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But Master Damon didn’t look annoyed. If anything, he looked amused, or perhaps bemused was the better word. “No offense taken. Because you’re right. You told me in a number of different ways that the situation was stressful, and I basically discounted your concerns. You told me it would have been a hard limit if you were permitted hard limits. And instead of listening like an Enclave Dom—like a good Dom—”
“Oh, no, Sir,” she couldn’t help but interject. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Sure you did,” he interrupted, to her mortification. “And you were right. In this instance, I wasn’t a good Dom. Instead of getting you to the point where you felt safe enough to truly submit, I put you in a position where you had to power your way through something, teeth clenched, sweating bullets, terrified.”
His voice gentled. “I’m sorry, Ellen. I’ll do better. But I’m sticking to my guns here—you need a safeword. If not for you, then for me. We’ve got this amazing opportunity to go deep into this whole power exchange thing. I don’t want to fuck it up again because I want what I want when I want it. But, the bottom line is we’ve only got seven days.”
Seven days. How many times was he going to harp on that—to remind her in no uncertain terms that this wasn’t a potential love match?
You could have refused, she reminded herself. He gave you an out before the contract was signed. You walked into this arrangement with eyes wide open. Take what you can from this experience and leave the rest.
And, to be fair, what he said made a certain kind of sense. He was telling her he needed the security of a safeword. It would allow him to take her deeper into the total power exchange, and that was all to the good.
If he was just using her to enjoy some kind of kinky vacation, so be it. She would capitalize on the time they did have to further hone her submissive skills. There would always be another auction. She had time to find Master Right.
“Lemon,” she said with a lift of her chin. “My safeword is lemon.”
But I’ll be damned if I use it.
They had a late lunch of roast beef sandwiches and steaming vegetable soup. Master Damon actually prepared the meal while Ellen took a shower. Lingering at the table, he said, “So, I read in your profile that you write kids’ books for a living. How did you get started doing that?”
Ellen smiled, surprised but pleased that he would take an interest in her work, given the limited nature of their arrangement.
“In college, I majored in graphic design with a minor in fine art. As part of my senior thesis, I wrote and illustrated a book to help toddlers handle their feelings. My professor was super supportive and thought I should try to get it published. She knew someone at Penguin Random House, which didn’t hurt. They actually agreed to publish the first one, even giving me an advance on the royalties. I had zero expectations, but the book sold well. I did four more in that series and now I’m branching out with some new ideas. I never thought I’d actually make a living doing what I love.”
“Wow, that’s awesome,” Master Damon said. “I don’t have a creative bone in my body. I’d love to see your stuff sometime.”
“Sure,” Ellen agreed, pleased. “Obviously, I don’t have my books here, but you can google me—Ellen Rosen. I’ve got a website. My stuff sells on Amazon and some other online sites, as well as in brick-and-mortar bookstores.”
“Cool. I’ll do that,” he replied.
Deciding turnabout was fair play, she asked, “What about you? I know you’ve got a military background and now you’re a private security consultant. What is that exactly?”
“We work with government contractors and critical infrastructure providers like water treatment facilities, transportation hubs, communication networks—stuff like that. I’m based out of Charlotte but I employ people all over the country—most of them ex-military like me. In a nutshell, we assess existing security measures, identify vulnerabilities and recommend strategies to enhance security.”
“Sounds complicated.”
Master Damon shrugged. “It can be challenging. But my military career gave me good training in critical decision making, operating in dynamic and unpredictable environments, adaptability and problem solving. I’ve had a lot of on-the-ground experience with that kind of thing.”
“How did you get involved in the military?”
“I come from a military family—father, uncle, older brother.” A sudden scowl moved over his face. “Miller men serve their country, period,” he said in a hard voice, a voice not his own. “It’s not a choice, it’s a duty.”
Ellen was startled by the sudden bitterness in his tone. But before she had time to ponder it, his expression smoothed and he shrugged.
“It was understood that I would go to West Point, and that’s what I did. After graduation, I wanted to do something that mattered. Special ops forces are often involved in missions with global impact, addressing threats to national security in various regions that ultimately affect us in the United States as well. After a stint in Germany, I was assigned to head up a group responsible for locating, capturing and neutralizing a particular high-ranking and highly dangerous terrorist leader in the Middle East.”
“Gosh. That sounds really dangerous. Did you get the guy?”
Master Damon’s expression darkened. “Yeah. We got him. Eventually.”
Ellen sensed there was a lot more to the story but she didn’t want to press. “Is that how you got that scar?” she dared. “While serving in the Middle East?”
His hand rose to touch the long silver line. “Yeah.”
Something in his expression closed, as if a curtain had just fallen between them. He pushed back from the table and got to his feet.
“Enough chitchat. We have an aborted scene that needs addressing.”
