by W. Winters
“And her mental well-being?”
“From what I gather, depressed. Given her medication, suffering with trauma. But very aware, opinionated and independent. She is … working through her pain, but struggling.”
“Is she of sound mind?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation and feel a heat tingling at the back of my neck. There is no indication from my interactions with her, nor from Damon’s notes that she is anything other than a strong woman in the middle of a difficult moment. A moment I could hold her hand through. One of the aspects of her case was the consultant verifying that she was of sound mind enough to leave the center … but still …
“What is it you want to see? Something from her?”
“It’s not about what I want to see from her.” This is harder than I thought it would be. Words are slippery things, and they keep rearranging themselves before I can get them the hell out of my mouth. “It’s that I need to look beyond what I want.”
“Can you elaborate on that? I don’t want to make any assumptions.” Harrison doesn’t reach for the notepad on the table by his chair. He doesn’t so much as look at it. Clasping his hands and resting them on his lap, he waits for me to give him details. He knows better than to write a damn thing down. I don’t want any records made of our sessions together. I never have, and I can’t allow him to start now.
This is the part I’m going to have to muscle through. Brute force. Rail against. A voice in the back of my head shrieks that this is dangerous, that admitting it is dangerous, that leaning into it is dangerous.
But it’s not. Admitting the things I want and need isn’t dangerous. What happened with Quincy was a cruel coincidence. It has to have been, otherwise I can’t do this with Ella, and I want it.
I more than want it. I need it. And so does she.
“I believe she could benefit from having a stronger hand. Something in line with her previous relationships.” He opens his mouth to ask a question, but I speak first. “I’ll clarify everything with her beforehand. She’s forthcoming.”
Harrison steeples his hands in front of him. “What is it that you’re afraid you aren’t seeing beyond your own desires for this … would you call it a Dominant/submissive relationship?”
I don’t feel anything like embarrassment when he says it out loud. I feel no shame. What I feel is a certainty that he is the right person to discuss this with, just as I’m certain this kind of mediation would be right for Ella. But that certainty, like all other things, is only a feeling. It’s not necessarily the truth. If there’s an aspect I haven’t considered, then maybe Harrison can help me find it. What I know for sure is that I can’t do this—won’t do it—without some sort of confirmation. I double-check feelings the same way I double-check the details when I’m working security. Flip every lock twice.
“That’s what I would call it, yes. A Dominant/submissive relationship to aid her in a positive recovery.” A thousand images flood into my mind of what, exactly, our relationship would look like. There are real boundaries when it comes to D/s relationships. Ironclad ones. And they will have to mesh together with the limits of the contract we’re both engaged in. “I’ve observed her closely. I’ve talked with her. This approach could help her heal.”
“And your reservations?”
“She has past trauma,” I say, ushering the truth into the silence. It’s an easy quiet here in Harrison’s office. He never seems to be in any sort of rush. “I’m sure of that. But she’s resistant to discussing it or seek therapy.”
“Ah. Much like you were,” Harrison points out.
“Yes.” I was resistant as hell. I was angry. Grieving. Suffering. Pissed at Damon for making me come here in the first place, and for having the balls to look at the wreck I was and call it like he saw it. I was pissed at him for being right, and I knew he was. When my dad died, I learned the consequences of bottling things up, so damn it, I knew he was right. But that didn’t make me less furious. The first few sessions with Harrison were quiet, but not like this. It wasn’t peaceful. “It’s similar to my situation in that way.”
“And you’re concerned she could suffer if you aren’t—”
“If I don’t critically consider every aspect of her care. If I miss something because I’m blinded by my own needs.”
My own needs have been screaming at me since the day I saw her in that courtroom, and I would be a fool not to admit that and seek caution.
Harrison considers me, and I know he’s taking note of everything. The way I sit in the chair. The expression on my face. The tone of my voice. Even the way I dressed for the meeting. “It sounds like you’ve already come to a conclusion.”
“I haven’t.”
What I have come to a conclusion about is that Ella would respond well as a submissive. With the right Dominant caring for her, she could heal in a way that aligns with who she is. It’s written all over her. But knowing it and choosing to act on it are two different things. I haven’t yet made that final decision. Harrison furrows his brow.
I’m adamant when I tell him, “I haven’t, Harrison.”
“You want me to tell you that you’ll be critical in all things and see beyond your wants. You want me to guarantee that for you. You should know better, Zander. There are no guarantees.”
