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one end of the sofa while he sat at the other, close enough to see her facial expressions but far enough away to give her space. She stared at the fire, cup still nestled at her chest, and he studied her through lowered lashes, surprised he found her quite attractive. She wasn’t his usual choice. He had a penchant for blondes with a few layers of fat on their bones, but her face appealed to him, her waif-like body bringing out his urge to nurture.
    “I can explain a little about the proper rules, if you like?” he asked. With their sexual leanings in common, at least they had something to discuss. “About how play should be directed. It really isn’t what your Master led you to believe. In other circumstances I’d offer to show you, to take you on as my sub until you’d learned all the rules, but with the state you’re in, I really don’t think it’s advisable. You’re vulnerable and, well…”
    “I don’t think I could handle a spanking tonight,” she said, turning a weak smile his way. “Besides, you’d think me a right tart if I agreed, and I don’t fancy being labelled as something else I’m not. I mean, Master… He said I was all sorts of nasty things.” She gave the fire her attention again.
    “I wouldn’t think you a tart. There’s nothing wrong in two people indulging if they’re both consenting. My concern is more about playing while you’re vulnerable and unsure of the rules. It isn’t my style to prey on women susceptible to upset due to their emotions being a little topsy-turvy.”
    She laughed, not unkindly, and looked his way again. “Topsy-turvy?”
    He sensed she was gently mocking his way of speech, but that was okay. If it meant she laughed and smiled like that, he’d let her do it all the time. She was like a constantly kicked puppy—all the instinctual bite thrashed out of her—although he thought, given the chance, the right environment, and the right Master, her bite and her bark might be encouraged to return. How sad that she’d been reduced to someone so unsure, where one moment she was lost in her thoughts and the next a smidgen of her former, true self tried to penetrate through the person she had been forced to become.
    He wondered whether he should take her on, encourage her to be who she really was. Would she even want that on the back end of such a traumatic D/s relationship? He shook his head. What was he doing? He should never have even thought about it. Ridiculous to expect her to jump into something new when old wounds still lay exposed and festering, still raw and open to infection. But, God…he had a hankering to mend this broken bird, to watch her fly with new wings and soar through a sky void of mean, dark clouds and storms.
    “Tell me a bit,” she said, cheeks flushing. “Tell me what I should have had, so next time—if there is a next time—I’ll know what to expect.”
    She dug her elbow into the settee arm and rested her chin in her hand, her gaze fixed firmly on the rug in front of the fire. Harry frowned, thinking a little conversation wouldn’t hurt. But maybe it would.
    “If I tell you how it’s supposed to be, won’t you feel upset that you didn’t have that?” he asked.
    “Not really. Everyone has at least one shitty relationship—don’t they?—and that was mine. We’ve all got to move on, learn to trust new people. I’m not stupid, I know damn well there will be things that set me off, remind me of him, but fucking hell, I can’t live the rest of my life all scared and whatever, can I?”
    He sensed she was covering up the pain with her bright tone, but if him talking went some way to helping, talk he would.

    * * * *

    “Wow,” she said quietly when he’d finished. “So if I was your pupil, you’d want me to speak up, to tell you what I wanted?”
    “Of course. How else is your Master to know what your threshold is? It isn’t a Master’s right to override your desires, more that he must accommodate them, incorporate