This part is real risk. I'm not going to let her fall. My hands are right here. I can catch her before she goes over the edge.
But if she does fall somehow—if she panics and jerks away from me, if her foot slips on a patch of moisture, if the wood gives under her weight—there's a net strung fifteen feet below. Heavy-duty cargo netting anchored to the surrounding trees.
It will catch her.
But the canopy is thick between here and there. Branches, vines, dense foliage she'll slam through on the way down. The net will stop her from dying. It won't stop her from getting hurt.
Bruises. Scrapes. Possibly worse.
She doesn't know about the net. She thinks it's sixty feet of empty air to the ground.
"Master, please?—"
"Look at me."
She drags her eyes up from the drop, looking over her shoulder until her eyes lock onto mine. Her pupils are still wide, but now tears are gathering at the corners. Her beautiful plump lips are parted and trembling.
Christ, she's beautiful when she's terrified.
"You're going to walk across that plank," I tell her. Flat. Matter of fact. "You're going to do it now. And you're not going to fall."
"How do you know I won't?—"
"Because I'm right here." I shift my grip. One hand on each shoulder. "And I'm not going to let you."
Her breath hitches.
She wants to believe me. I can see it in her eyes. The desperate need to trust that I'll keep her safe even while I'm deliberately scaring her.
"What if I can't—what if I freeze?—"
"Then I'll carry you."
The words come out harsher than I intended. Edged with the frustration of wanting to just throw her over my shoulder and be done with it.
But that's not the point of this station.
She needs to walk it herself. Needs to feel the fear and do it anyway because I told her to.
That's the surrender I'm after.
"You need to trust me, Scarletta. You need to give in to me. It's my job to protect you. If you don't believe that, why are you here?"
I don't push her.
I just stand here with my hands on her shoulders and wait for her brain to catch up to what her body already knows.
She's going to do it. She's going to walk across that plank because I told her to. Because somewhere underneath all the fear and resistance, she wants to prove she can.
Wants to earn what I refused to give her five minutes ago.
Her eyes search mine. Looking for something. Permission, maybe. Or reassurance that I'm not lying about keeping her safe.
I give her nothing except steady eye contact and silence.
The waiting is its own kind of torture. For both of us.
My cock is still hard enough to pound nails. Still throbbing against my zipper from tasting her pussy and watching her come apart under my hands.
