Dare To Love Again by Maddie Taylor

Author:Maddie Taylor [Taylor, Maddie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blushing Books Publications
Published: 2018-10-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 11

With his hand on her lower back, Keiran guided her to the double doors at the far end of the bar. When the pathway became narrow around the tables in the lounge and by the teeming dance floor, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and led the way. It kept them from being separated in the crowd and also let him gauge her reactions, like the way she trembled with excitement, and how her pulse fluttered rapidly. She was a mix of nervousness and anticipation, but not panic. He’d seen her on the verge of it earlier and almost lost her. If her fear and uncertainties returned, he wanted to be the first to know and help her keep the tendency she had for running, in check.

She’d surrendered so much in their first session, but in the days following had time to rebuild her defenses. Three days was too long for them to be apart, but with work right now he couldn’t manage more often. Between filling in the gaps in staffing their regular security contracts, the new celeb stalker case that had fallen into his lap and providing personal protection for visiting dignitaries at the state capital, his next evening off was Saturday, four days from now.

He’d have to check in by phone and squeeze in another meeting with her outside the club, but he didn’t know when and where.

Her mood shifts between trust and panic, sweet and sassy, pushy and compliant told him she was teetering between acceptance and withdrawing again. To him, it seemed more than a prolonged grief reaction, but other than good instincts from over a decade in the lifestyle, and a talent for reading submissives, he was no expert in psychology. Eric’s recommendation of professional counseling was sound, and he hoped in time, she’d trust him enough to open up about it.

Up the short flight of stairs, he steered her into the alcove outside the door.

“I’ll need my bag, Deanna,” he told the attendant, “and a bin for shoes.”

“Yes, Master K,” the attendant replied.

“Isn’t there usually a chair?” Esme asked as the young woman stepped into the aisle of row upon row of cubbyholes.

Keiran glanced at her feet and understood why she might need one. Her heels were at least four inches, probably closer to five. He imagined her teetering on one foot at a time while trying to get them off. A sprained ankle or her toppling over and sustaining a worse injury were unacceptable. How women walked around for hours balanced on their tiptoes and razor-thin heels he’d never know, although he was glad for it.

Any red-blooded man worthy of the testosterone coursing through his veins appreciated what a pair of high heels did for a woman’s ass, how it made them sway more when they walked, or hold on to their man’s arm, hand, or shoulder to steady themselves. Even better, how they looked up beside a woman’s ears while being fucked.

If that made him a sexist pig, so be it.

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