Free Hardened by Ashe Barker

trouble might that be, Molly? It is still Molly, I take it?”
    I nod. “Mary’s my real name, but everyone calls me Molly.”
    “And Mrs. Whitkirk? What’s that about?”
    “That’s my married name.”
    “I see. Congratulations. Shall I pour?” He reaches for the cafatière and presses the filter down, his gaze never leaving mine.
    “I offered you coffee once before I seem to recall. You declined.”
    I am unable to tear my gaze from his. “I remember,” I murmur.
    “So, you were saying, you don’t want to cause me any trouble?” He pushes a cup of black coffee across the table toward me. “What did you mean by that, Molly? Help yourself to cream and sugar.”
    I add a generous portion of both to my cup, using the excuse to play for a few extra seconds in which to think. It doesn’t help much. “I meant trouble between you and your wife. Rachel. She’s very nice, by the way.”
    He nods as he helps himself from the cafatière. “She is. But Rachel’s my sister, not my wife.”
    “Oh.” I splash my coffee onto the polished table. “Oh, I see.”
    “Even if Rachel was my wife, I don’t see how an old acquaintance being in the area could cause me a problem. What am I missing here, Molly?”
    I’m at a loss, quite unable to articulate anything remotely sensible. Is that how he remembers me? As an old acquaintance, nothing more? How many crazy assumptions have I made about the attraction between us? It was clearly all one-sided. I’ve spent years fantasising about having kinky sex with a man who barely remembers me.
    “I’m sorry, this was a bad idea.” Mortified with embarrassment, I reach for my bag again. “I really do need to go. I have to get to the station, my train…”
    “I’ll give you a lift. I’ll drive you all the way back to bloody London if I have to but I want an answer. What’s this about, Molly? Why are you really here?”
    I stare at him, feeling rather like a rabbit caught in headlamps. I want to be anywhere but here, but I can’t move. At last I find my voice and I blurt out what’s on my mind. “I wanted to see you. I keep thinking about what happened, that afternoon. I can’t get it out of my head, and it confuses me. I don’t understand.”
    “I’m not surprised you keep thinking about it—a prison riot’s a memorable event. What exactly is it you don’t understand, Molly?”
    “It’s not the riot. I meant I keep thinking about before that, just you and me, and that… that thing… that happened.”
    “Okay. The spanking. Is that it?”
    I nod, as heat prickles up my face.
    “Right then. If you want me to help you, I need to know what the problem is.” His tone is gentler now, his gaze less intense.
    I start to relax, just a little. “You’d help me? Really?”
    “Why would I not?” He appears genuinely surprised at my question.
    “Because of what I did. I got you into trouble, lost you privileges.”
    He laughs out loud. “Molly, I think it’s fair to say I got myself into trouble that day. I did what I wanted to do, and later, when the riot started, I did what I had to do to get you out safely. None of it was your fault.”
    I bristle somewhat. “I was in charge. I was an officer.”
    “Molly, you were so not in charge.” His voice is low, and he leans forward to look at me under his eyebrows. “You did as you were told, and you did it beautifully.”
    “What do you mean?” I detect some greater significance to his words, something I’m just not grasping.
    “You were a submissive. I’m a dom, and I recognised the signs. I pressed a few of your buttons, and off you went.”
    “You manipulated me? Is that what you’re saying?”
    “Yes, that’s about it.”
    “But, you were a prisoner. I was an officer, I took advantage of you. It was unprofessional.”
    He flashes me his dazzling, lopsided grin. “It might have been unprofessional, I leave that for you to decide, but you most certainly didn’t take advantage of me.”
    “My managers