“No, no, Cassandra. Stop, honey. Listen. Your dress is fine. Not messed up or anything.” He slid a long gaze from her toes to her shoulders and back down again, pausing at her hips for moment that seemed to last an eternity. “It’s just very form-fitting.” He backed away a bit but didn’t release her hand. “That’s all.”
I was right. It’s too tight. Even with the Spanx. Under the lights, the red must make my dimples even more obvious. Oh, hell.
She took a step away from him. “I need to go…uh…check on Bunny. Thank you for the dance, Samson. It was nice seeing you again,” she murmured as she plucked her hands from his, not even giving him a chance to reply before she walked on stiff legs across the dance floor.
“Cassandra,” he called after her, but she didn’t look back.
Depression settled on her like a stifling blanket as she slipped in through a different set of French doors and hurried upstairs to collect her purse and other belongings. The wedding cake top had already been carefully wrapped by the Hazelle House staff and was in storage in the large kitchen freezer. Her duties were finished.
She made excuses to her friends, bid a puzzled Bunny and Joseph a safe journey and many blessed years together, and hurried out to the front, evading another confrontation with Samson when she spotted him talking to Travis and Hank in the lounge.
The valet was quick in pulling her car around to the front and seemed happy with the generous tip she gave him for aiding her hasty exit.
Her mood continued to plummet in a manner she hadn’t experienced since before Bill had divorced her. Had she really lost so much appeal? Why did what one man thought of her hurt so bad?
He’s not just any man. He’s the knight in shining armor of my memories. And I’m older, rounder, and past my prime.
* * * *
Hours later, in a different part of Hazelle House from where the wedding and reception had taken place, Samson hooked Victoria’s padded suspension cuffs to the chains hanging from the ceiling and then flicked the switch to lift her until just the pads of her toes touched the floor.
He squeezed her upper arms, checking for tension. “Feel all right?” He checked her grip on the bar inside the cuff and made sure she could reach the emergency release snap.
“Yes. Thank you for doing this on a moment’s notice, Samson. I needed it.”
Samson patted her tense shoulder. “It’s my pleasure. I’m glad Joseph decided to open the club after the reception was over. Did you hydrate like I asked?”
She gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir. Taken care.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, not surprised. When they got together for play, she was usually well prepared. “You’re very tense tonight.”
“I stretched in the locker room first, but every time I try to clear my mind, I keep reliving this afternoon in the operating room. I just…need your help with it.”
“I understand. I’ll start out slow.”
“Samson, you don’t have to—”
He grabbed on the loose knot of hair pulled up at the back of her head, ready to get started. “What did you call me?” He didn’t personally give a rat’s ass what she called him since they didn’t have a Dom/sub arrangement, but it was important to have her in the proper mindset before the fun started.
A breath rushed from her lips, and she smirked. “Sir, I meant Sir. You don’t need to go slow with me—”
“Wouldn’t you agree we’ve known each other long enough for me to know what you need and how you need it?”
She bit her lip, probably trying to hide a smile judging by the way her lips curled, and then she said, “Well, yes, Sir, but—” She twined her ankles, and he felt the vibration running through her body as anticipation built up.
“Excellent, I’m glad you agree, and now I know what else you need.”
She grew still as he released her, and he felt her eyes on him as he reached into his toy bag and pulled the cellophane from the brand-new ball gag before retrieving the spreader bar hanging on the wall nearby. He turned and faced her. “What’s your safe word?”
Victoria caught herself in mid-eye-roll and snickered. “Red,” she murmured, but her attitude, which was actually encouraging to him, clearly said, as if—with a cocked hip.
She’d called him a couple of hours before from the OR where she’d just lost a patient and asked him if he was available. When he’d told her he was already at the club, he’d heard the tears in her voice when she agreed to his suggestion that she come right over. A masochist, whose talent happened to be healing the hearts of premature and often as-yet-unborn infants. The losses happened, and when they did, he was around to help her out.