‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ he said, sounding so subdued that my whip hand wavered.
‘You don’t flinch,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you flinch?’
‘It doesn’t really hurt,’ he said. ‘Not as much as you might think.’
This was at once both disappointing and satisfying.
‘Wh
at would I have to do to really hurt you? Use a cane or something?’
‘Yeah, the cane would hurt, but I don’t … I can’t really explain it, Lu–, sorry, ma’am, but I don’t really …’
‘What?’
‘I’m good at cutting myself off from pain,’ he said. ‘I’m good at not letting anything touch me.’
I wound a leather thong round and round my finger, taking this in.
‘That’s weird,’ I said. ‘How the hell do you do it? I wish I could.’
‘No, you don’t.’ He was still bent over the bed, talking to the pillows at its head. ‘It’s an overrated skill. But you’d have to pretty much kill me to get a real reaction from me.’
Why did this make me want to run over and hold him in my arms, why? After everything he had done, he could still wrap me round his little finger.
‘Do you have any kind of explanation for that?’ I asked, coming to sit on the side of the bed, so I could see his face. I put the flogger down. This clearly wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But you said you didn’t want to get involved. So it wouldn’t be fair to tell you.’
‘You’re a bastard,’ I said, outmanoeuvred again. He had made me do what I had vowed not to. He had made me care about him again.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Don’t you want to hit me some more?’
‘No. There’s no point.’
‘But you’re still up for the collaring plan?’
‘Yes. About that … oh, for God’s sake, get up, pull your pants up. I feel like bloody Cruella de Vil.’
‘I’d never confuse the two of you.’ He hitched up his trousers and the little trace of blush on his cheeks was enchanting.
‘Great hair, though,’ I remarked.
‘I prefer yours.’
‘Shut up.’ That interval of eye contact had gone on far too long and needed a rude interruption of some kind.
‘So, anyway,’ he said, throwing himself into an armchair and inviting me to do the same in its opposite number. ‘What did you want to say to me? About the collaring?’
I took a breath.
‘I want to make sure you’re clear about what’s on the table,’ I said.
He looked over at his dressing table, as if that was what I was talking about. He had a great collection of after-shaves and colognes scattered across it, plus a not-so-impressive collection of miniature spirits bottles.
‘Not that table,’ I said, rolling my eyes.
‘Maybe the long table in the great hall?’ he suggested. ‘You can get a hell of a lot on that.’