Handling Cynthia: A Second Chances Novella Read online

  Opening a new browser tab, he searched on "BDSM submissive." Last night, Cyn's desire for him to hurt her had thrilled and terrified him. Now he didn't know what to think. He'd let himself go, playing out all his fantasies, and she'd loved every minute. Her body had molded to his will without resistance.

  Then this morning, the wall had come down.

  What did that mean? Was this a weekend fling to her?

  The muscles in his neck stiffened, forming a dull ache in the back of his skull. He had thought she wanted a relationship, but maybe he had read the signals wrong. Could he have come this close, only to lose her?

  He had thirty-six hours to persuade her he could be the man she needed, the Dom she needed, before they went home to their separate lives. His experiences with Roxana hadn't prepared him for Cyn's vicissitudes. He needed to learn more about the submissive mindset.

  He quickly read some articles he found online in the few minutes before he was supposed to meet his friends for breakfast. At two minutes before nine, he stood, put on his belt, and went down to the lobby.

  ***

  Cyn hovered outside the breakfast room. Her friends hadn't shown yet. She recognized a few people but didn't really want to talk. She drifted out of their line of sight. The thought of mingling knotted her stomach like a cat's cradle.

  She didn't understand this impulse to isolate herself. She liked people—they fascinated her. But sometimes, she couldn't figure them out, couldn't find the right words to relate to them. That was the great thing about writing. If she got it wrong the first time, she could revise until she got it right.

  After she had left the ad agency to write fiction full time, her life became solitary. One reason she stayed in New York, rather than moving to her parents’ guest house in Connecticut, was to live surrounded by the pulse of the city. In the suburbs, she could spend days never leaving home. In her studio with the tiny refrigerator, she had to go to the market nearly every day. Getting out, seeing people, experiencing life was vital to a storyteller, no matter how introverted.

  Yet she was uncomfortable with these people, the ones she went to high school with. After transferring there sophomore year, she had tried to fit in. Despite the three years she'd lived in this town as a teenager, it had never felt like home.

  Hell, she wasn't sure what home felt like. She'd spent her entire childhood moving around—Austin, Charlotte, San Diego, and finally this nowhere town in Pennsylvania. She'd been in Manhattan for the five years since graduation, and that was the longest she'd lived anywhere.

  Her gaze wandered toward the elevators, watching for Trent. She sat on a couch near the front desk and checked her book sales on her phone. With eight novellas out in eight months, she was becoming known as an author. November was a notoriously slow month, though. She was looking forward to the December holiday buyers.

  A shadow fell over her, a figure blocking the light. She looked up, and Trent smiled at her, looking fit in jeans and a knit navy-blue shirt that hugged his shoulders and biceps. A lock of black hair hung low on his forehead, skimming one brow.

  She couldn't get enough of that handsome face with those sharp eyes and wicked smile. He didn't have Rick's smooth, drop-dead-gorgeous thing going on, which was actually kind of boring once you got used to it. Trent's face had character—a rough, dangerous quality that Rick utterly lacked.

  She rose and stood close to Trent without touching him. An electric charge sparked between them. The rumbling in her belly had nothing to do with hunger—not for food, at least.

  "We should get a table," he said.

  She nodded, and he guided her into the breakfast room with a hand at the small of her back. A sense of security washed over her. As long as he was watching out for her, everything would be fine.

  Or so she thought, until they passed a bleached-blond former cheerleader who called out, "Hey, Cyn, heard that Madison Avenue job didn't work out." The smirk on her fake-tanned face raised the ire in Cyn's chest. Her stomach bottomed out, and her mouth grew dry.

  She'd left the ad agency voluntarily. In less than a year as an author, her monthly income was comparable to what it had been as a copy writer. She was living her dream, yet Malibu Barbie had painted it as a failure.

  Her dad hadn't been happy when she'd left the agency, after he'd pulled strings to get her the job. She loved the creativity, but the adrenaline-fueled environment left her jumpy. Her appetite faded, and she struggled to sleep. As an independent author, she set her own schedule, her own deadlines. She didn't answer to anyone but her fans.

