Page 40 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

I lie there for a while, rehearsing the words and rejecting every version that sounds like an apology.

By the time I turn off the light, I know what I'm going to say.

Chapter Eight

Soren

By the time I realize Addison has asked me a question, she's already looking at me expectantly.

I tighten the last knot around her wrists and check the rope with two fingers before meeting her eyes. She's been coming to me for months, long enough that I know exactly how much pressure she likes and how quickly she settles once I start giving her something to focus on. Today should be easy. Familiar. Instead, I've spent most of the session dragging my attention back to the room every time it wanders.

"Sorry," I say. "What did you ask?"

Addison's eyebrows lift. "I asked whether you wanted me to turn around."

"Yes. Slowly."

She does, settling back onto her knees while I adjust the rope and run my palm down her spine. Her shoulders loosen beneath my hand, and when I tell her she's doing well, she smiles. Praise has always worked beautifully for her. I know which words make her sit a little straighter and which ones soften her almost immediately.

Usually, I enjoy watching that happen.

But I'm too busy thinking about seven o'clock.

I put my attention back where it belongs and keep it there for the rest of the session. Addison deserves better than half of me because I happen to be looking forward to seeing someone else, and whatever is happening with Margot has no business following me into another client's time.

By the end, Addison is relaxed beneath the blanket with a drink in her hands, and I've almost convinced myself she didn't notice anything.

Then she looks at me over the rim of her glass. "You're distracted today."

There's no accusation in it, which somehow makes it worse.

"I was."

"You recovered."

"Not quickly enough."

A small smile pulls at her mouth. "No, probably not."

I deserve that.

I apologize, and Addison accepts it without making more of the situation than it needs. We talk for another few minutes before I walk her downstairs and see her out. She leaves smiling, but I'm still irritated with myself when I return to the office to finish her notes.

The report is straightforward. Rope work, praise, aftercare, no concerns. I add a reminder to check in with her before our next session, save the file, and close it.

Then I look at the time.

Margot will be here in three hours.

That's all it takes for my attention to become a problem again.

Her room is already prepared, but I go upstairs anyway.

I tell myself I'm checking it. What I actually do is spend the better part of the afternoon changing things that didn't need changing in the first place.

The peonies are the first addition. Margot mentioned them during aftercare after our last session, when she was warm and sleepy enough that the stories came more easily. Her grandmother grew them, and they were the only flowers Margot ever cared enough about to learn by name. I saw a bunch at the florist this morning and bought them before I'd fully decided what I was doing.

Now they sit in a vase on the side table, pale pink blooms beginning to open.