected husband was a walking billboard of emotions. He was agitated, uncomfortable, and definitely combative.

Dr. Covington flipped open her notepad. “And why do you think your marriage is failing?”

Silence stretched after her statement, but my body had plenty to say. The hands in my lap wouldn’t stay still, clenching and unclenching. Perspiration exploded at my temples. Coated my palms. My right foot was grinding into the rug like I was trying to put out a cigarette, but the fire was in my chest.

I found my voice, but my words tripped over each other. “No-failing-we-we’ve been through an ordeal-”

“Let’s go, Leila.”

It was Jacob’s voice that was serious now. Jacob already on his feet, snatching up his jacket. The doctor didn’t argue, closing her notebook with another one of those smiles. It made the nerves in the pit of my stomach twist like some living thing that would swallow me whole.

I hurried after him, apologizing, wishing that I’d worn a disguise after all because every person we passed stared like they’d witnessed the whole sordid affair.

I didn’t say a word until we were alone in the elevator. Just me, Jacob, and the elephant in the room. The elephant we were too good at ignoring.

Jacob’s arm shot out like a bullet, pulling the emergency brake. Pulling me to him. Staring deep into my eyes.

“Our marriage isn’t failing.”

I forced a smile, perking on my toes to peck him on the lips. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

His jaw twitched, like he wanted to smile, but had forgotten how. “We need a new therapist.”

I agreed, laughing for good measure. Laughing because I was getting way too good at keeping it together.

Our marriage wasn’t failing, but me? I was holding it together with rusty staples, half dried Elmer’s glue, and a prayer.

I stole a peek at my husband, too afraid to admit that he needed help.

How could I tell him that I needed help? How could he handle it, when looking in the mirror nearly brought him to his knees?

I aimed my gaze forward, my vision filled with the steel elevator doors. My face was just as impassive. Just as strong.

I’m fine.

I’m fine.

I’m fine.

I’d say it until I believed it...and with time, maybe it wouldn’t be a lie.

*

“JACOB, SHE LOOKS LIKE she may be sick.”

The two of them were huddled a few feet away. Just glancing in their direction was enough to send another wave of nausea and anger over me.

Yep, she was still butt naked.

If Jacob hadn’t acted so quickly, wheeling her a safe distance from me, I probably would have physically hurled her from the car when she said the words ‘first submissive’. Luckily for everyone involved, there was a little breathing room between me and Dylan’s bare breasts.

That didn’t change the fact that I was no fan of their close proximity, but I reined in those damn whispers. I refused to even speak them out loud.

“I will not jump to conclusions,” I said under my breath, like a teacher had just given me a sentence to write over and over until I learned my lesson.

I just had to accept that I didn’t have any control over this situation.

I couldn't control Jacob.

I couldn’t control Dylan; I’d only just met her and I knew that was a fact.

And that was the point right? Life wasn’t a child that I had to meticulously watch and steer away from danger. I just had to live. I had to trust.

And somewhere, underneath the nerves and confusion, I knew that Jacob wouldn’t have brought me here to make a fool of me. He told me he didn’t know that she’d be here, before I started hyperventilating.

What possible reason could he have to bring you to this place where the ghosts of his BDSM past flit about without a stitch of clothing?

“I should go over and explain-”

“No, you stay-”

“You’re not my master anymore-”

“God damn it, Dylan!”

The world went still after Jacob’s voice blasted through whatever obstinate comment this chick wanted to make.

The good news?Jacob hadn’t lost his touch and her nasally commentary was put on pause.

The bad news? It didn’t silence the commentary that ran wild in my head.

Why were we here?

Who was she?

When was the last time she touched my husband?

When was the last time he touched her?

My vision shuddered and even though I was holding onto two fistfuls of tulle, I felt like there was a tear in reality and I was gonna slip in that gap and be lost forever.

“Everyone kinda has this response the first time they come to the club, huh?”

Dylan’s voice.

It was like a bucket of ice cold water to the face.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe steady.

