“In theory,” I whispered, “I could even fuck myself on your—”
Nearby, someone cried out. Pain, ecstasy—could’ve been either or both. Either way, Rick’s eyes flicked toward the sound. His body tensed, and the ropes creaked. His eyes darted up to one tightly clenched fist. Then the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Rick, focus. Look at—”
In another room, a whip cracked. Someone shouted.
He tensed again. Subtly, but unmistakably, he was breathing faster. His eyes darted to one side, then the other, as if trying to keep track of all the sounds coming from elsewhere in the club.
“Rick. Look at me.”
He did.
For a second.
Then a strangled cry jerked his attention to the side. He squeezed his eyes shut, lips pulling tight.
Cold water shot through my veins.
I touched his shoulder. “Rick?”
“I’m…” He opened his eyes. “I’m good.” But his chest rose and fell far too quickly.
Without a second thought, I grabbed the scissors and, with a few quick snips, cut through the ropes—first his ankles, then his wrists.
As soon as he was free, Rick slumped forward, rubbing his hands and wrists. “I didn’t say the safe word,” he murmured.
“How much longer would you have gone before you did?”
He lifted his gaze, and if I’d had any doubt that I’d done the right thing, it vanished. “We…hadn’t even done anything.”
“You were tied, though. It’s not hard to start panicking when you can’t move. Trust me—it happens.”
He muttered something I didn’t understand. Then he took a step but faltered, grabbing my arm for balance.
“Easy,” I said. “Here, come on. Let’s sit until your equilibrium is back.” I shoved all of my things aside, and we both sat on the table. As soon as we were situated, I put an arm around his shoulders and let him lean on me. “It’s just me now.” I smoothed his hair. “Not your Dom. Just me. Jon.”
He closed his eyes, and the breath he released was made of defeat and resignation. He reached for the remains of his bonds. “Those ropes are expensive.”
“And I keep the scissors with me for a reason.” I cradled his face and pressed a soft kiss to the sweaty, feverish skin just beneath his hairline. “I’d rather cut a rope than push a sub too far.”
He didn’t answer.
I moved my hands to his shoulders. “Are you doing okay?
“Yeah. I’m…” He rubbed both hands over his face. “I feel like an idiot.”
“Not at all.” I wrapped my arms around him and let him rest his head against my shoulder as I stroked his naked back.
“We’ve barely gotten to spend any time together,” he said. “I’m sorry to fuck it up.”
“Don’t be. You’ve done nothing wrong. If you had, I’d be punishing you. Not…” I held him tighter and kissed the top of his head.
He released a long breath, and slowly, his whole body relaxed. I kept on holding him. Though I’d never been a sub myself, I’d seen others before him go through this, and it could seem devastating in the moment. He’d been in a headspace where rational thought didn’t always exist, and when things went wrong, it all went to shit, and it felt like a catastrophic failure. Letting his Dom down. Being too weak, too much of a coward, to handle a simple scene.
Tomorrow, he’d understand. Tonight, he just needed me to understand.
“Thank you,” he whispered after a while. “For catching on when you did.”
“I wouldn’t be worth my salt as a Dom if I didn’t.”
“You’d be surprised how many Doms don’t.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” I kissed his temple. “Doesn’t make it right.”
He exhaled and leaned against me, and I just held on to him, stroking his hair and breathing slowly, steadily, in hopes that he’d subconsciously match my breathing pattern.
Movement turned my head, and I looked up as Master Greg leaned in through the door.
He raised his eyebrows, mouthing, Everything okay?
I gave him a thumbs-up and nodded.
He returned the thumbs-up, then slipped back into the hallway.
After several minutes, Rick’s breathing had, in fact, fallen into sync with mine. When he reached up to brush some sweat from his temple, his hand wasn’t shaking this time.
“Doing better?”
He nodded. “I think so. Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t…” He shook his head. “Just got a little overwhelmed, I guess.”
“It’s okay. It happens.” I kissed his forehead. “Hell, I’ve had to safe-word out of a scene because I dropped a spreader bar on my foot and couldn’t focus.”
A quiet laugh burst out of him, and he met my gaze. “Seriously?”
“Yep. My own damn fault for being barefoot, but…”
“Something tells me ‘red’ wasn’t the most colorful thing you said when that happened.”
“No, definitely not.” I rolled my eyes. “My partner thought it was hilarious.”
Rick grimaced. “Considering how you punished me after I snickered at you during a meeting…”
“Trust me—she didn’t do it again.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and then met mine. “Is that why you wear steel-toed boots when you scene?”