8. Lissa
Lissa
The room is just as dark as it was before, the lighting low, the blinds drawn against the windows.
Is this guy a vampire or what?
I stand awkwardly by the door, looking at him. He’s sitting at his desk, his hands steepled against his stomach. He points to the chair opposite, and I go and sit down, grateful for the grounding feeling of the cushion against my ass. My legs feel like they might buckle at any moment.
There’s something different about the office, and I look around curiously, wondering what it is. The desk's surface looks the same, but several bronze ornaments are arranged around the edge. There are more of them on the shelves, too. Those are new; I’m almost certain of it.
For a long while, there’s silence between us. I wonder if he’ll ask me if Adelaide has left, or whether there’s anyone else in the office, but he strikes me as a man who is never taken by surprise about anything.
He doesn’t fidget or seem hesitant in anything he does. He’s forthright, uncompromising. Steady.
I’m not sure whether it was the way he spoke to me yesterday, the reassuring nature of his words, or his insistence that everything would be approved by me before we start.
But I can feel the nerves receding slowly in his presence.
Oddly, my body feels something resembling safety.
I haven’t felt safe around a man in a very, very long time.
But just like that, all the good feelings are gone in an instant.
Thoughts of James storm my mind, the memories of the bad times bringing an acidic taste to the back of my throat. Anxiety builds even as I try to push it down, but it’s galloping upward, spiraling into the beginnings of a panic attack.
I can’t do this. Why did I ever think I could? What man would want me? I’m useless, ugly, frigid?—
Heath removes his watch.
The strange action catches my eye as I stare at his thick wrist against his fingers as he unbuckles the clasp and moves the watch toward me.
It’s a Jaeger-LeCoultre Polaris. I recognize it from the catalogs James used to get in the mail. He never bought one, though. They’re over sixty grand a piece.
“I would like you to follow the second hand, please,” Heath says. “Every four seconds, breathe in, then hold it for four, then breathe out for four, and repeat, if you can.” His voice is a low murmur. “I’ll do the same. We’re just going to breathe for five minutes together, alright?”
I frown at him.
Is this a joke? Shouldn’t he be ripping my clothes off or something? Why is he wasting his time trying to teach me how to breathe?
As I take the watch out of his hand, there is no contact between our fingers, which feels deliberate.
I stare down at the watch, the secondhand ticking around each number with calculated precision. After a little while, I realize I’m doing what he said, breathing with it.
I’ve tried breathing exercises for anxiety before, and it never made much difference, but this, in the dark cocoon of his office, with him watching me, is a whole new experience.
Slowly, my heart begins to settle again, the ball of fear in my chest dissipating and fading. When I look up at him, there’s something new in his eyes, something that looks an awful lot like approval.
“Better?” he says, as if he’s discussing the weather.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head as I hand the watch back. “Don’t apologize. This is all new.” He reattaches it to his wrist and returns to his previous position. “Are you ready to talk a bit about what we’re going to do?”
I nod, unable to speak as his smoldering gaze meets mine. It’s hard to keep my focus on him, the look so intense it sends a little shudder through me.
“How do you feel about being tied up?”
Jesus. Straight in, then.
I glance around the room as if ropes are going to fall from the ceiling and begin coiling around my wrists.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “Sorry. That’s probably not helpful.”
“That’s actually extremely helpful.”
Tension bleeds out of my shoulders at those words, and the satisfaction returns as he watches me relax back into the chair.
“Would you be opposed to trying it at some point? Not today. I wouldn’t introduce it so early. But I’d like to know your thoughts.”
I think about it. Seriously. Imagining being immobilized by him, unable to get away. That thought isn’t entirely unpleasant. And that makes zero sense to me right now.
“Possibly. Maybe just my hands?” I say tentatively.
He nods. “Noted. And how do you feel about toys?”
“Uh… like… sex toys?” I say, my cheeks suddenly burning with a ferocious intensity that I find mortifying. His lips quirk into the smallest hint of a smile.
“Yes. Like sex toys. Dildos, plugs, vibrators, that kind of thing. Have you used them before?”
“No.” James didn’t care about my pleasure.
“Hm. Alright. Same question. Would you like to try them?”
“I don’t know.” Another nod. “Maybe?”
Fuck this is embarrassing.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he says, and I look up at him. “Whatever we do in this room is private. This is a safe space. And you should never feel as if you can’t say what you want to here.”
