Free The Submissive's Secret (What's Her Secret?) by Natalie Dae

Chapter One
    Diary, October 7 th
    “Will you come clubbing with us tonight, Lori?” Fiona had asked.
    I’d shaken my head, as usual.
    Friday nights were reserved for something else entirely.
    “Why not?” she’d asked. “You never come out with us now. Got yourself a secret man, have you?”
    How did I answer something I didn’t want to answer? How did I tell her that on Friday nights I did something they just wouldn’t understand? How the hell did I remain polite when, because I was being pushed on a regular basis by my work colleagues, I wanted to tell her to leave it, please, just leave it?
    I’d shrugged. “Just a bit busy, that’s all.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Things.”
    “What things?”
    I’d smiled, thinking of what I’d be doing. “Just things.”
    I’d gotten up, walked away from the packed table, and Fiona had said to the others, “What’s she hiding? What’s her secret?”
    I’d left the pub. My ‘secret’ was a secret for a reason. I hid what I hid for a reason. What I did on Friday nights was something just for me. My thing.
    And I wasn’t going to share it with anyone except my Swedish Dom.
    * * * *
    I sensed him behind me, my Dom, and resisted turning around to look at him. This week had dragged, my need to be with him seeming to make the days crawl by slower. I remained staring at the optics behind the bar, paying the label on a bottle of vodka particular attention, my senses buzzing.
    Orchestral music filtered through speakers set high in every corner, a soft, haunting melody I’d always associate with him. Jaska, the man who had so far met my every need, whom I’d learnt to trust like no other.
    “What are you doing in a place like this, pet?”
    His voice had flowed effortlessly with the music, as though he’d sung the words. My stomach muscles tightened—excitement, so much excitement inside me—and I swallowed in an attempt to calm the rapid-fire flash of butterflies’ wings in my windpipe.
    They fluttered on. They always did.
    “I’m here to meet my Master,” I said.
    I sat rigid, dying to swivel on the barstool and face him. To take in his beautiful face, the way his cheekbones tapered toward his jaw—a jaw that some people would say was glass, so finely sculpted that it appeared fragile. It was always coated with stubble—God, I loved that—the darkness of it a shade blacker than his short hair.
    “I see.” He placed a hand on my shoulder.
    I shivered with delight, unable to hide it, and imagined him smiling.
    “And your Master,” he said, “has been waiting for you. Over there, in the corner. He saw you come in, had the urge to get up and meet you straight away, to greet you like a lover, but that wouldn’t do, would it? We’ve never worked like that.”
    “No,” I said.
    “But at some point…” He squeezed my shoulder, as though reassuring himself I was still there. “At some point things will have to change, you know that. It’s always been there between us, that knowledge. Sometimes I think I’ll go mad thinking about it.”
    I’d been dreading this moment ever since I’d met him eight months ago. That he’d have to set me free, let me experience the BDSM world with others, express myself. He’d said once—about five months ago if I remember correctly—that he was enjoying showing me the ropes more than any other sub he’d trained. I’d laughed at that—he’d shown me more than just ropes—and thought to myself that it would be ages before I’d have to face what was ahead. Time, though, was a cruel bitch, and she’d swept by too fast, turning weeks into months, drawing the inevitable closer. I’d told myself to be strong, that I could handle whatever came my way since Jaska had come into in my life. But I’d been fooling myself.
    Not having him in my life? No, I didn’t want to contemplate that.
    I held my breath then let it out slowly. “Which way will they change?” I hadn’t even needed to ask that question. I knew the