I nod, still leaning against the cross. His presence is a giant warmth against my back, all-enveloping.
For a moment, I just relax into it, letting his nearness enfold me like a blanket.
He’s still behind me, hesitating.
My requested scene clearly states, “No aftercare,” but a good top won’t leave until he knows I’m okay. I can sense him wanting to help me. I want that too, but. . .
No. I’m in control. I’m good. I’ve got this. I can take care of myself.
I have to.
“Do you want my help getting out of the handcuffs?”
In answer, I strike the handcuff’s flimsy hinge at just the right angle against the padded leather. It takes me two tries for my left wrist, but eventually, both cuffs spring open.
I lower my arms and shake them out.
“Show me your wrists,” he orders. I don’t think to disobey. I turn, still blindfolded, and offer them up. It’s such a submissive posture my skin tingles. He’s so close. If I took a few steps forward, I could press against him.
Whatever he sees on my wrists makes him tsk. “No more handcuffs,” he says. “If we scene again, I’ll use rope to tie you.”
I nod, still not making a move to pull off my blindfold. It’s safe here, in the darkness.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. His voice is a sweet, potent whiskey that makes my senses swim. “You did well.”
Again, the sense of deja vu washes over me.
I sense him pacing to the opposite side of the room. The door opens but doesn’t close right away. He’s paused there.
“Goodnight, Inara,” he murmurs. Then the door clicks shut.
He’s gone.
I wait a few seconds and pull off the blindfold. The low light disorients me, and I lean back against the cross. That was the best scene I’ve ever had.
It’s not until I’m dressed, out of the club, and into a cab that I realize he called me by my real name.
3
Him
I sit in the darkness,surrounded by a million screens. Most nights, each screen shows a feed from the different cameras I have spread around the city.
Tonight, each one reflects her face.
Inara, who calls herself Swallow. Submissive.Little bird.
It’s late. She should be weary. But there’s a bemused twist to her lips—the ghost of a smile—as she moves around her townhouse.
In all the time I’ve been watching her, I’ve seen a range of emotions from her. Most days, she looks hardened and haunted, like she’s forcing herself to move forward.
But I’ve never seen her like this. Soft and wide-eyed. Almost. . . peaceful.
I take satisfaction in knowing I’m responsible for it. I gave her what she needed tonight.
My own body is tense and ready. The prize was within reach. I could’ve grasped it.
Her rules said “no touch,” but she wanted me to break them. I could sense it.
