Page 30 of Brave
Touching her, he felt her body tense. “What do you mean?”
“I was going to take you to Black Light,” he said. “But there are times when a person needs to be broken down in order to be built back up again the right way. I intend to make sure you have a hard, emotional release. That means first we’re going to go over the contract so I know where your limits are, then we’re going to agree on aftercare, and then, honey, I want you to put yourself in my hands and trust that I won’t harm you. So, do you want to do that at Black Light, or do you want to come home with me so it can happen in private? Just so you know, there’s no wrong answer here. Both options will require an equal amount of courage.”
Before he’d finished talking, he could see she was already struggling with it. Worry etched itself in all the lines of her, filling up her eyes, tightening the press of her lips and tension of her shoulders and back. She drew in a shaky breath, eventually letting it out again in a sign that seemed to steal all the breath from her body as she came to her decision. “Your home. I don’t want to do it in public.”
“See?” Carlson couldn’t help smiling. “I told you you were brave.”
Leaning in to kiss her on the forehead wasn’t something he’d planned to do. Very little thought went into it at all. It was just a reassuring touch. Something Doms did for their submissives, and surely this was one of the many situations that both warranted and deserved it.
But from the moment he slid his hand over the top of her head, granting unspoken permission for her to lower her hand, he knew this was more than mere afterthought. Too late, already he was leaning in, and he could feel the warming ripples of awareness that came into him as he breathed in the mixed scent of both her and faintly floral shampoo, just before pressing his lips to her forehead.
Like something a man would do, comforting a good friend or his own kid sister.
Except the physical response that shot through his veins was anything but the feelings anyone should have toward their sister.
Slowly lowering her hands, she lay them on his chest instead. At no point did she try to push him away, and the touch of his lips on her forehead lingered just a little too long before he finally stepped back again.
They looked at one another.
Clearing his throat, Carlson pasted on a smile. “In,” he said, holding the car door for her.
He made good use of his walk back around the car, discretely adjusting himself in his pants in order to hide the physical response he hadn’t known he was going to have. Because had he known, he never would have offered to take her to his home. Where the privacy or his intentions might be misconstrued, especially to a woman as badly mistreated as the news articles claimed Puppy had been.
He was going to have to tread carefully.
He was going to have to keep his libido in check.
He was seriously going to have to get the smell of her out of his nose and off his lips. They hadn’t even done a negotiation yet, for crying out loud. There’d be plenty of time later on to figure out what kind of relationship they wanted to have. There was no sense in risking the regrets that came from rushing too fast into intimacy.
“Just so you know”—he cleared his throat again—“sex is still off the table.”
He was pretty sure he needed that reminder more than she did. Turning her face to the window, Puppy said nothing.
Chapter 9
Pulling into his driveway, Carlson parked in front of a red-brick, one-story ranch house with a white-painted garage that was stuffed too full of exercise equipment and camping gear to accommodate a car.
“No,” he said, when she unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “You are my submissive, but I am a gentleman. I prefer you wait while I get your door.”
So, she sat there, waiting for him to let her out of the car, before following him up the walkway to the front door.
“Ladies room?” he asked, letting her into the house. When she nodded, he pointed out a small half-bath guestroom just down the hall from the open living, kitchen, and dining room area. “Help yourself.”
When he held out his hand, she put the contract negotiation into it and then headed down the hall with her backpack clutched over her shoulder.
“Hey,” he called, just before she slid the panel door closed. “No freak outs or panic attacks. You’re going to be okay. We’ll talk when you come out.”
Nodding once, she slid the door closed and he headed into the living room, pausing to turn the gas fireplace on before dropping the folded stack of papers on the dining room table. Opening the fridge, he pulled out supper fixings. He wasn’t a fancy guy. He also wasn’t a chef. But he did know how to make a mean grilled cheese sandwich. Checking the time, he put that together with a can of creamed corn which he heated up on the stove, and then quietly set the table for two with brewed iced tea to drink.
He checked his watch again, giving her five minutes more. Then seven. And then at the point where dinner was done and he’d been sitting there for ten minutes, he got up to knock on the bathroom door.
“Are you freaking out?” he asked.
A few seconds passed before she slid the door open and, true enough, there she stood, with a dry washcloth twisted between her hands and puffy red eyes that showed she’d been crying.
Beckoning her out of the bathroom, he let her keep the washcloth. He didn’t scold her, either. He just steered her into the dining room and sat her down at one of the places he’d set.
“What do you want to talk about first?” he asked. “The negotiation, the application, lunch, or the ‘I’m stupid’ comment?”
