“The woman who accused me retracted her original statement and admitted that someone had paid her to frame me.” The words landed bluntly, but he couldn’t muster up any emotion over it anymore.
Cora’s eyes went wide. “Frame you? I— How? Why?”
He cleared his throat, that familiar chill going through him anytime he thought about everything that went down that night. “It’s a long story. I don’t mind telling you. Most of it can probably be found online—well, the media’s twisted version of it anyway. But it’s not exactly appropriate work conversation.”
She frowned. “I just told you about my shitty past relationship and you labeled me a submissive. I think we’ve jumped that shark.”
His brows rose. Cora had this layer of shyness at times, almost an innocence about her, but then there was also this outspoken side, this refusal to play games or mince words. She’d be a woman who would keep a guy on his toes.
She glanced at the open doorway, and it was obvious she was calculating her risk. He knew he’d never hurt her, but she couldn’t trust that. So he imagined she was going through a checklist. There were people down the hall. They were at the office. She had a phone. “Shut the door. I’m willing to listen if you’re willing to share it.”
Hayes closed the door with a quiet click and walked back to the chair in front of her desk. He sat down and rubbed his palms on his jeans, unsure now that he’d made the offer whether or not he really wanted to do this. He didn’t tell strangers his story. He didn’t share. But for some unknown reason, he had this need to be honest with Cora. She wanted to believe him. And God, he needed to be believed by someone who wasn’t related to him or bound by lifelong friendship. But telling this story was like cutting his chest open and letting her stare inside at all the ugly guts of his life.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” she said gently.
He took a breath and looked up. There was no judgment on her face, just this open expression. I’m listening. And in that moment he realized that she truly was giving him an opening. This wasn’t—ooh, tell me your tawdry, scandalous story. She wanted to know the truth. She was withholding her decision on his guilt. For now.
It was up to him to give her the information so she could make an informed decision. Honesty. That’s all he could give her. “I’m guessing you’ve figured out that I’m a dominant.”
He saw a flash of something in her eyes. Fear? Curiosity? He couldn’t tell. But she answered with a stoic “Yes.”
He gave a little nod. “Well, back then I was very active in the local scene. It was a big part of my life and most of my weekends were spent at a resort I belonged to. Most of my play was done there because I knew the members were vetted and the rules were clear. But I also did demonstrations for a local group.”
When her brows went up he explained.
“Workshops. Negotiation skills. Rope techniques. Creative ways to edge someone.”
“Edge?” She shook her head as if admonishing herself. “Sorry. I’ll shut up. I have a bad habit of letting my curiosity override my filter. I’m sure that’s not relevant to the story.”
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He shifted in his chair. “Edging is bringing someone to the brink of orgasm over and over but not letting them come for an extended period of time. It . . . can make things pretty powerful. Intense. Every touch feels like torture and pleasure all at once.”
“Oh. Gotcha.” Two blotches of pink rode high on her pale cheeks and her gaze dipped to his left hand where he gripped the chair.
The shift in her demeanor threw him for a second. What was she thinking? He flexed his fingers and she crossed her legs.
The simple move was like a shot of heroin in his veins. She’s thinking about my hands. Perhaps how he’d edge someone. Maybe imagining how he could pet and pinch and penetrate with nothing but a few skilled fingers. Was she thinking about him doing that to her? The possibility was almost too much to consider. He was projecting, seeing stuff that wasn’t there. He couldn’t let himself go down that line of thought. Off-limits.
She lifted her gaze to his and held it for a beat too long. Just enough for him to see that blink of attraction there. She didn’t know if she could trust him, but on some basic, physical level, she found him appealing.
Fuck. He didn’t need to know that. Didn’t need that kind of temptation waved in front of him.
“So something happened at the club?” she asked, her voice coming out slightly strangled.
He forced himself to focus. He would tell her his story. By the time he was finished, anything she thought she was feeling would probably burn into a bright blaze of Get the fuck out of my office and stay away.
“Yes.” He looked toward the window, anywhere but the pretty, pink-cheeked Cora, and reeled himself in. “A request came to me through that group. A woman was looking for an experienced dominant to do a stranger role-play, one with an element of force . . . and pain. She told the leader she’d seen me speak and wanted to know if I’d be willing.”
Cora’s chair squeaked but she didn’t say anything.
“I’d seen those types of things go badly before. Submissives trusting people they shouldn’t. Guys who weren’t trained dominants taking advantage of that kind of trust. So when the head of the group asked me, I said I would do it. He knew I’d done a non-con scene a time or two before.”
He expected Cora to recoil at that. Even within the community, saying a role-play that simulated nonconsensual sex turned your crank was often looked at warily. But he wasn’t going to feed Cora a line of bullshit. He dared a glance at her.
Cora’s fingers were threaded in her lap and she visibly swallowed. “Rape fantasy.”
He nodded. “Essentially. I wasn’t down for anything overly violent. Delivering pain isn’t my thing, but force and physical restraint were going to be major components. And the mindfu—” He caught the word before it slipped out, edited. “The mind warp of it all.”