  Trent's hand stroked her back. "Don't let her get to you," he said in her ear.

  Tears stung her eyes. "I was never anything but nice to her."

  "You're nice to everyone, Cyn. It makes you an easy target. She's locked in that high school mindset—you've risen above it. You were always above it."

  A sigh opened the constriction in her chest. If people whose lives were smaller than hers comforted themselves by mocking her, she could live with that.

  She swallowed around the knot in her throat.

  Trent chose a table for four in the corner near the window. "You sit. I'll get you some breakfast."

  "I can get my own breakfast."

  He gave her a sweet smile, but his eyes darkened. "Let me take care of you." His tone warned her not to argue.

  "Yes, sir," she teased.

  A flush rose from his neck to his cheeks. She bit back a smirk.

  He went to the breakfast bar, and she checked her email, watching for Rick and Jordan. She spotted them and waved. While they loaded their plates, Trent returned and took the chair at her side. He placed an ample portion of fruit, yogurt, and a hard-boiled egg in front of her.

  "That yogurt has sugar in it."

  He looked her squarely in the eyes. "Try again."

  A fire blazed in her belly. "Thank you, sir," she murmured.

  He brushed his hand across her back.

  Jordan joined them, looking tired. He flinched a little when Rick sat next to him. That was strange. The two of them had been friends since first grade, and usually had an easy rhythm between them. Had college changed that?

  "What time did you guys leave the party last night?" she asked.

  "Not long after you did," Jordan said. "Rick and I…um, went to his room to watch the Sixers game."

  "You weren't entranced by the company of the Class of 2008?" she asked.

  Rick, across from her, patted her hand. "You didn't have a good time at the reunion, did you."

  "I didn't come to see the Class of 2008. Most of them hated me, anyway. I came to see you guys."

  "They didn't hate you, Cyn," Trent soothed.

  "Sure they did. They hated my dad laying off all those people at ElyraCon, even though it was the only way to save the company. They hated me for beating out Denitra for head cheerleader. They hated me for being pretty and for getting straight A's. Oh, and most of all, they hated me for dating the most popular boy in class, because it meant they had to be nice to me—to my face at least."

  Rick sliced into his waffle. "A few people might have felt that way. Not the people who knew you."

  "The only people who cared about me were you guys."

  "Cyn, people can hear you," Trent said.

  "I don't care what these people think of me."

  "You should," Rick said. "They're potential customers for your novels. You should be friending them all on Facebook. You need them for word of mouth."

  "Ugh," she murmured.

  "Think of it like Katharina in Taming of the Shrew," Jordan said. "Lie so you can profit from them."

  She scrubbed her face with her hands. "I don't know why I'm in such a bad mood this morning."

  "It's a lot to take in," Jordan said. "You've been gone five years."

  She glared. "I feel bad enough about that without being constantly reminded."

  "Cyn," Rick warned, "don't take it out on Jordy."

  She drew a ragged breath. "I don't fit in here.
I never have."

  Rick reached across and cradled her hand. "You fit with us. Everyone at this table loves you. I've missed you like crazy. So stop talking like that." He looked at her intently. "You have to come visit us from now on."

  She pulled her hand away and looked over at Trent. His eyes were hard, his jaw stiff.

  She rose and got some orange juice from the pitcher on the counter. Trent had no right being jealous of Rick. He'd been her boyfriend for three years—of course she felt close to him. Nothing in her behavior toward him had been sexual, while she'd basically let Trent do whatever the hell he wanted to her.

  Trent walked up behind her and rested his hands on her waist. "Cyn, if you're upset, we'll talk about it. This isn't the place."

  "You're not the boss of me." She pulled from his grip and sat back at the table, eyeing Rick.

  But he was distracted, watching Jordan, while Jordan was turned away. "What's going on?" She looked from one to the other. "You guys are fighting."

