...“Bloody stupid thing to write! Makes me sound like an idiot!”

Joe crumpled up a sheet of notepaper and tossed it on the floor alongside his bed. He’d long since given up any attempt at aiming for the rubbish bin; the damn thing was already overflowing with failed attempts anyway. Crushed rejects littered the bed, too, standing out stark and white against the black sheets.

Joe slumped back on the pillows he’d propped up against the headboard. Closing his eyes, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He’d come up with some pretty inventive ways to torture very willing masochists over the years. Almost all of his methods had involved some kind of leather—or at the very least a substantial amount of clattering metal chains.

Now, Joe knew that he’d missed a trick. There was apparently no limit to the amount of pain, frustration, or temporary psychosis that could be achieved by simply presenting a man with a pen and a piece of blank paper. Hell, he’d bet that even the most experienced pain-slut could be brought to his knees by this.

Joe took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. A moment later, he realised that he’d just copied Scott’s usual method for staving off a panic attack. He immediately straightened up and squared his shoulders.

This was no way for a dom to behave. A submissive was allowed to have doubts and let on when he was nervous. A dom had to keep it together. Who could expect anyone to hand over control of his life to a man who couldn’t even write a damn letter?

Joe knew what he wanted to say, he knew all the things he had to explain to Scott and what Scott needed to understand. So why was it so sodding difficult to put those things into neat little words on a page?

More importantly, how the hell was he ever going to talk Scott down off the ledge and convince the other man to give their…their relationship another shot, if he couldn’t even put this first part of his plan into action?