Page 127 of Pucking Them
Cassian’s eyes fill with tears.
This is why Kay is so gentle with her Kitten, when compared to how she treats Everett.
Everett holds out his hand, and Cassian dives into his arms, nuzzling against him gratefully. “I know that you’ll be a good boy.”
“I will,” Cassian promises.
“And are you both okay?” I assess Everett for injuries.
I can’t help it.
I check in with Everett every week. After the abuse that I suffered from Blythe, it circles my head that I could be missing the same happening to my new friends.
Everett doesn’t talk to many people. D’Angelo told me that. Outside his partners, he’s isolated as well.
I wish that I’d had anyone to check in with me, when I’d been with Blythe. I was innocent back then, barely eighteen. I had no idea what correct BDSM etiquette was, what made a good or bad dom, or what tipped into abuse.
Now, I am learning it from D’Angelo.
Finally, I have a group of people around me at this table who I can openly talk to about things.
It’s everything I’ve needed. It’s better than a bloody dream.
Cassian bounces on his seat. “I’m good. I attended three lectures, and my course is going well. Kay is happy with me. She fed me chocolates in bed this morning as a treat.”
“She’s always treating you with candies in bed,” Everett mutters.
“But these were my favorite fudge ones.”
“As long as you’re happy.” Everett’s stern expression gentles. “I’m not hurt, Shay. My Mistress was rather strict with me. I fell behind with my chores because things have been busy at my shop. But that’s a time management problem, which she is helping me with. She sat down with me after my punishment and sorted out ways for me to solve it. She always does.”
My jaw clenches at the mention ofpunishment.
Yet Everett looks fine. In fact, he appears calm and content.
His dynamic is different than mine, but it works for him.
“You’re okay, yeah?” I press.
Everett pushes his long hair behind his shoulder, before he leans closer to me to whisper, “My ass is sore, but the rest of me is very,verymotivated not to become lazy with my chores again. Surprising how that works, right?”
When he laughs, I relax.
Robyn is watching us closely.
She is sitting next to me at a table in the café. I love that she has chosen to match our scarlet t-shirt and black jeans like we belong together, although mine have rips in them.
She is wearing the same eyeliner as well.
We had fun doing each other’s makeup and nail varnish for a change. It was brave of her to trust me.
Or foolish.
I glance down at my steel gray nails that clutch the cup, then over at Robyn’s scarlet ones, which she is tapping on the table.
I wince.
I struggled to concentrate because I was excited about coming out tonight to the first official meeting of our Bay Rebels Sub Group. Robyn’s sloppy, smudged red manicure paid the price; the varnish bleeds over her nails’ edges.
