‘Yeah, the cane would hurt, but I don’t … I can’t really explain it, Lu–, sorry, ma’am, but I don’t really …’
‘What?’
‘I’m good at cutting myself off from pain,’ he said. ‘I’m good at not letting anything touch me.’
I wound a leather thong round and round my finger, taking this in.
‘That’s weird,’ I said. ‘How the hell do you do it? I wish I could.’
‘No, you don’t.’ He was still bent over the bed, talking to the pillows at its head. ‘It’s an overrated skill. But you’d have to pretty much kill me to get a real reaction from me.’
Why did this make me want to run over and hold him in my arms, why? After everything he had done, he could still wrap me round his little finger.
‘Do you have any kind of explanation for that?’ I asked, coming to sit on the side of the bed, so I could see his face. I put the flogger down. This clearly wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But you said you didn’t want to get involved. So it wouldn’t be fair to tell you.’
‘You’re a bastard,’ I said, outmanoeuvred again. He had made me do what I had vowed not to. He had made me care about him again.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Don’t you want to hit me some more?’
‘No. There’s no point.’
‘But you’re still up for the collaring plan?’
‘Yes. About that … oh, for God’s sake, get up, pull your pants up. I feel like bloody Cruella de Vil.’
‘I’d never confuse the two of you.’ He hitched up his trousers and the little trace of blush on his cheeks was enchanting.
‘Great hair, though,’ I remarked.
‘I prefer yours.’
‘Shut up.’ That interval of eye contact had gone on far too long and needed a rude interruption of some kind.
‘So, anyway,’ he said, throwing himself into an armchair and inviting me to do the same in its opposite number. ‘What did you want to say to me? About the collaring?’
I took a breath.
‘I want to make sure you’re clear about what’s on the table,’ I said.
He looked over at his dressing table, as if that was what I was talking about. He had a great collection of after-shaves and colognes scattered across it, plus a not-so-impressive collection of miniature spirits bottles.
‘Not that table,’ I said, rolling my eyes.
‘Maybe the long table in the great hall?’ he suggested. ‘You can get a hell of a lot on that.’
‘No, not that one either,’ I said severely. ‘It’s a metaphorical table and it’s really rather small. More of an occasional table – the one at the bottom of the nest that you can fit maybe a cup of coffee and a small side plate on.’
‘What’s on the side plate?’
‘A scone. I don’t know. Stop it. I don’t want you making me laugh right now.’
‘Sorry. You’re making my mouth water, though. Strawberry jam and clotted cream. Could we discuss this over a cream tea?’
‘No.’
I was becoming a little agitated at his derailing of my serious conversation and he could see it. He looked down at his crossed legs then shot me a contrite look from beneath lowered lashes.
‘Sorry. You should have whipped me harder. Go on, then. The floor’s yours. And the table.’ His humble apology was spoiled somewhat by the little snort of mirth that accompanied his final words, but I chose to ignore it.
‘I want to make it crystal clear that I don’t expect us to have sex.’
That wiped the grin off his face.
‘What? But I don’t know how that’s …?’
‘Possible? Of course it is.’
‘But if we’re going to convince His Nibs that we have a true bond …’
‘Orgasm denial? Chastity devices? You must have heard of them. Tell him that’s what we practise.’
Momentarily lost for words, he merely stared at me. I began to feel intimidated.
‘No,’ he said, his senses at last catching up with his shock. ‘No, that wouldn’t work. The sub can be denied orgasms – but not the dom. Orgasm denial is a challenge – you still have to have sex with me, you just don’t get to come.’
‘How dull. Still, it takes all sorts, I suppose. Chastity belts, then?’
‘You really want to go there?’
‘No, I don’t really want to, but I don’t think you deserve to get your grubby little mitts on me and so …’
‘OK.’ He swallowed. ‘I understand why … I really do. I just don’t think this can work without sex … look, Lu, I’ve no right to ask this of you but …’
He broke off. I had a bad feeling, and I was bracing myself to shout ‘No’ over the howling gale of ‘Yes, yes, take me, yes’ that would be howling in my head.
‘Can I try and prove myself worthy of you?’
It was not what I’d expected and I sat up, a strange swoony feeling in my head.
‘Prove yourself worthy of me? How? What do you mean?’
‘Like, I don’t know, a quest. Something my mediaeval descendants might have known all about. If only I could get advice from them. But I get the feeling I’ll need to do more than slay dragons or triumph at the joust to win your favours.’
‘You’re insane,’ I said, after a pause for consideration, but I couldn’t let him see the melting core of me so I made my voice as hard as I could.
‘No, I think it would restore my sanity, actually,’ he said eagerly. ‘For example, you’ve already demanded that I deal with my drinking. That’s a hell of a quest on its own. I wouldn’t do it for anybody – but I’m prepared to do it for you.’