“Am I allowed to ask you questions?” I ask.
“You can always ask. I may not always answer, though.”
“What about if it’s, um, like, what you’re into?”
“You can definitely ask those questions.”
“Do you like using them? Toys?” I ask.
“I do. Quite a lot as long as the other party is okay with it. I do have one rule, and it’s an important one,” he says. “I ask that you don’t touch me. At all. Unless I invite you to.”
I stare at him, surprised by the way he says it as if it’s such a normal thing to request.
He doesn’t want me to touch him at all? How are we going to have sex?
“That’s the only absolute rule,” he continues. “There are other, smaller things that I may ask of you if needed. But I’m open to trying new things with you if you wish.”
“But I can’t touch you?”
“No.”
I fidget, feeling confused as to how this will work, but going with it. This is his rodeo, after all; I’m just along for the ride.
“Have you ever used safe words?” he asks casually.
“No.”
“Do you understand what they are?”
I must be the color of a tomato at this point. “Yes. I mean, I’ve heard of them.”
“Would you like to choose some or have me do so?”
“Are we going to use them?” I ask, amazed.
“Possibly. It’s an important part of the process for me. I never want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, and sometimes it’s easier to have a word we both agree upon in case things need to stop immediately.”
“Does ‘no’ not work?” I blurt out, and the curve of his lips is almost devilish for a second.
“Some women like to say that, even when they don’t actually want me to stop,” he responds, his voice deeper than normal.
A shiver runs up my spine. “You can choose them,” I say quickly, hoping he doesn’t detect the panic in my voice.
“Very well. We’ll just keep it basic. Yellow will mean to slow down.
Red to stop. That means everything stops for the remainder of our time that day.
If at one minute past five you say ‘red’, we will stop and talk through what happened.
Is that clear? However, I would ask that you never leave the room without us talking through what has happened.
It’s very important to me to understand your needs as well as mine. ”
“Okay.”
There’s a heat in his eyes now that wasn’t there before, like a switch being flipped. It’s an intoxicating transformation and to my total amazement, sends a sizzle of pleasure through my whole body.
“Lissa, I would like you to remove your clothes if you are comfortable doing so. Just to your underwear if you prefer. Or keep whatever items you wish on your person.”
He has a funny way of speaking sometimes, as if he’s a Lord in a huge English manor house. I feel the absurd urge to laugh.
Maybe he’s a vampire.
Then I realize what he has just asked me to do, and my insecurities rise to the surface like a snake.
What is he going to think of my body? I’ve only ever been with one man, and by the end, James couldn’t stop reminding me how inferior it was.
I stand up, grateful to remove my uncomfortable shoes, and place them neatly by the chair.
“Do you… Do you want me to hang my clothes up?” I ask, wondering if I should leave them in a pile on the chair.
“Whatever you prefer, Lissa.”
I remove each item methodically and carefully, trying to keep Beth’s words in my head as I go.
“You’re not ugly, Lissa. An ugly man told you that in order to control you and make sure you never understood how incredible you are. You’re beautiful. Always have been.”
My fingers are shaking, but I ignore them as I pull off everything. I had intended to keep my bra and panties on, but somehow leaving that for another day is even more terrifying than getting fully naked now. He’s going to see me naked at some point—may as well be today.
His face is impassive as he watches me, and I can’t look at him. I’m exposed and vulnerable, standing in front of the chair, my clothes in a pile on top of my shoes. I resist the urge to cover my torso with my arms and instead, clasp my hands behind my back.
I’m so pale compared to him. He has an olive skin tone, and I wonder if he’s part Italian. I hate how pale I am.
“Thank you,” he says, in the same quiet tone. “Would you turn around now?”
I do, trying to keep my breathing even.
“Beautiful.”
I hold back the scoff that threatens to break from my lips. I’m not beautiful, but maybe he’s saying it to put me at ease.
After I’ve spun in a complete circle, I turn back to face him.
Gradually, as if he’s trying not to spook a skittish wild animal, he rises and walks behind me, picking up my chair and placing it out of the way against the wall. I stand, listening to his movements, hearing the sound of his clothing being removed, wondering what he wants to do to me.
Then he returns to stand in front of me, his jacket off, but his shirt still on. I run my eyes over his huge chest. He’s stunning, built like granite, and ridiculously tall. I’m barely as high as his collarbone.