He passed his thumb over her lips. “What’re you thinking, sweetheart?”
“I feel like giving up,” she confessed after a long moment, the truth of it shuddering through her. “I’m afraid to test my limits, see where they actually are. Maybe it’s better not to know. I’m not sure I can handle knowing. I know I’m chickenshit.” She hadn’t said things like this to anyone. Maybe not even to herself. Hearing the words resound in her head now made her afraid as well, wanting to take them back. But he kept that gentle stroke on her face, soothing the scars, lulling the memory of them.
“Yeah, you are a little bit. Hell, anybody would be. But you know what? You could have busted my ass at the car rental place. You didn’t. You were brave enough to do this, Dana. I know you felt like it was easier to jump into a firefight with your sight and hearing, knowing who and what you are, than to face the uncertainty of where you’re going now, what you can be.”
“How would you know that?” she managed.
Pressing his forehead to hers, he cupped her face with both hands as she lifted hers to close on his wrists. “Because it’s how I would feel. Only I’d be a lot more scared, because guys always think we have to be the biggest and the strongest.” She stifled a half chuckle, half sob. “Yeah, you called that right.” But she kept her forehead pressed to his, and for now, he seemed content to stay there, tracing her ears, letting her get her emotions under control, until she straightened on her own. She set her jaw, moved back to the bench, though it was hard to leave the proximity of those long, clever fingers. “Let’s set the pin higher for the next one.”
“No. Once you do a full workout at this range without it exhausting you so much, we go up. Maybe in a few days. You do it gradual, sweetheart.” But in two days, she’d be gone. Unless she decided to stay.
“Believe me, I’m just as eager for you to get back into shape.” His tone changed. “I don’t want anyone making fun of your ass. I’d have to beat them up, even though I kind of agree that your ass is a little spongy right now.”
Picking up the two-pound girly weight she was sure he’d dug up for her, unless he did finger or toe lifts, she hurled it in the direction of his voice. At his satisfying grunt, she put her hands on her hips. “You don’t know what a fine ass is, white boy.”
“Oh, yeah? I know an attack on a superior officer when I feel it.” She recognized the mock threat in his voice, and was off the bench, backing up into a more open space. He’d given her the room’s layout, and unlike the apartment, she could recall everything. Her hand followed the wall as she anticipated his approach, though of course she couldn’t hear his steps unless he approached like a clog dancer.
It didn’t matter. Launching the sparring match with a frontal attack, he kept her moving, back and forth across the mats. He called out his moves beforehand, letting her know when they were approaching the boundaries of the room, but like everything else, he pushed her a little past where she thought she could go. Whiny, pathetic Dana might have wanted to drop to the mat and surrender. But a stronger, older Dana surfaced, remembering her training, refusing to get cowed when she lost her balance from her hearing or sight loss handicap. Every time she did, he was there, catching her, bringing her back to her feet, keeping her going until she was winded again.
And feeling better, despite it all.
An hour later they sat side by side on the screened porch, eating breakfast. Well, he sat, while she wilted into a chair like a limp rag. She had managed to help him in the kitchen, bringing him things and getting familiar with the layout there. Despite her weariness, she was ravenous, probably for the first time in months.
“You a good cook?”
She stopped in midbite. “Yes. Well, I was.”
“What, you don’t think you are anymore? Did you lose your memory?”
“Yes, I can cook,” she grated, tearing the toast in half and finding the jelly.
“Make me one of those as well.” He put his slice of toast next to her hand, guiding her fingers to it. “I like it pretty thick.”
“Why do you want to know if I can cook?”
“Well, if you only want to sit in a house for the rest of your life, I figured you could cook and clean for me, be my sex slave. It’ll be a win-win.” She bared her teeth in his direction. “Fuck off, Captain.”
“Feisty. Your mouth gets you in trouble a lot, Sergeant.” He touched her lips, though, brushed her cheek with his knuckles in a tender gesture that made her want to dip her head into his hand again. Feel his pulse and strength through his fingers, the warmth and support. Instead she cleared her throat and returned to her breakfast.
“So, I’m doing better this morning. Maybe we shouldn’t go out tonight, you know. No need to rush things.”
As the silence drew out, she cursed her mistake, even as her toes curled at the pause. She swallowed, something new rising up in her. “I’m sorry, Master. I’m trying to control things again.”
