Page 10 of Stripping Little Seraphina
By the time I’d finished the rest of the page, my pen trembled in my hand. The pattern was undeniable. My heart thudded against my ribs. I wanted the very things I was most afraid to admit. Yet, this quiz had made me focus on what it was asking instead of the entire picture. One question at a time had me interested in entertaining the conversation with Mistress V.
I closed the book and hugged it to my chest, tears stinging again. Maybe Mistress V was right about one thing—maybe I needed to face myself. But could I trustherto face me? Dinner on the floor with sandwiches and snacks sounded childish. And wonderful. And dangerous. Like I was letting her into my bubble.
When I looked back over the page, my stomach twisted. There were so many greens. Too many. The yellows are almost greens, but I felt like I needed more explanation on most of them. What did that say about me? That Mistress V had been right to point it out so casually when she called me a Little, like she’d just seen through me in seconds? That I was childish, immature, needy?
I rocked a little as if it could hide the truth. But the ache was still there. The longing. The loneliness. Before I could losemy nerve, I grabbed my phone and opened a new message. My thumbs hovered for a long moment, trembling.
Me: I finished the book. When can you come back?
It didn’t take long for her to text back. The reply came faster than I expected. Almost as if she was anticipating it.
Her: I’m on my way.
That was it. No emojis, no softening, no small talk. Just efficient, commanding. Vasiah.
I told myself I didn’t care, that I’d only agreed to dinner because I wanted to prove her wrong—that I wasn’t some fragile Little girl who needed looking after. That this was just about setting boundaries, clearing the air, nothing more.
So why was I suddenly tearing around my suite, tucking away the blanket and stuffy from earlier, smoothing my hair into something halfway respectable, and spritzing a little vanilla perfume I usually saved for special occasions?
When the knock came, my stomach lurched.
I opened the door to find Mistress V. One hand was wrapped around the handle of a large wicker basket, her hazel eyes trained on me with a seriousness that made my throat go dry. She looked… too put together. Black jeans, crisp white blouse rolled at the sleeves, hair pulled back into a braid that made her look both intimidating and unfairly gorgeous.She could definitely be Daddy.
“Hi,” I managed, stepping aside.
“Evening, Seraphina.” Her voice had that warm, smooth depth that always seemed to vibrate in my chest.
I blinked when she laid everything out on the rug. Sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. Crackers and cheese. Grapes and strawberries. Two bottles of fruit juice—apple and berry—bright plastic cups patterned with little stars. Even the utensils were cheerful colors.
I frowned, arms crossed, not sure whether to laugh or bolt. “You raided the kids’ aisle in the Ranch store?”
She smiled just faintly, settling onto the floor. “I thought it might make the atmosphere less… heavy. Less like an apology and more like a start-over.”
Something in me softened, though I tried hard not to let it show. I sat opposite her, legs tucked under me, and reached for the apple juice.
“So.” I popped the top and took a sip. “You wanted to talk.”
Her eyes searched mine, steady but not sharp. “I wanted to listen. You were right, Sera. About Emerson. About me not being present. About the program. I mishandled everything.” She drew in a breath. “I don’t expect forgiveness tonight. I only ask for the chance to do better.”
I studied her, torn between suspicion and the confusing warmth curling in my chest. “You want to listen?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward slightly. “But on your terms.”
The way she saidyour termsmade my pulse skip.
I fiddled with a cracker to avoid her gaze. “That book you gave me…”
Her mouth curved, not smug but knowing. “You read it.”
“I did. And I don’t appreciate you labeling me without asking.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I want. You don’t know how much of that—” I cut myself off, clenching the cracker. “It felt… intrusive.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “I wasn’t labeling you, Seraphina. I was complimenting you before and giving you a safe way to explore who you are or are not. Noticing doesn’t mean judging. But you’re right—I don’t know you yet.” She leaned back, giving me space. “That’s why I gave you the book. Not to force you into an identity. To let you explore without anyone watching.”
My throat tightened. She said it so calmly, like it was obvious, like she hadn’t just unraveled me with a single word earlier.
I swallowed, then forced myself to meet her gaze. “Fine. We’ll… discuss terms. But if you screw this up again, Mistress, I’m gone. No take-backs. No pleading. Gone.”
Her smile was small but real. “Fair enough.” She turned serious and the way she stared into my soul shook me. “I want to listen. To know you.”
