Page 10 of Hunting Little Hope
“Hmm,” he responded after a beat. “Then maybe we should find you another way of keeping healthy,” he said calmly. “Movement is supposed to feel good. Not like punishment.”
His choice of words hit me in a way I hadn’t been expecting.
Punishment.
Had I been punishing myself?
Troy didn’t push for a response, just smiled at me as he waited.
“What about you?” I asked, partly to deflect, partly because I genuinely wanted to know. “You mentioned cooking.”
His eyes warmed immediately.
“I love cooking because it comes with the side benefit of feeding people, which is directly correlated to caring for people.” He shrugged again, the color in his cheeks deepening slightly. “Plus... cooking is like science, isn’t it? Everything has to be done according to the recipe, with strict instructions to be followed.”
I smiled at him, appreciating his obvious enjoyment of the subject.
“I also like having control, you know? Being in charge of what’s going to happen next.”
My breath hitched at the implication he was making. It took effort to remain still in my seat and not wiggle around to try and alleviate the sudden pressure I felt between my legs.
“And the drones?” I asked because if I didn’t keep him talking, I might stare at him like a fool. Or worse... drool.
“Well, that’s just for silly fun, obviously. Everyone needs to let go from time to time.” His grin was so wide as he said that, I found myself mirroring his expression.
The bell rang.
The sound made me jump, and for the first time all afternoon, I was genuinely disappointed.
Troy didn’t move immediately. He glanced toward the facilitator, then back at me.
“I’d like to continue this conversation,” he said, calm, assured and confident. “If you would?”
Hope bloomed in my chest so suddenly it almost hurt.
“I’d like that,” I said.
And I meant it.
Chapter Five
Troy
Entering the restaurant, I spotted Hope before she saw me. She sat near the back, chin resting on her palms, elbows on the table as she stared out the tall windows beside her. The late sun caught in her hair and turned it soft at the edges.
A quick glance at my watch confirmed I was still five minutes early.
So my pretty submissive date was either very eager... or very nervous.
Ideally, it was both. Nerves meant our date mattered to her.
I was also pleased to note she wasn’t filling the wait by scrolling through her phone the way so many people did lately. I had no quarrel with technology, but I’d always thought someone who couldn’t sit quietly with their own thoughts for five minutes might struggle with the kind of connection that required patience.
Something must have alerted her to my presence because her gaze shifted my way. I had the distinct pleasure of watching her thoughtful expression melt into a bright, welcoming smile.
“Master Troy!” she said, standing and taking a tentative step toward me.
We’d barely spent six minutes together, yet she was already leaning toward a physical greeting. That pleased me more than it should have.
