Jino doesn’t flinch. He simply glances up, his ice-blue eyes meeting mine with that unreadable expression he's perfected over the years. "The coffee shop at the bottom of the hill."
"You wentout?"
Jino pauses. Tilts his head. "Am I your prisoner or something? I wanted a fucking espresso and a paper. So fucking what?"
Is he angry? I step further into the room, hands sliding into my pockets. The fabric of my suit coat pulls across my shoulders. "Why aren't you downstairs?"
Jino folds the newspaper carefully, setting it on the armrest. He leans back, fingers laced over his stomach, studying me like I'm a problem he's still calculating the solution to.
"I gave her the day off."
"Youwhat?"
"She still earned one demerit last night," Jino continues, his tone maddeningly even. "Came without permission. But otherwise, she needs rest. So I'm giving her rest."
"Last night?" I'm confused. But the monster in my chest isn't. It's doing more than stretching now. It's clawing against the inside of my ribs.
"She didn't get the full experience. So… I took care of it."
"Youwhat?"
He touched her, the monster growls.
Again.
My gaze drops to the bruise on his jaw. The one I put there. The one that should remind him exactly where the line is.
"She doesn't need a break," I say. My voice is quieter now. Sharper. "She's experienced. She's had submissive training before. Two days shouldn't require recovery time."
Jino tilts his head again, the way he does when he's choosing his words with surgical precision. "Experienced doesn't mean conditioned. And conditioning requires pacing."
"She needs a push, not coddling."
"She needs consistency."
"She needs?—"
"You should watch the footage from last night," Jino interrupts.
The shift in his tone is subtle, but I catch it. The calm veneer cracks just enough to let the edge show through. He's definitely angry.
Holding it in, but angry.
I take another step forward. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
Jino's jaw tightens. His fingers flex once, then still. "It means you should review your own session before questioning mine."
"I know what happened last night."
"Do you?"
The question hangs in the air, weighted with something I don't like. Accusation. Judgment. The kind of unspoken criticism that makes my skin crawl because it implies I fucked up.
Ididn'tfuck up.
I gave her exactly what she needed. Structure. Consequences. Pain that she could process and submit to. She took thirty strikes without using her safe word. Shechosethat. Chose me.
But Jino's looking at me like I'm the one who needs correcting.