Page 29 of First Time

“Thank you,” I said, climbing from his vehicle.

He took my hand again, and I fought the desire to lean against him, stealing his strength since mine waned. Thank God for elevators, I thought as the overhead ding rang for the fifth time. The doors swished open to a carpeted hallway, cream-colored walls, and soft overhead lighting. A side table with fresh flowers and a handful of paintings gave the hall a warm, homey feel.

5C lay at the end, and Master Cooney let us in without a word. He closed the door behind me while I glanced around. An open-concept living room lay in front of me, with massive windows overlooking Boston’s skyline. The kitchen was on the right with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.

“I’ll take your coat,” Master Cooney said from behind me.

I unbuttoned and pulled it off my shoulders, but like a real gentleman, he grabbed hold of it and helped me finish.

My throat tightened, and I cursed PMS, Stephen, him cutting me off from the one family member I had left, and my weakness in allowing him to treat me with such disregard. A lick of anger tightened my spine, giving me a sense of strength I hadn’t known I possessed.

“Do you want something to drink?” Master Cooney asked, moving into the kitchen.

“Please.” I pulled off my slippers.

“Beer? Wine?” He opened the fridge. “OJ, almond milk…cranberry juice.”

“Water is fine. Are you going to stay?” I asked as he retrieved one glass.

“I would like to, but I’ll go if that’s what you prefer.” He filled the glass with ice and water from a contraption on the refrigerator’s door.

Our fingers brushed as he handed me the glass, and I bit the inside of my lip, shaking my head.

I settled in the living room, the silence of Chantelle’s condo like a soothing balm over my conscience. A clink of ice in another glass sounded, and seconds later, Master Cooney rounded the couch. He hesitated, and I scooted over, hoping he would sit by me rather than in one of the two chairs.

A small smile flitted over my lips as he took me up on the silent offer.

He lifted his tumbler with its amber liquid. “To a night of freedom?” His low voice swept over me, and I shivered.

Oh, the implications that word had on how I had chosen to live my life.

“To freedom,” I whispered in return, clinking my glass against his. I swallowed a few gulps as he sipped.

“My father was a lot like Stephen,” Master Cooney said, lowering his glass.

I frowned and shifted to face him. “In what way?”

“He was extremely unkind with his words toward my mother.” He glanced down at the tumbler all but lost in his large hand. “He was fond of inflicting pain on her too but at least took care to only cause bruises where no one would see them.”

I lowered my head, all too aware of the marks he must have noticed the weekend before.

“The relationship between a Dom and his sub is supposed to be one built on trust. Love and acceptance. The only time you should be acting like a slave is if you’re sceneing with that intent, and wanting the pleasure you both would find in it.”

I sat in silence, considering his words, knowing he spoke the truth I had ignored for far too long. My shoulders sagged with the weight of how off track our relationship had gotten. Stephen hadn’t fully grasped the lifestyle he’d thrust us into. Was it too late for him to learn? Could we find our way back to the closeness we used to share?

“What Stephen does to you—” he lowered his voice and angled to face me “— the way he treats you is abuse, Becky. I sat front and center watching a similar relationship for almost my entire childhood.”

I clenched my eyes shut, swallowing against the tightness in my throat and chest. “You don’t know Stephen like I do,” I whispered.

“I’ve seen the videos.” Anger laced his words.

A tear squeezed out between my eyelids and slid down my cheek as I curled in on myself. The way Stephen chose to treat me did not equate to love in any shape or form. I choked on a sob.

Master Cooney’s tumbler clinked against the glass-top coffee table, and he took my water from me, also setting it down. He scooted close as another tear escaped, and he pulled me into his arms.

The warmth, the security of his hold broke the dam I’d been forcing my emotions behind since God knew when. I sobbed against his chest, fingers grasping at his sweatshirt, releasing all of the shitty emotions I’d bottled up inside me.

His hands rubbed my back. Warm breath caressed my head. A steady heartbeat sounded in my ear pressed against his rock-hard chest. I wanted to crawl inside him and hide—from myself. From Stephen. From life.

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