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“You guys were so good about giving me ‘my space,’” Zoë had told her later. “I was actually kind of waiting for you to tell me to knock it off so I could stop pretending to be something I wasn’t.”
Thinking of Zoë, Hannah stopped now beside the young woman. Lia was no teenager, nor was she Hannah’s daughter, but she looked and behaved like someone who was calling for help, at least on some level.
“You okay?” Hannah asked softly.
Lia didn’t respond, save for a quiet, snuffling sound. Was the poor girl crying? Unable to help herself, Hannah shifted immediately into mother mode. Crouching beside Lia, she placed her hand lightly on the young woman’s narrow back, which was marked with a crisscross of new and fading welts from her various sessions with the hardcore Doms.
Lia didn’t move, but neither did she pull away.
Gently, Hannah patted her back, just letting Lia know someone was there. After a while, Hannah offered quietly, “This whole power exchange thing is way harder than it looks. I have no idea how you and the other trainees can be so brave. I can’t even imagine the courage it must take to undergo the type of full-on, intensive training y’all have signed up for.”
Finally, Lia lifted her head. Her eyes were red. She sniffed noisily and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Then she barked a short, harsh laugh followed by a snort of disgust. “Look at me, bawling like a baby. My parents would be appalled.” Her voice rose into a singsong falsetto, the accent pure antebellum southern gentility. “’Magnolia Rose Duvall, whereareyour manners, young lady? Quit that disgusting display this second.’” Lia’s voice deepened to a baritone, her face twisting into a comically censorious expression. “’You’re a disgrace to the family name.You’ll do as you’re told. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Now, where’s my whiskey and soda, damn it? Loretta, fire that new maid.’”
In spite of herself, Hannah laughed. “You’re quite a good mimic, Lia.” At Lia’s rueful grin, she added gently, “Seriously, though. It’s clear you’re hurting right now. Do you want to talk about it?”
Lia ran her hand over her face and up through her spiky hair. “I thought this place would at least be a good timeout, maybe even somewhere to hide away for good. And don’t get me wrong—the intense impact and edge play are fucking awesome. But it’s this submission crap that I can’t get my head around. If I wanted to be told what to do and how to feel every second of the day, I could have stayed in my old life, with all its rules, expectations and mind-numbing conformity.” She sighed. “I should have known better than to think I could make it work.”
“You’ve been here what, nearly two weeks, right?”
Lia nodded glumly. “Two weeks of constantly fucking up.”
“So, maybe…” Hannah hesitated, aware her unsolicited advice might not be welcome, but deciding to risk it. “It’s just a thought, but if it’s not working for you here—if it doesn’t feel right—then maybe it’s not. Even as young as you are, you’re what—twenty-one, twenty-two?”
“Twenty-four,” Lia said. “’And not getting any younger,’” she added in the drawling falsetto apparently reserved for her mother.
Hannah chuckled. “So even at the ripe old age of twenty-four, you’re old enough to know your own mind, and do what’s right foryou. Quiet all that other noise in your head, if you can. Forget other peoples’ expectations. Follow your heart.”
Lia tilted her head, as if she was thinking this over. “Follow my heart, huh? I guess first I have to figure out what the hell my heart actually wants.”
Mason, tall, imposing, gruff, arrogant, condescending, sexy as hell, pushed his way yet again into Hannah’s mind.
You and me both, sister, she thought.
Chapter 17
It was late Thursday evening when Mason found Anthony sitting alone in a quiet corner of the living room. He had his head down, apparently reading an actual paperback novel.
“I need to talk to you about Hannah,” Mason said, lowering himself into a nearby chair.
Anthony looked up from his book with concern. “Is there a problem? Is she not working out in the kitchen?”
“She’s working out fine in the kitchen,” Mason said. The lemon pound cake with the peaches and cream she made for that evening’s dessert was worthy of any dessert chef.
“So…?” Anthony asked, giving Mason his full attention. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“She’s distracting,” Mason said bluntly.
That was putting it mildly. Ever since he’d nearly lost it during that Tuesday session at the outside dungeon, he’d managed to keep a tight rein on his desire or longing or lust, or whatever the hell it was he felt when he got too close to Hannah. For the past two days he’d just barely managed to keep their relationship professional. He’d forced himself to ignore the curve of her ass under her damn sundress, or the way her nipples tented the fabric of her clingy top. But it was driving him up the fucking wall. It was making him, as Lucia had sweetly chided recently, grumpy. Something had to give.
“Distracting how exactly?” Anthony asked mildly.
Mason hit his knee with his fist. “Either she’s here for slave trainingor she isn’t. Either she is a sub, or she’s not. This whole modified training thing. The idea she’s doing this to add so-called authenticity to her sappy romance novels. No offense, but it’s bullshit.”
Anthony regarded him with a cocked brow. “You’ve gotten spoiled, living here. We all have, I suppose. When we point to the ground and order a slave to kneel up, open her mouth and demonstrate her deep throating skills, we expect her not only to jump to obey, but to do it eagerly and with skill. If we want to bind her in Shibari rope, suspend her from the ceiling and take turns whipping and teasing her until she is reduced to nothing but pure, raw sexual need and submission, she only thanks us, both before and after, for using her as she needs.”
“Exactly,” Mason agreed emphatically, his cock hardening at the thought of using Hannah in those ways. “And from what I’ve seen, she’s got potential, far more than she’s demonstrated. She just needs someone to take her in hand.”
“Someone like you?” Anthony suggested, a hint of a smile lifting his lips.
