I paced over to my purse. I unzipped it and began going through it. I grabbed the meanest looking item I could find—a leather flogger with heavy strips hanging from it.
I closed the distance between us, toy in hand.
“Do you know what this is?”
His eyes flickered over it. “A flogger.”
“Yes. And do you know what I’m going to do with it?”
His eyebrows knitted. “Doyou?”
I slapped him. Hard. Across the cheek.
I didn’t think about it. I’d never slapped a man in my fucking life. Even the ones who probably deserved it. No—definitely deserved it. But now here he was now, blinking at me, his face sunny and red.
Immediately, shame washed through me.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered out. “Did that hurt?”
“Yes. It did.” Smooth as a cat, he shifted off the couch. He fell to his knees on the carpet in front of me. He turned his head, giving me his other cheek. “Do it again.”
But now my heart was pounding.Pounding.
I did a bad thing. I reacted out ofanger, not out of play.
All I could think was: I’m a bad domme. I’m a terrible domme. I’m the worst thing a dominant can be. I’m adim-domme.
Ignorant. Inexperienced. Reactive. Out of her depths.
Fuck.Fuck.
He remained kneeling, silently waiting for me to make the next move. Guilt rose like vomit in my throat. I found myself pacing the room.
“Are you okay?” I could barely hear Dorian’s voice through the thudding of my own heartbeat.
“Fine,” I lied. I went to the window, pushing open a curtain, and stared out. A couple stories down, someone was walking their dog. A little girl was holding hands with her mother. I tugged at the collar of my outfit. The wet-suit style material was clinging to my throat in a way that made it hard to breathe. The zipper was in the back and I reached behind, trying to tug it open just a crack, but it wouldn’t budge. The zipper was stuck in the cheap material, locking me in.
I could hear Dorian get to his feet. “Do you need something? Water?”
“I need…” The world tilted, spun. I felt myself sway on my feet and I gripped his bookcase, bracing myself and closing my eyes. I felt suffocated, like the whole outfit was one big boa constrictor, gluing my sweat to me.
“Scissors,” I said.
“…Scissors?”
“Scissors,” I choked out. I gripped at the suit. “I need you to cut me out of this. Immediately.”
“Hold on.” I could hear Dorian’s quick footsteps. I shut my eyes closed, my heart roaring in my ears, and tried to do what he said. Tried tohold on. But my head felt light as I took in quick, shallow sips of breath. Was this a heart attack? Was I going to die in this latex prison?
Suddenly, Dorian’s hand touched the back of my neck. “Don’t move,” he said, and I stopped squirming. His voice was calm, low, and I leaned into it. The blade felt cool against my skin. The scissors hissed, the blade sawing through the cheap fabric, and with every cut, I felt myself coming free. Like a butterfly busting out of a too-tight cocoon, wings trapped and damaged. He used the blade to cut along the zipper line and I felt the cold touch of the sharp metal slide across my back, down my spine. I forced myself to stay still, even as my body trembled.
When he finally had sliced through enough to free me, I untangled myself from the suit, shedding it from my arms, torso, and legs like snake skin, until I was down to nothing but my panties. But pride was pretty low on my priority list.Breathing. That was the thing. I lowered myself onto my hands and knees. I could feel the carpet underneath my palms. Every stitch of fabric pressing into my skin.
“Hey.” Dorian’s voice. I glanced up and saw him on hishands and knees too, on my level. Those blue eyes hooked me in. “Look at me. Breathe. Can you do that?”
I sucked in a breath. Exhaled. “Good,” he said. “Again.”
I did. With each breath, I could feel the rapid flutter of my heart slowing. I felt like I had been very far away from my body, but Dorian was here, reeling me in, like a kite that had gotten swept too far in a gust of wind.
