Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

As his concern grew, her tears continued. But these weren’t the heaving sobs of emotional trauma; she cried almost silently.

“Linda, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Every-everything feels wrong.”

After a minute, he realized he’d assumed the upheaval was from the past. But perhaps this was something more common. He tightened his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “You know what subdrop is?”

Her head moved. No.

“Sometimes the endorphins that send you into a good place wear off. Leave you in a hole. Once you know what it feels like, it’s not as bad.” Or so the subs said. “Kinda like a kid after a party, buzzed on sugar, missing a nap. Nicole used to work her way into a tantrum and end up crying on my lap. Crashing as everything wore off. You’re crashing, baby.”

“Oh, wonderful. What’s the cure?”

“Just this.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, letting her know she wasn’t alone. That someone was there to watch over her. There wasn’t much else he could do. Dammit.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She patted his shoulder, then took a shuddering breath. “And it was worth it. I had an orgasm.”

Yeah, she was going to be fine. He stared up in the darkness, realizing he was smiling at how insufferably pleased she sounded.

Early the next day, behind the store counter, Linda was making lists of new merchandise to buy and possible craftspeople to consider. Two Canadian-sounding customers were browsing the quiet store. She took in their attire of shorts, tanks, and flip-flops. They were definitely from farther north.

In contrast, Linda wore a long-sleeved shirt and tan slacks. Opal, her clerk, was in an ankle-length denim dress, because—to Floridians—sixty degrees was on the chilly side.

As Opal dragged a box of tote bags across the floor, her kinky black hair bounced with each tug. She saw Linda watching, and her dark brown eyes brightened. “You look good today. Happier.”

I had an orgasm. “I’m starting to settle back in.” Had she looked that unhappy?

“I’m glad. It’s nice to have you back. You’d think it would be good to have the boss gone, but it’s not the same place without you.”

As the young woman headed for the shelves, Linda felt as if she’d inhaled bubbles and was floating a couple of inches above the chair. The pressure in her chest was gone. That irritable itchy feeling was gone. Like a sandy beach, she’d been scoured clean, the ugly seaweed and junk swept away by the waves.

But was it only because she’d had an orgasm? Setting her chin in her palm, she doodled on the list. Drew a row of tulips.

Before she’d been kidnapped, a good night of sex had never resulted in such an uplift the next day. Her pen fashioned a rose…then an outline of Sam’s big hand. Of course, no one—not even Frederick—had given her such amazing climaxes, but what if her mood wasn’t due to sex at all? Hadn’t she felt like this after Sam had flogged her in the Shadowlands? All open and free. Clean.

She frowned. The pressure inside her had built up again, hadn’t it? She just hadn’t noticed, what with all the other complications in her life.

But an experienced sadist might have noticed. Had Sam given her that spanking and strapping for more reasons than diverting her mind from the slavers? Her pen dug into the paper, sending jagged lightning toward the flowers. He always watched her so intently. Studied her. A belt took form on the paper and doubled over.

Yes, he’d known. And since he was a Dom down to his bootlaces, he’d given her what he figured she needed.

He’d been wrong, dammit. I refuse to be a masochist. She bit her lip, wondering if she was the one who was wrong. Maybe she had needed the pain. And possibly for longer than just the past few months. A sinking feeling made her lean against the counter. Possibly for a long, long time.

But she’d found other methods to handle the feelings. Eating foods spicy enough to make the children complain. Cleaning and doing yard work until her limbs trembled. Working out in the gym so long that every muscle in her body ached like a sore tooth. Her husband had called it “having a mood on her” and had attributed it to her being female.

Her lips quirked. A good spanking might have saved her all sorts of effort. But Frederick had never wanted to discuss sex. The few times she’d asked him for something different—a swat, some roughness, to hold her down—he’d been disgusted.

More customers came in, browsing the basket section. Actually, Frederick had been more than simply disgusted; he’d implied she had a mental problem. Her pen scribbled dark clouds along the edge of the paper. She’d never tried to talk about sex again.

But maybe she was mentally unstable. Dismay splattered over her happy mood like a cold rain. She’d told herself the flogging at the Shadowlands would be the last time. Insisted on it. But then she’d let Sam spank her. Whip her with his belt.

