Free On His Terms by Sierra Cartwright Page B

was meant that way, Chelsea.”
    “And…”
    “Go on.”
    “This collar, and the way my wrists are attached…”
    “I’m listening.”
    “It just…” She looked up at him.
    The moisture in her eyes made the green appear more startling. He waited. She frowned, then scowled. She blinked to erase the tears, and he saw her try to reach for her face, only to have the bondage restrict her movements. This woman bore little resemblance to the one who’d approached him so determinedly at the Den. She was softer, more vulnerable, but he also saw her internal confusion about what that meant to her.
    “You were right. I wasn’t prepared for it to be this difficult.”
    He nodded. “It takes a tremendous strength to subject yourself to someone else’s will.” At times, being a Dom, especially a trainer, wasn’t easy, either. It could be an emotional minefield, and he sure as hell wasn’t perfect and didn’t always make the right choices. His failed relationship with Liz reinforced that. “You have a safe word and a way to slow things down. You never have to do anything you don’t want to. And you can end things at any time,” he reminded her.
    She sighed.
    “You’ve never looked more beautiful, with your red behind and your tears.”
    “I’ve never felt more humiliated, with my tears, and knowing I was punished for failing.”
    “You were not punished for failing,” he said, digging his fingers into her reassuringly. He considered having her kneel or sit, but decided to allow her to stand while she sorted through the feelings from the spanking. “You were punished for your attitude.”
    “But if I had practised more—”
    “Practised at all,” he corrected.
    She tried to nod, but the rigid leather around her throat wouldn’t let her. He saw the frustration on her face. This, more than anything he could have possibly done, gave her a taste of what true submission was like. He saw her struggle and silently vowed to hold her until she admitted defeat or triumphed over her internal conflicts.
    “If I had practised at all, I would be better at the whole kneeling thing.”
    “That part concerns me less than your defiance.”
    “I get that.” She swallowed deeply. “At least I think I do. Until now, no one has ever seen me cry.”
    He believed that. “I’m honoured that you’re not hiding that.”
    “I’m freaking trying to, Sir.”
    He smiled, appreciating her honesty. “So not being able to wipe your eyes is as difficult as the tears themselves, and maybe harder than being spanked?”
    “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes.”
    “I’d like you to release your conceptions. Crying means something different to you than it does to me.” He moved one of his hands from her shoulder to her hair. He smoothed strands back from her forehead. “I frankly like it when my trainees cry. To me it signifies she’s giving over some sort of control. It can mean she’s hurt, chastised, or that she’s enjoying the experience. I’ve found it can mean there’s some sort of emotional change going on inside her. It’s real and it’s honest, and I appreciate it when it happens. Tears can be cathartic. You can embrace them or pretend to be brave.” He flattened one palm against the back of her head. “But pretending to be brave will get in your way of embracing everything you’re hoping to find.”
    “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed, Sir,” she admitted.
    “Understandable. I recommend we end the evening early.”
    “I thought we’d be together longer.”
    “That was my original plan. But I want you to take some time to think about what you want and what you’re hoping to achieve through training. I want you to think about whether you’re doing this for you or whether you’re doing it simply to hook a man you think you like.”
    “I—”
    “Hear me out.” He held her tighter. “Doing this for anyone other than yourself will result in failure. That’s not a judgement, that’s a fact.