“I thought we’d spend some time today discussing common stereotypes within the community,” Jeff said, starting the meeting.

Dena swallowed a snort, but couldn’t stop the “Seriously?” that slipped out under her breath. Oh, yeah. This should be fun. How did he get picked to lead this discussion?

Fortunately, her snide comment went unnoticed by Jeff because he continued. “Someone name a common misconception people have.”

The bald switch who’d worked the door the night of her first party replied, saying, “If you’re a man, you’re a Dominant, and if you’re female, you’re a sub.”

Jeff nodded. “Good one. And how often do we make judgments on someone’s role before we get to know them?” No one said anything. “Come on, you know you do it. You see a woman like Kelly, dressed as she is now, and what do you think?”

He motioned toward the group’s lone Domme, who was wearing a pink sweater and winter-white wool pants. With her red hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, it would be hard to picture her as she’d be dressed tomorrow: skintight leather dress, knee-high black boots, and fishnet stockings.

Kelly was an officer at the Wilmington Police Department, and Dena had worked with her on a professional basis. They’d had lunch a few times, and Dena was looking forward to getting to know her better.

“I know what I’d think,” Evan Martin said. “I’d think ‘Redheads shouldn’t wear pink.’”

Jeff shot him a look, but Evan ignored him. “Isn’t that in the Redhead Rulebook? Don’t wear pink. It’ll clash with your hair.”

Kelly pressed her lips together and didn’t say anything. Knowing her the way she did, Dena guessed she really wanted to rip Evan a new one.

“That’s quite enough,” Jeff said. “But since you’re so interested in talking, you can give us another stereotype.”

Evan seemed completely caught off guard and started and stopped several times before finally blurting out, “All kink players are deviants.”

Mumbled agreements came from around the table. Obviously, a lot of people had felt they would be looked down upon or thought less of if they admitted their sexual needs. Hell, Dena understood that one. No way did she want the general public knowing about her private life, even though in a perfect world it wouldn’t matter.

Daniel asked if Jeff thought there was anything to do to overcome the perception, and for the next ten minutes there was a heated discussion surrounding what one could to. The room was divided between those who didn’t care who knew and those who kept it private.

During a lull in the conversation, she raised her hand. Jeff ignored her. She waved her arm. He narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, Dena.”

“We’ve touched on the typical stereotypes, but what about the less common ones?”

“Such as?” He raised an eyebrow. Watch it, he seemed to say.

“Such as ethnicity or class distinction.” She met his eyebrow raise with one of her own. Yes, I went there. “For example, do you think there’s a higher number of interracial couples in the community as opposed to society as a whole? Do you think, Sir, that those of us in the lifestyle are more prepared to say to society, ‘Screw you. I know what I want and I’m taking it’?”

His face didn’t give her a clue that he recognized his own words from that night or if he was angry she brought them up. All he said was, “I wouldn’t know. I’m not an expert in such things.” He turned away from her. “Any more questions?” he asked the group at large.

If he knew her at all, he would have known it took more than that to shut her down. “I wasn’t asking for your expert opinion, Sir. I was asking you personally, as a Dominant with a good number of years of experience.”

“Let me be clearer: I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“No.”

The silence in the room hit her then. Not that people had been talking among themselves, but at the moment no one was moving. It was as if the entire room was holding its breath, watching their exchange.

Master Covington coughed and stood up. “I think that’s a good place to end the discussion. Thank you, Master Parks.”

Jeff nodded in reply and little by little the room came to life. Side conversations were started, and around her people made plans for the next night’s play party.

That hadn’t gone well.

Jeff spoke quietly to Master Covington and left. Fury rose in her, and she decided to get to the bottom of Jeff’s problem once and for all. Ignoring the pointed stares and whispers that followed, she shoved her chair back and went after him.

She found him in the house’s kitchen. His back was to her as he stood looking out a window.

“What exactly is your problem?”

He turned slowly. “You.”

“I kinda figured that part out.”

“You graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Law.”

She swallowed her shock at this confession that he’d looked her up online. “So?”

“You admitted your interest in submission started as an act of rebellion against your father. Who happens to be a senator.”

“And you said no one could be a submissive for four years out of spite.”

He walked toward her slowly. So slowly she could see the gradual change from irritation to desire. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said when he was steps from her, “if I have a hard time picturing a spoiled little rich girl who went on to be a super-successful Harvard lawyer on her knees as a submissive.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Damn, are you serious? And after that entire discussion on stereotypes, too.”

“Can I say you’re showing a perfect example of submission at the moment?” he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I’m submissive for either my Master or the man topping me in a scene. Right now you’re just a judgmental asshole.”

His jaw tightened.

“Tell me,” she continued. “What bothers you the most, the fact that I’m rich or that I graduated from Harvard?”

“Both. They both bother me. This isn’t a game for me. It’s my life. I was being honest when I told you the reasons why I’ve never collared a submissive.”

“I’m insulted you think I see this as a game.”