Page 20 of Fearless
She struggled to swallow. “What?”
“You’re going to have to ask.”
Chapter 7
The moment he said ‘ask,’ Kitty froze in a mix of anxiety, disbelief, and despair. She pulled away from both the table and him, every inch of her verged on running. Yet, she didn’t. Something stronger kept her rooted while he said, “I’m offering you scenes, love. Nothing deeper or more lasting than that. But if you need it, and if you can work up the courage to come to me, I promise I will give you exactly what you crave each and every time.”
She shoved her plate away from her, as if it were a physical representation of his offer. She still had half a breakfast left to finish before he intended to let her leave his table, but he knew when and where to pick his battles. His current engagement was far more important.
“Y-you…” Kitty tried to laugh, but her shivery breaths wouldn’t let her. It came out too high-pitched and shuddery, and on the side of her neck, her pulse danced a frantic beat that he could see. “Y-you can’t possibly…”
“I know,” he assured her. Only a very new dominant—or an unobservant one—could take more than a glance at her in this condition and not know what she needed more than anything was relief. Her shoulders were hunched under a burden she didn’t know how to bear. She stared at the table, looking small and lost and far too thin for a woman of her height. She needed to eat. She needed to put roundness back into her face, the slight bumps of her breasts and the boniness of her hips. She needed rest and, if nothing else, to ease the bruise-like half-moons beneath eyes that would have been lovely if they weren’t so damned haunted. “I know.”
Had he blinked, he might have missed the way her chin lifted, the tiniest hint of ‘prove it’ creeping into her eyes. She wasn’t quite brave enough to say it out loud, however. Someone had beat that out of her. He couldn’t help wondering if it were too late to coax it back in.
“Would you like a sample of what you can expect?” he softly challenged her. His hand itched for an immediate follow through—seize her by the hair, drag her out of her chair and straight to the floor. He could almost feel the back of her head under his boot. He could almost see the lines of her body relaxing as she gave herself up to total subjugation.
The look in her haunted eyes said she already regretted her minute, unspoken defiance, and yet he thought he glimpsed a flicker of… what, hope? Wistfulness?
Oh yes, she might be hesitating, but she was curious. Wry humor pulled at the corners of his mouth, but he suppressed it, not wanting her to think he was laughing at her. “You know what you have to do to get it.”
Her knee beneath the table was jiggling again, bouncing fitfully up and down. It made all the rest of her tremble, though he suspected she might have trembled anyway. Her lips certainly were. The tip of her tongue darted out far enough to wet them. Her eyes were a battlefield of longing and doubt, and as the seconds ticked on into minutes with no answer coming from her, he began to think that might, in fact, be his answer. He was about to stand, lay his hand on her shoulder—if she actually allowed him to touch her at this point—and tell her his offer would stand for as long as she might need it, but she broke first.
“Please,” she haltingly whispered. Proving once and for all, it truly was the magic word. It was also as close to asking as he was in the mood to require.
“Go to your bedroom. I want you standing at the foot of your bed, the strap in your hand. Be ready when I get there. Go on,” he said gently, when she made no move to obey. Her trembling had intensified. If he did nothing else today, he hoped he might help banish some of that fear. “What’s my name, Kitty?”
She blinked twice. He hadn’t realized how unfocused her eyes had become until suddenly she locked them on him again. She’d been staring right at him, but it wasn’t him that she’d been seeing; he was sure of it.
“Noah,” she quavered.
“Go on, then.”
She got up from the table, leaving her half-finished plate. Her soft footsteps retreated down the hall. He listened as she paused at the bathroom, then slipped inside. He listened carefully, but there was no sound of vomiting, which he took as a positive sign. The water did run, though, but only briefly. Then the door opened and she continued on to the bedroom.
He heard the rustle of the closet door open and wire clothes hangers knock together. He heard her take up her position at the foot of the bed. Were this any other time and were she any other submissive, standing in her penitent pose to contemplate what had sent her there and what was yet to come, he’d have left her there to think a while. Ten minutes, maybe more. But she was frightened enough as it was, and that wasn’t the point of this.
Draining all that was left of his coffee, Noah got up to follow her. With every step, he checked himself. He found his center of calm, but the Dom inside him was already perking. He had tremors of his own as he approached her open bedroom door. She hadn’t turned on the light, creating echoes of last night’s illicit view into what he seriously hoped had not been her bedtime ritual for long. If so, that ritual was about to be permanently interrupted.
He turned on the light. No one else was in the house, but he still closed the door behind him. Not because he thought she might run, but because it enclosed them in that tiny backroom together. Increasing the intimacy between them. Could she feel the vibrancy of his authority as clearly as he could feel the warring emotions inside her? Her fear was palpable and that was what he attacked first.
Standing exactly where he’d ordered her to, her hands moved on the strap’s handle, clutching and re-clutching with spastic nervousness. He could see the trembling of her knees even through her pants. That trembling did not ease the closer he came. He took the strap from her, moving it to his right hand out of her sight and her reach. He took her by the throat with his left.
That was a risky move. She might have panicked, especially if what he was doing now in any way echoed abuse inflicted by her last dom. But she didn’t and he was careful to keep his touch firm, but light. He didn’t apply pressure, but he did hold her, his fingers resting lightly on her pulse. It jumped erratically beneath his fingertips, especially when he shifted close enough to bring his mouth to her ear. She shook, all of her, a thoroughly battered leaf still lost in the storms of her past.
“This isn’t a punishment,” he murmured, letting his thumb stroke the curve of her neck. “I want you to remember that. You haven’t done anything wrong; you aren’t in trouble; I am not angry. This is a cleansing. This is just you and me, lighting a fire hot enough to burn away the ghosts. We can do this as often as you need, whenever you need, even if you must wake me in the middle of the night. Your safeword is red, and you will use it if for any reason you want me to stop. Is that clear?”
She swallowed hard, her tense throat moving against his palm. Her nod was barely a quiver, but it was assent and he accepted it.
“You may not keep your pants on. I need to see the damage I’m doing. Take them down.”
Her hands were shaking so badly now she barely managed it, but he didn’t help her. She needed to do this on her own and he had all the time in the world. His hand kept its hold on her throat, even when she bent to push her jeans down over her hips. Gravity dropped them as far as her knees.
“Repeat after me,” he said, shifting his grip from the front of her throat to the nape of her neck. When he applied gentle pressure, she haltingly bent over the metal footrail. “I’m a good girl.”
Her hands fisted against the patchwork quilt as her cheek came to rest upon it. Her eyes were huge, her face pale. Her lips barely moved and there was little sound to it when she whispered, “I’m a good girl.”
“I’m safe.” He stroked her back between her shoulders, every inch of her feeling as tense and tight as a drum.
