A small gasp escaped Hawk, making me remember where I was. Slinking onto the chair, I blanched at the thoughtof someone thinking I’d been attempting something sexual. “Fuck,” I said, tears of shame building behind his eyes.
“Ethan,” Hawk said softly. “You can look up. No one saw you. The few people that are here are watching Roman and Nicholas spar.”
“You saw me,” I said barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what got into me. Old habits, I guess.” I knew that Hawk wouldn’t let this go. No matter how upset I became.
Hawk rose and plucking his phone and keys from his desk, he said, “Grab your bag, let’s go where we can talk in private.”
On the way toward the exit, Hawk stopped at the ring. One of the men watching the fight was Oliver, the head trainer and Hawk’s right arm. Hawk spoke low into Oliver’s ear. When he’d finished, Oliver said, “Sure thing, Hawk.”
Hawk patted the trainer’s shoulder and I followed Hawk out. On the sidewalk, he asked, “Where are you parked?”
I indicated across the four-lane road. “That way. By the church.”
“Do you mind talking in your truck?” Hawk asked. “I don’t have enough time for us to go anywhere that would provide us with privacy and quiet.”
“No, not at all.”
We walked in silence until my truck came into view. “That’s mine. The black Frontier in front of the rectory.”
When we were close enough, I used the key fob to unlock the doors. As soon as we got in and opened the windows, I asked, “Do you want the A/C on?”
“I’m good,” Hawk said. “It’s comfortably cool.”
We fell quiet again and I wondered if sitting in the truck was a good idea. I was feeling claustrophobic with Hawk in such close quarters. But then, Hawk’s voice made me jerk. “Sorry, Ethan, but you have to give me something.”
I gripped the steering wheel until my hands hurt. “I put the marks on my back. And since you’re questioning them, my thighs as well.”
“You?” Hawk remarked, sounding incredulous. “How, Ethan? But more importantly, why?”
I glanced sidewards not wanting to look at Hawk directly to see disgust or judgment on his face. I couldn’t risk Hawk going to the police. My prior charges six years ago had been expunged. And although my current boss at the Maserati dealership knew about them, I didn’t want to add more to my police-related resume. “Before I answer, will my information remain confidential?”
“Yes, of course,” Hawk said. “You have my word.”
I pushed out a heavy breath through my mouth. Then I began. “Do you have experience with BDSM?”
“No, not personally. But I know a couple who belong to the local BDSM club. They’re close friends and when I visit at their home, they’re… I’m not sure what all the terminology is but one of them is a Dom, and his wife is his submissive.”
“I’m a submissive,” I said quietly. “The kind that enjoys pain.” I peered at Hawk under long lashes, unsure of the man’s reaction. Nonetheless, I inhaled and plodded on. “Not all submissives crave pain. There’s a huge spectrum of ways to embrace and manifest submission. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a Dom in years, and when life gets overwhelming the only way to ground myself is by hurting myself. I’ve only been using a flogger but the other night I wasn’t getting the emotional release that I needed. So, I used a cane on my upper thighs. Those are the newest welts.”
Hawk stared straight ahead. When he turned back to me, he said, “I’m not sure what to say. Sitting here in front of the church, all I can think about is the Catholic tradition of self-flagellation, which is scourging oneself. But you’re not doing it to cleanse yourself of sins, right?”
“Right,” I confirmed, not being truthful with Hawk. I could only cope with one admission at a time. “In a Dom and sub—or Master and slave relationship—most submissives are driven emotionally… deep down at their core, to honor their dominant whether it’s through pain or
humiliation or whatever ways the submissive is naturally drawn to and has a consensual contract for with their Dom. In return, the dominant promises to provide care emotionally, psychologically and physically. I’d come to the end of my rope six months ago when I visited Hard Limit. Doms approached me, but I found myself caught between a stone and a hard rock.”
“How so?” Hawk asked.
“The kind of relationship I’m talking about is based on trust and consent. I fell victim to a manipulative man who called himself a Dom but took advantage of me. People were hurt. Badly. Me included. As a result, I’ve been fearful that I’ll read a Dom’s intentions wrong again, and I don’t want to risk another trauma.”
“May I ask a question? Well, two actually,” Hawk said and smiled.
I nodded. “Sure, go for it.”
“My friend’s wife will kneel at her husband’s feet when I’m over. And when I asked about it, she explained that being in a submissive position gives her husband pleasure because she’s showing him respect as her dominant. She derives equal satisfaction by just existing and not having a care in the world.” Hawk squinted, seemingly thinking through what was on his mind. “Is your desire for pain like her desire to kneel at his feet?”
“Pretty much,” I said. “A good Dom is an anchor for their submissive. Otherwise, like me without one, I feel desperately adrift.”
After a moment of quiet, Hawk said, “You’re an amazing boxer. From what you’ve told me, you’ve been at it for years and your hard work shows. Your skills are the reason I spar with you rather than pass you off to one of the other trainers. But twice you took a punch?—”