Think about Hope.

Think about the lake.

Think about Megan.

Heck, at this point, even Rich O’Connor was preferable to thinking about the current state of things.

“Leila.”

Jacob’s voice reached into the darkness, pulling me up. I held onto it and lifted my eyelids, even though I was worried I’d get another eyeful of Dylan.

I didn’t relax until I saw Jacob’s face, then I remembered he was on my shit list until further notice.

“Please tell your naked friend to go away and explain to me what this is.”

Jacob didn’t hesitate, but I already heard stilettos clicking in the opposite direction. I’d say this about Dylan, she didn’t throw  any final digs our way when she made her exit.

I blinked up at my husband, surfing the blue waves as I let go of my questions and waited for him to give me answers.

I didn’t make accusations.

I didn’t hurl insults.

I listened.

Or I tried to, anyway.

“First off,” he began with a sigh of exhaustion, “Dylan was speaking figuratively when she said that she was my first.”

There was a period at the end of the statement. A literal pause that had me holding my breath, waiting for the rest.

He was studying my face, like he was titrating the information to discover what I could stomach.

“That can’t possibly be the end of the story.” To be honest though, I felt a little better after I connected some dots. If she wasn’t his first submissive, that meant that maybe they never did the thing. They didn’t have some connection that I’d never understand.

But I still needed to hear the words.

“It’s not the end, but I want you to understand that Dylan was not mine. Not like that.” he explained, covering one of my fists with his hand.

The way he said ‘mine’ contained more than the word. She wasn’t his, like I was his.

“The first time I came here, before I knew you, I was assigned a house submissive because I attended solo,” he continued. “I knew we weren’t a good fit almost immediately, but she connected me with the owners. I didn’t find a submissive that night, but I found similar minds.”

I digested his words slowly. “So this is what...some sort of kinky community center? Where Doms and subs can connect?”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “A club of sorts, though Sebastian would frown at any sort of label being attached. He created this place so people with means could explore their kinks in a remote, discreet location.”

“Welcome to Risk!”

Jacob rolled his eyes to the sky. I should have just been happy he wasn’t staring at Dylan, but I still had a lingering ‘hands off’ flare in my chest. I steeled myself and looked past Jacob to the stairs that led to the entrance.

I exhaled when I realized that Dylan had found some clothes, her pixie-like body wrapped in a silk robe. Now that she was covered, I sized her up, starting in safe territory. I skimmed over her head, ebony hair coating her scalp like peach fuzz, turning her into some X-rated GI Jane. Even though I doubted she was any taller than five feet, her neck went on for days, punctuated by a slender leather collar that gleamed like her bright eyes as she took us in.

She knotted her robe, taking a cautious step in our direction. “Is it safe? Should I get the Mrs. something to drink?”

It was hard to stay mad at her, but I directed my answer to my husband. “Something to drink would be great.”

“There are a few waters beneath the table.” Malcolm's voice fluttered through the partition, making me want to slump and hide my face. I was already drowning in tulle and that was preferable to the realization that he overheard our exchange.

Heard our romp.

“I can hop back in,” Jacob offered. His piercing eyes were soft. Edged with worry. “We can go wherever you want.”

So the ball was in my court.

Whatever this place was, whatever his intentions, he was wiling to scrap the whole thing if I said the word.

If that isn’t love...

I swallowed, staring into the blue.

That’s what letting go was.

Besides, how often does a girl get to attend some upscale, sexy club, gathering, or whatever noun they used to describe Estate de BDSM?

I released my death grip on my tulle skirt and took Jacob’s hand instead. “I look amazing. I’d hate for this dress to go to waste.”

Dylan must have had super human hearing because she cried out, “You’re definitely the most clothed woman here!”

*

THE MINUTE I WALKED through the front door, I felt like I’d been transported back in time. My oversized skirt would have fit right in, tended to by ladies in waiting, my curly hair tucked beneath some massive wig with white locks that told the world I was someone important. Food would always be on hand, with a mere ring of a tiny bell.

