Whether she would return his care in due kind was another matter.
It wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a few minutes; he was insanely tired. The blanket was keeping him warm, although his muscles shivered with a mix of shock and the cooling sweat coating his skin.
How the hell did subs do this several times a week without burning out?
With his chin back on his chest, Reaux dozed for a while. Part of his brain was still tuned in to the outside world while the rest of it went to bed for a nap; he heard the clink of a glass touching wood to his left, the tap-tap-tap of fingers typing out messages on a phone or so he presumed.
A particular fragrance tickled his nose, rousing him from the quiet, and he woke with a kernel of jealousy instantly blooming in his chest as he watched his woman, his Violet, rolling up on her tiptoes to press her full, glossy lips to Fordham’s cheek. Her smile was wide and honest, so genuine, he felt a pang of regret that it was going to take a lot of work on his part to have her smile at him that way again.
“Don’t kick him while he’s down, Vi.”
Her laugh was light. “I’m planning on kicking him down, out, and to the curb. Just maybe not today. Tomorrow’s looking hopeful, though.”
“Stone cold,” Fordham replied with a shake of his head. “Need me for anything else?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got him from here.”
“Be nice,” the Dom admonished before walking away, whistling under his breath.
Violet exhaled slowly, running her hand through her hair so the dark brown strands filtered through her fingers. She bent and removed her boots, then padded over to the couch in bare feet, hesitating before taking a seat at the far end, to his left.
Placing a throw pillow on her lap, she said quietly, “Lay down, Boudreaux.”
“There was a time when you called me Reaux,” he mumbled, collapsing on his side and settling his head into the plush cushion with a sigh. Oh, that was much better; his body offered thanks for the reprieve of trying to stay upright.
Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, on top of the blanket. “A different time, with different people. The past is in the past, and it will stay there. Are you warm enough?”
He snuggled deeper into the couch, rubbing his cheek against the pillow while wishing it was her lap. “Yes, Mistress. Thank you.”
“Did you drink anything?”
He shook his head, already floating again. It was liberating to be this free, to set aside everything and leave it in her capable hands, even if she hated him more than the plague.
When she heaved a disgruntled sigh and slid her hand under his cheek, raising his head to a safe position, he felt a glass press against his lower lip and instinctively drank, finishing it in a few long gulps. “You know better than to skip hydration.”
He did, but then, he was barely in control of his body, let alone his thoughts.
As he rested his cheek back on the pillow, he felt her fingers stroking over his wrist, lighter than a feather, checking to makesure he hadn’t injured himself. He said nothing, not wanting to distract her, because the moment he opened his mouth, she’d shrug the hardass Domme façade back into place.
So he pretended—mostly—to doze, and simply enjoyed the touch of the woman he loved more than all his favorite things rolled together. She was thorough, he’d give her that; she checked both hands and wrists where the cuffs had held him captive, every inch of his body she could see where that damn flogger had brought pain and pleasure with every lash. She hadn’t broken the skin, he knew that much.
It was a clinical touch, very impersonal, but at least she wasn’t wearing gloves.
After she inspected what she could see, she sat back and rested her hand on his hair, absently playing with the strands. It took him a few hazy moments to realize she was mumbling incoherently to herself.
Never before had they interacted like this—he was always the one in the position of caregiver. The one who checked wounds and settled the highs and lows of her emotions after a scene. The one who stroked away aches and pains, who tended to the simple yet vital basic needs when her system was depleted.
It was an enjoyable experience on one hand, yet he’d never felt so vulnerable.
Would this change things between them? Could his submission dampen the hostility she felt toward him, rekindle the love for him she’d once nourished and now starved?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Violet believed he’d thrown her aside because she wasn’t enough for him, which was absolutely not the case, but how did he explain to her in a way she’d listen to that he hadn’t been enough forherat that point in time? He’d seen what she was even then, knew she was destined to be someone greater thanjust his submissive, and taken steps to ensure she achieved that milestone.
She probably wouldn’t be thrilled by the idea that he’d let her go to spread her wings and fly before he reeled her back in when the time was right, either.
Somehow, a simple decision he’d made for her benefit was coming back to bite him.
