Without End: A Melrose Shops Novel

By A. R. Senault

A turbulent sexual renaissance is brewing on Melrose Avenue, and Dr. Claudette Boucher is about to expose it.
At the center of the revival are four tattooed and pierced-clad beasts of sex personified, and owners of the Mel/Rose Barbershop.
As Los Angeles’ quintessential sex doctor and popular radio personality, Claudette has enough confidence to steamroll the strongest of men. Dino Pantopoulos is happy to have his life flattened by the beautiful and sassy, French therapist.
Claudette’s atypical research techniques leave Dino wondering how to tame her, and Dino’s overbearing Greek mother has Claudette’s Freudian radar at high alert.
Claudette isn’t about to alter her research or her sexual proclivities for anyone. But Dino’s mastery of sensual conquest has Claudette rethinking her relationship priorities.
Dino’s unrelenting charm weakens Claudette’s quest for self-preservation. As sparks settle from the couple’s emotional and explosive courtship, a tragedy threatens to destroy their newfound happiness.
Will Claudette survive and keep her promise to love Dino Without End?
Without End is a standalone novel, brimming with quick wit, charm, and unforgettable characters. It is the first of four books in the Melrose Shops series; one book for each of the sensual beasts waiting to claim your heart.
This book will steam up your windows and intended for adults only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. R. Senault
• Release date: Jul 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310707667

A. R. Senault

I live in Southern California with my husband and two sons. For nearly a decade I worked as a general manager for Barnes and Noble Booksellers. After my second son was born, I got this wild idea to become a stay-at-home-mom, or the dreaded term, housewife. After all, non-working moms wake early, sip coffee, read novels, and enjoy yoga outdoors, while listening to nature. Sign me up!One word to describe my last decade of existence is, delusional. When I began making seasoned breadcrumbs from the crust I cut off my kids’ PB&J’s, I knew it was time for a change. I did what anyone with unrealistic expectations would do. I went back to school for my Master’s degree.I got the degree with my husband and sons hanging on my back and grasping for dear life onto my limbs. To survive it all, I began writing. Creating a flawed, yet perfectly endearing man was my escape. Realizing I could create more than one, was my salvation.I enjoy traveling, reading, listening to music, and hiking. I’d rather go to Yosemite or the Sequoias for a family vacation than stand in line at an amusement park. I don’t mind getting dirty and I’ll often chose beer over wine, but I harbor an unhealthy appreciation for the smell of Nordstrom department stores, pricey sunglasses, a perfect martini, and designer shoes.I now stand on the edge of the cliff with all the normal, non-delusional folks. I have reality firmly embedded in my foundation, and the whisper of insanity at my back to keep my writing germane.I appreciate feedback and encourage readers to enter a library every so often to smell the books, while still embracing the wonderful Exploratorium of ebooks. Times-r-a-changing and we need to remain current, but there is no harm in remembering where we came from.

Book preview

Without End

WITHOUT END

A Melrose Shops Novel

Copyright 2014 by A.R. Senault

Smashwords Edition

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Formatting and Interior Design

by AnnMarie Stone

Dedication

This book is for The Greek. Without her, I would have never made it to first period English Literature to get stung by the writing bug from a brilliant New York Times bestselling author. Without her, I would have never experienced the crazy Greekness in action, and I’d have nothing to joke about. Without her, I’d be a different person, and not for the better. May her life be a fun and wild ride to a Tina Turner or Depeche Mode concert, Without End.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Chapter 1

The echo of my red sole striking the travertine floor inspired a memory of my pathetic attempt at tap dance lessons as a little girl. Meeting Los Angeles' quintessential man of sex had my nerves attempting an escape through my right toe, shuffle-ball-change. The elevator's arrival pinged and my reverie ended with a bang out finale. Leaning against the rear of the elevator were four tattooed and pierced-clad beasts of sex personified. Their combined smirks proved my admiration was more obvious than I'd like.

Come on in, Doll. We don't bite, stated one beast as he held the doors open with his embellished arm.

An impressive display of muscles strained against his snug black t-shirt. His candy sweet smile contradicted the bad-boy vibe he embodied. My attention deficit issues abolished the toe tapping for a more prolific compulsion to lean against his tall frame, croon nasty thoughts into his ear, and flip the hardware on his lip with my tongue.

