“Being forced to eat nasty food, Sir,” she said instantly.
She said it so fast he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. “Yeah, a good part of the planning for this involved me reining Silas in.”
Her scent was clear: disgust, not trauma. He pressed on. “Anything we didn’t touch on? Something we didn’t take far enough, and you’re disappointed?”
“I think you made the most of the twelve hours. Covered way more territory than I thought possible. No regrets, Sir. Is that what you need to hear?”
His gut loosened. He hadn’t realized how tight he’d been wound, and he let a smile soften his face. “Except for the disgusting snack?”
She shook her head. “Still not a regret. Disgusting and gross, but… it dehumanized me. Maybe one of the top five or six most—” She stopped herself. “Can I get off the toilet now, please, Sir?”
She wiped, efficient and unashamed. He lifted her easily, pivoted so she could toss the paper in the bowl, flushed, then carried her back to bed.
“I’m starving, Sir.”
He telepathed Silas.Tell me you have something we can feed her now?
Four minutes and I’ll be on my way up.
Boone walked his naked ass to the bathroom once Kenny was out.
“I’m going to sit you on the side and then get the wedge from the playroom, so you can sit up in bed,” he told her. “Silas is bringing something to hold you over until he makes you breakfast in bed.”
When he had her situated, he looked her over again, taking everything in, cataloguing every mark. Even bald, she seemed like his Willow again, not the creature they’d turned her into the night before.
The steadiness of her scent confirmed it — aching, but threaded with pride and a touch of satisfaction.
“The agreement was for you to wait until after we get through Christmas morning, and then for us to allchangetogether, but if you need to go to your hawk this morning, I’m fine with that.”
The look she gave him was pure shock, almost horror, and that surprised him.
“You’d take this from me, Sir? The memory of it? All the aches and pains? The bruises? The reminder every time I look in the mirror that ya’ll made me the unhumanthingI’ve fantasized about since I found out people actuallydothat?”
“It was a suggestion. A question, and I believe I have my answer.” Loud and clear.
“Answers a shitload ofmyquestions,” Boone said, stepping in from the bathroom.
Silas stepped in with a tray, the smell of seared steak and runny yolk hitting Kenny’s nose even before the man set it down. Two steaks, each crowned with a sunny-side-up egg, plus a glass of apple cider. Kenny couldn’t help his smile, since he’d made himself the same thing a few hours earlier. Only double the amount.
The room was silent while Silas put the plate on a side table, used a fork and steak knife to cut everything into bite sized pieces, and then put a tray over Willow’s lap with a flourish, and settled the plate and a glass of apple cider on it, with a small sprig of evergreen beside the napkin, pulled from the garland on the mantle.
“My big question is when we can do it again,” Silas said.
Kenny shook his head. Leave it to Silas to start with that.
Willow laughed, took a bite, and looked at Silas with something softer than Kenny expected this soon. “Until you asked that, Sir, I didn’t know I wanted to do something similar but… different.”
She met Kenny’s gaze. “Feels kinda like this one might need to be a negotiation, Sir.”
No way was he agreeing to that, so he merely said, “Tell us what you realize you want.”
She took another bite, chewed slowly, thinking. “Not so intense on the pain levels, or at least not one thing after another, right? I mean, any three or four of those…” She shook her head. “That isn’t the point. I want three to five days of being made less than human, Sir. Whether that’s a pet, creature, some kind of formal slave, or something else, but I want some time to settle into it. Having my voice stripped probably isn’t necessary. Gags and stuff can keep me from communicating, orfuck, the damned collar on my thigh will do that if you use it when I talk. I don’t really want the rapid-fire endless stuff, at least not for this next time, but a long, drawn-out scene…”
She hesitated, then pushed through. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but stored away in a fucking cage when not needed is fucking part of it.” She took a breath. “Sirs.”
Silas leaned in. “Once a month, maybe?”
She shook her head. “Maybe two or three times a year, Sir?”
