Page 24 of Hard Discipline

Odette is curled up beneath the blanket, her eyes closed. She’s breathing deeply and evenly, but I know she’s not asleep, only recovering. I’m not a gentle man, yet I attempt to be gentle as I unwrap her. She makes a sleepy-sounding protest but doesn’t resist as I spread her legs and run the warm cloth between them. A breath goes out of her, her slight, pale body still lax as I clean her up. She watches me but says nothing and I can tell from her dilated pupils that she’s probably had her first encounter with subspace and is still flying.

I don’t look into her eyes this time, directing my attention to her body, doing another visual check. She’s far too thin and I wonder if she’s been eating properly, and yet?—

You’re starting to think like you did when Gabrielle was sick.

A cold wave of realization passes over me. This is why I don’t do aftercare, because of that same fucking reason, and I know this. I did everything I could for her, even the difficult physical things that left her with precious little pride or dignity. I made sure I gave both of those back to her in her last weeks, and I’m doing something similar now.

Except Odette isn’t sick, nor is she my wife.

“What is it?”

Her voice is soft and husky and it jolts me into meeting her gaze. Deep in the tarnished silver of her eyes I see something soft and concerned, and there’s a slight crease in her smooth forehead, her pale brows drawn together.

The cold seeps through me. She must have seen my expression— no one has been able read me, not since Gabrielle —and I don’t like that she has.

“Did I ask you to speak sub?” I ask flatly, putting her back in her place.

She flushes and her lashes lower in submission. “No, Master.”

It should please me that she obeyed me and with my proper title, but I don’t feel pleased. I feel as if I’ve done something wrong, though I know I haven’t.

I’ve given this woman more orgasms in the space of an hour than I’ve ever given any sub over the course of entire evening, so why I feel chastened I have no fucking idea. What I do know is that I’m turning her into more of a big deal than she needs to be.

I continue to run the cloth over her, and she sighs, giving a sensual little stretch. It’s entirely unselfconscious, and I find myself wanting to keep stroking her soft skin, keep touching her until I make her sigh just like that again and again. But she needs a break and something to eat, so I open my mouth to tell her what I’m going to do, except that’s not what comes out. “I don’t do much aftercare,” I hear myself say instead, still stroking her. “Because I cared for my wife when she was sick and I don’t like the reminder.”

Odette doesn’t move or speak, but her lashes flutter, the only sign of her reaction.

There is a moment of silence and unexpectedly I feel the weight of it this time, because it’s not a silence I initiated with the purpose of reading a sub. Oddly, it’s as if she’s giving what I told her some time, acknowledging the weight of the subject.

Then, just when I’m on the verge of taking command again, because I don’t fucking like what I’m feeling right now, her lashes lift and she reaches up, brushing my cheekbone with thetips of her fingers. She doesn’t speak but I see what’s in her eyes. Sympathy. Concern. And strangely, understanding.

Her touch is gentle, yet electric. It’s been a long time since a sub has touched me, a long time sinceanyonehas touched me. Sometimes I’ll fuck a sub or let her suck me off, but I use that as a reward for good behavior. It’s not something I generally allow and I certainly never seek out a sub’s touch for comfort’s sake, yet I sense that comfort is exactly what Odette is giving me now. I should punish her for touching me without asking, but strangely, I don’t have the appetite for it.

Instead, I close my fingers around her wrist and hold it gently, and I don’t pull it away. It’s my gaze that subs can’t meet. I never have a problem with theirs, and yet I’m having a problem holding hers now. I can’t bear the understanding her eyes, yet a part of me is hungry for it, a need that burns in my chest.

But this little sub, this inexperienced young woman, this pale waif of a girl, looks away first, allowing me to keep the dignity of the Master.

Christ, I’m lying to myself in thinking she’s the same as all the others. She’s not. She’s not like them. She’s not like anyone.

“Allow me to serve you, Master,” she says quietly, her lashes demurely lowered.

Again, she’s offering what I already have and again, that should earn her a punishment. But for the first time in years, neither the Master nor the man want to give that to her. She’s not being manipulative and she doesn’t deserve the flicker of anger I feel that she’s somehow managed to get under my guard. She’s being genuine and honest, so how can I not give her honesty in return? Because I do want her to serve me.

“A scotch,” I tell her. “No ice.”

“Your will, Master,” she replies.

13

Odette

Islip off the couch, unselfconscious of my nakedness, because why bother about it now? When he’s seen all of me and touched most of me? I feel strangely light and… whole in a way I haven’t been for two years.

I don’t know why simply telling this man what happened to me and having him give me reassurance in return made me feel this way, but it did. It’s as if him testing me and giving me a chance to prove myself was exactly what I needed. Who knew? But he’s given me back a small piece of myself that I thought was lost, so now it’s my turn to do something for him.

I go quickly over to the cabinet where he keeps his drinks and get out a new glass. Then I open the scotch, pour a careful measure into the tumbler, and turn back to him. He’s sitting down on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely between them while he stares at the floor. His expression is like granite and yet…

After I’d come back down to earth from two shattering orgasms in succession, he was there beside me, running a warm cloth over me, lingering on all my sore and sensitive places. He didn’t speak as he did so, but I could see something in his eyes change, a shadow passing through them. And without thinking, I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong. He snapped at me then, and I had to apologize, appalled at myself for stepping out of line since he hadn’t given me permission to speak. But then… he’d told me why he didn’t do aftercare and it was because of his wife.

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