Page 29 of Healing the Heart

When she caught the faint scent of rain, she squinted up at the sky. They’d had showers earlier in the day, and more were in the forecast. That’s all she needed, to arrive late besides looking like a drenched, bedraggled stray cat.

Time passed at a crawl. When it was finally her turn, she told the girl at the counter, “Valerie, Master Eric’s sub, was supposed to leave me a note with instructions.”

Celia usually worked at the front desk and was a lot more organized than this new girl. Fiona shifted impatiently while she searched through sticky notes and “while you were out” notices.

Out of nowhere, she exclaimed, “Found it! I’m supposed to call for a DM to escort you. He’ll have your instructions.”

It took another ten minutes for the DM to arrive, making the time thirteen minutes after eight.

There was no introduction. Big, burly, and completely bald, he just materialized in the lobby, pointed at her, and grunted, “You’re with me. Let’s go.”

After she surrendered her shoes, her surly escort took her by the locker room to stow her things. With the clock ticking relentlessly forward, they worked their way through the main room to the back and climbed the stairs. He led her to room number eight, but she hung back by the door as he walked in and turned up the lights.

“Don’t dawdle.” His voice boomed in the practically empty room. “You’re in enough trouble as it is, making your dom wait.”

Oh great. He was one of those sticklers.

“There was a really long line.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re supposed to take that into account and be on time.”

There was no sympathy from his corner, and she guessed she’d receive even less from Master Noah.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she padded on bare feet to the middle of the floor. Her eyes swept the huge spartan room, taking in an armoire in the back, a prayer bench on the side wall, and an aftercare couch in a shadowy corner. But that was it.

“What’s the theme of this room? Convent chic?” she nervously joked.

“Funny,” he replied, although he didn’t laugh. Then he directed, “Look up.”

She was almost afraid to, but when she did, she sucked in a breath, seeing chains and pulleys and spreader bars with cuffs on the ends dangling from the high ceiling.

“This is what we call Rigger’s Paradise. It’s empty because the rope masters require a lot of space to work. Some call it the whipping room because a short tail can be used in here as well.” He eyed her curiously. “You’ve never been in here before?”

She shook her head so hard several long strands of hair fell in her face. With trembling fingers, she tucked them back behind her ears. “I’ve never been to the second floor except for a peek on my initial tour.”

“Then you’re in for an adventure.” He pulled a blindfold out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Your dom requested you put this on. He’ll be with you shortly.”

She looked down at the padded black satin. It had ties instead of an elastic band to hold it in place. A question came to mind. But when she glanced up to ask, the DM was gone, the door thudding softly as it shut behind him.

Angling her head back, she gazed at all the hardware in the ceiling. “Well, Master Noah. I guess I’ll find out soon enough if you’re into ropes, whips, or both.”

With trembling fingers, she tied the blindfold in place, effectively blocking out even the tiniest glimmer of light.

As she waited in the dark, she couldn’t stand still. Not knowing what to do with her hands—did he want them behind her head, or her back, or crossed demurely in front?—she nervously folded and unfolded them, trying out all three positions. Behind her head didn’t last long. The hem of her too-short dress rode up, and her fingers disturbed the blindfold, the knot pulling her hair. She also nervously shifted on her cold, bare feet, almost falling once because she couldn’t see.

Kneeling before she faceplanted on the hard stone floor was her idea.

“Much better,” she whispered, when she settled on her knees with her butt resting on her heels.

But then her mind started wandering. Like she’d learned in OT school, taking away one sense often heightened the others. She heard the whisper-soft rush of air through the vent overhead and the muffled voices and soft cries, both of pleasure and pain, emanating from the rooms on either side of her.

A sudden waft of a pleasant scent, either a subtle cologne or a light body wash, alerted her to a presence in the room—definitely masculine. It evoked a sense of déjà vu, leaving her wondering where she had smelled it before. More importantly, on whom since Val said she’d met him before?

She strained to hear, desperate to catch any sound should he approach. A touch grazing her back caused Fiona to startle and jump, her heart racing uncontrollably.

“Easy. Nothing is going to happen you don’t want or cannot stop.”

The low, seductive rasp in his voice sent shivers down her spine. Her mind whirled, trying to recall if she’d heard it before. But she couldn’t put a face to the voice.

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