Page 11 of Liberating Lena

“I’m working right now, Ethan.”

I stalked closer and she backed against the wall. I caged her in with my arms. “I need to explain myself. I made a colossal mess the other night. When are you free?”

Lena remained silent; her gaze caught on mine like a deer in the headlights.

“Lena,” I almost growled, “when is your shift over?”

“At noon, Sir.”

She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot but I didn’t miss the dilation of her pupils. Something about my demeanor or voice had turned her on. If she liked my boardroom voice, I could give her that in spades. I made a decision right then and there but would wait to share it with her until we met.

“We need to talk. I’ll see you at noon.” I walked away, needing to clear my head. I did my best thinking while working out. It was a beautiful day outside, so the gym was practically empty. I started on the leg press. There was something about pushing a ton of weight with my legs that settled me.

My thoughts instantly strayed to Lena. I’d been at Rawhide a total of five days and I was on fire for the woman. Her submission, while vacant, and hidden beneath layers of protective protocol she’d built up around herself, was beautiful. I imagined her slim fingers wrapping around my thick member.

I leaned back in the leg press, my legs at an almost full extension, along with my dick. This wasn’t helping, it just offered my body a distraction while my mind conjured up images of Lena in all sorts of compromising positions. I’d wanted to ask her if she’d been wearing panties or a g-string at least for her scene in the Dungeon or if she’d gone commando. Had the scene turned her on? If I’d swiped her slit, would it have been moist?

I growled in frustration and slowly lowered the leg press, bringing my knees almost to my chest. Maybe I could run off my need for her. I moved to the treadmill and set myself up at a decent clip. However, soon my mind was wandering back to her. Always Lena. Her slim legs widened into sturdy hips and afull ass. An ass that could easily fill my large hands and oh how I wanted to squeeze and knead that flesh.

I turned the speed up and worked on directing my mind to be present on the task at hand and not breaking my neck if I misstepped. Images of Lena’s slim legs wrapped around my hips as I filled her. I hit the stop button and slowed down to walking until I could jump off the machine.

I took my run outside and back to my cabin. Until today, it had been my sanctuary, but Lena followed me home into the shower, images of her body teasing my senses as I stood under the hot spray of water.

Get a grip, Reacher!

And I did, but not the kind I was giving my advice on. I fisted my hard length and leaned my other hand against the shower tiles. Lena’s haunted eyes, succulent lips, pert tits, and luscious ass called to me, infiltrating my senses. Slick precum squeezed from the tip, coating my grip. I groaned. Lena’s sweet smile filled my vision and I was a goner.

My hips jerked, a roar escaping my chest as I coated the tiles in thick ropes of cum. When I was done, I leaned both forearms against the wall until my heartbeat calmed down. I’d been so lost in business and restraining from play since my last submissive that I’d not come in way too long. I felt drained, literally spent. At least I’d removed the Lena frenzy, for now.

I finished cleaning up and exited the shower. Checking my watch, I saw there was just over forty-minutes until meeting Lena. I took a deep breath and opened my closet, carefully selecting clothing to go with what I wanted to portray–serious without intimidation–interest, control with desire to explore something with her. Ready, I took my time walking back to the main lodge, smelling the fragrant air and preparing myself for my proposal.

I always experienced a high when I closed an important business deal. When arrangements to both our satisfactions were made with willing subs, I’d considered them in the same way, although to a lesser degree. Both were contracts between two willing parties, or groups. I worked my end with that mindset. My last sub, Stacey, had been right when she’d said I was emotionally unavailable. I wouldn’t make that mistake with Lena. I wanted to be present for her in a way I hadn’t been for anyone. I desired to provide her with a safe environment so she could drop the servitude act. Not to heal her, no, just to hold space and explore.

CHAPTER 7

Lena

I was a mess! Last night in bed, Ethan’s words–That’s the difference between service and sacrifice–played in a loop, and Carrie’s words–Maybe give the guy another chance—added to the confusion of what to do about Ethan. Or more precisely, my desire to get to know him better despite the red flag warning.

I was in the Dungeon tidying up when a memory I wished to forget had me stagger and drop onto a bench. A visual of me, in New Orleans just over two years ago…

The air had been heavy with incense and expectation. Daniel, my former Dom, preferred silence from me unless I was given permission to speak, which was rare.

In his world, servitude was absolute. Grace wasn’t enough, it had to be perfection.

He’d had a friend over from the lifestyle, another Dom he wished to impress with my newly acquired serving skills. I wasnervous. My debut you could say. The porcelain edge of the teacup ever so slightly tapped the edge of the tray as I adjusted my grip, making barely a sound.

Daniel’s friend didn’t give any indication he’d heard, but Daniel had. Later, after saying our goodbyes, he turned on me, wearing a snarl and circled me like a wolf.

“You embarrassed me,” his soft tone belying the words he spoke. “Sloppiness is weakness and I don’t keep weak things.”

He gripped the ever-present blue ribbon at my throat, a perpetual reminder of who and what I was. He gripped my elbow tightly in his grasp and marched me to his dungeon. At the beginning, I’d welcomed the smell of leather and the pristine conditions of the furniture and toys that were strategically set up. Not this time. He took me to the center of the space and had me kneel on the floor.

“Nose on the ground,” he ordered. “You will receive thirty strokes.”

Tears streamed down my face but I didn’t move, didn’t dare. If I was good, maybe there would be aftercare. He was harsher than he’d ever been and I realized that this was very different than anything I’d experienced before. This wasn’t a scene; this was a warning. He never checked in, never offered me a single word of comfort. Just silence when he exited the room and locked me inside.

That night had changed everything for me. The tension I now held wasn’t natural, it was trained. I’d made it an art form of anticipating and pre-empting. I’d learned to vanish within protocol and submission became my armor, and it worked for a while, until it didn’t.

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