Chapter 44

I twirl my fork into spaghetti tinted a brilliant green with pesto. Spaghetti is a food which, while I’m
partial to it, I normally reserve for eating in decent privacy. There’s nothing like having sauce down the
front of your shirt to ruin your credibility. However, given the nature of the conversation I want to have…

…. Promised to have….

… with Ryan, I accepted his recommendation.

Won’t do any harm to pass a few compliments to his relative…

And the food is indeed excellent.

“Parmesan?” Ryan passes me the grater. “They make the pesto here. Grow it themselves in the
gardens at the back.”

“Really? Great idea. I’ll suggest it to Michael and Charlotte. He’s looking to build up the hotel restaurant
and she’s looking for excuses to grow things.”

And I dry up.

How the hell to begin this…?

Ryan forks up pasta, chewing, sipping at an excellent white Sauvignon and occasionally glancing up at
me. After a few minutes, he says, “So, what is it can I do for you, James? I gather it’s not related to the
project?”

“No, it’s not. The fact is…”

The fork perches half-way to his mouth. “Yes?”

“We had an incident with Kirstie at work…”



His face clouds over. “An incident? What’s wrong? Her work’s not up to scratch? I’ll talk to…”

I interrupt. “Her work is excellent, and even if it weren’t, it would be Kirstie herself I would speak to
about it, not you.”

His feathers settling, “What then?”

My mouth is dry. I swill a little wine around my mouth. “Kirstie came into work one morning, obviously
upset.” Ryan’s head tilts. “She’d been crying and had tried to cover it up under the make-up. Even if her
position did not place her on the front desk meeting the visitors, that is clearly not acceptable.”

“Crying? What was she crying about?” His expression is neutral, his voice flat.

“You didn’t know?”

“No. I didn’t. If I had, obviously I’d have gotten to the bottom of it myself. So, what did she say?”

“Straight off, nothing, but later she asked to see me.”

His face tightens. “To see you? Why did she want to see you? Is this to do with Charlotte?”

“No.” I scoop up more pasta, chewing slowly to buy myself thinking time. “Kirstie wanted to talk to me in
my capacity as her friend and as a Dom.”

Ryan stiffens. “What?”

“She wanted to ask my advice regarding… her relationship with you.”

His fork clatters to the plate. “Do I understand you correctly? You have been discussing my and
Kirstie’s… private… life?”

“Yes, but…”



“What the fuck is…?” Ryan’s voice rises. Faces turn. He looks around, scowls and leans forward over
the table. But his voice is lower. “What the fuck is my sex life to do with you, James?”

“Nothing at all. Except that the only reason I had the conversation with Kirstie was that she was
obviously distressed, and she asked me for help.”

“What help? Why should Kirstie need your help?” He leans closer, hissing, “You think I don’t know how
you met her? At the clubs in a threesome while you were having your fun and frolics? That was years
ago, and it doesn’t give you the right to…”

I’m growing warm. “She asked for my help. Don’t you want to hear what she had to say?”

Lips pressed flat, bolt upright in his seat, “Alright then, what did she say?”

Resisting my own rising temper…

… which won’t help Kirstie…

“Kirstie is your sub…”

“So?” The syllable could cut metal.

“… and you are her Dom. But as I understand it, you are fairly new to D/s relationships?”

His chin juts then pushes down into his chest.

“So?”

“So… from what Kirstie tells me, I think that perhaps you haven’t caught all the nuances of how a full-
blooded D/s relationship works.”



His voice is rising again; pitch and volume. “What the fuck are you talking about James?” Once more,
heads turn in our direction, this time to meet the flash from his eyes and turn away again. Then, more
circumspectly, “What are you talking about?”

Stay cool…

“Does the phrase ‘The Doms have the control. The subs have the power.’ mean anything to you?”

“I’ve read of it, yes. So?”

That word is beginning to annoy me.

“So, while the Dom has control, it is not unconditional, and it is not without limits. The sub always has
the final say on how far things go; whether we’re talking about the bedroom or day-to-day living...”

He shifts in his seat.

“In a D/s relationship, the sub has a safe word. And if that safe word is used, then it is for the Dom to
stop whatever is happening. Not to question it. Not to get annoyed. To stop. That is at the core of the
relationship.”

Ryan’s not eating. The food lies forgotten in front of him and his hands are fisting. One of the waiters
saunters over, radiating fake nonchalance. “Everything okay, Ry?”

Between gritted teeth, “Fine.”

The waiter looks first to Ryan, then to me. Then he retreats beyond the fall-out zone.

When he’s out of earshot, Ryan’s gaze rises to mine. “What exactly has Kirstie being saying to you?”

“She tells me that…”



Christ…. Choose your words carefully….

“… sometimes, when the two of you are involved, she calls her safe word and you get angry about it.”

His gaze flicks away; face reddening, knuckles turning white.

Can’t leave it there…

Get the message home…

“Ryan, you can’t do that. However much any sub gets from being dominated, when you reach their
limits, you have to stop. That’s how it works. Otherwise, it’s not Domination, it’s bullying; abuse. A safe
word that can’t be used, or is ignored, is not a safe word.”

His eyes, almost black, snap back to mine. Yanking the napkin from his lap he hurls it on the table,
stands and leaves. Curious faces follow him. The waiter glares at me.

That could have gone better…

The spaghetti lies congealed on my plate, the virulent green sauce unappetising, and the cheese
smells sour.

I take a mouthful of the wine, washing it around my mouth, but even that tastes bitter.

Crap…

Flagging down the waiter, I call for the check.

*****



The following morning, Charlotte and I enter Haswell Building. Kirstie is at her station on the main
reception desk. Even from the door her makeup is visibly caked on. I nudge Charlotte. But she’s ahead
of me, already heading for the girl.

And there’s something else…

… which I can’t put my finger on…

Fuck…

She’s not wearing her choker; a thin ribbon of velvet, dangling a single pearl; Ryan’s collar on her.

And it’s gone.

“Mrs Gillis,” I yell across the lobby.

Kirstie’s supervisor waddles out from her office, peering up at me through bottle-bottom spectacles.
“Yes, Mr Alexanders?”

“Could you man the desk, please. I need to talk to Kirstie here.”

She frowns. “It’s not very convenient…”

I lay a hand on her shoulder, giving her my most winning smile…

… Charlotte tilts her head, giving me an old look…

“I’m very sorry to inconvenience you, Mrs Gillis, but I do need Kirstie for a while. Someone has to hold
the fort and I know you’re more than capable of handling anything the job will throw at you.”

She beams through gappy teeth. “Well, yes I can. And since it’s you who’s asking…”



Concealing a shudder at the implication of ‘you’, “Thank you, very much. Come along, Kirstie. Up to my
office.” With a hand in the small of Kirstie’s back, I ease her in the direction of the elevators.

Inside, despite her puffy eyes, she raises a smile. “Told you she fancies you.”

Charlotte jerks her face away, sucking in a smile.

“Kirstie, can we gloss over that, please. The very thought is giving me in-growing toenails.”

She chuckles, just for a moment more like her normal self, then her face crumples. Charlotte wraps an
arm around her.

As the doors open, I thumb Charlotte to take the weeping Kirstie straight into my office, by-passing the
startled glances of Francis and Richard.

Richard drills a look at my office door then transfers it to me. “James?”

I hold up palms. “Not guilty… Well, mainly not guilty…”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I think she’s just given Ryan his marching orders.”

His expression creases. “Ah, that’s a shame. They made such a good couple. Do you know why?”

“Not accepting safe word.”

Richard purses his lips, nodding slowly. “Yup, that’ll do it every time.”

*****


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