Page 4 of One Cut Deeper

He doesn’t say a word.

No, he still waits for me to give him what he wants. He even refuses to let Mrs. Summers approach the counter. For a relatively small man, he manages to take up a lot of space when he’s determined, and this is a battle he wants to win. One word. That’s all he wants. Do I dare play along?

Why does he still want to challenge me when I’ve already betrayed how easily my self-control can slip away? I crave his kind of power with my whole being. He won’t have to command me to my knees. I want to simply wait at his feet every moment I’m lucky enough to be in his presence, aching with the need for his next command.

Losing myself a little more every single day.

How can I possibly hold it together long enough to even think about playing with a man like him?

But the challenge is there. The heady rush of adrenaline as I wonder how far he’d be willing to go. Every minute I play his games, I’ll be gambling my stability and well-being.

I can’t resist. Even if I lose myself in the process.

I open my mouth, determined to get it over with. “Charlie.”

I freeze as soon as his name leaves my lips, shocked that I dared to use his mother’s name for him and not what all Dr. Wentworth and his friends called him. That’s me, all right. Stubborn to a fault and then determined not to follow the rest of the herd.

He smiles so widely that the dimple reappears, then backs away from the counter to let Mrs. Summers book her appointment.

Exhausted, I droop in my chair. On autopilot, I ring up Mrs. Summers’s bill and write out a card for the next appointment.

Dr. Wentworth starts to take Sheba to the back but pauses and turns back to me. “Ranay, did you have any luck finding Pepper’s missing file? Callie swears she filed it, but she can’t find it now. I need those notes so I can schedule a follow-up.”

Giving myself a mental shake, I pick up the file I located earlier and hold it out to her. “She did file it, but in the archived drawer of deceased pets.”

“Yikes. Let’s hope that was very premature.” Dr. Wentworth laughs and heads for the examination room. “Thanks, Ranay. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Leaving me alone with him.

He never stays outside while Sheba’s examined, even if all they’re going to do is trim her nails. She hates it but she won’t move a muscle if he’s there beside her. I try to remember why Sheba’s in today. Surely he won’t leave her for long.

“I wanted to ask you something, Ranay.”

Oh fuck, here it is. He’ll ask me out. I’ll politely refuse. And my fantasies will have to die a painful, lonely death.

A man like him won’t take a simple no without an explanation. I’ll have to explain why I don’t date anymore. Well, that’s not the right word. Dating is what normal adults do. It's casual and fun and social.

I don't date. I don't do casual. I can't. Didn't I just show him that?

I stare unseeing at the computer screen. I wish he would leave. Why did he have to go and ruin a perfectly good fantasy?

My therapist told me that these fantasies are a positive sign of my recovery. It’s healthy to picture myself connecting with someone again, maybe falling in love. I could pretend Charlie is as kind and generous as he appears, while also wickedly sensual in bed and fierce with his punishments. He’ll know without question what I like and what I hate (and he’ll do it anyway because he likes to see me squirm). He’ll push me, play me, tie me up while he tries to find one, just one, limit I might have, even though I have none.

He won’t be appalled at how far I’ll sink, unable to stop myself from drowning in him.

A gentle, kind dominant I could respect and love. A viciously inventive Master who punishes me without hesitation and owns me heart and soul. Thanks to my therapist, I know that’s what I want, though I don’t believe I’ll ever have it. Such a dichotomy doesn’t exist in a single man. Someday, I’ll have to settle for one or the other.

I don’t want to face the reality. I don’t want to admit that the man I’ve secretly fantasized about is impossible.

“I’m going out of town unexpectedly tonight and I was wondering if you could do a favor for me. With it being so close to Christmas, Doc’s too full to accept Sheba for a single night.”

We only have space to board ten pets, and the holidays have been booked for months. I dare to look back up at him. He leans on the counter again, all dimples and tousled curls, doodling aimlessly with his finger on the counter. Not intense. Not masterfully dominant, dragging me by my hair to do his bidding.

I blink, wondering if I’ve finally lost it for good. The poor man doesn’t have a clue that my greedy body lusts for him.

His finger stills, drawing my attention from his graceful hand up his arm and shoulder and back to his face. He leans toward me, skyrocketing my blood pressure again. I’m dizzy from the highs and lows, mentally exhausted after talking with him for a few minutes.

He isn’t asking me on a date. He certainly isn’t offering to show me his box of toys or take me to his dungeon.

---