ROAR (29 page)

“No and no, Sir. And, yes, it is a waste of my time to worry and takes me away from paying full attention to you.”

“Exactly. I will say you performed better than I expected you to do when you had actions to perform. I’m pleased you’ve only racked up the six for dropping the crop plus another six for inattentiveness and letting your mind wander several times.”

His words of praise were lost momentarily as she continued worrying about what he would use to deliver those dozen strokes, but she pulled her errant thoughts back, cleared her mind, and waited.

Roar rose from his reclining position to his knees and crawled off the pillows to stand outside the harem tent’s entrance. She waited some more. After a moment, he said, “Crawl out, Sprite.” When she reached the edge, before she placed her hand onto the marble flooring, he reached for her arm. “Stand.” He helped her to her feet, making sure she was steady before releasing her.

“Follow me.” He turned toward the corner, and she followed until he stopped. “Tell me why you’re being disciplined.”

“For my inability to maintain my focus on you and for allowing the crop to fall from where you had asked me to hold it for you.”

He nodded and reached into his robes to pull something out. Placing a quarter on the wall, she knew her punishment immediately. He commanded that she press her nose against the coin and keep it from slipping away from her.

Why couldn’t he just paddle her with a crop or spank her with his hand?

You are not to question his actions.

The coin was placed slightly higher than where her nose would be with her feet flat on the ground, so she stood on tiptoe.

“Twelve minutes. You will remain attentive to the position of the coin. If it falls, you’ll begin again until you complete a stint of twelve consecutive ones.”

Nothing was going to distract her from
this
assignment. Only a dozen.
I’ve got this!
The coin was warm from where it had been against his skin, she supposed. After some unknown amount of time, Pamela began sweating and worried that the coin would slip, so she pressed it even harder.

Focus.

Roar would let her know when the punishment had been completed to his satisfaction. He said nothing, but she was certain he stood directly behind her.

Don’t think about him or anything but the quarter!

A hitch in her shoulder made her twitch, and the coin clanged to the floor. Damn it!

“Five and a half.”

That’s all?

“Straighten up.” Pamela corrected her posture, and he worked the kinks out of her shoulders with strong, sure hands. He gave an excellent shoulder rub. She cringed when, all too soon, he placed the coin against the wall again and indicated for her to move forward again and hold her nose there.

“Let’s make it to a full count this time.”

Focusing her mind on one simple task was more difficult than she thought. Determined not to fail him again, she gave it her best. Nothing existed in the world right now but her nose and this coin.

Before she knew it, Roar spoke. “Time.”

A sense of elation soared through her, but she hadn’t been instructed to pull away yet. He chuckled. “Very good, Sprite.” He stood behind her, his body warm against her chilled backside, and held her face between his hands as he pulled her away from the wall, letting the quarter drop to the floor unheeded.

“You did well that second time. I’m proud of you.” When he lowered his hands, she wished he’d touch her again, but knew tonight had been far beyond his comfort zone. “Let’s get dressed, and we’ll go out to the great room for a while to discuss tonight’s exercises.”

With a mixture of satisfaction borne of pleasing him and pride in having maintained her focus better tonight than she had in the past with him, she returned to the dressing area and tossed the costume into the bin marked laundry. After changing into the clothes and shoes she’d worn here tonight, she followed Roar to the great room where music poured from speakers near the stage. She kept her gaze on the floor once more as he held out a chair for her. She’d hoped to be his
lap decoration
again, because he never made her feel humiliation. But, instead, she felt him pull away.

“Would you care for something more than water now?”

“Yes, Sir. A Wallbanger, please.”

He laughed and walked over to the bar to retrieve their drinks. She listened to the music and conversations flowing around her. Roar hadn’t told her what to do other than wait for him, but she assumed she was not to make eye contact with anyone.

He returned with their drinks. “What are your thoughts about tonight’s scene, Sprite? You can look at me when you speak.”

She met his gaze and smiled. “My mind did wander some, but not as badly as it usually does. Being in the private room with fewer distractions helped, I think. And you didn’t allow me to go too long without bringing me back to the moment. I’m surprised at how quickly you pick up on the fact that my mind is drifting.”

He smiled, but didn’t reveal his secrets. “Was there anything that made you uncomfortable?”

“When I thought you’d fallen asleep and that I might be there until the club closed.” Again, he only smiled enigmatically, keeping her guessing as to whether he actually
had
fallen asleep.

Whatever the next few weeks held, no doubt Roar would have a profound effect on her psyche.

L
ater that evening, Kristoffer tossed back a double scotch and stared out the window. He tried not to reflect back on his time with Pamela tonight in the harem room, but images of his little sprite bombarded him nonetheless.

Not his.

But as long as he was committed to training her, he needed to at least consider her his bottom, if not his submissive. She’d improved greatly in her concentration skills. Perhaps he’d be able to finish working with her soon, and his world would return to normal again.

What? Predictable and dull?

Pamela was neither. She made him feel…
alive
again, for lack of a better term.

And with that came feelings of hurt, pain, and loss—all of the emotions he’d tried to tamp down over the past few years. Every minute he spent with Pamela opened up wounds he thought had healed over—or at least no longer festered. She stirred everything up again.

Reawakening feelings displaced the guilt he’d carried so long. Tori would want him to get back in the game, not cut himself off and be numb to life.

But allowing himself to feel again meant making some decisions about Tori he didn’t want to face. While he would do nothing to hasten her departure from this world, he also couldn’t see anyone ever replacing her in his heart.

Yet Pamela opened up a door to a world he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much. Inherently, he was a Dom. He wanted to explore that world again, even if he couldn’t do so with the woman he loved.