“This entryway is probably called something fancy,” Dylan shrugged, “But I just call it the swanky place where the women strip down and the men leave their jackets and titles.”

Her eyes glittered mischievously as a couple that must have arrived before us did just that. There was a coat room where a stony faced attendant took the man’s coat. She was in lingerie, her lace and tights like something out of a Parisian boutique. I watched the scene, riveted by the female half of the couple. She was wrapped in a mink coat that would have definitely drawn the eye of animal rights activists, but that’s not why I was enraptured. It was the fact that she was practically a statue, not moving a single bone until her partner turned to her. He gave her a nod and she shed her jacket.

I was rocked into motion when I realized that like Dylan, she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

I leaned into Jacob, my cheeks flushing. When I looked up at him, I saw laughter dancing in his blue eyes.

“Watch it,” I told him. “You have to go home with me.”

He feigned innocence, steering me away from the check-in area. “I’m not doing a thing.”

“But your face is.” I stuck my tongue out at him. I wasn’t sure where to look first. What I’d see if I did. I was a fish out of water and it should have been terrifying, but I was intrigued. I’d never been anywhere like this.

Dylan’s heels clicked on the mahogany floors. I felt like I was in a museum, passing by gilded artwork and portraits, but my tour guide was on break. She wordlessly led us to a room not too far from the furs and top hats: the bar.

My eyes swept over the room, centering on the bar that gave me saloon vibes. It must have been the rustic, hardwood bar and the wall of liquor, manned by a tuxedo-clad man.

As my eyes swept the room, I realized that Dylan was right...I was the only woman wearing clothes. All the men were dressed like they were headed to a black tie event.

Well, all the men except for Jacob.

Dylan was off, ordering something at the bar, so I seized the opportunity to snuggle up to my guy and not make it super obvious that this was my first time, standing out more than I already did.

“I thought I would be overdressed-”

“And you are,” Jacob winked, drinking in my breasts like he could taste them. Feel them.

“I can give in to the peer pressure-”

“Don’t even think about it,” Jacob growled, pulling me even closer. “The only man that gets to see all of you is me.” He cast a look around the room, and anyone that dared to look in our direction found something else to look at.

My heart did a happy dance as relief shuddered through me. More power to all of the women who were rocking their birthday suits, but I had no intention of joining them. I didn’t care that I stuck out like a sore thumb.

I cast a look over Jacob’s casual number. “And I thought I’d be underdressed.”

His lip quirked into a smile. “Are you complaining, Mrs. Whitmore?”

My fingers veered to his ass, giving it a good squeeze. “Hell no.” Jacob looked tantalizing in a suit, jeans, or nothing at all.

“Looks like you two need to get a room!”

I wheeled around to see Dylan ogling us with a playful smile on her glossy lips. She held out two glasses. “Bottoms up.”

I eyed the glass warily. This wasn’t a stereotypical club, and she wasn’t a frat guy passing me God knows what in a Dixie cup, but I still didn’t reach for it.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t Roofie Night.”

“Dylan...” Jacob groaned, taking one of the glasses.

“What?” she shrugged. “You’ve clearly forgotten that I refuse to take life too seriously.” She cut her green eyes at me. “Your sub isn’t quite there yet.”

I waited for Jacob to take a sip before I accepted the second glass. I brought it to my nose and sniffed it gingerly. “What is it?” It smelled innocent enough. Slightly fruity.

“Something to loosen you up before we head to the throne room and we really blow your mind.” When I didn’t move the rim to my lips, she sighed dramatically. “Do I need to drink it first? It’s sangria, Leila!”

I glared at her as I took a tentative gulp. Red wine, oranges, and cloves exploded on my tongue. “Thanks,” I offered her, heat pricking my cheeks. I didn’t feel too guilty since it was clear that she knew more about me than I knew about her.

My tummy was in knots, even though there wasn’t anything scandalous happening other than the kinky dress code. Since I needed liquid courage to even witness the main attraction, I had a feeling I was about to see some straight up sex.