  Rick shrugged. "Disagreement."

  "You guys never fight. You yell at each other, then you make up."

  "We're not kids anymore, Cyn." The edge in Rick's voice was harsher than anything she remembered from him. "Jordan thinks if you don't give him a hundred percent of what he wants, you're not on his side. Ninety percent isn't enough for him."

  "Sometimes it's all or nothing," Jordan said.

  She shrugged. "I'm a good listener. Maybe we could talk about it."

  Jordan laughed, a sharp, frightening sound coming from that gentle soul. "Yeah, Rick, why don't you tell her about it?"

  "Because this is between you and me."

  Trent squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about these losers. What's the plan, now that you've quit your job in New York? Are you moving to Connecticut?"

  He said it so casually, no one would have known they'd had red-hot monkey sex the night before, and he probably wanted to do the same again. Or maybe he didn't—he'd gotten her out of his system, and now he felt as blasé as he sounded.

  She shrugged. "I can work anywhere. Maybe I'll move to a tropical island."

  "Did you have an island in mind?"

  Why was he acting like this was a casual discussion? If he wanted her to move to Delaware to be with him, he should ask her to.

  Did she want to move to Delaware? Would she change her whole life because of a hook-up? She should have realized she and Trent weren't the same people they were in high school. They'd have to get to know each other again before they considered a serious relationship.

  "No rush, right?" she said, a rebuke hidden beneath her careless tone. "My lease isn't up until June. I like being close to my folks, at least for now. Might as well stay in New York until I decide what's next."

  Trent nodded, his jaw set. Obviously, that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. Well, too bad. She wasn't ready to change everything for him.

  ***

  Trent sipped his black coffee, ignoring the tightness in his gut. Cyn had been tense before Rick and Jordan showed up, and the two of them were making it worse. She absorbed the feelings of the people around her. He had to get her out of there.

  Sadness tugged at his chest. He now realized why Cyn had stayed away so long. When her family had moved to town, her father had been the new CEO of the town's largest employer. She was in a different social sphere from the rest of the kids in class, and they never let her forget it.

  It broke her heart when people called her a snob, when she was nice to everyone. By junior year, she'd turned more aloof, giving up on the idea that her kindness would be returned. She had two more years until she could move out of this little town and on with her life. Rick, Jordan, and Trent were her only close friends, and she accepted that. But coming to this reunion—that couldn't have been easy on her. No wonder she looked down.

  Once they were alone, he could fix it. Hold her in his arms, trail kisses along her pale skin, silence the discord in her head. From the little he'd read, it seemed like subs most needed the Dom to take control when they were feeling overwhelmed, like Cyn was now. To give them something to focus on other than their thoughts.

  "What time should we meet for lunch?" Cyn asked, waking Trent from his thoughts.

  "Mom wants us at her place by noon," Rick said. "So, maybe 11:30? We can be there in fifteen minutes, but I don't want to be late."

  Cyn giggled. "I haven't forgotten how much your mom hates it when people are late."

  Trent set his jaw. He didn't remember actually agreeing to lunch at Rick's parents' house, but Cyn seemed excited about it. She'd been close to Rick's family when they were together. Naturally, she wanted to see them again. Yet jealousy burned in his chest and seeped into his stomach at the easy way Cyn talked to Rick, the shine in her eyes, the smile on her lips.

  He swallowed, pushing away thoughts of his fist connecting with Rick's jaw. Did it matter that Rick had been the one to cheer Cyn up? Trent had been the one in her bed last night—the one she had sought out.

  They had a long way to go before they could settle into a relationship. Their old friendship would be a good foundation, though, and discovering the new Cyn and her desires would be an adventure.

  Hidden by the table, he touched his hand to her knee. She turned to him with a bounce of her hair. Her gaze quickly swept over him in a sultry, inviting way.

  "You done?" he asked, rising and picking up their empty plates.

  "Thanks," she said. "I'm going back to my room to do some writing before lunch."

