Page 165 of Terms of Exposure
"Good." I heard the smile in his voice. "That's exactly right."
His knees popped as he dropped to his haunches.
"Now, I'll explain our ritual."
My focus fractured, Vivian's words from Veil rising through the fog.
"Every time we come into this room, you will kneel here, just like you did tonight."
I nodded.
"And then I will do this."
He gathered my hair in his hands. The strands pulled gently between his fingers—parting, twining, weaving together. Each pass deliberate and unhurried.
"Getting your hair up and out of the way is practical," he explained as he plaited the braid. "I don't want any stray curls caught underfoot or pulled accidentally."
His fingers worked through my hair with surprising gentleness. Separating. Weaving. The repetition hypnotic.
"But it's more than that," he continued, voice dropping lower. "It's a transition. A signal to your body that we're entering this space together." His knuckles brushed the nape of my neck as he worked. "By the time I'm finished, you'll already be halfway under."
He was right.
It was already happening—the slow descent, the quieting of my thoughts, my breathing synchronized with the rhythm of his hands.
"When I'm done," he said, "I'll secure the braid with this."
Something cool and smooth slid over my shoulder. I stole a glance, a length of burgundy ribbon.
"I'll wrap it around the braid, making sure everything stays nice and neat. I would hate to tangle all those pretty curls."
Anticipation pooling low in my belly, butterflies taking flight.
"And when we're finished—" his fingers stilled, the braid complete, "—I'll take it out myself."
He secured the ribbon with practiced ease.
"That's how you'll know we're done. When we can be... us again."
A shaky laugh escaped me. "Us?"
"That leads me to my next point."
He released my braid, footsteps whispering against the carpet. His fingers found my chin, tilting my head back until our gazes met.
But this time he didn't bend to my level.
He stood tall. Proud. Towering above me.
"From here on out, when we enter this room, you will follow a new set of rules. A new set of expectations."
My pulse quickened.
"In this room, love, you are no longer allowed to address me by name." A smile curved his lips—dark, satisfied. "Instead, you will address me as Master."
My mouth went dry.
"Furthermore, you will no longer speak without being prompted."
