My eyes flick to him, blinking, and give the slightest nod when the blade is not on my skin.
Something flickers in Harmon’s eyes—something warm and almost vulnerable. The blade glides over my neck, slow enough that I feel every single inch of movement.
Harmon’s breath ghosts over my cheek with every exhale. The air in the room thickens, filling with tension, just like I remember it being last Monday.
Harmon sets the razor down, then wipes me up. He doesn’t step away but takes my chin between his fingers and moves me this way and that.
“Beautiful,” Harmon says quietly, almost as if surprised he said it aloud.
I’ve noticed he does that a lot—says things then looks like he regrets it or doesn’t understand why he said it at all. Yet, I believe everything he says is true. It’s almost like he’s hiding… or trying to hide. But from what?
“I thought I was supposed to be doing things for you,” I say, giving him a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“This isn’t about you doing things for me. It’s about control. Giving yourself to me. Trusting me. Letting me dictate what you do and when you do it. Control, my sweet slave.”
He brushes his knuckles down the smooth skin of my cheek.
“You give me a lot of freedom for someone who wants to control me.”
“You’re still learning.”
“I think you shouldn’t take it easy on me.”
“I think you don’t know what you’re asking for. An intense relationship between us would have me dictating every aspect of your life, not only while you’re with me.” He pauses, searching my eyes. “I don’t think that’s something you’re capable of.”
“Honestly… that sounds like Heaven.”
All he does is give me a small, sad smile… and walk out the door.
Chapter Sixteen
Harmon
Each day that passes, it gets harder to control my needs with Cassius. But the inability to control your own impulses proves you are a weak man. I am not a weak man—I refuse to be.
Maybe it’s wrong to keep him around to prove how controlled I can be, but it isn’t the only reason. And that’s why it’s so easy to convince myself to not end this.
I have no issue paying upfront for six months if his services were discontinued. It’s not about money… it’s about no longer having this. Him. Not only at my every beck and call but in my home. My large, empty home that is so quiet I hear it settling. My home that is so big I sometimes get lost in it. My home that is… lonely. Except when he’s here. Just a few hours a day makes it that much easier to get by. So, I keep praising him. I keep writing out schedules. I wash his uniform and lay it out on the bed for him… most days. I read to him. Have him stand naked for me. And each day, I push him a little more, give him a little more to do, to see how well he can actually handle my needs.
He’s due to be in front of me in less than two minutes, and I can’t concentrate because all I can think about is him knelt before me. He sits so pretty, so perfectly.
His footsteps are soft on the floor when he walks in, as quiet as a mouse. I’d like to think it’s the training, but I have a feeling it’s something else. Something trauma-related. The need tobequiet. I don’t like thinking of what he’s dealt with in his life—it’s clear he hasn’t had an easy life—because it makes me angry. I shouldn’t care about his personal life, yet thinking about him hurting in any way doesn’t feel good. It’s not supposed to be this way. That’s why the contract is there. It’s why there are boundaries.
I give him a soft smile as he walks to his spot and gently kneels on the floor beside the couch. I reach out to run my fingers through his soft hair.
“You did well today,” I tell him.
“Thank you.”
“Of course, slave.”
I hear the hitch in his breath, see the way his lips part. I told him I wasn’t into degradation, and I’m not… but maybe he is. Or maybe he likes praise in any fashion. It doesn’t seem like something readily available to him.
“I thought we could read,” I say.
“I’d like that.”
Nodding, I grab the book and open it to chapter five, but I don’t start right away.