Rather, I entered the elevator and turned my back to the foursome and replied with an assault of sass, A good bite doesn't frighten me. I was surveying my chances of making it out alive if you are the chainsaw massacrers.

Aw beautiful, our chainsaws are in the shop getting sharpened. My chance to reply was thwarted by La Mer chiming from my handbag.

Bonjour, I greeted and briefly checked the bars on my phone, hoping my call would not drop in the elevator. My brother Jean and his wife were due with their first child in one month and as a favorite aunt to be, I was insistent about receiving regular updates.

The heat permeating from the stares directed at my back side was hot enough to singe my designer suit.

The elevator stopped at several floors picking up more passengers. I scooted to the front corner of the car instead of moving back closer to the fantastic four. Although rude, my conversation continued hushed and in French. The chuckles from the back of the elevator were audibly similar to teenage boys seeing boobs for the first time.

Once in the lobby, I sought out a cushy chair to finish my conversation in private. The sound of heavy boots on the marble floor alerted me to catch a peek as the eye candy strutted past.

All four were equally drool worthy, but something about the one who called me Doll had my heart performing Cirque du Soleil acrobatic routines. He caught my eye, tipped his baseball cap and shot a searing grin. Hidden under his cap was a luscious handful of dark brown, wavy hair. My mind wandered to more things hidden as I visually devoured the taunt denim covering his posterior. Ah, snug denim across a tight derrière and thick thighs. Male magnetism one-oh-one and I knew better than to register for that instruction.

Claudette, es-tu là? My brother's voice dragged me back to reality.

Grateful Jean could not witness my lechery, Oui, je'suis ici. Sorry, I'm just distracted thinking about my meeting this morning.

You will be exceptional. I have every confidence that this man, whom I don’t think I’d like, will be charmed by your brain and, unfortunately, your beauty too.

I knew Jean would slip in a warning without saying the overused ‘be careful or watch your back' statements he usually doled out.

Our call ended and I headed to the restaurant where I was to meet Spencer Marks. He owned a handful of exclusive night clubs, adult magazines, and a few private sex clubs. I was interviewing with him to publish a series of articles in one of his magazines.

The hotel restaurant was bustling with professionals visiting the Los Angeles area for business. I poured myself a coffee from the elaborate buffet of fruit and pastries and when I didn’t spot Mr. Marks, I decided to wait at a table visible to the entrance.

So tell me, Doll. I coughed into my napkin, pleasantly surprised by the intruders joining me at my table. Why is it everything in French sounds naughty? His deep brown eyes smoldered with the mastery of sexual conquest.

Silly man, sensual banter was a weapon very few could challenge me with and win.

Oh, are you referring to my conversation in the elevator? Hoping to draw him in, I laced my question with innocence. I watched him swallow and imagined my tongue gliding over his throat. Unable to resist a challenge, I decided to duel with his playful demeanor.

Well, that is because the conversation was naughty. I am in a committed three way relationship and my female partner called to ask whether I would prefer vanilla or strawberry flavored body oil for my welcome home. My head tilted and I looked into his dark pools of lust with a demure blink of my lashes and a sarcastic grin. I told her to let our male partner know that lube will be unnecessary for anything they have in mind.

Mr. Beautiful Brown Eyes gulped, Marry Me? he deadpanned.

No. My answer was equally unemotional. His friends chuckled.

Okay, sleep with me? The sardonic slant on his lips exposed a dimple.

No. Sex complicates things. One of the Musketeers slapped him on the back to gesture a nice try.

He forged on, We can just have meaningless sex?

I pursed my lips and looked at the ceiling pretending to contemplate his offer.

Sex is never meaningless, I countered.

It can be. The three words slipped over his tongue like a smooth whiskey.

Well then… I paused a moment allowing a glimmer of hope to trickle into his delusional mind. Then I went for his jugular. You must be doing it wrong, and therefore, my answer is definitely, no.

His friends were slapping the table with their fists and laughing uncontrollably. My cohort pantomimed a stabbing through his heart.

The laughter subsided and his hand extended toward me, Dino. Pleased to meet you.

Claudette, and I am pleased that you are pleased. When our palms connected I felt a tinge of regret because we would likely never meet again. He was playful, gorgeous, and deadly sexy, the type of man I could get lost in.

He introduced his handsome friends Marcus, BB, and James.

Our little meet and greet was interrupted when Mr. Marks walked into the restaurant with a gait that exuded wealth and power. Ah, there is my breakfast date. I gestured to the entrance and their eyes locked on Spencer Marks.

