Page 94 of High Reward

Grace sinks to her knees in one fluid motion, settling into proper form, back straight, thighs spread, hands resting on her thighs. As she moves, she whispers a simple, “Yes, Goddess.”

The title, one she only uses with me, should center me. Should remind me of the trust she places in me. The power exchange we’ve fallen into in such a short time usually grounds me. Tonight, it sits heavy on my shoulders, like a responsibility I’m not sure I can bear.

My hand finds her hair, and I thread my fingers through the soft strands. I try to focus on the texture, the warmth of her scalp beneath my palm. Try to let it ground me in the present, in this room with the woman who trusts me enough to kneel naked at my feet.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell her because it’s true. Because some truths are simple enough to hold onto when everything else is pulling me under like quicksand.

Grace remains still, patient. Waiting for direction, for the structure of the scene to unfold around her. I should be providing that structure. Should be finding the words, issuing commands, creating the kind of scene she craves.

But my mind is splintering into too many pieces to hold on to control. Images flash unbidden. Phineas standing over me with that familiar cruel smile. The knife glinting in the cabin’s dim light. Victor’s face when he burst through the trapdoor, all controlled violence and fury. The hospital. Being trapped at the club. The endless string of locked rooms where I’m supposed to be safe but am not.

My breathing changes, becomes shallow. My palm is damp against Grace’s hair. The room seems too small with not enough air.

I force myself to focus. Grace needs me present. Needs me to be in control. I can do this. We’ve proved it comes natural to me.

“Look at me,” I command, and when she raises her eyes, I see nothing but trust and anticipation.

I open my mouth to continue the scene, to tell her what I want, how I want her to serve me tonight. But the words stick in my throat. My hand in her hair trembles.

Grace notices. A flicker of concern flashes across her features, quickly masked by submission. But it’s there. She sees the cracks forming in my composure, even as I struggle to hold myself together.

The realization hits me with brutal clarity. I’m unraveling. Right here with Grace kneeling at my feet. All the trauma, the fear, the helplessness I’ve been suppressing is surging to the surface, and I can’t stop it.

This can’t happen. Not now. Not like this. Grace needs me.

But my body betrays me. My breath stutters. My hand in her hair shakes more visibly. And the room is suddenly getting smaller.

I let go of Grace’s hair and sit down heavily on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips beneath my weight, the sound of the bedsprings unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. Grace remains kneeling for only a moment before she rises, concern replacing surrender in an instant.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asks, moving toward me but stopping short of touching me.

“No,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You didn’t do anything. I’m just struggling a lot more than I realized.”

The tears come before I can stop them. Not loud, not the messy sobbing I hate, but still a steady flow. Silent streams of tears roll down my cheeks, and I can’t control it. I wipe at them roughly with the back of my hand, hating the display of weakness.

“Lili,” Grace says softly, moving closer.

I shake my head, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

But I’m not fine. My hands are trembling and my breathing is shallow, like I can’t catch my breath. The room feels so tiny and somehow it has me too exposed. Like there are eyes watching from every corner, and threats that I can’t see lurking in the shadows.

“I haven’t felt safe,” I admit, the words coming out broken. “Not since Phineas climbed into that SUV and I realized I was being kidnapped.”

Grace kneels in front of me, not in submission, but to be close. Her nakedness has nothing to do with sex or power exchange anymore. It’s just her, offering presence without demand. Giving all of herself to me.

“I know,” she says simply.

“Even here, even with both of you…” I struggle to find the words. “It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to shatter whatever safety I think I’ve found.”

Grace remains quiet, letting me find my way through the tangle of emotions.

“And Victor,” I continue, anger overpowering the fear now. “He keeps things from us. Trivial things, maybe, but it takes me back to my life with Phineas. A life where I’m not in control. Where decisions are being made about my life without my input.”

My hand comes up to touch the bandage on my arm where Phineas cut me. The wound underneath is healing, but the memory of how helpless I was, the certainty that I was going to die alone in that cabin with a man I despise is still raw.

“When he doesn’t tell you things, keeps you in the dark to ‘protect’ you…” I shake my head as I add air quotes around protect. “It’s too familiar. Too much like what I left behind.”

A sob escapes, surprising me with its force. I press my hand against my mouth, trying to contain the sound, contain the swirl of emotions threatening to break out.