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Chapter 7

Deirdre

“It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories.” Edgar Allan Poe

I watch him disappear down the hallway, only to re-emerge with a new shirt on. At least this way, I won’t be gawking like a damn teenager.

He motions to the living room, and I follow. He sits down on one end of the oversized leather couch and nods to me as if telling me to sit down.

So, I do, as far on the other end as I can possibly get.

“Can I ask another question?” I ask, my voice cracks. I want to know more. There is more to his story than just being a shareholder of a has-been sex club. The weight of the conversation lingers between us as he contemplates whether or not he should let me pry further. I tug at the hem of his oversized shirt, waiting for an answer.

After what feels like an eternity, he exhales deeply, leaning back into the worn leather couch.

“What would you like to know, Deirdre?” The way he says my name catches me off guard. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him call me anything other than by my last name.

The fireplace flickers, casting shadows across his face, and for the first time, I can see the exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes.

“Tell me more about you.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

I slit my eyes at him, exasperated. “Really?”

“I told you Salvation saved me,” he begins, his voice low and cautious. “What I didn’t tell you is why I needed saving in the first place.”

I don’t respond; I don’t push. Shit, I barely even move a muscle. It’s like he’s a cat and if I move he is going to get spooked and change his mind about opening up to me. I simply watch him, sensing that whatever he’s about to share is something he doesn’t talk about often if at all.

“My wife, Alexis, and I…” He pauses, running a hand through his dark hair. “We wanted a family more than anything. We tried for years. Natural cycles, hormone treatments, fertility specialists; you name it, we did it. IVF was supposed to be our miracle, but even that failed. Over and over again.”

He swallows hard, his gaze is fixed on the flames dancing in the fireplace. “The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with either of us. ‘Unexplained infertility,’ they called it. A cruel way of saying, ‘We don’t know why this is happening to you.’ I felt helpless.”

My heart aches at the bitterness in his tone.

“We gave everything to that dream,” he continues, his voice wavering. “Every penny we had, every ounce of hope. And every time we failed, it was like another piece of us broke. It became this silent war between us. Alexis blamed herself in the beginning, even though I told her it wasn’t her fault. And I…” He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “I blamed myself for not being able to give her what she wanted. For not being enough.”

I shift slightly, unsure if I should say something, but he presses on.

“Being intimate with her became complicated,” he admits, his voice dropping. “What used to be love, passion, and connection, turned into a chore. Something we scheduled on a calendar, monitored temperatures, and meticulously counted days. We weren’t making love anymore. We were chasing a goal. And every time it didn’t work, every time another treatment failed, it felt like I was failing her all over again.”

His voice cracks slightly, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. “I loved her. God, I-I would have moved mountains for her. But the weight of it all, the disappointment, the pressure, the guilt, it was crushing. It started to pull us apart.”

My mouth feels dry. I couldn’t form words if I tried. I stay silent, letting him continue.

“At some point, sex stopped being about her and me,” he says, his tone hollow. “But the dream we built our lives around...it broke us. And when she died…” He trails off, the pain in his eyes sharp enough to pierce through my heart. The tears start stinging my eyes. I blink in succession, trying to prevent them from falling.

I feel like I need to say something, but the words don’t form. I know pain. I know what it means to lose someone you thought would be yours forever. But his pain feels raw, untouchable, like a wound that’s still bleeding.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, now that my brain remembers how to speak.

He doesn’t acknowledge my apology, but continues on, “When she died, I didn’t just lose her. I lost the version of myself that existed with her. That’s when I found Salvation. Or maybe Salvation found me.”

“I walked in that night not knowing what it was. Vincent was the bartender at the time, and he quickly became a friend. Someone I could confide in. Then he explained to me what the club’s purpose was. I was intrigued. It had been years since sex was enjoyable for me, let alone me knowing what I truly wanted. It became therapeutic for me. A way to escape. A way to forget how broken I felt. I started to realize there was a part of me that needed control, that needed to feel wanted without the weight of expectations. It wasn’t about replacing her. It wasn’t about love. It was about survival, surviving this void I had.”

My eyebrows furrow together, and my chest feels tight at the vulnerability in his confession.

“You said you need to be in control? What do you mean?” I ask, hesitantly.

Kieran looks at me, his dark eyes meeting mine. For a moment, he says nothing, the silence stretching between us like a bridge. Then he nods, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“I learned through Salvation that I enjoy being dominant in the bedroom. Not because I want power over someone else, but because it gave me structure. Purpose. When everything in my life was chaos, it was the one thing that made sense.”

