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“Don’t think I’m saying no,” he said, though that’s absolutely what he wanted to do. “But I’m not exactly known for using kid gloves with my subs.” The Manor’s founding partners had brought Rafe in for the guests who liked to play rough.Reallyrough.
“Have you looked at her limits?” He could practically hear the haughty expression on her face.
Their applications were almost twenty pages long, and he hadn’t bothered skimming past page two. Holding in a sigh, he skipped past several pages, scrolling down to the start of the limits section. Pages thirteen through nineteen contained a comprehensive checklist, where potential subs could rate various activities from one (a hard limit, never to be tried) to five (which was basically the sub saying, “Yes,please.”)
“Oh,” he said as he scanned through the pages. There were only a handful of ones and more fives than he’d ever seen during his time at the Manor. “I see.”
“Yes, I thought you might.”
Nell Beaumont liked to playhard. No kid gloves required after all.
“She hasn’t told me much, so this is all speculation,” Freya said, “but I think she was in a full-time M/s relationship. And I think the guy was an abusive piece of shit.”
Rafe cringed. It was so easy for an unscrupulous Dom to abuse his power—especiallyin those full-time Master/slave scenarios where the sub gave up the ability to use a safeword.
“It’s clear she needs, shall we say, a heavy hand. Nothing less will satisfy her. But anytime someone approaches her at my club, she panics.” Her voice turned sad, even pitying. “I found her hyperventilating in the bathroom once, though of course she refused to tell me what happened. I had to find out from one of my other employees.”
It was enough to thaw even his stone-cold heart. But he still didn’t understand what he could do about it. “Why would she be any different with me?”
“Nell trusts me. Entirely.”
No surprise there. Freya had collected a number of subs since opening Valhalla’s doors, of various sexualities and gender identities, hovering over them like an overprotective mother hen.
“If I tell her she can trust you, she’ll believe me. And I do trust you. I know you inside and out, and I’m telling you, this girl needs you.”
Rafe was flattered as all hell, no doubt about that. If he was being honest, though, this sounded like his own personal nightmare. Maybe if he could tag-team with Aiden, the other man could do all the emotional baggage shit, leaving Rafe to handle the fun parts. Then it wouldn’t be so bad.
But no, that would never work. Freya barely knew Aiden. She’d never trust a near-stranger with this new girl of hers.
When he didn’t answer after several seconds, Freya made a low noise of frustration. “Jesus, Rafe, I’d do it myself if I could give her what she needs. But you know I can’t go that hard. Do this for me. Please.”
“All right, all right.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll do it. I’ll have Zach send the acceptance letter as soon as the real application comes in.” Zach Potter was the Manor’s receptionist, though that job title didn’t even begin to cover all his duties. The whole place would fall apart without him. Rafe would shoot him a text as soon as he and Freya got off the phone.
“Thank you.” Such profound relief filled those whispered words, Rafe felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach for denying her for so long.
Unable to help himself, he asked, “What is it about her? I’ve never heard you get this worked up over one of your girls.”
She stayed quiet for a long time, and Rafe knew her well enough not to press. She’d answer him when she was ready to and not a moment before—if she chose to answer at all.
When at last Freya spoke, there was a slight tremor in her voice. “She reminds me of Ian.”
The unspoken words were clear enough:I couldn’t save Ian. But I can save her.
Well, didn’t that just make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. If he fucked this up, it would be like Freya losing her husband all over again. And it would all be his fault.
No pressure or anything.
CHAPTER3
Nell
An enormous black sedan picked Nell up at the airport in Manchester, New Hampshire, the driver stowing her shabby duffel in the trunk before whisking her northward. Nestled in the soft leather of the back seat, she stared out the window as the boat-like car carried her deeper and deeper into Vermont’s Green Mountains.
Man, this place was remote as fuck. Mistress Freya told her Fairford Manor was in the middle of nowhere, but she’d seriously been in the car for almost three hours at this point. She hadn’t seen anything but trees for the last thirty minutes or more, and not so much as a single billboard since they crossed into the state.
Not that she minded. Vermont in October had to be just about the most beautiful thing she’d seen in her life. Some of the leaf colors looked almost too spectacular to be real.
“Not long to go now,” the driver said, seeming to sense her restlessness. She looked up in time to see him smile at her in the rearview mirror.
