“Thanks,” I said around a mouthful of egg.
He waited until I cleared my plate, then spoke. “How would you like today to go?”
I laughed a little, more a cough than a sound. “Is that a trick question?”
Tobias frowned. “No. I can’t read what you need.”
The sincerity of it stalled me.
“I… I thought I’d just rest today, maybe read? Start working again tomorrow?”
He considered that, nodding. “That sounds great. If you’d like, I can bring the schedule up, or you can have the day.”
I felt the first real smile spread across my face, not forced or tactical, just mine. “I’d like the day.”
“Understood. After breakfast, you’re free to do whatever you like. Call Ben if you need anything, or me.”
I nodded, kind of wanting the conversation to be over so I could figure out—without an audience—how to exist in this new version of my life. But Tobias didn’t stand up. He kept his hands knotted together, eyes focused on a spot just above my shoulder. He had that “I’ve been rehearsing this” look that made my skin itch.
“There’s one more thing,” he said. “Two, technically.”
I braced. “Okay?”
Tobias inhaled. “I’d like to discuss what you’d prefer with our arrangement. Specifically, timing. I thought that maybe doing it sooner would be better? So you know what to expect.”
I nearly choked on the last bite of my omelet. “Oh.”
“I’d like to start today,” he continued. “So, your options are now, in a few hours, or tonight.”
There was a silence, hollowed out by the thrum of blood in my ears. He’d been careful not to use any euphemism, any softening; just today, and arrangement, like he was scheduling a teeth cleaning or a flu shot. I set my fork down and wiped my lips, a gesture as ceremonial as it was necessary.
“I guess I should get it over with,” I said. “Rip the Band-Aid off, right..?” I looked up, expecting victory or predatory glee, but all I saw was a tight wire of nerves strung between Tobias’s eyebrows.
“If you prefer. We can wait as long as you need.”
“I don’t think waiting will help,” I said. “Are you… Are you ready for it now?”
I looked at him then, really looked, and saw that he was trembling. Not much, just a faint vibration in his hands where they gripped his elbows, but it was there. He was nervous. Thegreat Tobias Kelly, collector of rare things, was nervous about touching me.
“I am. I left the bag outside the room to not, uh, pressure you.”
Right. To not pressure me.
I shook my head in a mixture of amusement and disbelief, then clicked my tongue. “Now works. You can bring it in.”
It took him only a minute to grab his things from the hallway, bring it into the room, and unzip it, placing it on the bed near my feet.
I put the empty glass onto the bedside table as I watched him lay out the contents of his bag like surgical instruments.
There was a slim silver vibrator, a set of silicone plugs in graduated sizes, a bottle of lubricant, and a soft towel.
I stared at the collection, my mouth dry. “You’ve done your research.”
“I always do,” he said, and there was a hint of his old self in the words, the obsessive collector cataloging his acquisitions. But then he looked at me, and the mask slipped. “I don’t know if any of this will work. I’ve never… I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“That makes two of us,” I muttered. “Can’t say I’ve used anything like these before, but I’ve seen them in porn.”
He sat on the edge of the bed then, leaving space between us. “I’m going to start by just touching you with my hand.”
