Free Still by Ann Mayburn

ensuing weeks, he’d pulled it out dozens of times, looking at the elegant scrawl of her handwriting. The paper retained a trace of her perfume, an elusive hint of the woman who’d once touched it. When his brother-in-law had asked him who to call Wyatt told him to grab Doc’s card and call her. Sure, he’d been really drunk at the time, but hadn’t he been waiting for an opportunity to call her? A time when it wouldn’t have to be him doing the talking, but someone else? A random third party who could say the words he’d been choking on, that he needed help…that he needed her with a desperation that scared him.
    Splashing his face with hot water he tried to wash away the invisible grime that always seemed to coat his skin after drinking. As he dried his neck, he wondered what was on the paper she’d said waited for him in her drawer. She must have written it before she came to pick him up, and that made him curious as to how she’d been so sure he would stay the night. Then again, he’d always been a complete fool when it came to Doc, and he was pretty sure she knew it.
    With a sigh he tossed the wet washcloth into the hamper and slowly opened the door to the bedroom. She was still deep asleep and he envied her the ability to relax like that. Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, he grabbed the envelope with his name on it from the side table. The room was too dark to read, so he went out into the hallway and closed the door after himself.
    Not sure where to go, he wandered down the hall following the bright light coming from a glass door. Gauzy curtains hung down over the other side of the doorway and he wondered what they concealed. Curious, he opened the door and parted the curtains. Humid warmth bathed him and he stepped forward, grinning as soon as he got on the other side. He’d never seen a room like this in person before.
    It was a conservatory, a greenhouse with high, vaulted ceilings. Easily twice the size of his living room, the smooth stone floors were warm beneath his feet as he wandered to the center of the room. Tall palm trees almost touched the glass roof, and exotic flowers grew everywhere in raised beds that somehow looked like natural rock formations. A small pond bubbled over in the corner and the glass window-walls looked out onto a vast field enclosed by a wooden fence.
    A trough sat near the house and he figured that this must be one of the grazing pastures for her horses. In the center of the room stood a collection of wrought iron furniture covered with overstuffed cushions done in a delicate and utterly feminine floral pattern. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he realized that the gauzy curtains at the entrance to the room served a purpose.
    Not only was this a greenhouse, it also appeared to be a butterfly habitat. Now that he was paying attention, he noticed dozens of different butterflies either flitting about or sitting on leaves and flowers, their elegant wings slowly opening and closing. He made his way over to one of the chairs and sat down, awed by the sheer beauty of this place and the kind of mind that could have imagined it in the first place.
    He blew out a low breath and fingered the envelope, turning it over and over, wondering what it contained. A butterfly landed on the black wrought iron table in front of him, a beautiful specimen with wings like black velvet, spattered with bright blues and golds. When he opened the envelope it took off, leaving him alone with her words.
    Dear Wyatt,
    I have a proposition for you, one that I think will be mutually beneficial. For the next month I want you to become my submissive, to serve me as I desire, to give over all the control to me and trust me to take care of you. If, after that month, we decide to maintain our D/s relationship we will discuss a new contract and set of terms.
    His cock certainly seemed to enjoy the thought. Blood rushed to his groin as he imagined different scenarios with her,