This realization hadn’t only been born as a result of the momentary thrill he’d experienced today watching Pamela as she crawled panther-like toward him, her green eyes sparkling with…he didn’t want to put a name to it for fear he’d misjudged the look. While he tried to make it clear what his limits were as far as a commitment to her, sometimes he thought perhaps she wanted more than he could offer.

Or was that merely wishful thinking on his part? Most likely, he was reading things into her eyes that weren’t there.

And while being an active Dom to someone again charged him up, some of the times that stood out most were dining out or sharing a love of jazz music with her. The key? Doing those things
with
someone. They held no meaning when done alone.

Going through the motions alone had never fed his soul the way spending time with Tori had.

Now, with Pamela, he’d begun to find joy again. After learning firsthand how fleeting life could be, he no longer took such moments for granted as he might have done before the accident.

Kristoffer set the empty glass on the coffee table and made his way to the bedroom. After removing his clothes and crawling into bed, he tried to read but couldn’t focus. Setting the book back on the nightstand, he saw the business card he’d received last night from a grief counselor named Rick something or other who was making the rounds at the nursing home and talking with caregivers. He’d chatted with the man a bit—about nothing in particular—but the two had hit it off.

He picked up the card and stared at the name and number. Would scheduling an appointment to talk about these conflicting emotions help in any way? He wasn’t actually grieving.

Okay, maybe I am. Finally.

Tori wasn’t coming back to him. Time to accept that and move on.

He didn’t so much want to talk with Rick about coping with Tori’s situation. He’d done that for years. Nothing had changed there.

Instead, he wanted to discuss these new emotions he was experiencing and explore this developing relationship with Pamela. Her presence in his life this past month had brought about this unsettling shift in his mindset. The more time they spent together, the more he wanted to be with her. A year ago, the thought of spending time with another woman would have scared the shit out of him, because the thought of replacing Tori made him physically ill.

But now I’m…tired.

Tired of being alone, of having no one to carry on a two-way conversation with, no one to hold who could hug him back, no one to care for who knew he existed. Gunnar tried but he had a full plate dealing with so many fronts. While he made time for Kristoffer whenever he needed him, Kristoffer didn’t want to burden his cousin.

Face it. Women are different.

Pamela only wanted something it was easy for him to give her and still maintain his dignity. All she asked for was to spend time with him socially and for submissive training. No sexual demands, which helped. He couldn’t handle that type of relationship yet, if ever.

So why did feelings of guilt continue to bombard him? Could a therapist bring resolution to the conflicted emotions he was experiencing? Help him find answers?

Doubtful.

He put the card down again, but it continued to nag at him for a long time as he tried to find a comfortable position. It wouldn’t hurt to schedule a session and see what he had to offer. The walls of his self-imposed prison were closing in on him. Gunnar had been telling him to start living again for years, but Pamela had been the first to show him he wasn’t dead yet.

Would he take a counselor’s advice if he saw him? Is that even how therapy worked? From scenes he’d seen on TV, the counselor was more a sounding board than a dispenser of wisdom, but talking to someone who didn’t have a vested interest in whatever he decided to do might help. Rick said he helped caregivers move on if they weren’t living to the fullest because they’d become stuck in working through the stages of grief. He’d probably be good at understanding people like Kristoffer with a loved one in a persistent vegetative state.

Maybe it was time to reach out. He’d call for an appointment in the morning. Merely making that commitment helped push back the restlessness, and he turned onto his side and fell asleep.

After a dreamless sleep, he woke up with no reason to change his mind. Dressed in his suit, as he’d done for years to remind himself he was still a financial advisor, even if he had only one client and worked from home, he walked to his office at the other end of the condo and glanced around. Sterile, cold, not a single functional object out of place.

Much like my life has been since Tori was ripped away so suddenly.

Kristoffer wanted to rejoin the living, not simply go through the motions. Picking up the card again, he called the number and scheduled an appointment for tomorrow.

With that chore behind him, maybe he could get some real work done. But first, he texted Pamela a new assignment.

KRISTOFFER:
Journal about something you need that might only benefit you directly. Be specific.

He’d be interested in seeing what she identified when he met with her tonight. She tended to put her needs on a back burner in order to serve and meet the needs of others. Would she be able to identify a need of her own? If so, would he able to fulfill that need?

*     *     *

Pamela read her texted assignment on her way back from the gym. She’d joined in an effort to build stamina so she could go back to work and finish her contract. Even though the hospital in Afghanistan had no openings for her in July, they thought she might be able to replace one of the surgeons in late August.

After a quick lunch, she went to work on the assignment. Instead of immediately diving into an entry she’d be willing to share with Roar, she journaled for an hour about a fantasy she’d like to fulfill with Kristoffer. As if that could ever happen.

Why hadn’t she been able to separate her wants from her needs?

And why was it so blasted hot in here? She set the notebook aside. The central air was barely keeping the temperature inside her top-floor apartment comfortable on this unseasonably warm day.

Oh, let’s be real, Pamela. You’re not hot because of the mid-eighties temperature outside. You’ve suffered through temps a lot hotter where air conditioning was nonexistent.

No, she was horny. Since she was still on orders from Roar to take afternoon naps, she went into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. Not one to let sexual frustration, heat, or boredom get the best of her, she reached for her vibrator in the nightstand drawer, remembering the words she’d written describing her fantasy.

Kristoffer, I have this need at the moment that only you can help me with.

She grinned at her silly words. Good thing he didn’t ask to see her notebook entries, but allowed her to share what she wanted to with him. Deciding that fantasies involving Kristoffer might make her time with him a little too weird, she opened her e-reader to continue a reread of the sexiest BDSM club series by her favorite author. Soon she was so wrapped up in the story again—trying her best not to picture the Dom as Kristoffer and failing miserably—that she forgot both about the assignment and her need for release.