Chapter 19
Intimate Encounter
Lesson in humility
Numb with disbelief, my friends stare back at me with looks of confusion on their faces. It’s a look that mirrors my own.
Marquis Gray commands me to stand.
I mutely take his hand as he helps me to my feet and guides me off the stage. “We will speak of this later. For now, it is best if you join your peers, Miss Lane.”
None of this seems real as I fumble with my corset and slip back into my shoes. I can’t process what just happened and have to fight back my tears of disappointment and shock. After learning that Marquis Gray is a renowned flogging expert, I was certain I would impress him tonight.
I never dreamed that the highly revered trainer would end our scene prematurely.
Humiliation crashes over me as I stand there watching Marquis Gray clean the flogger. He sets it back on the table before calling Russo to join him on the stage. I’m certain I hear Nash’s angry growl in the background.
I lower my gaze to the floor, unable to bear looking at my trainers.
The nagging feeling that something is fundamentally wrong with me creeps in and takes hold as I stand there.
Tamara startles me when she bumps my shoulder. “The Headmaster is speaking to you.”
I frown when I see all four trainers staring at me.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” Headmaster Wallace asks.
“N-no…” I stammer, blushing with embarrassment.
“You are to stay behind while the others go to the lounge for refreshments.”
“Why?” I whimper. I realize I’m on the verge of a panic attack as I watch the others walk away, leaving me alone with the four trainers and Marquis Gray.
Dono Marcelo informs me in a cool tone, “We will discuss it.”
Once they’ve all left, Headmaster Wallace looks at me with compassion and asks, “Can you explain what happened during your scene, Miss Lane?”
I bite my bottom lip and shake my head, struggling not to cry.
Marquis Gray looks at me thoughtfully before addressing the trainers. “I do not believe Miss Lane is aware of the issue. If you would allow, I’d like to speak to her alone.”
“What issue are you speaking of?” Mistress Kim demands. “Miss Lane is an exceptional student.”
Headmaster Wallace interjects, “Mistress Kim, I have had the privilege of working with Marquis Gray for many years and trust his judgment implicitly.”
Dono Marcelo narrows his eyes and looks at me. “The only thing of relevance is if Miss Lane consents to speaking with him alone.”
I’m surprised that Dono Marcelo is giving me the option. It feels uncharacteristically kind of him.
All five trainers turn their focus on me, waiting for my answer.
My gaze travels from Headmaster Wallace, who looks at me with quiet concern, to Marquis Gray.
I hold my breath when our eyes meet. There is something incredibly intimidating about this man, which has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a Dominant. I can’t explain it, but it both frightens me and draws me to him.
Wrestling with my fear and shame, I tell my trainers, “I will speak with Marquis Gray.” I nod to Dono Marcelo in thanks.
“Very well,” Dono Marcelo states.
With my consent given, Marquis Gray glances at me briefly before walking to the door and commanding, “Follow.”
I’m a bundle of nerves as I follow behind him.
He leads me to a room I’ve never visited before.
It’s filled with living plants, a fountain flowing with water, and various pieces of furniture—including a bed, a variety of large lounge chairs made for intimate encounters, as well as a curious one that catches my interest. The low chaise lounge is made of red leather and has two smooth wave-like curves, one higher than the other.
I’m uncertain how it is meant to be used, but it makes me smile because it looks like it would be comfortable for a long book-reading session.
Marquis Gray walks past it and leads me to a long lounge chair made for two. “Take off your uniform and join me.”
I slip off my clothes, keeping my gaze lowered as I sit down beside him, determined not to break any protocol.
His tone is serious when he explains, “What I have to say may be hard for you to hear, but I want you to take it to heart. This is the time of your awakening.”
I inadvertently glance up.
Instead of reprimanding me, he nods. “I see I have your attention. Good.”
His voice becomes somber. “What others have mistaken as your strength is actually your weakness. But you are unable to hide it from me.”
Afraid of his answer, I ask hesitantly, “What do you mean?”
“Normally, I would allow you to discover it for yourself, but you have lived with this pain for so long that you have become blind to it. That makes you dangerous.”
I’m hurt by his words and frown. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Lay your head on my lap, and I will tell you,” he states, patting his thigh.
My heart beats rapidly with fear as I lay my head down.
Marquis Gray traces the red marks on my back, the evidence of our short encounter. “If you were to leave the Training Center as you are today, you would not only get yourself hurt but most likely ruin a Dom’s reputation in the process.”
I’m surprised by his bold statement and protest, “I would never allow that to happen.”
“It would be unintentional on your part.”
Tears of frustration spring to my eyes in response to his claim.
“The skin is the largest organ of the body, Miss Lane. It not only protects you, but the nerves also help you feel sensations. But your skin is not the issue, Miss Lane. It’s your heart.”
I growl, “Nothing you’re saying makes any sense.”
“Let me speak more plainly. Your high pain tolerance, which you clearly take pride in, does not come naturally.”
Shocked by his statement, I bolt up from his lap and stare him in the face.
“What happened between us on the stage was not an exchange between a Dominant and a submissive. While I delivered what you were craving, I gained nothing from it. Instead, it was unbearably one-sided.”
I had assumed he would enjoy my high tolerance for pain like the other Dominants have. Instead, I feel painfully inadequate and have a sinking feeling that I’m lacking something vital.
Furrowing his brow slightly, Marquis Gray brushes the side of my temple. “What was missing in our scene is the exchange of power between a Dominant and a submissive. I have no power over you, unless you relinquish control to me.”
