The Dom Identity (Masters & Mercenaries Reloaded 2)

“Vanessa, if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to,” he said softly, as though he was worried about scaring her.

Maybe she needed more honesty with him. Maybe she could do what she needed to do and get something out of this for herself, too. “I’ve never enjoyed sex, and I pretty much hate my body.”

“You’re beautiful. Why would you hate your body?” Michael asked.

“Because I’ve been told to, I guess. I worked in an industry that judged me entirely by my looks.” She was surprised he hadn’t mentioned her former career. For the most part with her more natural hair and in sedate clothes, she could pass someone on the street without comment. Especially when she wore sunglasses. But her eyes always gave her away. They were a vibrant Caribbean blue that most people assumed were contacts. They were a trick of her DNA. It had been her eyes that got her an agent and her first role, and they were the only things about her no one wanted to change.

Sometimes she wore contacts to cover them so she could blend in better, but not today.

“What industry did you work in? Were you a model of some kind?” Michael asked.

She stopped, searching his face, but she didn’t see anything there that would lead her to believe he was deceiving her. “I was an actress for a long time.”

“Ah, yes. I can see where you would feel judged by that industry,” Michael agreed. “Especially if you had any kind of success.”

She spent all of her days now trying to go unnoticed. It was perverse that she was irritated by the fact that he didn’t recognize her. Still, she wanted to put off the moment when he realized what she was truly famous for. Not the roles she’d played or the people she’d entertained, but for marrying an old man and ruining his family. Oh, she could tell him the truth, but she hadn’t met anyone who believed her.

“I made some movies,” she replied, her hands coming together on her lap. “Did some TV spots. The constant scrutiny wore me down. I got out, but I still question myself every day. I can’t be satisfied with my body because for over a decade it was the only thing anyone cared about when it came to me. Not my talent or who I was deep down. It was all about how I looked.”

He nodded again, as though taking in everything she said and weighing the words. “A lot of the training you’ll go through with me will be to make you comfortable in your own skin, though again, it’s not a replacement for therapy. Have you talked to a professional?”

She’d had to jump through hoops to get to this point. “Of course. I had to talk to a man named Leo Meyer in order to be approved for training. I assure you he can verify my sanity.”

He smiled, but there was an odd sympathy behind the expression. “Therapy isn’t about sanity. It’s about self-care. It’s about figuring yourself out. I should know because I’ve been. For about five years after I left the military, I had weekly appointments with a therapist who helped me work through things I saw and did during my time there. It helped me figure out who I am and what I want.”

She liked the fact that he didn’t have a problem talking about his therapy. She’d never been because it had seemed like a bad idea. She’d had someone to talk to. She’d had Ashton, and now she worried anyone she did talk to would turn on her. “Then no, I haven’t really talked to anyone. I don’t trust many people.”

He sat back. “All right, one of the conditions for taking you on is to see a therapist twice a week while we’re training. I think you should see a woman though.”

“I have to go to therapy to be able to go to The Club?” She didn’t like the thought of that. No one had mentioned conditions. “You can’t make me do that.”

Michael had a pen out, marking up the contract she’d been given. “No, I can’t. I can require it to work with me, but obviously I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But if I don’t, you’ll make Julian find me another Dom and set me back weeks.”

“How do you think this is going to work?” Michael asked, one brow rising.

There was the command she’d expected. He was very approachable, but there was a bit of Julian Lodge in the man. “I think you’re going to show me around and teach me the rules.”

That brow rose to even higher heights. “No, I’m going to be your top. This isn’t a training group where we meet up for a few hours a week for class and homework and I pretend to top you. This is an advanced training relationship. I’m your top, and that means I’m responsible for you for the time laid out in that contract. I take my position seriously. Unlike a training class, I’ll be taking you into The Club immediately, and that means you behavior will reflect on me. We’re both trying to attain a membership here. Your training and progress will be part of my evaluation.”