Dana set aside the last file, closed her eyes for a moment, then glanced at the clock. It was well past time to close the office; she'd sent Alex home early, though he'd offered to stay. He'd earned an afternoon off before the weekend, anyway. She shut down her laptop and stood to gather her things.
It took only a few minutes to go upstairs. The apartment was quiet, with just the sound of the wind outside to accompany her as she set her briefcase by the couch. She glanced at the fireplace, but decided against a fire; she'd made tentative plans to go to the cottage for the next week or so, and the idea of raking out cold ashes in the morning held no appeal.
She'd just changed into a comfortable shirt, an old pair of leggings and her favorite robe when the intercom buzzed. Dana went to answer it, her mind preoccupied with plans for the weekend. "Yes?"
"Dana."
She went still as shock and awareness coursed through her like some wild flood. On an impulse she didn't want to name she walked out the door, took the lift to the first floor, and hurried through the foyer, past moving boxes and bags of clothing headed for the thrift shop.
Greg stood on the stoop with his phone in hand. At her appearance he lifted his face to hers, startled; he hadn't expected her to respond, that much was clear. It was cold enough for her to see his breath. It matched the slight rise and fall of his chest under his pea coat. Without a word she stood aside. After a moment's hesitation he entered, and didn't look at her as he walked past.
She took him to the office. While she switched on the lights he stood in front of her desk, his gaze directed at the carpet. Dana moved behind the desk and sat in her comfortable office chair. She tilted it back a bit, folded her arms, and waited.
"Pretty mean of you to make me pay the bill at that place where you hang out." Greg's voice was quiet, devoid of its usual mocking edge. When she didn't reply, he shifted his weight and winced a little. "Mind if I sit down?"
Dana inclined her head slightly. Greg rolled his eyes, but he lowered himself into the chair. Once he was settled he stared at her. "Talk. You look ridiculous with that expression on your face."
"What do you want?"
"For you to listen to me instead of getting emotional." His rough voice held impatience, but also a desperation that caught at her. "I said I believe you. If you need me to keep saying it—"
"Why didn't you believe me when I told you at the beginning?"
He didn't want to answer her, it was clear. "It makes no difference now."
"It makes quite a bit of difference, to me at least." Dana kept her gaze on him. He glared at her. "I'd like you to tell me what you were thinking and feeling when you told me to leave."
Just for a moment, she saw fear and defeat in his expression. "You should be able to figure that out for yourself." It came out as a sullen mutter.
"I would rather hear it from you." She marveled at how calm she sounded. "If you require a session, I have time available now."
He didn't reply right away, though his glower dimmed a bit. At last he nodded. "'kay."
She escorted him to the equipment room. "Go to the platform and remove your clothes please."
Greg stopped next to her. "But we—we've already been through all this."
"I am not required to explain myself to you." She kept her tone remote. "While we are in session you will only speak when spoken to. You will also address me as milady."
"Son of a bitch." Now he sounded exasperated. "Come on, Gardener—"
"Those are the usual terms, as you well know. Accept, or decline and leave."
Greg growled under his breath but limped to the platform. "I'll need to keep the cane, milady." He said it without mockery; it was clear he wanted to gain her favor, but he also still respected the rules of the session because he knew now they worked both ways. She remembered the first time he'd come to her, the terror under the bravado. Once she had thought he had learned to truly trust her. Now she would learn if he had.
"Do what you must."
Dana watched as he stripped off everything, including his prosthesis. She hadn't asked him to do so, but he probably thought the shock value of the display would be to his advantage. It was, but not in the way he imagined. Dana looked at his mutilated body and thought of the months of pain and struggle he'd endured. And she'd been shut out of all of it . . . With an effort she concentrated on the task at hand and rose to walk to the platform. Greg watched her, his vivid gaze fixed on her face.
She brought over a padded stool, but he refused it. As she bound him to the cross she breathed in his scent, a familiar mixture of bourbon, tobacco and himself, and found she was too close. With deliberation she moved back and went to the highboy where she kept her tools. She chose a soft doeskin flogger; it had been some time since she'd used one on him, and his pain sensitivity might be elevated.
You must think of him as a patient, nothing more. She took his measure; his pulse rate was up a bit, his breathing shallow. He was nervous too. She gained heart from it as she began her work.
It was astonishing how quickly she slipped into the routine; she knew his vulnerabilities. Dana trailed the flogger over his shoulders, his chest, her movements slow and deliberate. As she worked her way down his belly Greg tipped his head back, eyes closed. His wrists twisted in the padded shackles.
"Why did you tell me to leave?" She ran her hand lightly over his right hip, felt him shudder. He didn't answer. "You were scared, angry, remembering when you woke up from the surgery after the blood clot . . ."
He twisted away from her touch. "If you already know, it's—it's pointless—ahhh . . ." He gasped as she gave his nipples a gentle slap.
"But I don't know." She caressed his right butt cheek, ran her thumb over the dimple. "Tell me."
"Nothing to tell. I—I acted irrationally, I did something—something stupid—" He groaned when she took him in hand. He was half-erect; he trembled in her clasp. Dana worked him gently, then let go. "Milady—"
"You deliberately threw me out of your room and your life because of an emotional moment." She gave him a little smack with the flogger. "I don't believe you."
"What do you want me to say? I can't—can't—" His breath hitched.
"What can't you say?"
"Dammit!" He brought his head down and glared at her. "This isn't about finding out the truth, you just want your pound of flesh for humiliating you!"
Dana almost smiled. She paused and gave him a level stare. "So you believe I'm that shallow. Good to know."
Greg growled and pulled at his bonds. "NO! That's not—I didn't—"
"Then tell me what you mean and stop fucking around." She kept her voice level and cold. "I'll continue to ask until you do."
He stared at her, then turned his face away and licked his lips. He looked exhausted. Dana lowered the flogger. She set it on the tray, took the carafe of water and poured some into a cup. In silence she came closer and offered the water. He moved his head forward as she put the cup to his lips; he drank deep, and then rested his cheek against her fingers. She could feel him shaking.
"When you came in, that morning—I didn't see . . ." He hesitated. "I didn't see you."
"Who or what did you see?"
"I'm . . . I'm not sure." The pain and confusion in his words caught at her. "I don't know why I don't know."
It was a partial truth, but at least he'd given her that much. They could work on the rest later, if he wanted to do so. Dana started to take her hand away, but Greg pressed his lips to her palm. She stopped, shaken by the feel of him, his warm breath. On impulse she leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth. His soft gasp went through her like an electric shock.
"Oh, you fool," she whispered. He made a noise, a ghost of a laugh or a sigh. When she looked at him she saw tears on his lashes; he trembled as he exhaled, a long, slow breath. And just that fast, the overt anger and pain began to leave her. She tried to hold onto them, but they slipped away like sand through her fingers. She watched them go, resigned to the truth of the situation.
"Session's over." Her words were quiet. "What do you want to do now?"
Greg didn't open his eyes. "Stay," he said at last. "I want to stay, milady. Please."
It took her a few moments to speak, but she knew her answer, though she didn't want to give it. "Yes. Stay. Please."