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“You’re such a liar,” she said as she walked toward the door. “We both know what you want. You’re just scared of how much you want it.”
Once alone, he’d tidied up his room and hung his robe in the cloakroom. There was a small bathroom off of the classroom with a mirror. He stared into it; he was fortunate to be one of those transmen who was entirely male passing. It had always amazed him that calling men “beautiful” evoked images of classical Greek statuary whereas calling women “handsome” was usually a consolation prize offered to women past a certain age. Even though he was no longer a woman, Alastair had lived in a female body long enough to appreciate the slights and prejudices that came with womanhood. Once he moved to a city where no one knew he’d ever been a woman, he was amazed at how differently he was treated by those who assumed he was born male. He was treated better in negotiations on everything from rental properties to car purchases. The predatory glances he’d been so mindful of in his youth were absent, making strolls through the city less frightening. And men let their guard down when he was in their company; he could not count the number of times he’d been left disappointed by male friends who felt it was safe to describe women in openly misogynistic terms around other men.
He’d been a feminist when he was a woman. He was still a feminist. Maybe that was part of what bothered him about Maribel; women had been conditioned to compete for male attention and he’d noticed how angry Maribel would get in mixed company if another woman was getting more of it than her. Maribel was beautiful, but it was clear that she sought validation through male approval. This wasn’t always unusual for submissives, but even as a professional Dominatrix, he’d made it a point to tell his subs that they did not need a Dominant’s affirmation to be worthy.
He smoothed back his black hair and looked at his watch. Dora should have been here by now. A sudden worry seized him; had something happened at the infirmary? Or maybe she was just held up; he could imagine her stopping to help someone with something; she was just that kind of sub. If he left and she showed up, she’d think he’d stood her up. Alastair didn’t want that to happen, so he hung around the class for another hour, more than enough time to convince himself that she wasn’t coming.
He scanned the hallways and stairwells for her. There was no sign, not even in the common area of the lodge. He spotted Cord Weston and remembered that he and Bobbi were Dora’s friends. He went over to where Cord was talking with Lawson Berringer who served as head of Ranch security.
Alastair was loathe to interrupt, but both men graciously paused when he politely interrupted to ask Cord if he’d seen Dora. He said she’d left after playing with Bobbi and as far as he knew she was headed back to the lodge.
“Are you asking about Dora?” Sadie stopped Alastair as he was making his way across the lobby. “I saw her over an hour ago when I came out of my Daddy’s office. She looked kind of upset. I was going to ask her what was wrong, but Moses needed my help with something and by the time we were done, Dora was gone.”
Alastair got an uneasy feeling. “Sadie,” he said, “do you think it would be terribly out of order if I visited her in her quarters?”
“She’s your service sub. I don’t think that would be a problem.” Sadie paused. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to talk to her.”
“Then you should talk to her,” Sadie said, cocking her head, and Alastair couldn’t help but note the knowing look in her eye. Was it apparent that his concern indicated a deeper level of feeling?
He’d never been to the guest rooms wing at the lodge. Like the rest of the building, it was well maintained and welcoming. A service sub he’d seen around the Ranch was letting herself in one of the suites. When he asked her if she knew which room was Dora’s, she directed him to a nearby door. When he knocked on that one, a pretty blonde service sub answered. She was out of uniform and dressed in a tank top and sweats and was eating goldfish crackers out of a box she had tucked under one arm.
“Hello,” she said, looking him up and down.
“Hello.” Alastair cleared his throat. “Is Dora home, Miss…”
“Kit.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
“I’m Alastair Robinson. Dora is my service sub.”
Kit held her ground. “I know who you are, and if you’re the one who made her cry, you can’t come in.”
“Cry? Someone made her cry?”
“Yes. This afternoon. She came in broken-hearted and wouldn’t tell me what happened when I asked.”
“I assure you, I would never make Dora cry.” Alastair realized after the words were out that he spoke them with just the kind of authority that got a sub’s attention. “I’d like to see her. Now.”
“Okay. Sure.” Kit stepped back, her curious gaze following him as he walked in. “That room over there.” She pointed to a door to the right and Alastair headed in that direction. As much as he wanted to just walk in, he didn’t want to violate her boundaries without asking permission.
“Dora?” He rapped softly on the door. “Dora, it’s me. Professor Robinson.”
For a moment he didn’t think she was going to answer. There was no response but just as he was about to give up, the door opened just enough for him to see a sliver of her face. Thick waves of hair partially obscured one bloodshot eye. She’d been crying. He felt his heart lurch to think that she’d been sad and alone while he’d been waiting for her to show up.
“Can I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”
“I… I don’t…”
“Please, Dora.” He sighed, his hand resting on the door. “Please.”
She stepped aside and opened the door. Her room was tidy and feminine but sparse. The only toy was a stuffed rabbit sitting on the bed. She had not come here with much and a sudden, irrational desire swept through him to shower her with books and toys and gifts and trinkets—so many that she’d laughingly joke about how wonderfully cluttered the space had become. The urge to love bomb this woman was intense.
“You were supposed to stop by and bring me something,” he said. “I was worried when you didn’t show.”
“Oh, that.” She looked down. She was wearing a simple pink nightgown with a scalloped neckline and matching robe. Her gaze was fixed on her feet. The toenails were painted the same shade of pink. “I… um. I didn’t get the sticker so I figured I couldn’t get the ice cream.”
“You weren’t brave?”