Now that is a man with only meaningful sex in his repertoire. The guys laughed at my joke, but Dino looked stung. Maybe I went too far?

I took a final sip of my coffee and rose from my chair, It was a pleasure.

Admittedly, their stares encouraged a little hip sway as I walked away.

~ ~ ~

A few deep breaths helped calm my nerves during my approach to Spencer Marks' table. Mr. Marks, I am Dr. Claudette Boucher.

He stood and greeted me with a firm handshake, Yes, Dr. Boucher. Please call me Spencer. His free hand slid to the center of my back and he guided me to sit.

Only if you call me Claudette, I suggested and settled into the offered seat. He was immaculately put together. The seam of his dress shirt was pressed into a razor-sharp edge. The cross-hatch of silk on his green tie played tricks with my eyes. I thought if I stared long enough, an image would form.

Spencer signaled for the waiter and we engaged in small talk while we ordered. The interview was rather informal. Spencer already knew about my PhD in clinical psychology with an emphasis in sexual behavior and he was complimentary about my thriving practice. Surprisingly, he was also a fan of my satellite radio show, Dr. Claudette Speaks Relationsex.

Claudette, God, I just love your name. It rolls off the tongue, almost breathlessly, he murmured with a sensual tone that surely always got him what he wanted.

One look at Spencer and it was obvious why he held the well-deserved title of God's Gift to Women. He was movie-star-handsome and filthy rich.

His attention shifted back to the reason for our meeting, Claudette, there is no doubt that I think you are perfect for this assignment. I would like to include a regular column in my most popular adult magazine about all things love, sex, and relationships.

Yes of course, because we all know men buy your magazines for the articles. I smiled innocently, wishing I had skipped the overused comment. Spencer in return was gracious and he offered a genuine smile.

Well, my goal is to appeal to an audience seeking a deeper and more meaningful pleasure. I'd like to morph one of my magazines into a resource for both men and women. He was practically humming his words.

And you think my articles will give your readers what they seek?

Oh, I believe your beauty and your growing popularity are the draws, but your insight and ability to speak candidly on the subjects will sell magazines and broaden my circulation.

Every word out of the man's mouth sounded like sweet seduction spun around a paper stick like warm cotton candy. His hypnotic voice had me thinking I'd like to help him out with his personal circulation problems.

I shook my head to throw off inappropriate thoughts about my potential new boss. He must have known what he was doing to me and he gratefully took pity and changed the subject.

Do you have any ideas for your first article? He asked and forked a bite from his omelet.

I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat. Yes. I was thinking about the ways men and women meet. We have gone beyond bumping into each other in bookstores, coffee shops, and farmer’s markets. I believe that men and women want a more intimate hook-up than the bar scene has to offer. I’d also like to spotlight an area here in Los Angeles since this is where you started your empire.

Spencer was leaning forward and seemed interested in my idea. I have put some feelers out and a real hot spot for sealing a date is an area on Melrose. The businesses with the most attraction are a tattoo shop, an upscale sex shop, a swanky espresso bar, and of all things, a barbershop.

A barbershop? Seriously? He looked perplexed.

I was equally shocked. I'm telling you, this is an area to be seen in L.A. And from what I understand, it's also the place to find a plus-one. I held my breath and waited for his opinion.

Instead, he threw his head back and laughed. Spencer Marks knew how to enjoy life. But today his enjoyment was at my expense and I have never been a good enough actress to disguise my irritation.

No Claudette, I'm not laughing at you, but with you. You've surprised me and I am rarely surprised. I would have never guessed that your first pitch would be about a barbershop. I'm envisioning old men getting the hair plucked out of their ears and discussing gas remedies. He chuckled and shook his head in good humor.

I'm with you Spencer. I assure you the barbershop on Melrose is pumping out more steam than the cold water over hot coals in your favorite sauna.

His eyes glazed over with desire. Mmmm…I love a slippery woman in the sauna.

It was my turn to laugh at his overt come-on. I'm sure you do. You have a reputation with women, but not this woman. I'm looking for love.

I always love the women I am with. Intense blue eyes had me pinned to the backrest of my chair.

Spencer mastered the bedroom eyes, seductive voice, and sultry conversation. In the past, I would not have resisted his powerful lure, Yes, but you don't love them for very long, and I am looking to get attached.

