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“What if I can’t?” she whispered.

“I know you can.” He crouched in front of her, using his knuckle to wipe away a stray tear escaping from her lashes. “When we reach this point of overwhelming panic, this is what you’re going to do, Tamsyn. Kneel just like this, focus on your breathing, switch off the outside world, and give in to the quiet. I’ll know when you’re ready and, eventually, you will too.”

“Now?” Her brow furrowed when he smacked the side of her thigh lightly. “I mean, now, Master Merrick?”

“Yes, little owl. Now. Breathe to the count of four,” he told her as he rose. “In, hold, out. Just breathe, relax, and find that frame of mind.”

It was ridiculous how adorable she was when she gave her all—the frown from her mild reprimand eased into one of concentration; he could see her running his instructions through her mind over and over, her lips silently moving as she counted to beats of four.

Stepping away quietly, Merrick began double-checking the restraints on the chair despite the fact he knew Fordham would’ve checked it all before Tamsyn was anywhere near the building. Instead of the Velcro straps, he’d opted for the more traditional style; the leather straps were butter-soft and gave him plenty of leeway to play. The holes were large, making it easy for him to slide the buckle pin through one-handed without fighting with the damn thing.

The chair itself was a work of art, top of the line. The arm rests and leg supports folded in, turning it into an examination table if required. The backrest had a full range of motion from horizontal to vertical, with capabilities for both the Trendelenburg and reverse Trendelenburg positions.

It was electronic, adjustable by remote control, and was purportedly one of the most ergonomic models on the market—not that Merrick was volunteering to test that theory.

The one in this room was a pretty violet color; the one in the other room was a more intimidating black; Evander claimed that color made all the difference to nervous subs, especially in areas where tensions ran high, and had chosen the chairs based on his research.

Careful not to hum as he was prone to do when setting up a scene, Merrick adjusted the chair until it resembled a table with the leg supports together and the arms only an inch or two outstretched. He raised the backrest to a comfortable sixty-degree angle to start.

Like a kid with a toy, he was desperate to play with the many options available. The damn contraption was similar to a robot, and he had to marvel at the leaps and bounds in technology.

For now, he left the attachable spotlight in its case.

Satisfied, he let his gaze roam over Tamsyn. Still stiff as a board, her spine ramrod straight, she jerked when his boots thudded on the floor. Yeah, she wasn’t doing a good job of tuning out the world and finding her inner peace.

Hmm, he could help with that.

He liked to think he was an observant Dom. Sure, he made mistakes and missed things on occasion, like any mortal male, but over the last few weeks he’d been particularly attentive to what caught Tamsyn’s attention, good and bad.

She was captivated by music; more than once he’d caught her watching the music channels on TV, and her moods were heavily influenced by what she listened to, he’d discovered. Country, pop, and trance remixes made her happy; classical mostly depressed her; rap made her jittery, as though the rapid speed of the words was too much for her to process.

Crossing over to the cupboards, he bent and opened the one in the far corner, turning on the audio system. Taking out his phone, he linked them via Bluetooth, then selected the music app he’d been using to create mood playlists for her.

Drew Jacobs’ version ofWhiskey Lullabythrummed through the speakers a little too loud; Merrick lowered the volume until the words were just audible. She’d have to stop concentrating on her anxiety to focus on the music, and hopefully give herself a chance to relax.

When Merrick turned, Fordham was studying his phone again, a smirk twisting his mouth as their gazes connected briefly. A moment later, he was buried back in his phone again, passing time until the scene started and his duties as monitor required his full attention.

The next twenty minutes were spent inspecting the toys and implements laid out on the rolling trolley next to the chair. Most, he wouldn’t use, but he liked to be prepared. Once Tamsyn was in position, he wanted everything at hand.

When Merrick finally returned to her, he was relieved to see she’d discovered that calm, quiet peace of surrender. Her hands were limp on her thighs, her fingers curling toward her palms. The rigidity of her spine was gone, replaced with the slightest curve and relaxed shoulders. Even the tilt of her head was natural, her chin on her chest as though she’d fallen asleep.

It was time.

“That’s my good, good girl,” he murmured, bending down to scoop her up. It didn’t escape his notice how she stiffened as he sat her on the cool padding; he made no attempt to restrain her. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

“Remind me of your safewords, darlin’.”

“Red, yellow, green, Master Merrick.” She lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.

“Perfect. You won’t need the snap today. Spin around and lay down, Tamsyn.”

Inner submission couldn’t negate her anxiety completely. He watched her fingers link together, her strong hand protecting the weak as her knuckles turned white, before she sucked in a shaky breath and swung her legs up.

Eyes still closed, she shuddered in revulsion, then jolted when he set his hand on her back to guide her. He felt her flinch as warm skin met the padding and gave her a reassuring squeeze on the nape as she settled uncomfortably into position.

“Just like that,” he whispered. “Take a minute, little owl. This is a big step.”