5. Talia

Chapter 5

Talia

A thirty-minute drive later, I punch in a code beside a black door in an alley off Wilshire in Beverly Hills. The pad turns green and I walk inside. Another hallway stretches before me, this one with soft, recessed lights and plush carpet. Abstract black-and-white photos hang in huge frames in the white spaces between four doors. A final door stands opposite me, padded in black leather. Muted thumps of music come from the attached club.

A door on my right opens and a man pokes his head out, a guarded expression melting to surprise and happiness when he sees me. Emerging fully, he closes the distance between us.

Tall and slender and almost inhumanly gorgeous, his white-blond hair is short on the sides and long on top, flopping artfully over his brow. The smile on his face soothes the burn beneath my skin—just like I knew it would .

“I could hardly believe it when I recognized your code. Welcome back.”

I want to smile but make myself frown instead. “You cut your beautiful hair.”

It used to be long, almost to his waist. When we were involved, one of my favorite things to do was brush and braid the silky strands. The new style makes him look his age—thirty-three. It also makes him look less like an angel who accidentally fell from heaven and more like one who dove intentionally. I’m not sure I like it.

His grin grows. “Two years since you’ve stepped foot in Crossroads and that’s the first thing you say to me?”

“I’ve missed you, Nate,” I murmur.

His smile turns impish. “If that’s the case, I’m due for a break and my office door locks.”

More tension drains from me as I laugh. “I’ll take a hug.”

Obeying, he pulls me into his deceptively strong arms. I inhale his familiar, citrusy scent and the last tendrils of my tension fade away.

He palms the back of my head beneath my bun, skilled fingers pressing lightly on pressure points. “Never thought I’d see the day when you came to me for comfort.”

My lips curve. “Don’t be silly. You’ve always brought me comfort.”

His chuckle vibrates beneath my ear. “Oh, I know. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Cheeky,” I admonish lightly, then lift my head to see his face. “How have you been, lovely one? ”

The pet name slips out. His eyes darken, gaze latching briefly on my mouth. I shake my head chidingly; he smiles slowly, unrepentant.

“I’ve been good, Mistress,” he whispers.

A frisson of awareness tingles through my center, accompanied by a slideshow of memory of how good Nate is. Ending things between us had been hard for both of us, but we knew it was time. As much as we cared for each other, we couldn’t give the other what we really needed long-term.

“Still unattached?” I ask against my better judgment.

His gaze flickers. “Somewhat.”

I step back immediately. “Nathan,” I snap, using his full name because it annoys him. “Tell me you didn’t disrespect someone by touching me.”

He shakes his head, eyes wide. “I didn’t. That’s not what I meant.” He blows out a heavy breath, then laughs a little as he studies me. “God, I forgot the impact of that voice. I’m not committed to anyone at the moment, promise.”

“What did you mean, then?”

He flushes and looks down. “It’s new. Nothing official. And they share, anyway.”

He looks at me and I’m once again surprised by the directness of his stare. I’m even more surprised by his next words.

“I recognize the look in your eyes, Talia. You know I can give you what you need.”

Though his presumption is startling, it’s the use of my first name that makes my brows shoot up. “You’ve changed. ”

He nods, still intriguingly defiant. “Some shit went down not long after we parted ways. Personal stuff. My sister was in trouble.” At my expression of concern, he shakes his head. “She’s fine now. Better than fine. But that’s when I started growing a backbone.”

I reach out and grab his hand. “You’ve always had a backbone.”

“Thank you. But I needed to find one the world could see, so I started working on it. You heard about me taking over daily operations for Dominic?”

I smile warmly. “Yes, Charlie told me. Congratulations.” My smile falters. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out.”

He smiles faintly, squeezing my fingers. “It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t. Anyway, Dominic and Charlie taught me a lot.” His smile turns wry. “Including how not to freak out over using a Domme’s first name.”

I smile at the thought of the owners of Crossroads, Dominic Cross and Charlie Rhodes—the latter my mentor during my college years—teaching Nate how to boss people around.

“How’s the transition been?”

“A few ruffled feathers initially but nothing extreme. The hardest part has been stepping back as a patron of the club. My position makes submissive behavior confusing for the staff, even if I’m not on the clock.”

“I’m sure.”

We turn as the door to the club opens. Music fills the hallway—a dark and erotic tempo that thrums in my bones—before the door shuts again. A woman in a latex catsuit glances at our joined hands and smiles.

“Break time,” she chirps to Nate.

He glances at his watch before nodding. “Thanks, Ginny. See you back in fifteen.”

She waves and disappears through an adjacent doorway.

“Charlie’s gone for the weekend,” Nate says, his tone carefully neutral. “If that’s who you came to see.”

“I came for you, silly.”