  "Yeah, and I should call my lab partner to make sure everything's okay." With a nod to Rick and Jordan, he deposited the plates on a tray by the trash can. He and Cyn walked to the elevators together, but she kept her distance. She didn't seem inclined to reveal yet what was going on between them.

  Trent bit his cheek. He'd had enough of the coziness between her and Rick. He didn't doubt Rick would respect the boundaries once he knew Cyn was taken. It was her behavior that needed to change. Helping her understand that was next on his agenda.

  Chapter 7

  The door to Cyn's room closed behind them, and Trent drew her into his arms. He planted a kiss on her neck, running hands down her red cashmere sweater and squeezing her ass through her black skirt. The scent of her cinnamon perfume, an innocent fragrance the night before, now filled him with decadent longing.

  She settled onto the couch in the sitting area across from the TV, giving him a sly glance. His gaze skimmed the curves of her body as he sat beside her. "Do you really want to write before lunch?"

  "No, I needed to get out of there. The energy in that room was making me crazy."

  "I know Missy's comments upset you—"

  "Misty."

  "Whatever." He stroked her hair. "She's irrelevant. Don't let people like that upset you. You were irritable with Rick and Jordan, and I know you didn't want that."

  She cast down her eyes. "Being here, being judged by these people—who do they think they are? Can you blame me for staying away?"

  "No one's blaming you, Cyn. We've missed you."

  "I've missed you guys, too." She sniffled as tears sprang to her eyes.

  He squeezed her hands. "You're overwhelmed. Let me help. Sometimes, submissives need a release when pressure builds. At breakfast, you were distracted by what Misty said. If you let me take control, I can respond in situations like that. Pull your attention away from the petty things bothering you. Refocus it on pleasing and obeying me."

  She shifted in her seat, wriggling and crossing her legs.

  "You said that BDSM is foreplay to you. Perhaps it could be more."

  She scowled. "What does that mean? You want to spank me for snapping at Jordy?"

  He chuckled. "No, but if it would make you feel better—"

  "Why would it make me feel better?"

  He stroked her hair. "Because you want to be held accountable for your behavior."

  She pulled away and glared.

  Shit. He shook his head. He was handling this wr
ong. "Look, Cyn, I'm not saying you've got anything to feel guilty about. Jordan understands you were upset. BDSM can be a pressure valve. Maybe you need that."

  "We sleep together one night, and now you're an expert on what I need."

  "I'm not an expert. I'm trying to help. That's what a good Dom does."

  "I told you, it's a sex thing for me. I don't need you to be my Dom at breakfast."

  He took her hands and kissed them. "I'm sorry. Look at this another way. You gave up a good job to work full-time as an indie author. That's incredibly brave, but it's a lot of stress, right?"

  Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, and he slid his arm around her.

  "I can take away some of the burden of decision-making. Not in your business, but in your personal life."

  She fidgeted with her necklace. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves."

  His cheeks went cold. He rose and strode across the room. He turned to face her, pins prickling his heart. "What do you want from this relationship? Is this weekend it?"

  She scrubbed her face with her hands. "I can't talk about this now."

  "When should we talk about it? I'm going back to Delaware tomorrow, and you're going back to Manhattan."

  She stood and took his hands. "I want a relationship. I just don't know how we’ll manage it."

  His heart swelled with relief and tenderness. She wanted to be with him. That was what mattered.

  He kissed her and brushed a finger down her cheek. "Let me worry about that."

  She drew her brows, her eyes hard. "Let you decide my life for me?"

  He rubbed his hand over the back of his head. "We don't have many options. I won't finish my PhD for at least three years. Either you come to me, or we do this long-distance, or we break it off now. I vote for you moving to Delaware, but if you'd like to try it long-distance for a while first, I understand."

  She rested her forehead against his neck. "I need time."

  "Say the word, and I'll find you a nice apartment near mine, within walking distance to a park and shopping—you'd like that, right?"

  She gave him a sly grin. "Maybe."