Cruel Water - Dee Palmer Page 0,1

wonderful. Thank you, Sir.” She lying and I let out a heavy sigh. She swallows thickly and reaches for my hand; the glance I cast makes her recoil. She’s right to be scared. I have no limits when it comes to inflicting pain. Still, even I have to draw the line somewhere. With all the tools in my arsenal, it’s my honesty that always hurts the most.

“Then you are dismissed. Permanently.” My level tone is implacable.

“What?” Her body curls around the impact. Her hand clutches to her chest as she lurches to sit up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. However, she doesn’t try to stand, opting instead to pull her legs against her body to hug for comfort.

“You may remain a member of the club; however, if you approach me or attempt to contact me in any way, you will find your membership canceled.”

“I…I don’t understand. I did everything you asked. I took…I took everything. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can.” Dispassionate and without a hint of conflict, I deliver the final blow.

“You’re so cruel.” She sobs.

“Life’s cruel.” It’s not a speculation; it’s a fact. Why should playtime be any different?

“Please don’t, Eric. Please let me in. I can help. If you’d just let me, please. I…I—” She stutters and I cut in.

“You what?” My lips curl around the sardonic snarl.

“Nothing.” She sucks back the emotion, making her lips tremble. She bites them closed and lowers her head in resignation.

I get a twinge of something, regret maybe. Not of my decision; that was inevitable. I can’t change who I am, and I won’t let them believe otherwise. So maybe it isn’t regret, maybe it’s despair that what I am searching for simply does not exist.

“Good girl.” I tuck her damp hair behind her ear and immediately regret the tender display of affection when her eyes glisten with fresh tears and misplaced hope. She worries her bottom lip, swollen from biting back the pain for the last hour, before she can muster the courage to beg once more I turn my back and walk out of the door.

That twinge wasn’t regret. It wasn’t guilt. It was self loathing.

It would appear I am a monster, after all.

2

Sliding a fresh white shirt across my shoulders, I start to button up. The soft cotton clings to the residual dampness on my skin from my shower. I finish the last button when the door to my office bursts open and a fiery raven haired storms in, slamming the door behind her. I barely raise a brow, even if she’s dicing with death by barging into my office with so little respect. If she wasn’t such a good friend and an amazing manager, her flagrant disregard for my boundaries would be an issue.

As if the dramatic entrance isn’t enough to indicate her current mood, she halts at the other side of my desk with a fierce scowl, narrow eyes, and her fists pressed hard against the smooth line of her tan leather pencil skirt. Her emerald silk blouse nips at her waist and is conservatively fastened over her ample breasts right up to her slender neck.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She is the epitome of calm and controlled. Even now, when her blood is clearly boiling, her voice maintains a level of threat with an undertone of menace that most Dominants would give their eyeteeth for.

“I take it that’s a rhetorical question?” Slumping into my chair, I hope my bored indifference will be enough to end what I can only assume is going to be some sort of lecture. Kicking my legs up to rest my feet on the corner of my desk, I recline my chair to almost horizontal and tuck my hands behind my head. Stephanie growls and presses her finger tips pointedly on to the surface of my desk. Leaning over, the waves of frustration rolling off her force me to engage. There’s a ridiculous silent standoff that I will take no pleasure in winning even if I did have the energy.

Exhaling, I pull myself to sitting, Stephanie pours two tumblers of whiskey from the decanter on my desk and hands me one. She perches her curves on the desk and holds the glass up for me to clink. I’m not in the mood. I down the liquor and relish the blissful moment of burn hitting the back of my throat. She tops my glass up. Her features soften as she does. Her hazel eyes seem