Page 14 of Digit's Deflection
“Come in.”
“You wanted to see me, Sir?”
“Yes, I did. Come on in.” He indicates for me to take a seat in front of his large desk, getting to his feet and coming around to lean against its shiny surface in front of me. “I have news – which reminds me, do you have plans this afternoon?” he asks, almost as an afterthought.
“No, Sir. I don’t.”
“Excellent. Excellent. If you’re still interested in being tutored in the art of bondage, today’s your lucky day?—”
“But I’m not ready.” I can’t stop myself from blurting the words out, cutting the man off. I close my eyes, shrinking into myself, and wait to be chastised. When nothing happens, Ieventually work up the courage to open my eyes and am shocked to see compassion in his.
“I don’t know what’s happened in your past, little one, but know this. I will never strike you in anger or punish you. In my world, punishment is only ever something agreed upon. Never meted out in anger. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” He reaches out to briefly squeeze my shoulder and nods.
“Now is as good a time as ever to face your fears. You’re a strong, brave woman. You can do this. I asked Myra to set a room aside for you. She’ll have the details for you.”
Unfolding himself from where he’s leaning against the desk, Master Samuel stands to his full height, signaling the end of our meeting. I stand too, my mind in utter chaos as emotions vie for supremacy over each other – fear, panic, uncertainty, inadequacy, and a million others.
“Thank you, Sir.” I nod at him before letting myself out quietly. I take a moment to attempt to calm myself before turning to face Myra, only to find the same compassionate look in her eyes. It takes everything in me not to blurt something out about why she and Master Samuel are so determined to ignore the elephant between them.
“You okay?” I can’t afford to let her gentleness undo me. I would rather cuddle a rattler than cry in front of her.
“Yeah, all good, thanks. Master Samuel tells me you have some information for me?” I follow her eyes as they drift over my face, that light of sympathy bright.
“Yes. I’ve set aside Room 7 for you. Master will meet you there in …” She consults her watch. “Nineteen minutes.”
“What?” Shock ripples through me. “So soon?”
“Yep.” She grins at me. “You’ve got this. Just don’t be late. Now go on with you.”
Dashing from the room, I hurry to the women’s change rooms, wondering if I’ve got enough time to shower before reporting to Room 7. I skid to a halt in front of my locker and mourn the fact that I don’t.
I open my locker to rummage around my purse for my hairbrush and lip gloss. I may not have time to clean up, but it doesn’t mean I have to show up looking like I got dragged through a bush backward.
Hair brushed, lips shiny, heart pounding, I stop outside Room 7 feeling like I’m going to be physically sick. I know absolutely nothing of the situation I’m about to walk in on. Not even the name of the man whom I’m about to meet. Only now am I realizing no one said his name, and I didn’t think to ask since I was in such an intense state of panic.
Well, nothing to be done about it now. I have one of two choices to make. One, I bolt like the scaredy cat I’m feeling. Or two, I pull my shit together and face my demons head on. Squaring my shoulders, I choose option number two. Lifting a hand to knock, I absently note how badly I’m shaking. Done, I tuck it behind my back and strive to find some kind of inner calm as I wait to be summoned into the room beyond.
The summons comes, and I open the door, stepping over the threshold. A well-muscled man of medium height, his dark hair cut short, stands with his back to me. And the reason I know he’s well-muscled is because he’s shirtless. In fact, he’s barefoot too. The only thing he appears to be wearing is a pair of black jeans that mold his droolworthy thighs to perfection.
“Come on in and close the door.” My eyes well with unwanted tears. God, this man sounds just like Treven, his voice just that of a man rather than a boy. “Please kneel on the mat over there” — he points to a small plush looking rectangle on the floor — “hands on your thighs. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Rapidly reaching saturation point of emotion, it takes everything in me to do as instructed, while quietly replying, “Yes, Sir.”
As the minutes tick by, my nerves wind tighter and tighter, until I’m about ready to scream. And then the man turns around, and I lose all power of my voice. I couldn’t have uttered a sound if someone held a gun to my head.
My entire body feels paralyzed as my brain attempts to process the sight before me, because never ever in even my wildest, most outlandish dreams could anything have prepared me for the sight of Treven Nicols, half naked and larger than life.
It is cold comfort that he looks as shocked to see me as I am to him. In some far recess of my brain, it registers that he, in fact, looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“What the fuck …” His words hang in the air between us, echoing my own trapped in my throat. We stare at each other for what seems like forever. Without conscious thought, my shock propels me to my feet where I stand trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. “Liora?”
Still unable to utter a sound, I simply nod.
“You’reSamuel’s LJ?” For a heartbeat, then two, he stares at me. Then he turns away and paces back to the table where he was standing when I entered the room.
As if disconnected from reality, I watch dispassionately as he wraps his hands around the sides of his own neck. It’s clear the grip he has, as his fingers leave white rings around the tips where they’re digging in.
