Page 112 of Masked Sins
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE TRANCE
Orion
Watching Layla place her palms on her thighs and look down demurely, all while wearing thatfuckingdress. The virginal white, with its innocent eyelet pattern, and the way it shows off just enough to drive me crazy, but not enough to be vulgar.
I am so, so fucked.
Leaning forward, I pull her contract closer as I attempt to disguise my shaking hands. I wassosure she’d figure out who I was as soon as I walked into the room. She slowed down a bit when she was walking over, and I braced myself for it—for her reaction.
Instead, her eyes roved over my body before she kneeled before me. I know Layla is good at hiding how she’s feeling, but if she knew it was me, she would’ve said something.Right?
I flick through the pages as Layla sits completely still in front of the desk. It’s quiet except when I turn over the pages. Her answers surprise me. She’s open to a lot more than I expected.
Never would’ve guessed my stepsister would circle anal play as a possibility, but here we are.
I’m already hard. Once I see that she’s signed and dated it, I set it down, crack my knuckles, and stand. Walking around the table, I stop when I’m next to her, and place a hand on her shoulder, tapping her soft skin twice.
“Eyes on me tonight, Layla. For the sake of being able to sign,”I tell her with my hands.
Her pupils are darker now. She nods once, and when her eyes meet mine, there’s something fiery and anticipatory in her expression.
“I noticed you marked no for food play, as well as no on any terminology having to do with your body. Can you please elaborate?”
This must surprise her because her teeth drag her lower lip into her mouth as her eyes widen.
“Um …”
I crouch down so that we’re eye level. “This is where my communication clause comes into play for a scene. You don’t need to tell me more than you’re comfortable with, but I’d like to get an idea of your firm boundaries before we begin, and with things like this, it’s important for me to understand your medical history.”
She looks down at the ground, so I reach out and tap her twice on the shoulder.
“Eyes on me.”
“I’m in recovery for an eating disorder,” she admits, eyes clear and resolute.
Even though I know this, hearing her say it still makes my chest ache.
“It started about ten years ago when I began dancing professionally as a ballet dancer. I’d been dancing for nearly a decade at that point, but I auditioned for a children’s ballet and was told I was too curvy to be cast in the ballet repertoire they were running. From there, it grew—I began restricting. Printingpictures of Audrey Hepburn and other women as ‘thinspo,’ and taping them on my bedroom wall.”
She swallows, and I’m riveted. I never knew any of this.
I wish I did.
I wish I’d noticed.
“Thanks to my stepmother, I started seeing a therapist. She noticed my habits. I stopped restricting myself to six hundred calories a day. And it’s taken time, but I’ve mostly recovered from body dysmorphia. I don’t own a scale, and I practice intuitive eating. I haven’t restricted in years. But I don’t think I’d be very receptive to any degrading terms about my body.”
“That’s more than enough information. Thank you for telling me.”Trailing a hand down her bare shoulder, I smile behind my mask when her skin pebbles. “You are perfect. Your body is…”I shift my weight. “Let’s just say, everything about you is everything I could ever want in a submissive.”
She swallows.
“I thought we could try erotic hypnosis today,” I sign. “You might have gathered that from the name of the room”.
“I did,” she says softly.
“It’ll be easier if I use my voice.”