I look at him in confusion. “But I gave you permission.”
“While necessary, I expect something more. The only thing you offered me was your pride.”
I shudder, realizing he’s right. “I’m sorry that I disappointed you. It was not my intention.”
“I’m not disappointed,” Marquis Gray insists, then asks, “What did you want out of the scene, Miss Lane? Be honest with me.”
“I wanted to impress you.”
“No. You wanted to use me as a prop for your ego.”
His words hit hard because of the truth behind them. I wanted everyone to be impressed with how well I performed with the renowned trainer.
“The strong reaction you are experiencing now is warranted,” he tells me. “But it’s important to ask yourself why you feel this way. Is it simply because others witnessed our interaction and saw you stumble?”
I squirm uncomfortably, knowing it goes deeper than that.
“I can see you are still struggling with what happened on stage. You mentioned the word ‘disappointment,’ Miss Lane. It is because you feel disappointed in me…or yourself?”
Humbled by the question, I answer meekly, “Both, I suppose.
He looks at me with compassion and guides my head back down on his lap. Marquis Gray is silent as he lightly applies salve to the few marks on my back that need attention.
I stare at the unusual chaise lounge on the other side of the room. Wanting to change the direction of the conversation, I ask, “What is the red one used for?”
“That is a tantra chair,” he informs me. “It allows for varied pelvic angles and greater comfort during coitus, as well as easier fellatio.”
“Ah…”
As we both stare at the artful-looking chair, Marquis Gray states with a somber tone, “Until you confront the pain in your heart, you will continue to be a danger to everyone, including yourself.”
I swallow hard, unwilling to reopen old wounds. “I have confronted it,” I insist, thinking back on my emotional scene with Tono Nosaka.
“You must dive deeper.”
I tense, unwilling to revisit the intense pain associated with my father’s death. “I refuse to talk any further about this.”
“Why?” he presses.
I shake my head, unwilling to answer, even if he is a highly respected trainer.
“So, you’ve numbed the pain to avoid it.”
It isn’t a question but a statement.
When I fail to respond, Marquis Gray lifts my head and stares into my eyes, stating with conviction, “In numbing the pain of the past, you are jeopardizing your future.”
I refuse to believe it.
“You and that boy are similar.”
I frown. “Who?”
“I believe the name is Mr. Nash.”
I bristle when I hear his name. “I have nothing in common with that guy.”
“I disagree. You both hide behind pain. I could feel it covering you like a second skin, suffocating you both.”
I despise being associated with Beefcake. “We are nothing alike!”
“But you are, Miss Lane. You are both dangerous.”
A cold chill courses through my body.
Needing to defend myself, I sneer. “I am not an asshole who makes it my life’s mission to lash out at other people.”
He replies calmly, “And yet, you put yourself and those closest to you at risk. Opposite sides of the same coin.”
This man is infuriating!
I want to scream at him and march out of the room, but I remain still. Somehow, through our short scene on stage, Marquis Gray has managed to pick up on something no one else has, and that both terrifies and humbles me.
A true gentleman, he respects my boundary and does not press me further on the subject.
But he does leave me with parting advice. “Whatever caused the pain you carry, you must confront it so that it no longer controls you.”
Although it feels like Marquis Gray has charged me with an impossible task that I can never overcome, I’m going to try.
My guard is down by the time it comes for us to depart, and I’m frank with him. “You are a strange man, Marquis Gray.” Suddenly realizing I’m talking to a respected trainer, I quickly add, “I mean no offense.”
He doesn’t smile, but I notice a glint in his dark eyes when he replies, “None taken.”
A short debriefing with my trainers follows, with Dono Marcelo instructing me to reflect on the evening’s events and report back to the panel tomorrow.
I walk out of the hotel in a daze. This entire evening has been a series of events I’m unable to process. As I wait for my car, I am so lost in thought that I fail to respond when the valet speaks up.
“Miss Lane?” he repeats, touching me on the shoulder.
I shake my head and look at him apologetically. “What did you say?”
“I’m sorry for the delay, but one of your tires appears to have been slashed. So, we installed the spare and have a replacement on order.”
I frown. “Did I hear you right? You said my tire was slashed?”
“Yes. As I mentioned, your spare has been installed. Since it happened while your vehicle was under our care, we have ordered a replacement, which will be here tomorrow.”
Alarmed, I ask, “Did you catch who did it?”
“No, ma’am. But we will be installing extra cameras in the garage to ensure the offender is caught in the unlikely event it happens again.”
“Did any of the others have tires that were slashed?”
“No. It appears this was an isolated case. Fortunately, one of our attendants heard a suspicious sound and must have scared the culprit off, because they did no more damage.”
It’s unsettling to know that my car isn’t safe at such a busy establishment, and my mind instantly turns to Nash. I can’t help but wonder if he’s so pathetic as to stoop that low.
As upset as I am about my car, I still appreciate the lengths the hotel has gone to rectify the problem. “Thanks for informing me and taking care of it,” I tell him as he hands over my keys.
On the drive home, the events of the night seem to hit me all at once—from seeing Anton’s battered body and my public humiliation in front of my peers and the trainers, to the resurfacing of the pain of losing my father and this final little insult—it’s all too much.
I groan when my phone rings, certain it’s more bad news.
Digging out my phone from my purse, I nearly cause an accident when I glance down and see who is calling.