Ouch Claudette. I sense working with you is going to be a real pleasure. I will have my assistant set up a meeting in my office to iron out the details of our working relationship.

We ate our breakfasts and enjoyed the easy flow of conversation. He picked my mind about several other article ideas and discussed his vision for the magazine.

Let me ask you something Claudette?

Yes?

I saw you with that table of men. He gestured toward Dino, Marcus, BB, and James. Are they friends of yours?

I turned and gave the gawking four a smile. No. Just admirers, we bumped into each other in the elevator. Why do you ask?

They have watched our entire encounter and I'm convinced they are pondering the level of intimacy we share. I am an acquaintance of theirs.

I was sure Spencer Marks was familiar with a large portion of the sexy population in Los Angeles. Though, the look in his eyes implied he was keeping an important detail from our conversation.

Well, Mr. Marks; why don't you offer to walk me to my car and we will give them a little something to heighten their curiosities?

I am going to like working with you, Spencer crooned across the table.

I smiled at him and flirted back, You may even learn something.

Spencer flashed a megawatt Hollywood smile, stood, and offered me his arm. May I walk you to your car Dr. Boucher?

Yes Mr. Marks, you are such a gentleman. I was struck by Dino's hurt expression as we passed my table of admirers.

Chapter 2

Parking several blocks away to get a vibe for the area was not a brilliant choice in four inch heels. Furthermore, that vibe was clunking me over the head for my wardrobe choice. My usual business suit, though extraordinary, meshed better with the uppity financial district crowd. Not a place where a bohemian hippie and a designer glamour girl could coexist. At least I substituted my respectable pumps for some hot ankle boots with zipper hardware. Jimmy Choo, I love you.

On a Monday morning the financial district would be bustling with go-getters like an army of ants preparing for doomsday. Contradictorily, Melrose Avenue was a ghost town. My worry bordered panic that Johnny, my usually with-it assistant, may have offered misguided research about this area. I reached into my messenger bag for my phone and hollered at Siri to call Johnny.

Bonjour Docteur. I have this pain in my ankle that can only be cured by this hot man next to me nibbling his way up my leg. I pulled the phone from my ear to check the time, eight thirty; he should be in the office.

I am not in the mood for your bullshit, Johnny. I am on Melrose and this place is desolate. I shouted and used my super bitchy tone.

To top it off, in comparison to a few people I have seen, I look more like the elder chaperone for a field trip through the Citigroup Center than a with-it sex expert.

Let’s run through some facts, Claudette. One, I told you, anything before noon is considered a sacred sleep zone for the cool twenty something crowd. Now for fact number two; and there is no pussy footing around this. You are among the older population in that area, he paused, allowing the blow to my ego time to settle. Don’t scuff your Choo’s by tripping over my statement, because at thirty-four you are smoking hot and I would fuck you if I found pussy the least bit tempting.

How did you know I am wearing Choo’s? I pulled my phone away from my ear again to see if we were on a video call. Not that I would want to see anything on the other side of this call. However, I knew enough about human nature to admit, I would take a peek.

Look Doctor, I told you to wear jeans and be comfortable today, but I know you didn’t listen. I bet you a paid day off that I can guess what you are wearing.

What do I get if you lose? I asked smugly through his groans of pleasure.

His breath hitched and he barely squeaked out his guess, Your black pinstripe suit with the tight jacket bodice, your pink Façonnable unbuttoned right at your bra clasp for enhanced sex appeal, and your to-die-for black ankle boots with a zipper running up the front because you think they make you look badass.

Did Johnny know me that well or was I ridiculously predictable?

The velocity of his groans was increasing, Gotta go Doc, he has moved up past the knee. Have some faith. I’ll be off the rest of the day, and the call ended.

I would fire him if he were not so…so…thorough. Damn him.

I stopped at the posh café across from the Mel/Rose Barbershop to scope out my pièce de résistance from a distance. Most noticeably, an old-school barber pole swirled red, white, and blue at the storefront. The gorgeous Harley parked at the curb was overshadowed by the incredible bike also on display in the front window. The shop sat between a tattoo parlor and a sex shop decked out in seventies' retro design. The shops were closed until I noticed a tall blonde propped open the barbershop’s door and lit the neon Open sign.

Empty iron benches lined the sidewalk and I imagined singles meeting and mingling to fill up the seats. Maybe show off new ink or cry over painful piercings?

