Free Disciplined by the Dom by Chloe Cox Page A

thought about how often she lied to herself; about how often she’d pretended that her father was about to come around, that she’d hear from him soon, that it would all turn out to be a mistake. But now someone else had asked. Now Jake had guessed, and she couldn’t lie any longer, not even to herself. She wasn’t a coward. She plunged ahead.
    “Yes,” she said. “There isn’t anyone. I’m alone.”
    He looked at her for what felt like a long time. Several times, she thought he was about to say something, but he never did. He just stood there, stroking her cheek, smoothing her hair, watching her with eyes that had gone soft.
    Finally, he said, “Thank you for telling me, Catie. I will arrange for something. Stay here. I will be back shortly.”
    And he walked out of the room.
    Catie was slightly stunned. She didn’t pretend to know so much about Volare and the rules and expectations surrounding a training session, but she knew people, and she knew he shouldn’t have left . He’d just made her answer all these questions, he’d just made her answer that question, he’d made her come again—he shouldn’t leave her. He should…
    Well, what did she want from him? He’d said he didn’t get attached. He wasn’t “built” that way. But then he got so close to her, so close to something hard and sensitive deep inside her, a place where she was bruised all over, something she’d been able to block out, emotionally, until he came along and demanded access to it. Something he made more real by asking those questions. No, she didn’t have anyone. She was alone. No one wanted her. Thanks for pointing it out.
    And now the person she’d felt closest to was someone who said he wouldn’t get attached. Someone who left her here, after all that.
    “Screw this,” she said, and dressed herself.
    She felt her old defenses growing back, like a scab. She had to remember why she was here. It helped to think of it as a tactical diversion, part of a larger strategy. What would a Roman general do?
    She eyed the room critically. She might as well learn something.
    That’s when she saw his jacket, still hanging on the back of his chair. Even if she wasn’t worth anything to anyone else, she could prove she was worth something . She could do what she came here to do: file her story and support what remained of her family.
    She walked over to it, and hesitated for just a moment. Even with everything that had just happened, even with the way he’d refused to tell her his name, even with everything she needed to do to save her grandmother, there was something in her that was repelled at the idea of going through a man’s wallet.
    “Get over it, creampuff,” she said, and rifled quickly through the pockets.
    It was a simple, fine leather wallet, but expensive. She could tell from the quality of the leather. But she could tell he was rich from the suit he was wearing today, and from the fact that his clothes were always tailored. Many of the members of Volare had money; it was no surprise.
    His name, however, was a surprise. A shock, in fact.
    She read off of his driver’s license twice. Then she read it again.
    “ That Jacob Jayson?” she said aloud.
    “Yes,” Jake said behind her. “ That Jacob Jayson.”
    Oh shit.
    Oh. Shit.
    Slowly, she turned. There was no point in hiding what she’d been doing. She was still holding his wallet and his driver’s license. And he’d heard her say his name. His name that he very obviously wanted to protect, and for very good reason.
    Jake—Jacob—stood in the middle of the doorway, his hand still resting on the doorknob. His face had lost all expressiveness, which was somehow worse. She expected him to be angry, upset, betrayed. She could have responded naturally to that, could have fought back. Could have reacted, could have improvised. But he surveyed her with the cold calculation of a machine, and now she knew what it was really like to be lonely in this room. The anger she’d