“Yes, you are. Let it happen again and you’ll finish up your workout with your glutes smarting from something other than squats.”
He’d said it wasn’t her job to worry. She was supposed to follow orders. He was right.
She’d gone, eyes wide-open, into a firefight. Why going into a BDSM club could so terrify her, she didn’t know, but it had been this way since her injury. Without her eyes, her hearing so diminished, things frightened her so much more easily. But in a short time, he’d shown her there were things she could detect that others couldn’t, and those senses could help her. But she still feared the helplessness, the possible abyss that could yawn before her, swallowing her before she knew it was there.
She put down her sandwich, reached out. He was sitting next to her, and yet it was still a gratifying surprise to feel his hand close over hers instantly. “I’m scared, Master. Really, really scared.”
It was hard to admit, even without seeing his face. The words nearly strangled her. But then his arms were around her, sliding her onto his lap so he could rock her.
“I know, sweetheart. I wish I could take away your fear, but the only way I know to do it is to help you face it. I’d face it for you if I could.” The truth of it was in the fierceness in his voice, a depth of feeling she wasn’t sure she could handle, let alone believe. He tightened his grip on her. “It takes years for a Master to earn the trust I’m asking for from you. But I know how tough you are, deep inside. I know you want to trust me. I’m not going to do anything to let you down, all right?” He pressed a kiss to her temple; then she felt his lips curve. “What if I promise to keep your mind and luscious body so occupied with terribly sinful thoughts, fear won’t have a chance of sliding into your mind?”
She wasn’t sure anything could eliminate all worry from her mind, but she was more than willing for him to try. When she managed another nod, he slid his hands down her back, squeezed a buttock. “Finish your breakfast. Time to take you on a boat ride.” Peter knew she was afraid. He ached to tell her that she didn’t have to do anything, that he’d protect her from everything. Every instance of pain or fear she had tore him apart inside. She’d had months, but it was still new to him. He wanted to grieve with her for what she’d lost, let her know the utter terror he’d felt at the idea of her being gone from his life before she’d really fully entered it.
Instead, he went back into the bedroom, took a few steadying breaths, and then brought her jeans to her, along with a long-sleeved knit cotton top borrowed from Cass’s younger sister, who was a similar size to Dana. Next he applied bug spray, a necessary preparation for poling through the bayou abutting his property. The lemon insecticide had a smell strong enough to make her nose wrinkle, but helping her smooth it into her forearms, the slim neck and her ankles above the socks of her small sneakers, made him want to touch her more. Though he’d found an avenue through her wary shields through Dominance and submission, he wasn’t playing kung fu Master to her Grasshopper. He wanted to fuck her senseless, detonate an emotional and physical explosion that would deplete both of them. He wasn’t a saint, for Christ’s sake.
Getting outside on the boat dock and into the boat helped settle him, though things far deeper than his cock were stirred by their drifting progress as they poled away from the pilings. She hadn’t felt comfortable sitting on the opposite bench, so he eased her to her knees in the bottom of the wooden craft, between his feet. As he moved through the marshland he loved, she pillowed her head on his knee, her hands loosely wrapped around his calf. Dana noted the myriad bird and insect life, asked him to identify the calls and warbles that were loud enough for her to hear. He told her about the others, tried to imitate them and almost coaxed a laugh out of her. She registered humidity and temperature, depending on whether they were poling through quiet shadows or bright, lazy sun patches.
Though she’d sneered at the compensatory benefit of her heightened senses, she unconsciously reached for those abilities. As they passed under the branches hanging over the water, she felt the lace of Spanish moss teasing their shoulders. When she trailed her fingers in the water, he watched the flow through the slim digits, the pull of cotton across her breasts as she twisted. He’d refused to let her wear a bra, wanting the pleasure of her nipples. The temptation of those peaks made him want to press her back on the bench, lift the shirt and suckle her, let her sigh and squirm as the boat drifted.
But her head was back on his knee, her fingers idly playing with the seam of his jeans’
leg. She was getting sleepy, and that was okay. He wanted every day to be like this. He wanted to go to work, knowing she was going to be part of his life at the end of the day, on the weekends. Maybe she’d call him at lunch, from whatever job she’d be doing. He knew she was too damn smart to settle for sitting in a chair listening to the piercing shrieks of swamp birds, though there were few things more pleasurable to do on a lazy afternoon than that.