I tried to think about it rationally.

Logically.

Once upon a time, the very idea of domination and submission would have been enough to make me clutch my pearls. I was evolved now. A little more open minded. A little less afraid after Jacob made it clear that I wouldn’t be stripping down and putting on a collar.

He still knew me. Knew me well enough to lean in and press his lips against my temple before they dropped to my ear.

“We can hang here for a bit, if you’d like.”

I’d come too far to wade in the water now. I threw back the rest of the sangria and pointed at the exit with the empty glass. “How can I say no to a throne room?” I even slapped on a smile for good measure and slipped my arm in with Jacob’s. I didn’t miss the fact that Dylan and Jacob both looked surprised by my statement. I broadened my smile and stifled the last bit of nerves that danced in my belly. “Lead the way.”

Dylan exchanged a look with Jacob, who gave me a few more moments to change my mind before he gave her a crisp nod.

She let out a whoop of delight that reverberated around the room like a record scratch. Most of the eyes were already sneaking a look in our direction, but that sound ensured that we were center stage.

I thought I was out of place with my gown and my red hot cheeks from all of the nudity, but I didn’t miss the disdain that rippled across the faces of the attendees. It wasn’t the annoyed, ‘I love her anyway’ annoyance that you spared for friends and family. These were Jacob’s people. People of means. People that were drenched in protocol and the do’s and don’t’s when you’re in public. And this place? With it’s elegance and crystal chandeliers and leather collars? It wasn’t an exception to the rule. They glared at Dylan like she’d let out the burp heard round the world.

She was nude, just like every other woman (except for me), but she practically had ‘Other’ stamped on her forehead. But she didn’t blush and apologize. She didn’t duck her head and hustle out before she ruffled any more feathers. She stood there in her robe with her head held high as she took our empty glasses and deposited them on a nearby table, then flashed me a toothy grin that almost made me forget that we’d started off on the wrong foot. Anybody that could give the rich and entitled the best kind of medicine (ignoring them altogether) was somebody worth a second chance.

“Right this way.”

The guests parted like the Red Sea and she smiled so sweetly at them I was surprised they weren’t holding their jaw, wincing from a toothache. We stepped back into the hallway, met by more classical music, more eyes aimed at us before they carried on with their business. I didn’t miss the fact that the men came in every size, every suit tailored to their various frames. The women were every color of the rainbow, but they had one thing in common: they all were thin and collared, like they were ordered from the ‘Perfect Submissive’ catalogue. Considering all the things I had to worry about (What exactly would I see in the throne room? Why did Jacob bring me here? Were we really safe here?) the fact that everyone was probably thanking their lucky stars that the chunky girl in the gown was keeping her clothes on should have been the furthest thing from my mind...but I couldn’t help it. I kept wiping my palms on my skirt, trying to keep my chin high when I saw two of the collared women whispering after they sized up me and Jacob.

Dylan was rambling on about themed events they had coming up and I was battling that old, familiar feeling.

The new girl. The fat girl.

Right back to the ‘why her?’ that I’d been dealing with since the day Jacob chose me.

The two women, a blonde with cheerleader-perfect hair and a brunette who reminded me of Missy went all out, full on giggling.

Keep your head up.

You’re just as sexy as anyone here. Sexier even! And-

“Wh-oh!”

I stopped mid mental pep talk as Jacob made the entire world stop.

He pushed me up against the wall.

Braced himself and stared down at me like a woman wanted to be stared at by her man.

Like I was his reason for existence.

He wet his lips, sky blue eyes glowing with love and lust. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look tonight?”

He didn’t wait for me to answer. He turned it into a rhetorical question as he claimed my mouth. Shoved his tongue down my throat. Took his hands and groped me like we’d been saving ourselves for marriage and the honeymoon was on.

It was a good thing that he was fucking me with his mouth because I was at a loss for words.

I was his.

Lost in his touch.

His smell.

