“No.” She squirmed in her seat. At his continued look, she added, “The opposite, actually.”
His eyebrow shot up. “Indeed?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He didn’t say anything else about it, nor did he mention her slip in calling him “Sir.” In fact, he changed the subject altogether, asking her where she went to college and how she met Julie.
She went along with the conversation, answering his questions and then asking him about his own education. She knew he’d been at college with Daniel for a while, but knew nothing about his life after.
He spoke of his hometown in England, his days at Oxford, and how, even though he loved the UK, he now considered the U.S. his home.
“When did you first get involved in the lifestyle?” she asked as he prepared her a second cup of tea.
“In Oxford.” He leaned back in his seat. “Was doing a bit of research and supplemented with a little hands-on experimenting.”
“That sounds quite . . . thorough.”
“Never let it be said I cut corners.”
“I don’t think anyone could ever say that.”
He inclined his head in response. “How about you, when did you first enter the lifestyle?”
“In college. One of my boyfriends restrained me . . . during sex.”
“And you liked it?”
“Very much.” She was reminded of a conversation she had with Julie not too long ago. “But the bondage isn’t the main reason I stayed, though I do like that part.”
“What kept you coming back?”
“Being able to give control to someone else. Knowing he’ll protect me. To just be able to feel for the time I’m with him, knowing that in doing so I’ll please him.”
“Is that what you were doing the night you were with Peter? Giving him control? Trying to please?”
For some reason, she didn’t feel the usual tightening in her chest that typically followed talk of that night. Probably because she was in a hotel having tea. Or maybe it was because of who she was talking with.
“I knew we’d have to discuss it eventually,” she said.
“Today, we don’t have to discuss anything you don’t want to. But yes, we will touch on it more eventually. Though I’ll remind you, I’m not a therapist. I simply want to help you as you get back into the lifestyle.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Focused on the quiet conversations around them, the faint clinking of china, the aroma of spicy tea.
I can do this. I am safe. He will protect me.
When she opened her eyes, she was ready and, across the table, Cole smiled softly. She swallowed around the lump in her throat.
“Only if you’re ready, little one. It can wait.”
“He wanted to collar me. No one’s ever wanted to do that before.” A question filled her mind. “How many submissives have you collared?”
“Only one,” he said almost hesitantly.
Kate. And there was something else there. Something he wasn’t telling her, but now wasn’t the time to ask about it.
“I wanted,” she started and then paused. “I wanted to mean that much to someone. I’d been a submissive for six years and never worn anyone’s collar. Do you think that’s bad?”
“I think it’s a big step to wear someone’s collar. The fact that you haven’t found the right Dom isn’t a reflection on you. It just shows you’re holding out for the right one.”
“And I jumped too quickly when I thought I found him.” And she would carry the scars of that poor decision for the rest of her life. Literally, she added with a snort, thinking back to Cole’s assignment.
“It’s not a mistake to be wanted,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry the trust you gave wasn’t cared for and cherished the way it should have been. That is a difficult lesson to learn the hard way.”
He spoke so tenderly it made her eyes water. Even Daniel, when he’d talked with her about that night, had never touched her so deeply with his words.
“Sasha.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “You are a beautiful woman and you have a sweet, sultry, and sassy submissive nature. If someone hasn’t claimed you with his collar yet, it is not a reflection upon you.”
She sniffled and rolled her eyes. “Please don’t say it’s because they don’t see how special I am.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Then what were you going to say?”
His grip tightened on her hand. “It’s because they know they aren’t man enough to master a submissive such as yourself.”
She almost laughed at him, but one look told her he was serious. Unfortunately, she had the sinking feeling there was only one man with the ability to master her and he’d already told her he wasn’t interested. She tossed her head. “I’ve been a submissive for six years, I’m willing to bet such a man doesn’t exist.”
“I wouldn’t make that bet if I were you. You’ll lose.”
• • •
When he dropped her back off at her apartment after tea, he’d told her to arrive at the guesthouse on Tuesday after work wearing a conservative dress. She arrived five minutes early and he was pleased to see she’d arranged her hair so it lay flat instead of standing up in spikes like it often did.
“Good evening, little one.”
“Good evening, Sir.” Her smile seemed to come easier to her lately. The thought made him happy.
He motioned for her to enter the house. “I have something planned tonight I think you’ll enjoy. Hand me your journal and go wait for me in the sitting room.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She gave him her journal and headed down the hall.
He took the journal into his office and read over her entries about the plug. He made it through all of them, then closed the book and leaned back in his chair. She had completed the assignment, and unlike before, she had done exceptionally well.
Many of her entries were completed in pencil and the numerous smudges showed exactly how careful she’d been and how many errors she’d caught. Though he’d enjoyed having her recite the dirty sentences, her dedication to improving and working harder spoke volumes.
He pushed back from his desk and went to find her. She knelt, waiting for him, in the sitting room and he took a minute to watch her. Kneeling appeared to have a calming effect on her. She usually looked so serene as she waited on her knees. What he would like is to have that calm spread to other areas of her life.
“There was a vast improvement in your assignment this week, little one.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Your effort pleases me.”
She didn’t say anything, but her cheeks flushed a light pink color.
“Stand up and come with me,” he said.
She followed him into the dining room and shot him a questioning look when he pulled out a chair from the head of the table and bid her to sit down.
“There was a certain look of excitement you had on Saturday when I mentioned a slave serving high tea. The idea of serving tea appeals to you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“There is something almost primitive about the ritual of serving tea. On the surface, it comes across as nothing more than one person pouring tea and offering food to another. And for some, that’s all it is. On the other hand, when done between a slave and Master, it can take on an erotic quality.”