Page 21 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

Soren

I find her hair tie when I strip the bed.

Thin black elastic, caught near the pillow where she'd been lying against me less than twenty minutes ago. I pick it out of the sheets and stand there with it looped around two fingers while the laundry basket waits beside my feet.

It should go in with everything else.

Instead, I put it in my pocket.

I stare at the basket for a moment, then pull the fitted sheet free and toss it in with more force than necessary.

Six hundred years is long enough to know when I'm lying to myself, so I don't bother pretending I'll return the hair tie later. The dragon in me has already decided it belongs with us. I can feel the satisfaction of it somewhere beneath my ribs.

For fuck's sake.

I finish resetting the room. Fresh linen goes on the bed, the cups and plate go back downstairs, and I drain the bath in the adjoining room. By the time I'm done, there's no sign Margot was ever here.

Except the hair tie in my pocket.

And the faint scent of lavender that still clings to the room.

I leave the window open and head to my office to write up my notes and prepare for my next session. I have more than enough to keep me occupied, but the moment I sit down at my desk, I open Margot's file again.

I read it this morning, as I do every new client file. Gael had already completed the screening, so I went through Margot's limits, what she wanted to explore, and anything I needed to clarify before we started.

Reading it now, I understand some of her answers better than I did a few hours ago. I know how quickly she insists she can do something herself, how uncomfortable she gets when someone takes care of her, and how long it takes before she finally stops worrying about whatever comes next.

Now I can hear her in every answer.

Q: What do you need that you're not getting?

A: I don't know. Everything?

This morning, I read uncertainty in it. Maybe a little embarrassment.

Now I picture her looking down at her hands while she tells me she doesn't know what she wants because she's never had time to figure it out.

I move to the next question.

Q: What appeals to you about a Daddy Dom?

A: The idea of someone wanting to take care of me.

And beneath it:

I know that sounds pathetic.

That bothered me this morning. It bothers me considerably more now.

I've met her. I've seen how uncomfortable she becomes the moment care is directed at her, as though receiving anything she hasn't earned requires an apology. Even when she finally let herself cry, she turned her face away as though the tears were something she should keep to herself.

There is nothing pathetic about wanting to be cared for. It's one of the most ordinary needs a person can have, yet somewhere along the way Margot learned to treat it like something shameful.

The dragon takes exception to that.

Heat builds beneath my collar, followed by a thin curl of smoke that drifts past my face. I wave it away before the sensor above my desk has anything to say about it and turn my attention back to the file.

I have notes to write.