Tymber Dalton - Cardinal's Rule

That didn’t tell her as much as she’d like, but she let it go. “I noticed your phone number isn’t local.”

“It will change soon. We’re moving here from Los Angeles. I have our place there on the market.”

From behind the safety of her dark glasses she watched his face. He looked too pale for someone from L.A., too drawn.

“Are there any health issues I need to be made aware of, Mr. LaCroux?”

He wanly smiled. “I start a regimen of cancer treatments next week. A biopsy first, probably followed by surgery, then chemo and radiation as warranted. I have not told slave this yet and would appreciate your discretion. If your question is are we HIV negative, yes, we are negative. I can give you copies of my most recent medical chart, and slave’s last check-up from three months ago, if you’d like them. No HIV, no hepatitis or other conditions. We are monogamous, and have been in the five years since our reunion. Other than my cancer, we are both healthy. And I assure you, you cannot catch my colon cancer, Mistress Cardinal.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry.” She softened her tone, the man before her now humanized in a way he hadn’t been before. “Will they be able to cure it?”

He shrugged. “Hopefully. Time will tell. I survived a bout of colon cancer a few years ago. My doctors are optimistic but there are, of course, never any guarantees.”

She picked up a hint of something else. “You want him to be able to respond to another Master or Mistress, don’t you? In case you…” She couldn’t complete her observation once the full weight of it slammed home. She genuinely felt sympathetic toward him.

He tipped his head in a nod. “You’re extremely perceptive, Mistress Cardinal. That’s why I feel slave will benefit in your very capable hands. I don’t wish to turn him over to another Owner if I’m not sure he can be completely open with them. I also don’t wish to leave him…adrift, should the circumstances turn against me. He needs a firm hand.”

“Most of my clients aren’t serious players. They just like a little humiliation or domination on occasion. You sound like a serious twenty-four/seven relationship.”

“I own slave. He gave himself to me. I do not take that responsibility lightly. He owns nothing in his name. He works for my company. We have a contract specifying my rights over him as his Master and Owner.”

She knew serious players. Ross and Loren, for example. She’d been one herself, what felt like a lifetime ago. Before…

“Mr. LaCroux, if you want vicious, I’ll be vicious. Short of anything that would permanently mark or disfigure him, I will use him. He’ll have a safeword. If he utters it, breathes it, thinks it, the session ends immediately and doesn’t restart. I won’t refund money if he safewords, even if it’s only five minutes into the session.”

“He will not safeword, I can assure you.”

She had a feeling that wasn’t just bullshit braggadocio either. “Where is he right now?”

“He’s in our hotel room, naked, kneeling on the tile bathroom floor, waiting for me.”

She hoped she kept the shock off her face. “How do you know he’s really doing it?”

“Because I paid the maid cleaning our room one hundred dollars to randomly check on him several times. I also invited her to let some of her fellow maids take a look at him and make fun of him.

I told her it was a hazing ritual.”

“Creative.”

“He despises humiliation. I normally don’t use it with him, but under the circumstances, he has earned harsh treatment. It’s part of his ongoing punishment until I turn him over to your capable hands.”

“It’s not my hands I’ll be using on him.”

He looked amused. “I’m counting on that.”

They agreed upon Wednesday afternoon at five o’clock. Landry would bring slave, as he requested the man be addressed, to her house, leave after the initial negotiation, and return for him at six.

She ran a few errands before heading home. Bob would stop by that evening and she had to admit she looked forward to it.

Maybe she’d finally started healing. Long overdue, but the fact that Bob crossed her mind when he wasn’t in front of her hadn’t happened with any other client.

Or any other man. Well, other than…

She nixed that thought.

He showed up, precisely on time. Bob never arrived late. All afternoon, something had pecked at her mind about him. She decided to find out. Instead of making him kneel like she normally would, she asked him to follow her to the breakfast nook and indicated for him to sit at the table across from her.

He held her chair for her first, like the good boy he was.

She studied his face for a long moment. Blue eyes, nice body, handsome looks. No movie star, but no slouch either.

Scening with him lately made her wet, and that didn’t happen with any other sub. The only thing since her loss that inspired something remotely approaching passion in her otherwise emotionally dead body.

“I’d like to ask you something and I want an honest answer, not some bullshit you think I want to hear. Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I know you’re divorced, but are you dating or involved with anyone?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I’m too busy.”

“You find time to see me.”

“I need to see you.”

She leaned back in her chair and studied him for a moment. “Why?”

“I can’t afford to be outed. If I have a choice between spending my free time seeing you to get what I need, or spending my time trying to troll bars or Craigslist for a date, I’d much rather spend it with you.”

Well, I wanted honesty. “If I was someone you met somewhere, outside of our business arrangement, am I someone you would go out with?”

He hesitated to answer.

“I want honesty. Regardless of your answer, it won’t count against you in any way.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.” Now she wished she hadn’t asked. She had a feeling her ego was about to get slammed into the fucking basement.

“I think you’re beautiful. If the situation were different, I would do nearly anything for a chance to go out with you.”

Oh.

Oh!

“Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

She sat back and studied him some more, not sure if she liked the way his answer made her feel.

The anticipation.

Hope.

She didn’t want to feel hope. Hope was for chumps. Hope was what got her fucking heart broken five years ago.

“Would you ask me out?”

“I can’t.”

Aaaaand, there we go. “Why not?”

He looked at the table. “You told me when we first started that wasn’t allowed. That was one of the rules you said if I ever broke, it would immediately end our arrangement.”

Oh.

Oh!

“That’s right, I did.” She considered him. “If the rule wasn’t there?”

He looked up at her, unmistakable hope on his face. “Then I would ask you out on a date.”

She took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before blowing it out again. “I’m going to do something I never do and tell you a little about myself. I don’t date. I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m completely single. But if I go out on a ‘date’ with someone, I don’t want to go out on a date with my

‘boy.’ Unless I’ve told him that’s what I want. In real life, I am not Mistress Cardinal. If someone asks me out on a date, I want them to ask me out because they want to get to know me in real life, not because they think they’re getting a freebie or because they want a full-time Domme in their life. I want someone who wants me for me, not just the parts that get their rocks off.”