“Tiffany!”
She gasped at the bark, and her startled gaze met his. He didn’t seem mad, more like exasperated. She licked her dry lips before answering. “Yes, Sir?”
“I asked you a question and received no response. Where did you just go in that pretty little head of yours?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She felt like she was always disappointing him, although he rarely used that word with her. Frustrating—now that was a word he’d used quite often over the past seven months when she fell short of his expectations. “I’m—I’m sorry, Sir. I-I—”
When he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, reaching out, Tiffany flinched, and Sir froze, his hand in midair just an inch away from her face. “Little one, I thought we were past this. You should know by now I’ll never hit you in anger or displeasure—and neither of those apply to what I’m feeling at the moment. I only wanted to wipe away your tears. Why are you crying?”
She hadn’t realized her eyes were watery and her cheeks wet until he’d mentioned it. “I—You’re leaving Vegas, Sir?”
This time, when his fingers moved to touch her face, she didn’t shy away, letting him dry her cheeks and jaw. “I’m considering it, yes. But that doesn’t explain your tears. Tell me why you’re crying.”
His tone told her he expected a truthful answer this time and would not accept anything less. “Will—will you find me another Dom be-before you leave?”
Sir’s lips pursed together as he sat back in his chair. “So, you don’t want to move to Florida with me and take a job at the resort?”
“What?” Her eyelids blinked rapidly again. What is he talking about?
He sighed, then shook his head. “We need to work on your listening skills some more, pet. While you were zoned out on me, I said that Mitch is offering you any job you want at the resort, if you’d like to relocate there. If you do, we’ll maintain our contract until you’re ready to move on. If you don’t want to go to Florida, then, yes, I’ll start looking for a Dom I can entrust with you.”
Move to Florida? With Sir? Work in a new resort? So close to Tori?
“I told Mitch and Ty I’d have an answer for them by the end of the week, after I go through the very large file they gave me with all the plans for the resort. You have until then to tell me your choice. I don’t want you to make a rash decision— think about it carefully. If you have any questions, ask me. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll speak to Mitch and Ty and get one for you.”
Tiffany swallowed hard. She wondered if Sir wanted her response to be yes, she wanted to go with him, or, no, she wanted to stay in Vegas and let him find her a new Dom. She had less than a week to figure it out. If she knew what he wanted, it would make it so much easier to decide. Her heart said to take the offer and move to Florida with Sir. Her mind told her it might be the biggest mistake she ever made.
Nine months earlier . . .
Cordell observed the skittish-looking woman whose gaze was searching the Panera Bread restaurant. He’d recognize her anywhere from her social media pages, but she was even prettier in person. A month shy of her twenty-eighth birthday, she was about five foot six, slender—a little too slender, in his opinion—with beautiful, wavy, dark-brown hair, and chestnut-colored eyes. She was biting her plump bottom lip, worrying the abused flesh.
Mitch Sawyer had warned him about several of Tiffany Armstrong’s issues when it came to dominant men. Looking at her now, Cordell doubted the other Dom had scratched the surface of the submissive’s “issues.” She’d been in an unhealthy D/s relationship for two years and, thankfully, had gotten out of it recently. However, the damage had been done. Her so-called Master had really fucked with her mind. Cordell had seen it many times before and had become known in the local lifestyle community as the “submissive whisperer.” He thought the title was corny but true. He’d helped many subs recover from bad relationships over the years and then had found them Masters who would continue the work he’d started. Each Dom had been fully investigated—like Sawyer had done before contacting Cordell—and he hadn’t regretted a single D/s match he’d facilitated. He kept in contact with all of them on a monthly or semi-annual basis, talking in private conversations with both the Dom and submissive to make sure there weren’t any problems that couldn’t easily be fixed. Two of his rehabilitated submissives had actually married the Doms he’d paired them with, and one of those was now expecting her second child.
Cordell wasn’t sure how he’d developed a gift for helping damaged submissives and wished he could save them all, but he only took one at a time into his care. It wouldn’t be fair to any recovering submissive to have to compete with another for his attention and affection. However, he’d made it clear to each of them before a contract was signed that their time with him had an end date when he was certain they were ready to move on. He had to be careful when reading a sub because, sometimes, they were scared to leave him and started acting up again if they thought he was getting ready to cut them loose. Some subs stayed with him for only a few weeks or months. The longest had been a little over a year, and she was the one who was now happily married with children.
From across the room, the little wisp of a woman’s gaze slammed into his, and she froze. She clearly recognized him from the screen shot he’d sent her. He hadn’t wanted her to approach any random single men looking for him if she’d beaten him there. Of course, he’d arrived fifteen minutes early to ensure that wouldn’t happen.
Cordell started silently counting to three, but the word “two” had barely registered in his mind before her gaze dropped to the floor in front of him. She stood there, waiting, and Cordell knew if he didn’t approach her or call out a demand, she would stand there all day. People walking in and out skirted around her, with a few giving her looks of confusion or annoyance.
Getting to his feet, Cordell strode over. Her gaze lifted, briefly, before hitting the floor again. Cordell stopped in front of her. “Tiffany?”
“Yes, Master Cordell,” she responded immediately but didn’t look up. Her words had been spoken so faintly, he was certain he was the only person who’d heard her, despite the lunch crowd. The responses of “yes, Master,” and “no, Master,” had probably been drilled into her so often, she didn’t realize what she was saying half the time. They were just automatic, subconscious reactions to anything a Dom said to her. According to Mitch, the sub seemed much more confident when she was interacting with people who weren’t alpha males.
“Eyes on me, pet.”
“Yes, Master Cordell.” Slowly, her chin lifted, and when her eyes met his he gave her a soft smile to try to ease the wariness that filled her face.
“I’m simply Cordell when we’re in public, Tiffany.”
She nodded. “Yes, Master—um, I mean, Cordell. Thank you for clarifying.”
Oh, yeah, she was ready to bolt or drop to her knees the moment he did or said anything that scared her. Hell, something as simple as holding out his hand for her to shake might cause her to collapse. Mitch had said it’d taken a few hours for her to relax around him with others present. When it’d finally happened, she’d been bubbly and delightful, but that wariness had always been under the surface, waiting to emerge again. Cordell had his work cut out for him, but it wouldn’t be the first time.