“I’m not looking for a guarantee.” A match strike of irritation scrapes against the inside of my cheek. I know better than that. I know there are no guarantees in life, not ever, and the worst things that happen to a person seem to appear out of nowhere. It’s never the thing you’re expecting. Never the thing I’m expecting. “I’m looking for a consultation.”
“Then I believe your thoughtfulness reflects a high level of concern for this client.”
“Is it your opinion—” I pause to sit up straight and tall in my seat, my fingers tapping on the armrest as I consider my next question carefully. “Is it your opinion that I shouldn’t do this?”
The empathy in Harrison’s eyes is the one thing about this session that presses at some soft spot I keep hidden. Harrison knows about my past. He knows, because after Quincy, Damon insisted that I seek help. What he actually said was that if I didn’t go, he would drag me here himself and sit through the session to make sure I talked. I told him it was against every possible policy to barge in on someone else’s private therapy sessions. He’d looked me straight in the eye. “I don’t care,” he said. “I’ll do it anyway. Harrison won’t kick me out and I’ll kick your ass if you don’t.”
I believed him. And I ended up here, in this office, telling Harrison things I never thought I’d tell another human being. He helped me sort through the overwhelming guilt and shame.
“It could be what she’s missing,” I tell Harrison, and I hear it—I hear that note in my voice that I hate. It’s the one that’s craving affirmation. Just one nod from an outside party to tell me that this is not a terrible idea. That listening to my gut instinct is appropriate for the situation. “It could help her sort through the mess. Give her an outlet that’s more inclined to her comfort.”
Harrison doesn’t laugh. “Because Dominant/submissive relationships are bound by the agreement.”
“Yes. There can be a release in it for subs. She—” Shit. I almost did it again. I almost said Ella. I almost spoke her name into this room, and I cannot do that. It’s one of the hard limits. She cannot become a part of my life like that. Because of the contract. Because of Cade. Because of me. “She seems to need that assurance.”
Ella has been holding herself together in a tight grip for a long, long time. It’s obvious from the way she stood in the courtroom and those first days at the house. I know if I took her over my knee, I could unwind part of that tension for her. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
Fuck.
I am not, not, going to think about that in this room. Not when I’m in full view of my fucking therapist.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it. What I am saying is that if y
ou’re going to move forward, it might be worth calling in backup.”
“What do you mean exactly?”
“Having a second person in the room, or at least aware of the situation. Someone else on the team, to ensure there’s another party present to measure any differences you might not see because you’re so close to this situation.”
Someone like Damon.
“I’m keeping a professional distance.”
“Of course,” says Harrison. “Of course.”
“If I were to go through with this …”
“It would be wise for someone to be aware, in case you are blinded.”
“So long as someone else is watching her?” I leave the question half spoken, knowing full well she has a team taking every precaution to monitor her from her sleeping hours to her weekly weigh-in.
“So long as she is in the right mind to consent … and so long as you maintain your professional distance. You are aware that these relationships can be helpful, but you know they can also bring dependency and other emotions. You must be prepared for that, if that case arises.”
Ella
The Firm will work with the client to arrange for the deployment of partners with best endeavors to conduct the offered services. All personnel is at the client’s discretion.
Everything about this moment was intentional. From the way the skirt lays across the sofa, to how I loosely tie the wrap top to show off a little more cleavage. My long-sleeved cotton dress with a floral print in fall tones is new.
Some of the other details may have been for a photo op with Kamden, like actually applying makeup and false lashes. He’s just left, snapping a quick picture before leaving through the back door as Zander strode in. But all of it, I chose with him in mind. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to dress up and look pretty. Even longer since I thought of a man while doing it.
“You look gorgeous.” Zander’s statement catches me by surprise. There’s nothing guarded about it. My blush rises up my cheekbones and burns at my temples. The things this man does to me is heady.
“Thank you,” I whisper, still taken aback as he takes a seat across from me in our blue room of sexual tension. It’s what I’ve dubbed it now that I’ve spent more time in this room with him playing with fire, than I’ve been in this room with anyone else since purchasing the home years ago.
“You cut it … and it’s lighter.” The manner in which he gives his observation is comical and offers me a warmth I’ve missed since I told him to sleep well before going to bed last night.
I shrug, as if this all isn’t for him, and say, “Blonds have more fun.”
“Hmm.” His hum is approving, yet questioning all at once. “You’re happy with it?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Then I approve,” he tells me and I suck in a breath, ready to toy with him. To let him know his approval is irrelevant and I wasn’t aiming for it. I’m certain it would get under his skin and he’d flex that hand of his as he did the other night. Before I can usher out a word, Zander takes his normal seat with a seriousness that silences me.
