Then they’d had another talk. About James.
About the emotional debris she still worked to clear from her heart and soul despite knowing what he’d done wasn’t about her as much as it was about him.
She also resigned herself to the fact that she never would understand why he did what he did. There would never be a clear-cut absolute she could cite with any certainty.
“The only thing for you to keep in here,” Tony said as he looked down at her and touched his index finger to the spot between her eyes, “is that nothing you did or could have done would have changed what he did.”
“If I hadn’t given him a second chance—”
“Stop, pet.” He tapped her forehead. “You’re giving him rent-free space in here when he damn sure doesn’t deserve it. I know you can’t turn emotions and pain off like a light switch. But the first step to getting over it for good is accepting it’s not your fault. And in this case, it isn’t. You’re a good woman, with a good heart, and at the time, for you, it was the right thing to do. Maybe it wouldn’t have been the right thing for someone else. But tell me this, had you left him the first time, do you think maybe you would have been tempted to keep agonizing over the ‘what if’ option of giving him a second chance?”
She hadn’t thought about it like that. She had considered leaving James the first time around.
Then he’d proposed.
And she’d felt too much shame the first time at the thought of admitting to her full circle of friends and extended family why she was leaving him, didn’t know enough about porn addiction at the time to understand it.
Never dreamed he’d rob her blind, or that he’d already taken out the first credit card in her name without her knowledge.
She stretched and grabbed her phone from the bedside table to text Tony. Good morning, Sir.
He texted her back a little while later. Good morning, pet. How’s the ass?
She smiled. Later at the club, he had put marks on her ass. As she studied them in the bathroom mirror that morning she could see imprints from a riding crop, the dastardly silicone spoon, and more cane marks.
Real ones, this time.
Good, Sir.
Excellent. How soon can you be over here?
A delicious shiver ran through her. He’d detailed all the things he planned to do to her today. Anal training was first on the list.
Along with more forced orgasms.
One hour.
He replied a few minutes later. Don’t be late.
She was already in her car thirty minutes later when she remembered she hadn’t checked the mail yesterday. Screw it, I’ll drive past it.
In a hurry not to be late, she grabbed the handful of mail that had filled her box and didn’t bother sorting through it. She threw it on the passenger seat and headed for Tony’s, her heart light even as butterflies created a hurricane in her stomach.
When she reached Tony’s driveway with eight minutes to spare, she was going a little faster than she meant and had to brake hard as she made the turn. The mail on the seat, along with her purse and phone, went flying.
“Dammit.”
She parked in her usual spot and shut the engine off. Tony appeared in the front door as she leaned over to grab everything.
That was when she spotted the envelope with a Cleveland return address.
From one James Tavery.
She sat there staring at the envelope, not realizing she was crying until the knock on her window startled her. Tony stood there, concern on his face, but he looked blurry through her tears.
He opened her car door. “What’s wrong, pet? What happened?”
She couldn’t talk. With a trembling hand, she held out the letter.
He took it, frowning as he read the return address. “This is from him?”
She nodded.
“When did you get it?”
“I forgot to check my mail Friday and Saturday. I stopped by when I left, but I didn’t look through it. It…everything just fell on the floor…I picked it up…”
Then he had her seat belt unfastened and his arm around her shoulder and was leading her into the house where he sat with her on the couch.
“Shh, it’s all right.” He pulled her head into his lap and rocked her as she cried.
When she finally got her wits together, she stared at the envelope, which he’d put on the coffee table. “Will you please open it for me, Sir?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He stretched to reach it and finally grabbed it without having to make her get up. He ripped it open. Inside, nestled in a folded sheet of paper, was a check. He handed it to her.
She read the amount. Three hundred dollars.
She snorted. “He’s getting cheaper. The last one was for five hundred.” She showed it to him. “I wonder how long until they trickle to nothing.”
He hadn’t read the paper. He held it up. “Do you want to read it?”
She considered it. “No. Would you please read it for me and tell me if there’s anything I need to know?”
“Of course.” He scanned it for a few minutes. “He’s sorry, he’s changing, and he’s asking your forgiveness. And he’s hinting he wants a second chance even though he doesn’t have the balls to come out and say it.”
She snorted again. “That sounds familiar. Same shit, different day.”
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Do you have a shredder?”
“Yes.”
“Please shred it and the envelope.”
“Done.” He carefully repositioned her so he could get up. He walked out of the room, and a moment later she heard a shredder briefly grumble to life in another room. He returned empty-handed.
“Are you feeling up to playing?” he asked.
She nodded. “I think I need it more than ever, Sir.”
He laced his fingers through her hand, helped her off the couch, and led her to the playroom.
He lifted her dress up and over her head and draped it over a chair. Then he got her wrist and ankle cuffs and buckled them around her.
He pointed at the floor.
She sank to her knees and gave him their greeting. When she finished, she pressed her forehead against his thigh and closed her eyes at the feel of the warmth of his body through the denim of his jeans.
He always felt warm. Comforting. She’d come to love this simple moment, the blessed calm washing through her.
Just able to be.
He stroked her hair. “I had a pretty energetic agenda for my pet. You sure you’re feeling up to it?”
“Yes, Sir. Please.” She didn’t know how to vocalize her need. How in a short time she craved every session, every dip into the blessed abyss of subspace.
The peace it brought her mind and heart and soul even as her body was put through the wringer of pleasure and pain.
“All right. Stay here.” He stepped away from her. She didn’t open her eyes, choosing instead to listen to him move round the playroom. Once he’d assembled his items, he returned to her. “Up, pet.”
She opened her eyes and stared into his green gaze. He cupped her cheeks with his palms and seemed to search her face for…something.
“You really do enjoy this, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It’s not just about the story anymore, is it?”
“No, Sir.”
He kissed her forehead. “Such a good pet,” he whispered.
He led her over to one of the benches and had her straddle it facedown, on all fours. She could rest her torso on the top piece, but it was narrow enough her breasts were exposed and freely accessible on either side.
He worked quickly, using clips to attach her wrists and ankles to the bench. He also buckled a leather strap around her midsection, firmly holding her to the bench. And he clipped a short piece of rope to her collar, the other end which clipped to the bench as well. She could only raise her head an inch or two.