I ripped open the Velcro and wrapped it quickly around his wrist, touching him as little as possible. Relief swept through me when it was done, and I bent to finish my task. Only I’d been so focused, I hadn’t realized he’d dropped his arm over the side of the armrest, and he brushed his knuckle against my cheekbone.
I jerked away, falling backward on my bottom, and a panicked sob burst from my lips. It had been a featherlight caress, but it both lit me on fire and scared the hell out of me.
“I’m sorry,” Grant whispered.
For the touch? For everything?
Joseph must have predicted Grant would try something, because he was ready, waiting with a riding crop he’d retrieved from the middle drawer. It swung through the air and slapped across the top of Grant’s thigh.
His eyes went white with surprise, and he hissed in discomfort, flinching from the strike.
“Not another word,” Joseph barked. He extended a hand and helped me to stand. His evaluating gaze took me in from head to toe. “You all right?”
With everything I’d done in the club, it was ridiculous that a single, innocuous touch had me unraveled. I refused to let it get to me. “Yes, Sir.”
He led me to the front of the table and asked me to sit, and when I did so, he set his sights on the couple. Or more specifically, Regan.
“You. Come here.”
He didn’t use names often in scenes. They had to be earned. Until then, you had to work for his respect.
But it was clear who he was calling up, and she stood reluctantly, smoothing her nervous palms down the sides of her black pencil skirt. Her face was a mask, but her eyes gave away her fear, especially when she risked a glance at the riding crop he held at his side.
“Face Tara,” he ordered.
She did. Her m
akeup was muted, softer than the way she usually wore it when working at the club. Her hair was down. She looked more like the woman I knew outside of this place.
Joseph’s tone was the same as a parent talking to a disobedient child. “Is honesty important between a dom and a sub?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
He lifted an eyebrow. “I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, Sir,” she corrected, louder this time.
“You violated this trust, didn’t you?”
Her blue eyes flooded with remorse. “Yes, Sir.”
“So, what should we do about that?” His expression was dark, wicked excitement. “What happens if your sub lies to you?”
Her tremble was so subtle, I barely noticed it, but Joseph did. His eyes flared with power. Regan barely squeaked it out. “She gets punished.”
He seized a fistful of her hair and jerked her head back. It was rough enough, it startled everyone, and most of all her. She gasped, but it didn’t seem to be in pain—only shock. Silas was out of his chair, but she put up a hand, signaling for him to stop.
This was a test. If Silas couldn’t handle this, he’d never make it through the next part.
“Tell him it’s all right,” Joseph commanded.
“It’s all right,” she said instantly, her voice tight. With her head held back, she struggled to get her gaze on him. “I’ve got this.”
Joseph’s attention drifted to Silas. “I don’t have an issue with you.” He turned back to the table then nodded toward Grant. “But these three? They’re all guilty to some degree, and you need to let me work through it. Understood?
Silas didn’t look happy as he begrudgingly lowered back into his chair. His hand curled into a fist as it rested on his knee.
But Joseph looked pleased. “Yeah, we’ve got some shit to work out, don’t we, Andrea?”