A wry smile quirked at his mouth. “You mind if I try to reset your nervous system this morning?”
“Okay.” But my heart did a funny hiccup in my chest.
Yesterday, he tied me up, spanked me, and made me cum in front of an audience. I had no problem with that. Yet the thought ofrelaxingin front of this man made me strangely nervous.
He had two small bottles sitting on the table next to him. He pumped oil from each of the bottles into his palm. Then he offered them to me. “Which smell do you like?”
He put one hand in front of my face. “Inhale.” I cupped it and sniffed his palm. Lavender. The other hand: something rose-scented.
But I was incredibly distracted with him kneeling over my head. I gripped his shirt, tugged on it, and sniffed that instead. Smelled like Phantom: clean body, and warmth, and man.
“This one,” I said, tugging his shirt.
“Be good.” His voice rumbled. Less of a chastisement; more of astop making me hard, little sub.
I compromised. I tapped his lavender scented arm. “Second choice.”
He added more lavender to his palms. “Close your eyes,” he said, so I did. His hands cradled the back of my head and I tried to relax into his touch. “We’re going to practiceDroptoday. When I sayDrop, I want you to return to this state. Calm. Relaxed. Safe.”
His hands slid underneath the blanket. His flat palm was warm against my heart. “If you feel anxious at any point…don’t try to fight it. Feel it. Acknowledge it. And let it go. I give you permission to relax.”
Oh. Permission to relax. What a strange, novel concept, and yet…my body started to surrender. His oil-slick hands slid down my body, rolling the tension off of me. They moved with purpose, flattening the space over my chest, sliding down, and running over my hips and stomach. My jaw unclenched, my lips parted slightly, and my muscles began to loosen up, sinking into his touch.
“That’s good,” he assured me. “You’re doing great, Ophelia.”
Yes. I was winning at relaxation.
More gold stars, please.
His hands drew lower. He ghosted his fingers over my underwear. My skin tingled where he’d touched it, and a low heat rushed between my legs. My labia felt puffy, wanting. His fingertips grazed the cotton and almost touched my swelling clit.
Then, his hands retreated, pulling back up my body. My hips twitched, wanting.
“Turn over,” he told me, so I shifted.
Phantom adjusted my head, removing me from his lap and settling me onto a pillow. He stepped around and moved behindme. He knelt at my legs, pulled the blanket from my body, and I heard a small hum from him, like a purr.
“I did a number on you,” he confessed. I heard him open a jar, then he adjusted my panties down my thighs. There was the coolness of a soft cream on my ass and he rubbed it in, kneading the sore spots. “Your body holds bruises well.”
“Thank you, Sir.” My voice came out slurred, like I was drunk. Between his compliments and the strength in his hands, I felt myself dropping into some warm, cozy space. The darkness was a cool relief. It flooded the heat in my temples and evacuated my thoughts. I felt myself sinking as though I was falling out of my body—through the floor, through the deep, dark earth below. Through the history of this city and the cold Hudson river water.
“That’s it, Ophelia…” His voice got quieter and further away as I felt my consciousness slip. “Drop.”
The tea kettle was plump and silver. Even with the grease smears, I could see my reflection in it, tired and unkempt.
I found myself in Aleena’s old apartment in Queens, the one she lived in with Cisco before she moved in with me. I’d spent the night sleeping on their couch; Aleena’s due date was quickly approaching and I wanted to be there when my nephew came.
Aleena craved tea, so I stood in the kitchen, half-asleep, waiting for the kettle to start screaming.
A body moved in beside me. Their kitchen was so small that it was impossible to fit two people without them practically being on top of each other.
“You’re never going to get a husband if you keep dressing like that,” Cisco said. He pushed his hand around the cabinet, hunting for a mug.
I glanced down at myself. I’d slept in an oversized shirt and boy shorts. Didn’t realize this was the look. But Aleena’s husband, Cisco, was always full of wrong opinions and unasked-for advice, and I was too exhausted to be polite about it.
I shrugged. “Well, I tried walking around naked, but it turns out the NYPD frowns at that.”
Cisco found his mug. He pulled it down but didn’t leave. I could feel him staring at me. “It sounds harsh, but I’m trying to help you. You know, men look at you and they only think of one thing.”
