Page 10 of Caging Cessie (Submissives of Rawhide Ranch #20)

The private cabin was nestled among tall pines, secluded away from the main building and accessed via first a gravel path and then a trail through the woods. It looked rustic from the outside, all dark timber and stone, but once inside, it opened into a space that was both intimate and indulgent.

In the main room polished hardwood floors gleamed underfoot, softened by a thick, woven rug in muted tones of green.

A cozy armchair sat by the window, facing out toward the woods, with heavy drapes that could be pulled shut for privacy.

A couch was positioned in front of the fire, a basket beside it full of thick, soft blankets and floor cushions.

If the main room and small kitchen were well-appointed but simple, the bathroom was decadent.

A deep, freestanding clawfoot tub big enough for two sat beneath a window, perfectly placed for bathing while looking out at the moonlit trees.

Beside it was a glass-enclosed rain shower with two detachable showerheads.

The vanity was wide, topped in smooth marble, with two porcelain sinks and a large mirror framed in deep, dark wood.

Plush white towels were stacked neatly on open shelves, and a small basket of artisanal soaps, oils, and lotions sat waiting— scents of sandalwood, vanilla, and lavender faintly perfuming the air.

Everything in the cabin—from the heavy iron fixtures to the thick, luxurious bathrobes hanging by the door—was designed to make a guest feel not just welcome but kept. A private world where time slowed, and every need or indulgence was only a breath away.

Cessie backed out of the bathroom, a low-level of arousal starting to heat her blood after she saw that tub. They’d fucked in a spa once, which hadn’t been all that fun because even with the epic pounding he’d given her, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about bacterial growth. But a tub…

Leon was in the kitchen, staring at the contents of the fridge.

“It’s full.” Cessie said. Apparently, they’d be cooking for themselves.

It was a nice idea—she couldn’t remember the last time they’d cooked together.

She usually meal prepped once a week for their lunches and her dinners if she was working overnight, but they were rarely both home in time to be cute and make dinner together.

Leon closed the fridge and turned to her. “I spoke with Chef Connor before our arrival. He assured me his kitchen staff would provide all we’d need for our stay, and it looks like they came through. Like it?”

“It’s wonderful, but we might need to call someone. The bedroom door is locked. Well, I assume it’s the bedroom.”

“It is.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key.

“You don’t want me to see the bedroom?” She wondered if it was a bedroom, or a playroom. A mini dungeon. But if it was, where would they sleep? Maybe the couch pulled out.

“No. Not yet. We’ll have a glass of wine and talk.”

“That sounds both exciting and ominous.”

He opened a bottle of red, passing her a glass, then put his hand on her back, guiding her to the couch. Halfway there his hand slipped down to her ass.

“Sore?”

“A little. Not as much as I thought I would be.” She curled up, legs tucked to one side, which helpfully kept most of her weight off of her ass. “I’m out of practice.”

He sat beside her, leaning back and stretching out his legs. “You were half asleep for aftercare last night.”

“I’m not sure if I’d call that sleep or passing out.” She looked down into her glass. “I hadn’t cried like that in a long time.”

“I know, baby.”

She shook her head as tears once more tightened her throat. “Why am I about to cry again? Ugh.” She made a face and took a sip.

“You cried because you needed to release some of that stress, and now that the valve is open, you’re fighting against all the pressure you still have bottled up to try and close it.”

She smiled softly. “Did your desalinization people teach you that?”

“You remember that venture?”

Her shoulders tensed. “Of course I remember. It’s your biggest success so far.”

“Hey.” He reached over and tugged on her knee until she stretched out one leg, foot on his lap. “It wasn’t an accusation. I was just surprised.”

“That might be worse.” Dread was creeping in, despite the quiet peace of the private cabin and the soft gold light of late afternoon that gave the room an almost holy feel.

He massaged her foot with one hand. The silence should have relaxed her, but she was tensing up again, thinking of all the ways she was a terrible partner.

The weekends she’d spent helping her mother and brother in Vegas instead of spending time with him.

The times she’d started to tell him something—inane or important, it didn’t seem to matter—only to stop herself because…

Because she didn’t trust him to still love her.

“Do you remember what I used to have you in my phone as?”

His question jerked her from the horrid spiraling thoughts. She took a long sip of her wine, finishing the glass. “Kestrel. Like the bird.”

Her legal name was Cestrayl, with the final vowel pronounced like “all” rather than the “ell” sound at the end of kestrel, but on first hearing it, most people assumed her name was “Kestrel”. Those who saw it written down usually ended up saying something along the lines of “ses-tray-el”.

She’d been going by Cessie since she was young, though now she introduced herself as Cess—with a hard K consonant—or Dr. Lanner.

But when she’d first met Leon, she’d introduced herself as Cestrayl rather than Cessie or Cess. She still wasn’t sure why, except that some instinct told her that this man needed to know her real name.

“I thought it was appropriate. That you were named after a smart, dangerous, small predator.”

He grinned when he said small, and she thumped his thigh with her heel.

“Really? You thought I was dangerous when we met? I'm pretty sure I was wearing a lace bodysuit and a frilly skirt.”

“Exactly. Very dangerous.”

She laughed as she knew he meant her to.

His thumb pressed against the arch of her foot and it felt wonderful. Enough so that her shoulder muscles started to relax, and she sank a little deeper into the couch.

“I realized something,” he said after ten minutes of massaging her foot. “Switch feet.”

She extended her other foot without bothering to pull the first one back until she sat with her legs, stretched out along the couch. This casual, quiet intimacy was like taking her first deep breath in months. She hadn't realized she was oxygen starved, touch, starved, until now.

“I realized that when I think about you, I always end up with flying metaphors.”

“You think in metaphors,” she teased.

“Yes, I do. Symptom of being a bookworm.”

She grinned because it was true that, between the two of them, he was the reader.

It both had and hadn't surprised her when, after they started dating, she saw a solid wall of bookshelves in his condo.

It surprised her because he never talked about books or made literary references.

It didn't surprise her because she'd been around BDSM long enough to know that the Venn diagram of geeky, bookish men and Doms was practically a circle.

“Do you remember when we first started dating and if I couldn't fall asleep, I'd call you?”

“I maintain it would have been better if you’d let me come over and fuck you until you passed out.”

She shook her head but smiled. “They weren’t booty calls. You'd start telling me about whatever book you were reading and it would help me go to sleep.”

“A little rude don't you think to tell me that I'm boring?”

“It wasn’t boring. It was comforting. You’d get so into explaining the magic systems and the backstory of various characters. I was always too tired to really follow along with whatever you were saying, but the sound of your voice…”

His hand tightened on her foot, and she looked up, worried. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but she could see how hearing that might make him feel a way she hadn’t intended.

“I’m sorry?—”

“No, Cessie. Don’t be sorry.” He set his wine glass on his side table and held out his hand for hers, setting it aside too. “Hearing that confirms that I’m a genius and my plan is perfect.”

She chuckled, smiling. “Is it time for me to find out your super-secret plan that required flying all the way to Montana?”

Leon’s hand slipped from her foot to her ankle, gripping with a firm hold. “Do you know how they train falcons?”