Page 114 of Captivated
It felt good to be alive.
“You seem happy this morning,” Zeeb remarked. “And you slept like a log.” Nate blinked, and he let out a wry chuckle. “I’m a light sleeper these days, and I didn’t wake up once last night.” He paused. “Is everything okay? You wantin’ to see Sol an’ all.”
“Everything’s fine,” Nate reassured him.
Everythingwasfine. And now he wanted to know why that was.
He had to know it would stay that way.
“Hello?” Nate pushed open the door to the Leather Barn. To his left was a staircase, and straight ahead was the main room, an airy space filled with?—
Oh my.
Nate stopped dead at the sight of a steel frame from which a leather sling hung on heavy chains. Not that it was the only object in the room to capture his attention.
There were alotof things that clamored for that.
His gaze alighted on objects hanging from a rack on the wall: whips, floggers, paddles… Nate knew their names—and their uses. He’d done a little research into Dad’s other life, the one spent in leather, when he first learned about it. And while thesight of such…devices would normally have made him shudder, these did not.
Dad had taught him one word that was of paramount importance to everything that happened within the walls of a BDSM club—or the Leather Barn at Deliverance.
Consent.
The guys who come here know what they want. What they like.
“Hey.” Sol appeared in a doorway beyond the main area. “I’m in here. I’ve got coffee on if you want some.”
“That sounds great.” Nate walked briskly past the padded benches, noting the large cupboards on either side.
I wonder what’s in those?
He wasn’t about to open them and find out.
Sol smiled as Nate approached. “Come on in.”
Nate stared in surprise at the small cozy office. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture: a wide desk complete with open laptop and monitor, behind which sat a padded chair, a couch against one wall, and a low bookcase against another. A coffee pot sat on it, and the aroma filled the room.
Sol went over to the bookcase and grabbed two cups. He turned and gestured to the couch. “Have a seat.”
Nate peered at the worn red leather. “Do I lie down on it?”
Sol chuckled. “Only if you want to.” He glanced over his shoulder, enough for Nate to catch a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist. They can afford the fancy couches.”
“But youarequalified?” Nate’s face grew warm. “I’m sorry. That was rude. You wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”
Sol brought the cups to the desk. He gave Nate a warm smile. “It’s good that you know enough about me to trust me. And trust is a precious commodity with you, I think.” He glanced around him. “Maybe I should have my EPPP certificate framedand put up on the wall where folks can see it.” Nate frowned, and Sol smiled again. “Examination for Professional Practice in Psychology.” He sat in the chair, leaning back. “So before you tell me what’s brought you here, let me share what I know about you, which isn’t a lot. After the cookout I put two and two together and came up with conversion therapy.”
“Zeeb said you’d worked it out.”
Sol picked up a pen and drew a notepad closer. “And you were subjected to that for how long?”
Nate gave him the bare bones. “Once I got to the youth home in Idaho, they arranged for me to see a therapist. And when I left there to live with Dad—” He paused. “Zeeb suggested I call him Derek to avoid confusion when I talked about my biological father, but you know what? That man fucked me over so bad, he doesn’t deserve to keep that title. So I think I’ll call him Caleb, and Derek can be Dad, because I’m closer to him than I ever was to my real dad.”
“Wise man. Go on.”
“Dad sorted me out with another therapist, Dr. Lacey. I’ve been with him for eight years.”
Sol nodded, making a note. “Now… why did you want to see me?”