I say it without thinking, only realizing what I’ve done when Nate steps closer. He tugs my hand up, splaying my fingers on his chest. I stare at my hand in bemusement; two years ago, he hadn’t possessed the confidence to touch me like this.

I drove here expecting to have a drink, to get out of my head, and unwind a bit. And yes, I was hoping to see Nate, whose presence has always centered me. What I didn’t expect was for him to be single, exhibit a new, intoxicating blend of behaviors, and to flat-out proposition me.

My fingers curl a little, my nails depressing his shirt and the skin beneath. His breath catches. Need and determination war in his expression.

“You haven’t given me a hard no yet, so I’ll try again. Please come to my office and let me serve you. For old times’ sake.”

The awareness that fluttered earlier returns in a bright, heated flash, soothing all the pieces of me that have been fraying since yesterday. Since Kieran Hayes walked into my office with his predator’s grace and broken soul. The thought of him—errant, unwanted—makes my arousal skyrocket, mocking me with blatant proof of how attractive I find my new client. How attractive I’ve always found him.

“Whoever you’re thinking about,” Nate says urgently, “use me instead. Please. I want you so much my legs are about to give out.”

I suck in a breath as a knot inside me unwinds, bringing calm and clarity. Right now, in this moment, I can either spiral out about something I have no control over—my body’s response to Kieran—or I can accept the gift being offered. And the wonderful man offering it.

“We can’t have the boss collapsing in a hallway, can we?”

Relief and triumph shine in his eyes before his gaze drops. He steps back and bows his head, clasping his hands over his groin. Anticipation makes him tremble, makes his breath come fast. The throb between my legs intensifies at the sight.

“Don’t be modest, lovely one.”

His hands fall to his sides, revealing how excited he is at the prospect of my care. Closing the distance between us, I palm the evidence. He jerks, breath hissing through his teeth. I feel a swell of power mingled with a familiar gravity. One of the hidden treasures I’ve discovered in this life: even in dominance, there is surrender. As surely as Nate will surrender to my whims, I’ll surrender to his.

Leaning forward, I place a gentle kiss on his smooth, warm cheek. Then I squeeze him as I murmur in his ear, “ Here are the rules: we’re not fucking tonight, but I’ll let you make me come. If it’s good, I’ll return the favor with my hand. If you exceed my expectations, I might put my mouth on you. Do you remember what my mouth can do?”

He makes a strangled noise. “Yes, Mistress, I remember.”

I smile. “Then I expect you’ll work hard for your reward.”

In Nate’s locked office, I find succor and respite. He earns my mouth—I never had any doubts—and I give him aftercare in the form of cuddling on the oversized couch. His head rests in my lap as I scrape my fingernails lightly across his scalp.

Peaceful and replete, he gazes up at me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I smile softly. “Thank you, but no.”

Unoffended, he closes his eyes. “Well, if you ever need to not talk about it again, my door is always open.”

I laugh and draw the pad of my thumb over his brow. He sighs and mumbles, “We still haven’t replaced you, you know.”

“I know. Charlie calls once a month solely to order me to come back.”

He smirks. “Of course she does. You’re the best kink educator in the city. A fucking legend.” His lashes part, eyes finding mine. “One hour twice a month on Saturdays. Or a seminar every six weeks. Think of it as paid community service.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re under standing orders from Charlie, aren’t you?”

He grins. “Yep. If I see you, I’m required to bring it up.” His smile fades, eyes turning serious. “Do you still feel the way you did when you stepped back? From the club and me?”

“Yes to both questions,” I say gently, then narrow my eyes. “Tell me Charlie hasn’t implied that you’re in any way responsible for my leaving.”

He shakes his head quickly. “She hasn’t.”

“Good.”

My reasons for giving up my role as an educator at the club were simple—I was stretched too thin, exhausted all the time, and wanted to focus on my career as a therapist. That I ended up stepping back from the lifestyle at the same time wasn’t premeditated; it just happened that way.

“So you haven’t…?” He trails off, his cheeks reddening.

I lean forward to drop a kiss on his forehead. “No, lovely. You’re my last sub. I can’t see that changing.”

I’d hoped the words would be comforting, but sadness clouds his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Even with all the work I’ve done, I’ll never be able to top you. I just… can’t.”

My heart squeezes. “I never wanted you to change, Nate. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.”

He reaches up and captures my hand. “You didn’t. I guess I’m feeling nostalgic.” His eyes twinkle. “No one edges me like you do.”

I laugh, but it fades quickly.

“Besides,” he adds more softly, “we both know it was mutual. I needed more, too.”

Around the same time I started realizing being strictly a Domme wasn’t fulfilling me anymore, Nate was coming to terms with his desire for polyamory. He wants to be shared and to share. I want monogamy and sex that allows me to explore both dominance and submission.