My breath hitches in my throat, the weight of his words sinking in. I’m not innocent by any definition, but I am also not well-versed in the kink community. I’ve heard of dynamics like this before. But hearing it from Kieran comes as a surprise. I guess there are many more layers to this man that I need to uncover. Just as I thought I was beginning to understand him, he turns out to be even more complex than he appears.

“So, you have someone to fulfill this…purpose?” I ask cautiously, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods. “I did. A submissive, yes,” he admits, his tone steady. “We had a consensual dynamic. She trusted me to guide her and learn, and in return, she gave me the space to process my grief. Like I said, it wasn’t about replacing Alexis. It was about finding a way to feel something other than pain.”

I attempt to swallow down the hard knot that’s now growing in my throat, my pulse quickening. “And did it help? Is that why you meet with Miss Legs for Days?”

I gasp when my brain registers the words that just came flying out of my mouth.

His eyes widen at her nickname. I’m almost sure he is going to kick me out of his house for insulting her when he begins to chuckle lightly.

Kieran leans back again on the couch, his expression now soft and much lighter. “In some ways, yes. It forced me to confront parts of myself I’d buried. It taught me how to communicate, how to set boundaries, how to trust someone again. But it also made me realize how much I’d been running from my past.”

My mind is racing, trying to understand this version of Kieran, the man who carries so much pain but has found solace in something that to most seems so unconventional. Yet again, I’m not sure what to say, but he doesn’t seem to expect a response.

Instead, he continues, “So, regarding Miss Legs for Days, as you call her, yes, she was my submissive for a very long time. I haven’t been intimate with her in three months.” He pauses.

“Why?” I blurt out.

He exhales and looks at me, his voice filled with an emotion I haven’t heard from him.

“You. You walked into Salvation on a night I happened to arrive early. It was your first shift, and you seemed so guarded, so distant. But the moment I saw you, I could instantly recognize the pain in your eyes. I haven’t touched a woman since that night. She and I still hold a very close friendship, and she may still want to be with me, but even what you saw that night wasn’t what you thought. I wouldn’t have been able to fuck her with you on my mind. I apologize for being so crass.”

Shocked, my mouth drops.

He noticed me.

For the first time, I say his name out loud, breathlessly, “Kieran, why are you telling me this?” I know the answer to this question could potentially be dangerous for both of our careers, and it could also change everything between us.

His lips curl into a faint smile, though his eyes remain serious. And for a moment, he doesn’t answer. His gaze searches mine as if he is weighing whether or not to bear the truth. The flames flicker across his face, softening the sharp edges of his jaw but doing nothing to hide the vulnerability in his expression.

An expression I’ve never seen on this hardened man.

Finally, he exhales deeply, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Because…” He hesitates, his voice low, “There’s something about you. Something I can’t explain. I know you’ve lost something, too, you’ve had to learn how to survive, and it connects us in a way I haven’t felt with anyone else.”

My heart sinks into my chest. His words hit me like stones being thrown into still water, sending ripples through my carefully guarded walls.

“I feel drawn to you,” he admits, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not just attraction. Like your presence reminds me that I’m not the only one carrying around these scars, that maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.”

My chest begins to tighten at his admission, and I feel like I can’t catch my breath. The intensity in his voice catches me off guard.

“Kieran…” I start to object and stand up and pace in front of the fireplace. The warmth of the flames makes it feel hard to breathe.

“I know it’s complicated,” he says, a faint, almost self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “I’m your professor, and I have no right to feel this way. I can’t ignore it, but I need to know I’m not crazy. Tell me you felt it too, that night at the club, that you feel something when you see me.”

Kieran pushes off the couch and steps toward me. His commanding figure standing before me makes me feel woozy, like the room is closing in.

I feel my throat tighten, his words cutting through every defense I have built up over the last year. I want to protest, to push back against the idea that there could be something between us, but the truth of his words resonates with me in a way I know deep down is the truth.

The silence hangs in the air.

Finally, Kieran’s hand reaches for my arm, gently rubbing my skin. His touch feels like electricity coursing over every nerve ending. When he speaks, his voice softens. “I don’t expect anything from you, Deirdre. If you want to walk away, I’ll let you. I’ve had a lot longer to develop this attraction to you. Maybe that’s why I feel like I could tell you the things I’ve told no one else.”

My gut and every instinct I have are screaming at me to run, to retreat back behind the safe, impenetrable walls I have built around myself. But something about the way Kieran looks at me, raw and unguarded, makes me want to stay.

Even though he has no clue what I have been through the last few years, he can see himself in me. Our pain has shaped us, molded us into who we are now. And though it is hard for me to admit, there is no denying how I feel when I am near him.

And that realization both terrifies me and makes me feel alive in a way that I haven’t in years.