"Yes, Master."

Landry sat on the edge of one of the beds and stared at him. "I did more asking around before we left the club. That man wasn't her boyfriend, he was one of her clients."

The slave prayed he masked his surprise well enough so it didn't show.

And his hope. Of course, he knew hope was a stupid emotion to have. He totally belonged to his Master, heart, mind, body, and soul, and she no longer belonged to him.

Still, old habits and feelings died hard.

Landry continued. "Apparently she's single. One person hinted something very bad happened to her a few years ago but they wouldn't talk about it. Of course, I couldn't push them, it would bring suspicion."

The slave closed his eyes, wishing he didn't have to sit and listen to this. He'd prefer another vicious beating. At least that pain ended relatively quickly and sent his mind to a beautiful place where he could temporarily abandon thought.

Landry spread his legs and in French ordered, "Come here and suck my cock."

Obediently, he knelt between Landry's legs and performed as required, wishing for a little tenderness, even a kind and gentle word, and knowing his Master wasn't yet ready to allow that.

Landry grabbed his head and forced him to go deep. He swallowed his shaft and waited him out until he finally came.

When Landry finally released him, he pointed to the floor. "Go on. You're done."

The slave bowed his head, curled up on his side, and prayed for sleep.

Prayed for forgiveness.

Prayed his Master didn't force him to face Tilly.

Chapter Three.

Tuesday afternoon, Tilly parked in the public garage off Ringling in downtown Sarasota and donned her dark, mirrored sunglasses. The cafe where they would meet had outdoor seating. Despite having to put up with smokers, she wanted to be out in public when talking to this man.

Landry LaCroux. His voice bore the barest trace of an accent, but she couldn't place what exactly. She suspected French. Not Quebecois, but more like a native of France.

When the memory of how she might know that threatened to creep in, she squelched it immediately. Too many old memories had tried to sneak in since seeing Landry's slave at the club. This happened every once in a while. A song would catch her unprepared and nearly take her knees out. Or watching a movie might bring back a memory and send her to bed crying for the evening.

Fortunately, those weak periods happened with rare frequency lately. The other night at the club was her first lapse in several months.

Maybe I should take that as a good sign.

She arrived nearly half an hour early and brought her Kindle to read. She wanted to control the situation, where they sat, everything. She had the waiter seat her on the far end of the patio where she could watch people walk by on Ringling. Ten minutes later, LaCroux showed up.

Her instincts had been right-on there.

"You are very early, Mistress Cardinal," he observed as he sat.

"So are you." She leaned back and studied him. "Tell me, Mr. LaCroux, why does a man such as yourself need any kind of assistance? I saw you playing with your slave the other night. A few minutes of it, at least. You seem to have him well in hand."

The waiter stepped in to take his order. When he left, LaCroux leaned forward. "Please, you may call me Landry."

"You may call me Mistress Cardinal. You haven't answered my question."

He smiled. Charming, disarming. Handsome and trim. Deep green eyes that could show merriment or murderous intent, she suspected. Brown hair, a little grey around the temples. "Even the most talented dog trainer knows when an animal should be handed over to others with different skill sets, as they say. The wisest trainers don't risk ruining a dog out of hubris over their own talents."

That's it. The nagging question drove her nuts. "Are you from France, Mr. LaCroux?"

He apparently decided not to challenge her on the formality. "Excellent ear, Mistress Cardinal. I was raised in Paris, but I attended university here in the States and decided to remain after I earned my degree. I've lived here over twenty years and became a citizen. I have no desire to return to France. To live," he added. "I do have family there I visit, on occasion. My life is here."

That handled, she studied him. While she'd worked with gay men before, most of her clients were straight. It was unusual for a gay man to come to her for her services. She'd never had a gay Master approach her about training his slave. It piqued her curiosity. "As I told you the other night, I don't engage in any sexual services. At all. I run a totally legal business, and I want that made perfectly clear from the start."

"I would not ask that of you."

She'd managed to stay off the radar as far as law enforcement was concerned. She never broke her "no sex" rule, and she didn't advertise. All her clients came through word of mouth referrals, and an opening never remained vacant more than a week or two.

"I take cash only. All fees paid in advance at the beginning of the session. For the first session to evaluate him, one hour, one thousand dollars. After that, sessions are one hour each, three hundred."

More than she normally asked, but it was an easy way to weed out a poser from the rest. He'd either choke, agree, or negotiate. "Also, you cannot be there after the initial negotiations. That takes about twenty minutes. The only reason I'm letting you be there at all is because he's your slave and you need to participate in the negotiations."

"Done."

She felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. Honestly? She hadn't expected him to agree, especially to the clause of him not being present. That tweaked her curiosity. "What exactly do you hope to gain from my services?"

"Slave tends to hold back sometimes. Information, emotions, for whatever reason."

"He lies?"

"No, not lies, per se. Despite my repeated orders to the contrary, he tends to overthink things and not give me all the information I request. Be it sentiment or emotions, I don't know."

"What made you decide to hire someone to train him?"

At this, she noticed his face clouded. "I recently discovered accidentally that he withheld some rather important information from me. For years. Had he told me when we got together, I would have made drastically different decisions than I did. You see, we were together for a few years, then we broke up. Most definitely my fault. When we reconciled after being apart for several years, I was willing to do anything for another chance with him. I'd never stopped loving him."

His gaze dropped to his hands. "The circumstances surrounding our reunion were difficult, to say the least. I willingly heard what he told me rather than digging deeper for the truth. My actions-or rather, my lack of action-unfortunately hurt another without me knowing it at the time, because of that withheld information. I doubt there is any way I can atone for it, or even rectify the situation. I must force slave to see what he has done as a result of his withholding that information. He must face the true consequences of his actions."

Tilly studied him for a long time without speaking. Her bullshit alarm hadn't gone off...yet. He still held her curiosity. "Again, I'm not sure what you expect of me."

"I want him to go through a vicious training regimen with another Top. One who can adequately break through this willful streak of his. Someone who maybe has better perceptions than I do. Perhaps someone who can show him a different point of view than he sees with me. Someone who can help him appreciate the error of his ways."

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.