Page 66 of Healing the Heart

When he raised his head, he smiled down at her. “In my bed, you shut off your brain and reveled in what we did, but here it’s racing a thousand miles a minute.”

Her gaze shot over his shoulder to the shadowy forms outside the ring of light. “We didn’t have an audience in your bedroom, sir.”

“This is true. But you’re beautiful, kitten. And fucking gorgeous when you come. I’ll enjoy showing you off. Like Master Eric did with his stunning pet. It was quite a show, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir. It went beyond the special effects. They were completely in sync with each other and seemed oblivious to everything else.”

“They’ve been together only a couple of years. Val was new to the lifestyle. But look how far they’ve come. It just goes to prove that practice makes perfect.”

After another unbelievably gentle kiss—no tongue, but lingering—he turned her to face the cross.

“Look up. Above the standard eyebolts are handgrips. No cuffs or constraints tonight, only you submitting to me on the cross entirely by choice.” He dipped his head, his tone serious as he spoke in her ear. “If it gets to be too much, I expect you to tell me. I’ll slow down, but if you can’t continue for whatever reason, and need to shut it down, you have an instantaneous escape route. Does that ease some of your anxiety?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else to discuss before we begin?”

“Nothing. I’m ready for practice.”

He paused. “What was that?”

“To make perfect,” she reminded him.

“Indeed,” he replied, sounding amused. His fingers flexed on her shoulders, and he kissed the side of her neck then slid her oversized shirt down her arms and let it fall, leaving her in only her panties. At the hum of voices behind her, she forced herself to breathe.

“There’s my brave girl,” he hummed in approval. “Reach up and grab the pegs, and do not let go without my say-so.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me your safeword, Fiona?”

“Red, sir.”

“Very good. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

He gathered her hair and brushed it forward over her shoulder. One of the two remaining barriers was now gone. She considered how she must look and was okay with it. She’d worn backless dresses that revealed as much. But when he tugged up her panties, wedging the material between her cheeks, transforming the bikini style into a thong, she froze like a statue.

Fiona wished she actually was sculpted in marble or bronze, stuck in a corner of a dusty museum somewhere far away fromLA and the tanned, gorgeous, thin people gathered at the red velvet ropes peering in at her.

She heard whispers and worse, laughing. Suddenly, she was back in the bar, with the crowd, the loud burst of boisterous male laughter, and Jordan calling her—

“Yellow,” escaped her lips.

They hadn’t discussed a go signal, or an intermediate one, only a full stop. Because she didn’t want to end their scene this way, when it wasn’t him, she called a warning to say if what was wrong didn’t get fixed, and darn quick, red would soon follow.

By sheer force of will, Fiona hung on to the pegs rather than covering her bare-as-the-day-she-was-born, jiggly butt.

Noah moved in behind her, his body pressed against hers, blocking her from the onlookers only a few feet away.

“What’s going through your head, Fiona? Talk to me.”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“This won’t be like that night. Do you trust me, pet?”

“It’s not you, sir. It’s...”

“What?” he insisted.

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