on the
sundress as a cover-up, I shuffled out to where Brad was. I hoped my sunglasses
hid the fact that I’d been crying.
He took my hand as we slogged through the sand. There
weren’t many people on this section of the beach. Most people preferred to sun
themselves on the sand of Santa Monica beach a mile north of here.
Brad dropped down into the sand and tugged on my hand, but I
pulled my fingers free. I smiled softly at him and walked for the water. I didn’t
stop as the waves washed my feet. I kept walking, the water now at my knees.
The sand dropped down sharply and with the next step I was up to my waist, the
cold water against my beaten ass a relief so sharp that I tipped my head up and
let out a happy little laugh.
Bending my knees, I dropped, sinking under the water. It was
cold and dark behind my closed eyes. I stayed there, letting the cold ocean
leach all the emotion from my body.
Hands grabbed me under the arms and jerked me up. I gasped
for breath.
“Leona.” Brad was there, his gold-green eyes examining me.
“Leona, say something.” I could see how worried he was, and wondered how long
I’d been under the water. He guided me toward the shore until we were knee-deep
in the water.
“I’m sorry.” Tears filled my eyes.
He’d come out into the ocean to rescue me—a beachside Prince
Charming. As I’d hung by my wrists in Master Clay’s playroom I’d realized
something. What I really wanted was someone like Brad, but what I deserved was
Master Clay. I wasn’t the princess in the story, I was, as Master Clay had
said, the courtesan, the handsome prince’s mistress. There to serve him
sexually, but not the girl who got taken to the ball.
“I’m so sorry, Brad. I’m an awful person.”
He didn’t say anything but his face hardened. Without saying
anything he reached for the hem of my wet sundress. I should have stopped him
as he pulled it up and off, but I didn’t. I wasn’t sure why he did it, but I
knew that the fastest way to drive him away would be for him to see what I really
was.
I took the soggy fabric from him, hugging it to my chest,
and turned my back to him.
He touched my upper thigh, just below where it hurt.
I waited for him to say something, but he was silent.
The need to cry made my throat tight. I walked out of the water.
Uncaring of who else saw me, I grabbed my towel from the tote and stuffed my
wet dress in. With the towel wrapped around me, tote bag in hand, I started
walking. I didn’t look back to see if Brad had followed me. I kept walking
until sand turned into concrete. I stopped at the first bus stop I saw and got
on, ignoring the bus driver’s stare.
As we pulled away from the beach I let myself cry. This time
it wasn’t from fear or pain. I was mourning the loss of my Prince Charming. By
the time I’d made my way back to campus I’d accepted what I was and what my
life would be. Two weeks ago I’d been so sure that BDSM would make me happy,
would give me what I wanted.
I’d been wrong—it turns out what I’d always wanted was the
boyfriend and romance—but I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t have him.
* * * * *
The car was barely in park before
Brad Marshall was out. He pounded on the mansion’s white front door, his anger
barely restrained.
Wayne Clayton opened the door. “Brad? This is unexpected.”
Brad pushed his way into the elegant foyer. He was familiar
with the house from the six months he’d spent working for Wayne. Brad had
developed a real estate app for Wayne’s firm, which was one of the biggest and
most powerful in Los Angeles. The app had put them on the cutting edge of real
estate marketing and sales. Brad and Wayne had both made a mint on the project
and become friends of a sort.
Friends enough that Brad knew Wayne wasn’t always Wayne.
There were times when he went by a shortened version of his last name—Clay.
“How could you do that to her?” Brad demanded.
Wayne calmly closed the front door. “Do what to
sundress as a cover-up, I shuffled out to where Brad was. I hoped my sunglasses
hid the fact that I’d been crying.
He took my hand as we slogged through the sand. There
weren’t many people on this section of the beach. Most people preferred to sun
themselves on the sand of Santa Monica beach a mile north of here.
Brad dropped down into the sand and tugged on my hand, but I
pulled my fingers free. I smiled softly at him and walked for the water. I didn’t
stop as the waves washed my feet. I kept walking, the water now at my knees.
The sand dropped down sharply and with the next step I was up to my waist, the
cold water against my beaten ass a relief so sharp that I tipped my head up and
let out a happy little laugh.
Bending my knees, I dropped, sinking under the water. It was
cold and dark behind my closed eyes. I stayed there, letting the cold ocean
leach all the emotion from my body.
Hands grabbed me under the arms and jerked me up. I gasped
for breath.
“Leona.” Brad was there, his gold-green eyes examining me.
“Leona, say something.” I could see how worried he was, and wondered how long
I’d been under the water. He guided me toward the shore until we were knee-deep
in the water.
“I’m sorry.” Tears filled my eyes.
He’d come out into the ocean to rescue me—a beachside Prince
Charming. As I’d hung by my wrists in Master Clay’s playroom I’d realized
something. What I really wanted was someone like Brad, but what I deserved was
Master Clay. I wasn’t the princess in the story, I was, as Master Clay had
said, the courtesan, the handsome prince’s mistress. There to serve him
sexually, but not the girl who got taken to the ball.
“I’m so sorry, Brad. I’m an awful person.”
He didn’t say anything but his face hardened. Without saying
anything he reached for the hem of my wet sundress. I should have stopped him
as he pulled it up and off, but I didn’t. I wasn’t sure why he did it, but I
knew that the fastest way to drive him away would be for him to see what I really
was.
I took the soggy fabric from him, hugging it to my chest,
and turned my back to him.
He touched my upper thigh, just below where it hurt.
I waited for him to say something, but he was silent.
The need to cry made my throat tight. I walked out of the water.
Uncaring of who else saw me, I grabbed my towel from the tote and stuffed my
wet dress in. With the towel wrapped around me, tote bag in hand, I started
walking. I didn’t look back to see if Brad had followed me. I kept walking
until sand turned into concrete. I stopped at the first bus stop I saw and got
on, ignoring the bus driver’s stare.
As we pulled away from the beach I let myself cry. This time
it wasn’t from fear or pain. I was mourning the loss of my Prince Charming. By
the time I’d made my way back to campus I’d accepted what I was and what my
life would be. Two weeks ago I’d been so sure that BDSM would make me happy,
would give me what I wanted.
I’d been wrong—it turns out what I’d always wanted was the
boyfriend and romance—but I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t have him.
* * * * *
The car was barely in park before
Brad Marshall was out. He pounded on the mansion’s white front door, his anger
barely restrained.
Wayne Clayton opened the door. “Brad? This is unexpected.”
Brad pushed his way into the elegant foyer. He was familiar
with the house from the six months he’d spent working for Wayne. Brad had
developed a real estate app for Wayne’s firm, which was one of the biggest and
most powerful in Los Angeles. The app had put them on the cutting edge of real
estate marketing and sales. Brad and Wayne had both made a mint on the project
and become friends of a sort.
Friends enough that Brad knew Wayne wasn’t always Wayne.
There were times when he went by a shortened version of his last name—Clay.
“How could you do that to her?” Brad demanded.
Wayne calmly closed the front door. “Do what to
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