What had she been thinking? A normal person didn’t visit BDSM clubs and definitely didn’t let a man spank her. A little kink was one thing. Needing to be hurt was entirely different.

This had to stop. She wasn’t going to let herself be a masochist.

But…what about Sam? She closed her eyes, remembering his hard kiss before he’d left her bed. If she continued to see him, he’d give her the pain she craved, and she’d never be able to stop. Like a drug dealer, he fed her addiction.

This must end. No matter how she felt about him, she couldn’t keep sleeping with him. Not tonight. Not ever. The realization, the resolution, hurt something deep inside her.

“Miss?”

Linda pasted on a smile for the young woman. “That’s a lovely piece.” She rang up the sale of the carved candlestick and managed to chat with the Canadian and her friend.

As the two women walked out, Linda reached for her cell phone. Her hand shook. Need to do this. Don’t be a coward. She punched in Sam’s number.

“Davies.” His dark, rasping voice sent her hormones bubbling into instant carbonation.

“It’s Linda. I’ve been thinking. The graffiti guy seems to have stopped. I don’t think you need to waste your time driving here every day.” Even as she said it, her chest tightened.

Silence.

“Sam?”

“You saying you don’t want to see me again?”

The disconcertingly blunt question stabbed through her, and she smothered an instinctive no. He deserved better than a stupid excuse. She was being cowardly. Tangling her fingers in her hair, she yanked. Be honest. “Sam, you mean a lot to me. And I really, really appreciate the time you’ve spent, helping me.” Holding me. “We’re friends, and I’ll always be grateful.” She closed her eyes, pulling in a slow breath. “God, I feel as if I’ve been using you. I didn’t mean to.”

“But…”

“But I don’t want…want to do what we did. I can’t be like that. I need to be normal.” Her pen scribbled over the hand she’d drawn, blotting it out, each black line adding a fresh slice of hurt.

“Normal.”

Tears blurred her eyes at the disgust in his voice. “Yes.”

“Girl, no one is normal. Even the ones who try to appear that way.”

“That doesn’t matter. This is—”

“I understand. All too well.” He paused. “How about I come over and we talk?”

“There’s no point.” And he’d look at her with those perceptive blue eyes, say her name, and she’d cave. She would. A vise of guilt squeezed the breath from her. She’d do anything to keep from hurting Sam—anything but continue on the path they were going down.

“I see.” Ice covered the gravel of his voice. “I think you’re wrong, girl, but you’ll find that out yourself.”

“Yes. Then this is good-b—”

“Mebbe. Doesn’t sound like you know what you’re doing.”

She did, didn’t she? “But—”

He’d disconnected. Well. That was that. As she straightened, she looked down at her paper. Black scribbles had blotted out the flowers and the writing. After pulling in a steadying breath, she started a fresh list.

The afternoon dragged on and on and on. For the first time, she took no joy in her store, in the customers. I want to go home.

“Linda, sweetheart.” She glanced up to see Lee halfway to the counter, his suit and tie a marked contrast to the casually dressed beachgoers. His sandy hair had been tousled by the wind, and he finger combed it as he grinned at her. The women customers gave him lingering looks.

Linda forced a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area.” Lee leaned over the counter to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Are you caught up yet? I want to take you out to dinner.”

“I…”

“You know, you’re an incredibly difficult woman to date.”

“I’m not ready for…for anything, Lee.” She bit her lip. “I know we were…intimate, but I don’t—”

“No problem. We’ll take it slow. Just dinner. Nothing else.”

Here was the normal life she wanted. With a nice man. Months ago, when she’d sounded him out about kinky sex, he hadn’t been interested at all, but he hadn’t called her names as Dwayne had. Or implied she was mentally unstable like Frederick.

If she dated him, he’d keep her on the straight and narrow, and if she had to cope in other ways, she would. Hey, a ton of extra cleaning and exercising wouldn’t be bad. “Then okay. I’d like that.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Everything in her wanted to yell no. Let him in her house where memories of Sam would linger? She couldn’t bear that. Not yet. “How about I meet you at the restaurant?”