Mairearad’s nod was more ardent. “That’s more of a problem than you would think, too.”
“I’m sure I saw some of yours or the other Devilhouse artists’ clients in the ER who didn’t take care of their skin properly. Everything was usually solved with topical antibiotics.”
Mairearad tilted her head and smiled. “Artists?”
Dree nodded vehemently.“Absolutely.Your kind of work isabsolutelyart. The lines, the colors, the textures. I’ve always admired it.”
Mairearad sighed happily and toasted Dree with her wine glass. “Most people don’t understand that, but itisart. Art causes an emotional change in the person experiencing it, and my line of work certainly does that.” She chuckled. “I’m so glad you see that, especially if you’re with Maxence.”
Dree grinned at her. “He certainly was your canvas.”
Mairearad raised her wine glass. “So to speak.”
“Right.”
Mairearad scooted forward on her chair and rested her arms on the table around her salad, leaning in to ask Dree quietly, “So, I didn’t mean quite that. I shouldn’t ask this because of HIPAA and everything else, butis he okay?I’m completely out of that line of work now. Ilovemy work with Second Sun. Using my master’s in social work this way is justsorewarding. I wouldn’t go back. But—is Max getting what he needs, either from you or from somebody else? Because if he doesn’t get it from someone, Maxence punishes himself.”
It almost sounded like she meant sex instead of tattoos, but that couldn’t be right. Maxence had said he had never had sex with Mairearad, so shemustbe talking about tattoos or something else.
Dree did her best to answer anyway. “I think he’s had enough for now. He hasn’t complained or said he wanted any more.”
Mairearad’s eyes widened a little bit, and she looked down and pressed her lips together. “Guys like that don’t just quit cold turkey. He’s got a lot wrapped up in his head that it was taking the pressure off of.”
While that was true, it kind of didn’t make sense. They seemed to have veered off subject or something, but now they were too far down this conversational path for Dree to admit she had no idea what they’d been talking about for half an hour.
Mairearad rolled her wine glass against her cheek and said, “Dominant masochists aresorare.It’s definitely a case of turning your trauma into kink, but I didn’t think he’d be able to change his natural personality. He’s one of the few guys I’ve ever worked with who wasreallyable to top from the bottom. I might’ve been the one holding the whip, but he wasin charge.”
—whip?
Dree stopped chewing the bite of salad in her mouth.
They were not talking about tattoos.
She studied her salad and did not let her confusion show in her eyes or expression.
Dree resumed chewing the lettuce and chicken in her mouth, her teeth mashing the food.
The Devilhouse was not a tattoo parlor.
It was a—
Dree had made amistake,getting Mairearad to talk about Maxence like this. “So, did you ever eat at The Spaghetti Factory in Tempe? Their homemade ranch dressing on their salads is amazing. I think they put fresh mint in it.”
Mairearad said, “I felt bad about messing up that exquisite tattoo on his back. I made him sign extra liability waivers before it got that rough.”
The angel wings.
Dree drank the rest of her wine in one gulp.
Mairearad shook her head. “I was just worried about him. Don’t mind me. I’m sure you two are great together. The pain was how he coped with the stuff in his head because people who do that get a dopamine rush from it, and also it takes their mind off what’s going on up in their skulls. It’s a counter-irritant, like how people with chronic physical pain will cut or whip somewhere else on their body to take their focus off the part of them that hurts. It works, but it’s rough on them. It just seems like he’s had a lot happen in his life, but he never talked about it with me.”
“Yeah,” Dree said. “He has hada lothappen in his life, some of which very few people know about.”
Mairearad nodded. “I’ll bet. Most guys with serious power issues, either subs or Doms—”
Dree heard the capital letter that time.
“—have something they’re working through. Maxence didn’t come to the Devilhouse for therapy, though. On quite a few occasions, he paid my rate of ten thousand dollars to talk about social justice issues over a glass of wine for two hours.”
