Page 4 of Resisting the Temptation (Broken Shelves #3)

Emma

T hey say everyone you know is battling something you can’t see, so you should always be kind.

If that’s the case, then this douchebag is battling a severe case of fatphobia with an added diagnosis of dominant-dysphoric-disorder.

About a year ago, I stumbled upon a romance book that was kinky as hell.

It did things to my brain—and my body—and I started researching BDSM, wondering if it’s something I would enjoy.

At first, my purity culture upbringing got the best of me and made me feel dirty for wondering what it’d be like to be tied up or handcuffed.

To be spanked, spit on, and used like a toy.

It took me about a week of research and internal pep talks to get over the feeling of being dirty, just like it took me a while to not feel dirty about the fact that I love sex. A lot.

After the initial hang ups, I spent the better part of last year learning as much as I could before I finally got the courage to sign up for a BDSM dating app last week—despite my anxieties surrounding dating apps in general—and agreed to drinks with Carl, who says he’s an experienced Dom.

I’m pretty certain he lied.

He started off by telling me I was only to refer to him as “Master” for the duration of our date, then proceeded to go into detail about the workout and diet plan he would put me on as his submissive.

He tried to order me a drink, and when I refused, he told me there would be consequences for not following the rules.

Hard fucking pass.

He’s in the middle of telling me all about his preferences, but he hasn’t asked me a single question or let me speak.

There are Dominants, and then there are the men who think they’re “alphas” or whatever, but they’re actually man-babies who think the world owes them everything. Carl is the latter.

I swallow the rest of my mojito and put up a hand to halt his spiel of why he only fucks a woman if she’s tied up.

“Listen, Carl, it sounds like you’re about one wrong move away from being arrested. I don’t think this is going to work out between us, so I’m going to go. Best of luck in your search for a human blowup doll.”

Carl rears back as if I’ve slapped him. “ Bitch. You’re not going to make a very good sub if you talk back like that. Good luck finding someone who will want to train your fat ass.”

I push out my bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “If your dick couldn’t fit past my ass, just say that. I can be so good for the right person, you just aren’t them. Goodbye, Carl.”

I walk out of the bar, leaving the douche to pay for my drink. It’s the least he can do after the pain he put me through—and not even the fun kind.

I’m about to order an Uber when Jordan’s name flashes on my screen.

“Jordyyyy. Tell me you have something fun to do to take my mind off of one of the worst interactions I’ve had.”

Jordan chuckles. “Was it that bad?”

“The worst. He wanted me to call him ‘Master.’ In public. ”

“Ew. Well, luckily for you, Kiera, Moss, Jaime, and I are all on our way to McGrath’s. Care to join us?”

“Hell yeah. I’m two blocks away, so I’ll meet you there.”

“See you soon.”

I turn in the opposite direction of where I was headed and make my way to McGrath’s, our favorite LGBTQ+ bar. A night out with friends is exactly what I need after the last few days. I haven't even had a chance to tell anyone but Jordan about my new job, and that’s only because I live with them.

From the outside, McGrath’s looks like any other dive bar, even though it’s on a busy street in San Diego.

The brick facade is worn, and the windows are framed with wood that’s seen better days.

The “c” and the “r” are going out on the red neon McGrath’s sign, but the Pride flag is pristine, like they just switched it out for a new one .

Inside, the floors are a dark oak, matching the long bar top. The neon signs on the wall reflect off of the glass bottles of liquor behind the bar, giving an atmospheric glow to the place. Tim is bartending tonight, and he gives me a chin nod as I walk past.

I find my friends at our regular booth, the worn vinyl sticking to my bare thighs as I slide in next to Kiera.

“Ooo, you look like a total snack , babe. Who’s the lucky person who got to see you in this dress?” Kiera coos, running a finger over the spaghetti strap of my hot pink mini dress.

“A douchebag named Carl. I met him on that BDSM dating app I told you about. He said he was an experienced Dom, but I think he just wants to control women. I will not be using that app again.”

Kiera works at The Temptation Lounge—a members-only BDSM club—as a client relations manager.

She helps submissives find Dominants and vice versa, making sure their preferences match up and they’re compatible kink-wise.

She also makes sure everyone is up to date on their STD testing and consent forms.

I can’t afford the membership fee right now, but even if I could, the club has a months-long vetting process, and the waitlist is astronomical.

Kiera was my go-to person when I started researching the kinky side of sex, and she’s been so helpful with answering my billions of questions.

She even had me fill out the club’s kink negotiation/interest form so I could get a better idea of what it is I like.

It’s been nice to have someone to talk to about it without feeling ashamed or “dirty. ”

Kiera frowns. “I’m sorry, babe.” Then she smirks. “I’ll dominate you anytime, though.”

Kiera is stunning. Tall and willowy, with dark brown skin, which contrasts beautifully with her buzzed pink hair. She’s probably a good six inches taller than me. In another lifetime, I’d have jumped on the chance to spend a sweaty night with her, but I don’t mix friendships and pleasure.

That’s how hearts get broken.

I roll my eyes at her shameless flirting. “Babe, you don’t even like ordering your own drinks. I don’t think you could dominate me in the bedroom.”

Jaime, our Latino gay bestie, barks out a laugh. “I agree with Emma, Kiki . I can’t picture you ordering our spicy friend around in the bedroom. You’d be the one on your knees.”

Jordan and Moss nod their agreements, and Kiera shakes her head.

“I want to say you’re wrong, but you’re not.

” She sighs like she’s defeated. “I might be able to help, though. My boss has implemented a new perk of my job to help people learn more about the club. Each employee can bring one friend a month to the club to get the word out. You’d have to do the STD panel and give proof of birth control if you want to forego condoms and, obviously, sign the NDA.

If one of our guests fucks around and breaks the rules, we’re responsible and will therefore be fired, so bear that in mind before you agree. ”

“You know I’m a stickler for rules. I’d never do anything to jeopardize your job, either. Are you sure you want me to be the guest, though? ”

Kiera lifts a dainty shoulder. “Unless Moss wants to get in on the action at the club, you’re the only person I know right now who would be interested.”

Moss shakes their head, their mop of shaggy red curls bouncing at the movement. “No, thanks. I’m good with vanilla.”

“Shocker,” Kiera deadpans. “I’ll email you all the forms you need to fill out, and as long as you don’t have any STDs, we can get you in next Saturday.

” She taps her chin. “I have just the guy for you, but I haven’t seen him come in for a while.

I’ll email him and see if he’s interested in meeting you. ”

“Thanks, babe. I owe you big time.” I wrap my arms around her as best I can and squeeze her in a tight hug.

I don’t know why it feels like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders, but it does. If I can get into the club next Saturday, it means I can hopefully start my new job relaxed and satisfied, which will help to calm my nerves.

We spend the rest of the night updating each other on the goings-on in our lives. When I tell them about my new job, Kiera orders us celebratory shots.

Jordan and I Uber home together, and I go to sleep feeling more hopeful about my future than I have in a long time.

On Wednesday the following week, Kiera texts me to let me know I’ve been cleared to come to the club, and the man she mentioned has agreed to meet me. She sent me his list of kink negotiations, and other than one or two things I’m not sure about, it seems our preferences align pretty well.

I don’t know his name, just his first initial— B.

Kiera says she’ll walk me through what to do when I get to the club.

These are my last three days at Kirkham Creatives, and it’s so bittersweet to be leaving a job that was a lifeline for me, but I’m excited to start this new adventure.

I hope Saturday ends up being something to help calm my nerves because I’ll be an anxious mess the rest of the week.