I, of course, am completely flustered.
"Oh, please," he says, dropping into a seat opposite me at the table. "Like you haven't seen my junk before."
"But now your junk belongs to Stacey."
He shrugs. "And yet I still rent it out."
I roll my eyes. Brody may be a professional dom, but he's also my best friend. And I happen to know that he's very limited in the clients that he actual fucks. Still, there are a few. And Stacey is actually cool with that, which impresses the hell out of me.
Right now, I'm just glad that he's seated. He's still shirtless, but at least the rest of him is hidden from view.
"Considering the early hour, I'm guessing this is either the apocalypse or you're still having Dallas issues."
"It damn sure feels like the apocalypse," I admit, then cringe when an unexpected tear trickles down my cheek.
"Oh, kiddo, I'm sorry." He reaches across and squeezes my hand. "Tell me."
I start to do exactly that--and then I realize that in order for Brody to give me the advice I crave, I have to tell him everything. I have to share my secrets. More to the point, I have to share Dallas's.
I take a breath. "I need to tell you some things. Lots of things. But they're private--even more than what you already know about--but I need help." I lick my lips. "I--I thought about talking to one of my therapists, but this is--it's sex. Except it's more than sex. And I--"
"Hey, whatever you need. You know I won't break your confidence."
I nod, because I do know that.
"So tell me what's going on."
I try to gather my thoughts. Brody already knows a bit of what happened during our captivity. He knows that Dallas and I were together, and he knows that Dallas was tortured. But he doesn't know the extent of it--hell, I only just learned that myself. He doesn't know that Dallas is afraid of physically hurting me. And he doesn't know that Dallas hasn't been able to penetrate a woman since he and I were fifteen.
But he needs to know all of that if he's going to really help me. So I grab another coffee, sit back down, and start at the beginning.
When I finish, Brody looks a little shell-shocked, which says a lot about how fucked up everything is with Dallas and me. Because Brody has seen a lot.
"And now you're afraid it's over?" he asks. "Because of the way he freaked out and left."
I nod. Then I shake my head. Then I nod again. "I guess I'm afraid that what I thought was the beginning was really just us ending with a bang."
Brody leans back, his arms crossed over his chest as he studies me.
"I'm scared," I admit.
He nods slowly. And then he leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off me. "Bullshit," he says, and the word is so unexpected that I shift to sit more upright. "Yeah, I said bullshit."
"What the fuck?"
"You're not scared. At least, you're not scared of it ending. You're scared of where it's going. Of how hard it might be. You're confused because he's not acting according to script and you don't know what to make of that."
I hug myself. "No, I--"
"Oh, come on, Jane. You're vulnerable; I get that. And maybe you two really are sliding backward, but backward doesn't mean it's over, just that there's more work to be done." He reaches out and takes my hands. "Listen, kid. As hard as it was for you seventeen years ago, it was even harder for him, right? And everything you two do together brings it all back for him. There's a connection in his mind between you and that place. That time. That torture. He's used to that--hell, he's even been handling it in his own way. Then you go and suggest that he put you in the role of the woman who tortured him and, yeah, that's gonna fuck anyone up."
I nod slowly, because he's right.
"And except for this hitch, you two were moving forward, right?"
"Yeah. We've stumbled a bit, sure. But this is the first time I've been really scared."
"So, that's good. That's progress."