Cowboy Casanova - Lorelei James [5]
Two raps on the door were her only warning before Layla burst in. “Are you… My God, what the fuck is that thing on your head?”
Not exactly the reaction she’d hoped for. “I’m embracing my inner Sydney Bristow.”
Layla grabbed her upper arms and circled her slowly before stopping in front of her.
“So? Do I look ridiculous?”
“No. It just shocked me. But I’ve gotta say, the wig is perfect with the clothes I brought. Wow, A, you look fantastic.”
“Really?”
“Scouts honor. You always look nauseatingly well put together. I like seeing this other side of you.”
“What other side? Nuttier? Sluttier?”
“Younger. More playful. Now don’t glare at me. I know you’re a professional woman and all, but, girlfriend, there’s no reason not to show a little skin after that bank vault closes. You’re sporting one of those curvy hourglass bodies that men go wild for.”
Wasn’t that “hourglass figure” phrase a euphemism for…fat?
“Don’t hide it. Flaunt it.”
Ainsley wasn’t the flaunt it type.
Or maybe you are. Age and size ain’t nothin’ but numbers.
“Let’s hit the road. The club is about to open and Murphy is getting all snappy and threatening because I’m not there.”
Here was the opening she’d waited for. “Layla, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, I have time to do your make-up before we go.” She pointed to the toilet seat. “Sit.”
Ainsley closed her eyes when Layla hovered over her with brushes, powders and eyeliner. “Thanks, but that wasn’t the question I meant. I want to know about your relationship with Murphy. He seems awfully controlling.”
“That’s the definition of a dominant.”
She struggled to find the wording that wouldn’t piss off her friend but would also give her the information she’d always been too shy to ask about. “He doesn’t like, hurt you or anything if he doesn’t get his way, does he?”
“Are you asking if he beats me if I’ve done something to piss him off?”
“Yes.”
Layla swept a long, wet line of make-up across Ainsley’s eyelids near her lash line. “Don’t open your eyes for a minute.”
“Okay.”
“Murphy has never raised his hand to me in anger. It would destroy him to hurt me. But you have to understand that his use of whips, floggers and other instruments are part of our life. I ask him to restrain me and leave welts and marks on my skin.”
“Why?”
“The pain takes me to a place where I can truly let go of the control I’ve tried to maintain in all areas of my life since I was a little girl.”
Could a little pain really do that? Make Ainsley forget everything? Allow her to exist solely in the moment? Not worry about anything except when the next smack or lash would land? Why did that appeal to her so much? And why was she so embarrassed to admit that to anyone? She’d even led Layla to believe she wanted to explore her dominant tendencies, when submission interested her far more.
Isn’t the whole point of this to learn who you really are? If you’re capable of letting go? How can you be honest with anyone else when you’re still lying to yourself?
“I’ve had some bad things in my past,” Layla said softly.
“Oh, Layla. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“No one knew because I excelled at keeping stuff hidden. But it was crippling me. I didn’t talk about it at all. My way to deal with it was with physical punishment. Making myself hurt as bad on the outside as I did on the inside. That’s how I ended up hanging out at hardcore bondage clubs and letting any man or woman use me as their whipping post. But I’d reached the point where I didn’t feel pain. One night I hooked up with a Dom who started to beat me severely and I didn’t do anything to stop him. But Murphy stepped in. He became my savior in so many ways.
“After he cleaned me up, he took me to his place. This big bear of a man was a total stranger to me and I felt safer with him than I’d felt