Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Penny
Propping the pillows against the headboard, I settled onto the bed, hugging my knees to my chest and closed my eyes.
The three intensely handsome men who’d been in the registration area were clearly out of my league. What was I thinking? They were probably nice like that to everyone.
I wanted to go home, but even thinking of getting back into my car had me clenching my fists and gritting my teeth.
I’m safe here, I reminded myself.
I still wanted to go home.
I fidgeted with the pillows behind me… too soft. I wanted my own pillows, my own bed, my own overflowing bookshelf, my…
Taking a few deep breaths, I stopped the anxious thought spiral.
I’d promised to give myself a chance to feel normal. That couldn’t happen if I left or stayed in my cabin.
My therapist’s soothing voice played through my mind. “Identify five things you can see.”
Forcing my eyes open, I spied the curtain drawn over the window, the overhead light I hadn’t turned on, all the things that belonged to someone else before the room became mine…. No, I couldn’t think like that.
The mirror I didn't want to face myself in, the suitcase I hadn’t unpacked, the spinning room…
Crap. I wasn’t breathing. I forced three deep breaths and moved on to four things I could feel.
The seam up the side of my leggings, the overly squishy pillows…
moving my hand to the bed, I rubbed it over the comforter.
Was it really a comforter if it didn't comfort me? Fine, the bedspread. Reaching to the bedside table, I felt my book. Yes, that’s good.
I pulled it to my chest, then repositioned to sit cross-legged.
Another deep breath.
Three things I could hear… giggles coming from outside. Happiness is good. I want to be happy. I want to be normal. My heavy breaths… yep, they were audible Then I rolled the pages of the book under my thumb to create a third sound—the flip of pages.
Two things I can smell… a light floral fragrance, perhaps a cleanser, and bringing the book to my face, I drew in a deep breath, inhaling my favorite scent in the whole world.
One thing I could taste… I licked my lips. Could I actually taste remnants of my cherry lip gloss? Did I care? I got up, retrieved the tube from my bag, and applied a new layer to taste.
My feet tried to take me back to the bed, despite it not being my bed in my own room, but the alarm on my phone piped its cheerful tune.
Really? I’m so predictable. My head lolled back, and I slumped. The alarm wasn’t going to relent.
I reached back into my bag, fished out my phone, silenced the alarm, and read the memo I’d tagged to it: I promise to make the most of this experience. Say it out loud.
A laugh bubbled inside my chest, grew, then tumbled out of my mouth. Yes, I’m that predictable.
The slew of icons across the top of my screen reminded me I hadn’t let anyone know I’d arrived safely. Since I hadn’t told anyone exactly where I was going, they had a right to be extra worried. Leaving Do Not Disturb on, I sent my mom and friends a message letting them know my room was…
The power of positive thinking.
Please let my therapist be right—I could get ahead of a lot of my negative thought spirals if I focused on the positive.
How could I positively describe the cabin… private? No, they’d remind me to interact. Nice? That was a good word. I sent the message and put my phone back in my bag.
A weight lifted, not because the room was nice, but because of the privacy. I could do the workshops and attempt socializing, while having a safe place to retreat and regroup.
Everyone had been incredibly friendly for the most part—the book carnage incident aside. I laughed at the memory of the Littles worrying I’d damaged the book. Honestly, I liked that. Books were precious. I appreciated their concern.
And everyone else’s concern, particularly Atlas’ and Everest’s. The room heated, and my knees went weak. I checked the thermostat. Seventy degrees.
It wasn’t the cabin—it was me, or more specifically my reaction to the three men I’d met. I picked up my book and fanned myself. The idea of having unprotected sex with someone felt so much more ominous when I actually had someone in mind.
My phone alarm chimed a second time. I smiled as I pulled it out again. The memo read: Don’t cheat yourself of this experience. Get with a Dom and find out if you’re a sub. Say it out loud.
Worrying my lower lip, I walked to the mirror. I’d already failed to say the statement with the first alarm.
My reflection was a raggedy mess. Bonus points to everyone who had been nice to me or taken pity on me.
Fortified by my promise to myself, I made a quick trip to the bathroom where I splashed water on my face, brushed my hair, and straightened my shirt, then headed back to the mirror.
“I promise to make the most of this experience.” I paused to make sure the universe wouldn’t laugh so hard it broke the mirror. “Don’t cheat myself of this experience. Get with a Dom and find out if I’m a sub.”
No cracks. Just me and my reflection at a kink camp. For good measure, I added the thing that had sold me on Rawhide Ranch. “Rawhide Ranch is a safe place. Everyone here deals with something that’s not mainstream.”
For once, I wasn’t the social outlier.
My heart swelled. I’d read about people who came to the Ranch and never left. I could already see why.
Tears threatened. I could also already understand why people would want to stay.
Any chance one of the men I’d met was a Dom? Replaying what I could from our introductions, it didn’t seem like it. They’d mentioned being here to help, finding rooms, car repair, and massages.
Any of them could be a nice starting point though.
I stared at the door. I had to leave this cabin, which had suddenly become very comfortable.
My legs went weak again thinking of how quickly I’d gotten lost in Atlas’ eyes. Such a fitting name. I sensed he would carry the weight of my world on his shoulders. Was that really his name, or did they do stage names here?
Duh, it’s a fitting nickname to give to someone who can make people feel that way with one look. Also good for a Dom, even if he wasn’t as Dom-ish as I would have expected.
I took the next step and grabbed the door handle.
Everest’s good with his hands. Should I have read so much innuendo into that statement? Maybe not, given his comment about getting here late was better than never. I shook off the tension that immediately gripped me at the memory of having to turn my car around when the road got slippery.
But he offered a massage. Was I ready for someone to touch me?
If it was him, yes.
What about that other ranch hand, the broody Phoenix?
Oh my, that’s a perfect way to stall—psychoanalyze the only three men I’d met so far.
Why don’t I simply go for a walk, get some fresh air and sunshine, and see who else I ran into.
Opening the door, I was met with a fist coming toward my face.