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She couldn’t move a muscle.
    “Zoë?”
    Tears of frustration pricked her eyelids behind the blindfold. “I can’t,” she muttered. “I can’t do it.”
    She waited for the anger, the reproach, the “correction.” But all he said was, “Don’t worry, Zoë. Trust is a two-way street. If it’s meant to be, we’ll get there together.”
    ~*~
    Dylan would have been stunned if Zoë had in fact managed to complete the trust exercise so quickly out of the gate. He had already observed the hard, protective shell she’d probably spent a lifetime unconsciously building around her emotions, and he’d have been amazed if she’d managed to lower it on her own with a man she barely knew.
    Since he’d joined The Vault, a members-only BDSM club for serious players committed to the lifestyle, Dylan had trained a number of submissives. As a part of the training, he’d often used that particular exercise to get a sense of a new sub’s level of trust and ease. He’d found even eager, willing sub girls who expressed a strong desire to submit sometimes had trouble with the Trust game.
    Zoë was an unknown quantity at this point, despite his near-certainty of a submissive nature hidden beneath the accomplished and driven businesswoman persona she presented to the world. In a way, her innocence regarding the scene was a plus. She didn’t come to him with preconceived notions of how a Dom should behave, and what she could expect. It was all shiny and new.
    He sensed her tension and her fear, but also her excitement. His initial assessment of her submissive potential hadn’t lessened. If anything, he was surer than ever. The next exercise he had planned would help him gauge the masochistic aspect of her psyche, and just the thought of it made his cock hard.
    He regarded her standing before him, the blindfold covering her eyes, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. She fidgeted a little—shifting from foot to foot, her tongue flicking nervously over her lips, but otherwise doing quite well at just doing nothing, especially given her complete lack of training.
    He moved slowly around her, admiring her long, lean curves and the high heft of her well-rounded breasts. Her nipples were fully erect and flushed a deep red against the creamy white of her skin where no sun had kissed it. The tailored business suits she had worn during their professional time together, while elegant and flattering, had mostly hidden her lush and curvaceous femininity.
    Stepping behind her, Dylan removed the blindfold. Tucking the sash back into his pocket, he moved to face her. She blinked rapidly as her eyes readjusted to the light. Her eyes locked on his, her full lips slightly pursed, as if she were waiting for a kiss.
    Distracted by that lush mouth, Dylan had to force himself to focus. “We’re going to engage in some pretty intense scenes over the course of the weekend, and though I will pay close attention to your body and your reactions, sometimes a Dom can miss distress signals, and has to be hit over the head, metaphorically speaking. That’s where a safeword comes in. When you use the word, it stops all action immediately and completely. Just be aware—a safeword shouldn’t be used lightly. It’s like the fire alarm behind the glass—for emergencies only. That said, if you’re panicking during a scene and I don’t seem to be picking up on your cues, you can use the word, and all action will cease.”
    Zoë’s eyes had widened as he spoke, her breath quickening, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Dylan put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into those beautiful, dark eyes. “Hey, calm down. I’ve been in the scene for over a decade. I should tell you, no sub has ever had to use her safeword with me. Ever.”
    By the same token, no woman he’d worked with before had signed on for training in exchange for investment money, without any real indication they were submissive. What if he was reading her wrong, and