Neither of which I had a desire to experience. Never have, never will.

~ ~ ~

The blonde looked up from the computer when I stepped through the door. She extended her hand and greeted me, You must be Dr. Boucher. I am Nicole. She mispronounced my name, Boo-ch-air, which was a common error.

She was striking and must have been six feet tall. Her body was knock-out perfect and her blunt platinum hair gave her an edgy look. And my gaydar never failed me. She played for the girls’ team. Any doubts dissipated when she looked at me like I was melting vanilla ice-cream waiting to be licked.

Boucher, like boo-shay. But you can call me…

Claudette? I was cut off by my name reverberating from the back of the shop. I looked up and saw one of the four luscious sex beasts from the hotel. He quickly approached with open arms and wrapped me in a huge bear hug. God he was muscular and handsome.

I pulled away and ran through the Rolodex of names in my mind, Marcus right?

Yeah, what are you doing here? How did you find us? He held me an arm’s length away but didn’t let go. Tell me you are here to put Dino out of his misery. We can’t listen to him crying to his clients for another day about how he met the woman of his dreams and she walked away with Spencer Marks. Marcus was playful yet pleading.

Nicole piped in, "Holy shit. Are you that Claudette? I had a feeling coming in early would pay off today." She snickered and slapped Marcus on the shoulder.

Claudette is the sex doctor writing the article.

She then snapped her head in my direction. Her haircut, so blunt, may have severed her neck. Oh My God. Are you Claudette from the radio show?

One in the same, I gestured to myself, still in a state of shock this was happening. The idea of coincidence barely tickled the irony that the men from the elevator were also the focus of my article.

You are drop dead hot and a sex expert. I just creamed my panties. And there was the proud acknowledgement about her sexual preference.

Marcus was leaning over and holding onto his knees to catch his breath. I’ve got to call BB and James to get their lazy asses in here before Dino. They would never forgive me if they missed the show. He walked away swiping commands into his phone.

So, it seems Dino has a little crush on me? I asked Nicole while surveying the shop. Barber chairs lined one wall. Etched into the first four mirrors were the names Marcus, Dino, BB, and James. The workstations were Black & Decker mechanic benches and the floor was a black speckled garage epoxy. Adjacent to the workstations was a solid mirror wall with a row of chairs for waiting customers. Large, flat-screen televisions adorned the perimeter of the shop.

Hell Claudette, all four of them have a crush on you. Shit. Make it five because I want you too. She smiled knowing her chances were zero to none. But poor Dino is in lust, she laughed.

"Why poor Dino?"

Oh. His mom would never let him date you. I was about to ask why his mother got to dictate a grown man’s dates when a roaring motorcycle pulled up.

Claudette, James shouted over the thunder of his Harley.

I stepped outside and got to experience him throwing his leg over the bike and removing his helmet like in a steamy, diet Coke commercial. You have bowled us over. A sex doctor. He smirked and grabbed me for a tight hug.

I guess I am sneaky, going and getting my PhD right under your nose. I shrugged my shoulders as though the eight years of my education was a breeze.

He laughed and guided me into the shop. You are a trip. It’s going to be fun hanging out with you.

Nicole, this is…

We already met. Nicole sighed heavily and placed her chin in her palms and gazed at me with a dreamy, and overly animated, stare. I love the way you say my name like, knee-cole, she sighed again.

Can you fucking believe the good doctor is the same person as Dino’s woman-who-got-away? His head shook in disbelief.

I pinned James with a shocked stare. His was the third statement referring to me as Dino’s woman.

Oh sorry. I should probably watch my language, he almost looked ashamed.

No. Fucking is the cornerstone of my practice. I believe the universal four letter curse word in our society should be hate, not fuck. I was perplexed by the continual references about Dino’s woman being moi.

He laughed again as though I was a standup comedian flinging jokes through a smoky bar. If Dino wasn’t moping around this place like his mama forgot to stock his fridge with meals, I would claim you as mine. Disbelief shone from him as though the Holy Grail slipped from his grasp at the last minute.

These people were the poster children for confident sexuality. Drawing attention to this hotbed of confidence may put me out of work.

Nobody claims me, I growled.

BB walked up behind me. I didn’t hear him come in. He must drive a car. Don’t get your knickers all bunched up. Nobody is getting claimed. We are just hoping you show our boy some mercy.

BB offered his hand, Nice to see you again.