His lips.

His love.

Because that’s what made me wet. Made me groan. This man loved me and he didn’t care if we were surrounded by people or all by ourselves. He wanted me to know that nothing else mattered except for this fact: Jacob Whitmore was in love with me.

When he came up for air, I had to plant my feet on the ground so I didn’t float right up to the vaulted ceiling. He didn’t open his eyes right away, his handsome face serene. Like he wanted to savor the lingering taste of me.

“We do have private rooms upstairs,” Dylan quipped, reminding me that we weren’t alone. The two women who’d been eyeballing us and chuckling at my expense turned on the charm, the sides of their mouths nearly reaching their predatory eyes.

The blonde was the first to speak, holding out her hand as she split the distance to us. “We just wanted to introduce ourselves-”

“And I want to introduce you to the love of my life.” Jacob didn’t accept her hand, standing at my side. Both women looked like he’d just snatched the wind right out of their sails. I put the nails in any delusions they had that they were relevant. I shook her hand, with a smile of my own.

“Charmed.” I released her hand like it was toxic and gingerly wiped my palm on my skirt before I dismissed them, breezing past the duo to where Dylan was watching with a ‘Oh snap!’ look on her face.

She leaned in, lowering her voice a notch or two. “So glad that someone else finally put those two in their place.”

Someone else? Did that mean that she took a stand against Mean Girls: Submissive Edition?

The moment was gone in a flash as she peered over my shoulder at Jacob. “Shall we continue? Or did you want to suck face some more?”

A sigh shuddered through Jacob, but I was biting back a smile. This chick was definitely brash and in your face, but there was a charm underneath it that was hard to deny.

We moved down the hall, past a few lounge rooms, one where I was pretty sure a circle of women were taking turns giving a man a blowjob, another where a sign was on the door that read ‘Scene in Progress’. Curiosity made me want to put my ear against the wood, but I kept pace with Dylan. We rounded a corner and she came to a hard stop.

She whirled back to face us, dropping her tone to a theatrical timbre. “I hope you’ve prepared yourself. Gird your loins-”

“Dylan-“ Jacob was using his Dad voice, his patience wearing dangerously thin. “Just take us in the throne room.”

She didn’t let the interruption (or Jacob’s tone) steal her thunder. She took two dramatic steps forward, inhaled deep and turned back to us. “May I present...the throne room.”

She held out an arm like a game show presenter. I linked my fingers with Jacob, holding tight to his hand. Dylan was miming a drum roll as we followed suit.

Two oversized doors were thrown open and my eyes bulged as I took in what was inside.

Back in the old days, throne rooms were the place where the King’s favorites could witness his splendor. A place of excess and tradition and attire spun with golden thread. A place for royalty.

This throne room?

It was a place for sin.

The wood beneath our feet was the same wood that lined the walls. St. Andrew’s crosses were affixed to the stone, with women attached to them in various stages of pleasure and pain. Chrome glinted like diamonds. Like the buckles on their collars. The men in this room had shed their jackets. Rolled up their sleeves. Those that weren’t preoccupied—teasing, biting, kissing, whipping their submissives—were at velvet lined equipment racks.

There were enough devices to give a Victorian era doctor a hard on. Everything from Wartenberg wheels to things that made me worry that whomever they were being used on might actually need medical assistance. But the sounds that whipped around the room were more than wails of pain. Pleasure hung in the air like a heady cologne.

It was terrifying.

It was intoxicating.

Jacob leaned in, and I guessed that he was about to ask me if I was okay.

I was wrong.

“What’s your color, little sub?”

The old Leila, the wide eyed girl who walked into Whitmore and Creighton for the first time, would have booked it out of there like her life depended on it. Ignoring the curiosity. Snuffing out any hint of desire that something so extreme elicited.

Now? Surrounded by debauchery and climaxes? Surrounded by people who were shouting for more, breathlessly calling out safewords, Doms stroking their submissives? There was only one word that fell from my lips.

“Green.”