“We were almost perfect, weren’t we?” he muses, melancholy tainting the words.

I palm his face. “You deserve more than almost. Never forget that.”

His lips curve. “Yes, Mistress.”

A strident knock on the door makes us jump.

“Nate?” calls a male voice. “We have a situation in playroom seven. Non-emergency, but I need some help.”

Nate launches to his feet and tugs on his pants. “Coming!”

I pull my shirt on over my bra, then throw my hair into a quick ponytail. When Nate glances at me for permission to open the door, I nod.

The man on the other side is vaguely familiar. He smirks at the sight of Nate—mussed hair, barefoot, and bare-chested, with visible bite marks peeking out of his waistband—then his eyes flicker to me and widen. He blanches, head lowering .

“Professor,” he says in an awed voice. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”

I wince at the nickname I tried and failed to quell. “It’s fine. We’re done.”

Nate murmurs, “Told you you’re famous.”

Shaking my head, I settle back on the couch to put on my socks and shoes. I listen as the man relays that a scene went off the rails. A sub is crying hysterically. Her Dom is distraught but not violent. He can’t calm her down but also won’t let anyone else try.

Nate scrambles to pull on his shirt. “Jesus, Lionel, you said it wasn’t an emergency!”

“She’s not hurt?—”

“Not physically,” I mutter at the same time Nate scoffs.

“—but the curtains are open and a crowd has gathered.”

“Where the fuck is Adam?” Nate demands.

“Middle of a scene. Playroom four, I think.”

Nate curses as he struggles with a shoe. “What about Irene?”

Lionel is finally grasping the seriousness of the situation. “I don’t know,” he says in a wavering voice. “I came on an hour ago and haven’t seen her.”

“Why hasn’t another Dom gone into the room and asserted control?” I ask, frowning. “The doors don’t lock.”

Lionel won’t meet my eye. “A few have tried, Mistress, but the door is blocked from the inside. Should I—should I get security?”

“You’re only now considering that?” yells Nate .

I sigh and stand up.

“Nathan, take a breath and put on your shoe.”

He freezes, then nods and does as I say.

I turn my attention to Lionel. “What’s the sub’s name?”

“M-Mandy, Mistress.”

“Both of you, follow me.”

There are consequences for stepping into our former selves. No matter how hard we try, our present-day feet can never perfectly align with the imprints we once made in the world. The result is dissonance. A jarring feedback loop between who we once were and who we’ve become.

When I finally get home at 1:00 a.m., I’m wrecked. I stumble through my dark house, shedding clothes as I make my way to my bedroom. I manage a brief detour to the bathroom before falling face first onto my bed and curling into the fetal position.

My consequence, my pain, is eerily close to what I felt when I was young—an innate sense of not belonging—which in my case formed a core belief that I’d never belong anywhere.

Finding my place didn’t happen overnight. It took years. Like Lewis Caroll’s Alice, I had to experiment until I found the correct door for me. Ironically, it took walking through the wrong door at UCLA when I was twenty. What I thought was an evening seminar on cognitive neuroscience was in fact an introduction to BDSM. By the time I realized my error, it was too late. I was frozen in my seat and riveted by the lecturer, a professional dominatrix named Charlie Rhodes whose magnetism enthralled me.

Charlie told me later I stuck out like a sore thumb that night. Not because I looked radically uncomfortable—though I was—but because I absorbed her every word like I was starving and had finally found a feast. She spoke about sexual dominance and submission. Safety, consent, communication, power, and pleasure. She had what I wanted: confidence, innate sensuality, and deep understanding of human connection and the intersection between the mind and body.

That was my true beginning; the following nine years, my history.

Donning the mantel of the Professor tonight was like walking into my childhood home and finding that even though all the furniture was the same, I was looking at it from an impossible angle. Although I played the necessary role—asserting control over the Dom in the playroom, soothing the sub and counseling her when she calmed down—I felt upside down in a right side up world.

I don’t fit at Crossroads anymore, in the first place I felt like I belonged, and it fucking hurts.

But something else hurts more. A truth that sneaks up in the darkness and silence between my muffled sobs and falls over me like a weighted blanket when my tears at last ebb. A twisted treasure unearthed in my very own psyche by tonight’s dissonance. Reflective and inescapable, it glows across all the footsteps of my past.

There’s a reason why the men I’ve always been drawn to look like Nate. Tall and slender and faintly untouchable. Because they resemble the first male who quickened my sexuality.

Eighteen-year-old Kieran Hayes.

All these years, I’ve been trying to make a memory kneel.

At least I finally understand the underlying reason I pulled away from Nate, from Crossroads. Because after so long searching, some part of me must have accepted I’d never find what I was looking for.

He isn’t real.

My heart has been hunting a ghost.