Ropes had cut into his ankles as well. It was hard to believe anyone could do this to another human being. Whatever she’d thought of Leo, whatever fears she’d had, she knew he’d never hurt her like this.

He struggled to get up.

“Wait, we didn’t do anything about your wrists and ankles.”

“They’re fine. It’s not a big deal.”

She couldn’t stand the idea of the bed covers irritating the raw skin. It had been hard enough not to vomit as she’d worked on his back.

“Please, Master.”

He relented, and she applied salve gently to his wrists and ankles, then loosely wrapped strips of gauze around them.

“I’ll stay down here for a few weeks while I heal,” he said, his voice tired, aged thirty years. “Ask Demetri to bring down my meals… and my phone. I’ll need to make a few business calls. And I’ll have to reschedule surgeries.”

“No. I’ll get them.” She’d do anything to delete from her mind the images of what he’d suffered trying to make things right.

He nodded, relenting to her request as she helped him to the bed and tucked him in.

“I’m going to make you some stew,” she said. He needed something with meat in it, something to help him get strong, but nothing so heavy he’d vomit it back up. “D-do you have any painkillers?”

“No painkillers,” he said.

“But…”

“I should suffer.”

The dominatrix was right. He was a masochist even if he didn’t get off on it. It made Faith wonder if perhaps she was, too, because she found herself continually drawn to him, willing to put herself in the path of pain for a brief glimpse of approval or affection.

Leo had almost drifted to sleep when she brought the stew down. The record needle was doing that obnoxious scratching thing at the end, so she lifted it off, thankful to have the silence.

“Master?”

“Yes, Faith?”

“Can we never listen to this again?”

“Okay.”

She helped him sit up and sat on the edge of the bed to feed him the stew. He stared stubbornly at her for several minutes before finally opening his mouth.

After the stew was gone, she got up to leave, but he gripped her wrist, his hold on her still impossibly strong.

“Stay.” It didn’t feel like a request. “It’s late. Get in the bed.”

Faith got in, but his voice stopped her.

“Naked.”

She hesitated, unsure. It was impossible not to forgive him after his penance, but the request was so wrong.

“I’m hardly in a position to do anything to you,” he said. “I-I need your body heat, that’s all.”

“W-will you please not look?”

He closed his eyes without protest.

She felt briefly stupid for her fear and stripped off the clothing. His arm went around her, the gauze from his wrist brushing against her waist.

Somehow she slept soundly.

* * *

Weeks passed. Leo healed. They returned to the world upstairs.

He watched her across the table at dinner—her cheeseburger special. He didn’t know how she made them taste like they’d come right off a restaurant grill.