Page 10 of Kneeling to Candy

My eyes widen as I take him in on his knees, gazing longingly at me.

Holy shit! He’s right. I am the dominant one in this dynamic, and I’m not sure how to process this new information.

Yes, I’ve never enjoyed being told what to do. Certainly detested not having control with a sexual partner, too. Yet having someone vulnerable by choice, at my feet, is more thrilling than any sexual experience I’ve encountered before. It’s empowering to have this control and humbling to have someone wanting to accept my authority.

Before my mind can dive deeper, Butch interrupts my thoughts.

“Humor me, please, and tell me why you’re hiding in a closet?”

His question makes me uncomfortable. I try to lean away, trying to create some distance between us. But there’s nowhere to hide when I’m already hiding. There doesn’t appear to be an out. Opening up to others is not easy for me.

“I can see you closing off. Don’t do that. Not with me.” He waves his hand around the closet. “We’re alone. No one else is here to judge you, and I sure as shit won’t be judging you. I may not have earned your trust yet, but I’m a man of my word. I swear on my cut, whatever you share in here will be safe with me.”

My first instinct is to build a self-defense wall around me to keep Butch out. However, if he can be vulnerable with me, I should be able to be the same with him. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from watching others in the club having healthy relationships with their partners.

Butch is swearing on his biker cut—a vow on the patch is not to be taken lightly. If he’s telling me my thoughts are safe with him, he means it.

Besides, being honest with Butch is probably a wiser idea than constructing some lame excuse, like I was looking for some obscure cleaning product in the dark. He’ll sniff out the lie immediately. And lying won’t do me any favors when I need to earn back the trust of others in the club.

Before I lose my nerve, I spit out my explanation. “Sometimes I need to take a moment to collect myself before facing others.”

He frowns, seemingly not understanding my reasoning. “But you have a suite you could use for that. You shouldn’t have to sit on the cold concrete floor while trying to harness your emotions.”

“Red,” I say, explaining in the fewest words possible why my suite isn’t an option.

“Ah.” Butch gives a small nod, understanding. He knows Red and I share a room. Privacy is scarce when you have a roommate.

“What about my suite?”

Again, Butch takes me by surprise. “Your suite?”

“Yeah, mine. One, I don’t have a roommate who would bother you. And two, I spend most of my time in the tech room. You could use my space to regroup.”

This man, whom I’ve never spoken with until today, sees me more clearly than anyone I know. Still, we’re strangers in a way. And he’s offering me access to his private suite at headquarters?

“Are you serious?”

“Have you ever heard me joke?”

I shake my head. “Never heard you speak to me until today, let alone joke.”

Butch looks down at the ground, the skin under his scruffy cheeks growing a dusty pink. “Sorry about that. I…I don’t enjoy talking.”

“Does it hurt?” I ask tentatively, pointing at his scar.

“Not usually. When I was first injured, my throat felt like it was on fire every time I opened my mouth. It’s better now. Though, if I were to talk excessively or shout, it might feel raw afterwards.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.”

“Can you tell me what your reason is for not speaking?” I want to know, but I don’t want to pry. He could refuse to respond, and I would respect his boundary.

“I—” He clears his throat before speaking again. “I don’t like my voice. It sounds monstrous.”

My heart twists, pain lancing through me upon hearing the hurt in his words. “Your voice is not monstrous, Butch.”

“It makes me feel, I don’t know, embarrassed, I guess? You wouldn’t believe how many people ask what happened when they see my throat or hear me talk. I don’t enjoy explaining to strangers the day I nearly lost my head. It’s not a story I like reliving.”

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