Page 57 of At Her Will

He did notice that Sy and Trey gave him the same once-over that Lawrence had. They didn’t abdicate looking out for a woman just because she was a Dominant. He liked that, even as he still felt less pleasant twinges thinking of more intimate experiences they might have had with Veracity.

It wasn’t knowing she’d been with them. It was not knowing if, in this world, it was entirely possible she would be with them again, even while Rev was seeing her. He didn’t like that idea at all. Not just because of his feelings for her, but because of what that would say about how she viewed what their relationship was, where it was going.

Leave it, Rev. Let it lie. You letting what you want interfere with what the Lord is giving you in this moment.

A beautiful woman at his side, wanting to be with him, wanting to share things with him.

The Shirelle singers finished to enthusiastic applause. The next person wasn’t a singer, but a young woman who visibly shook as she moved onto the stage. Several people called out encouragement to her.

“You’re fine, Lottie. You’re good, girl.”

She didn’t seem to hear them. She swallowed and stared at the paper in her hand as if it was the only thing keeping her upright and on the stage.

Sensing her distress, Rev set down his fork, but Vera’s hand was on his thigh. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Her Domme’s got her.”

“Lottie.”

Proving it, a Mistress two tables away from them spoke. She had spiky black hair and wore snug jeans on her long legs, a tucked-in T-shirt molding firm curves. She leaned forward, bracing booted feet on the floor. “What are you reading?”

“It’s from a letter Na…Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote to his wife Sophie. It made me think of you, Mistress. This one section of it.”

“Then read it to me. But put the paper away and look at me. I’m sure you know it by heart.”

The girl managed it, though not quickly. She creased the paper several times with her nails after she folded it. She wasn’t disobeying. She was actively struggling not to bolt.

“Come on, Lottie,” Sy murmured, his eyes full of compassion. “You can do it. Just follow Britt’s lead.”

Rev assumed Britt was her Mistress. Lottie tucked the paper in the back pocket of her jeans. She wore a light blue shirt with a fluttery neckline and small pearl buttons. A gold cross nestled in the valley between her collar bones.

She stuttered, the words spoken in a near whisper. No one called to her to speak up. Britt had the obvious lead.

“Again, Lottie. You’re doing well. Try to say it loud enough that everyone can hear.”

This time, as she held her Mistress’s gaze, she managed it. “‘I never, until now, had a friend who could give me repose...all ha—have disturbed me and, whether for pleasure or pain, it was still…disturbance. But p—peace overflows from your heart intomine. Then I feel that there is a Now, and that Now must be always calm and happy, and that sorrow and evil are but ph—phantoms that seem to flit across it.’”

“Very good.” Britt’s tone stayed firm, but pride filled it. “All right, once more.”

This time, Lottie’s back straightened. Her expression was less panicked, her voice stronger. She’d responded to her Mistress’s approval.

When she was done, Britt sat back. “Very good. Come sit with me.”

It was the cue for applause, which the audience generously provided. “Good job, Lottie,” Sy called out, raising his hands above his head to clap for her.

Lottie managed a terrified smile, and then headed for her Mistress, keeping to a measured pace with effort. When she knelt, Britt pulled her hair fondly, wrapping the tail around her fist to tilt her sub’s head back and nip at her throat.

“That was a major step,” Trey said. “She’s gotten up there twice before and scrambled back off without saying a word. We’ll make sure to go by the table and give her some strokes.”

“You just want to see her blush.” Sy nudged him. “Which happens every time you look at her, you fucking flirt.”

“Britt told me to do it,” Trey complained. “When she starts flirting back, we’ll know she’s making progress.”

“I confirmed it,” Vera told Sy. “He’s not making that up.”

Rev waited until Veracity chose a morsel of white cake from her sampler before he tried his pie. It was good. Mostly.

“Did your aunt used to make that?” his Mistress asked, her eyes upon him.

“Yeah. She liked to have me sing while she made it. Said it made the pie better.”

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