We shook, What, no hugs? He was not all cheers and hugs as the others.

I’m not the hugging type, he stated and went to grab a rope of licorice from atop a red, retro fridge against the wall of mirrors.

Interesting. These friends were open with their sexuality and yet BB refrained from the simplest and least complicated form of human affection. Maybe he was the quiet, brooding kind by nature, but my professional opinion sniffed something under his surface.

My slip into psychotherapy mode was interrupted by James. Besides, his mom would never…

His statement was cut short by yet another loud hum of an engine. We all turned to see Dino pulling up. My senses instantly peaked at the sight of him on his bike, in tight jeans, a leather jacket, and skull helmet.

Our casual banter turned into a flurry of directions, suggestions, pushing, and staging until I was settled into Dino’s barber chair and spun around with my back to the entrance.

Before Dino entered, Nicole rushed over and crossed my legs. I was unsure if she was attempting to put me in a particular pose or get a glimpse up my skirt that was riding along my thighs.

The shop fell silent. A ping from an incoming text sounded like an orchestra of cymbals clashing together. Marcus had his hand on the arm of my seat, braced and waiting for the perfect time to spin me around. The experience of being a heifer at auction was becoming a bit unnerving.

The chair moved on its axis and time froze when Dino’s eyes registered my presence. But not frozen in the grand Hollywood heart-pulsing-out-of-your-body meeting. No such luck.

Dino’s cold voice matched his demeanor, Mr. Meaningful Sex wasn’t enough for you so whoring around here seemed like a better option?

Well, that was not the homecoming anyone expected.

Dino! Nicole chided.

I unfurled my legs, stood tall, and stepped within a foot from Dino’s face. I am Dr. Boucher. I am a psychiatrist with an emphasis in human sexuality. I have a thriving practice and a popular radio show. I am here to write an article for Mr. Meaningful Sex about the sexual vibes permeating from the shops in this area of Melrose. I am many things, Dino. However, I am not a whore.

Silence clouded the shop, but the noise between my ears was a deafening decibel. I turned to Marcus, What are your hours tomorrow?

He cleared his throat to open a path for the hours of operation, Ten to eight.

Retrieving my bag, I announced, I will be back tomorrow, early afternoon. I have patients in the morning. I walked out, grateful that the California sun warmed the air enough to disguise the steam vaporizing from my ears.

I heard BB ask, What the fuck, man?

And James hollered out, I call dibs.

~ ~ ~

Desiree, the gorgeous dominatrix, was the owner of Desiree’s Desires. She kindly allowed the change in schedule and accepted my plea to spend the day at her store instead of the testosterone filled shop next door. The day I spent with her was enlightening. She was a wealth of information about all things BDSM and sex toys.

My irritation over Dino was not well hidden. My tongue slipped and I unintentionally informed Desiree about Dino’s outburst. Her contemplation over swiping a whip from her display and disciplining Dino ticked over her head like a cartoon bubble.

I found the thought appealing too.

We fell into a smooth camaraderie. We rattled on for over an hour about the injustices of sexual inequality among men and women. She shared my sentiments about society’s easy acceptance for a licentious man. Yet, a woman with an active sex life was automatically deemed the village slut.

My fingers barely lifted from my iPad while she offered many intimate insights to a BDSM relationship. I was happy to gain more information from a dominatrix’s perspective. Most of my past research had been on male doms and female submissives.

The highlight of the day was my lesson on cracking a whip. Our lesson took place on the sidewalk smack dab in the open on Melrose Avenue. An audience grew. A few squeals and yelps escaped my mouth when the whip swung around and stung my backside. The guys from next door got up-close and personal to soothe my pain. Well, not all the guys. Dino remained out of sight. But, unfortunately, not out of mind.

I sent a picture to Johnny and my brother of me in a dominant stance with the whip flying in the air. My caption read…

Now my shoes aren’t the only thing badass about me.

Johnny sent a wink along with a raunchy comment…

Whip and cream Doc.

Jean did not accept the humor in my text at all. His text lacked Johnny’s cheer…

Jesus, Fuck Claudette. What are you getting into now? Call me tomorrow morning in between patients. I will answer.

Chapter 3

The math ticked away on my fingers to calculate the time difference between Los Angeles and Paris. The world clock on my phone could tell me what I needed to know. But where was the challenge in that?

My procrastination lasted long enough. I had been sensing some aggravation from my brother lately. Jean worried