He’s wearing his usual black jeans and a matching tee, but there’s something different about the air around him tonight. With his thumb moving over each finger, he cracks his knuckles and tells me, “It’s been two weeks. I believe there are benchmarks you could meet so long as we establish boundaries …”
“Boundaries?” I repeat, lifting a challenging brow. I didn’t expect him to pick up the conversation right where we left off. Typically he offers me more foreplay than this.
“Yes. And since we’re being blunt, I expect you to behave. I expect you to listen to me. Is that clear?” Heat rises through me. Before I can tease him, asking what I’d get out of it, he adds, “I will ensure you are rewarded justly.”
“Justly?” I echo the word, feeling suffocated. It’s hard to imagine this is happening. That it’s real life, this man across from me promising me things only one other man has before. It took ages for James to take me in. Years of occasional fucks, which were enjoyable, but casual, before either of us decided we wanted more. Before we … got together like this. My throat is dry with the memory but Zander’s steady voice commands my attention.
“I need you to agree to that. To listen to me.”
“Ever the Dominant, to speak of your needs.” I utter the word out loud, so there is nowhere to hide any longer.
“Ever the submissive, to require a strong hand.”
Barely breathing, I admit with humor, “I am a people pleaser.”
His hum of acknowledgment holds a tone of sarcasm. “Why do I think that only applies to some people?”
“That I am selective with who I please?” I ask to clarify, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. He nods and my bottom lip slips between my teeth as I attempt to recall what my dream was this morning. So I can tell him exactly how I’d like to please him.
“One time my friend told me to have some dignity. She thought sex wasn’t a morally neutral act,” I comment, reeling in the dangerous tension and focusing on the ends of the throw blanket that have frayed over time.
His eyes narrow and I’m not certain if it’s because he disagrees with my statements or not. Either way, I focus on picking barely perceptible lint from the blanket and wait for him to say anything at all. I wait for him to tell me what to do. To establish terms. I wait for him.
“Your rewards will be varied. As will your obligations.”
“Is that so?” I push back. I only hesitate for a half second before questioning, putting out the word for both of us to hear it in no uncertain terms, “You can’t be my Dom, wouldn’t that break the rules? It would breach the contract.”
“I have no intention of fucking you while under contract,” Zander states firmly, although his cock already straining against his zipper tells me he wants to. “That doesn’t mean I can’t punish you, that I can’t reward you.”
“Zander,” I say, and I hope he can hear it in my voice. The temptation, yet at the same time, the caution.
“If you want to give me your submission, I will take care of you. I will help you. I will give you everything you need and more.” I’m floored. I’ve never told a soul. What James and I had … I’d never shared with anyone. Questions batter me, but I obey, gripping the blanket and accepting that Zander knows more than what I’ve told him. More than what I’ve told anyone.
It’s a sin to fall so deeply into the depths of desire like this. To blindly want, and devour every promise with such greed. And yet here I am. Wanting nothing but this.
“I’m scared,” I admit to him and he repositions himself, his fingers intertwining as if he needs to hold on to them to keep from touching me.
“I will never hurt you. We will establish boundaries and limits. I want this as much as I think you do. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
Heat dances along every inch of my skin as I confess, “You aren’t wrong.”
“Then do we understand one another?” he questions.
“Are you sure you can handle me?” I tease him one last time for good measure, wondering what he’ll do to me next time I give him lip. Will he turn me over and redden my ass? Will he lean me over the edge of the sofa and fuck me until I beg him to come?
My toes curl and I reach for the throw blanket, needing to hide myself right now although the additional heat is unwanted. Beggars can’t be choosers.
“I love your spirit, little bird. But you will only answer yes or no to the following questions, is that clear?” With shortened breath, I answer him yes, because I want to. I am more than willing to consider submitting to him. Little bird. I love it. He has no idea what it means to be called little bird. A flightless one who used to sing.
As he leans back in the chair, my gaze slips down to his jeans, specifically his cock that presses against his zipper and down his thigh. He doesn’t even try to hide it.
“Have you used hand signals before?” he questions.
“Yes.”
&
nbsp; “Good. This relationship will be between us and only us. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“I will use signals when we are with company. And you will obey them as swiftly as possible or receive punishment. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” I answer and if I ever had any shame, I’d feel it now at my eagerness. Truth be told, I feel nothing but desperation for us to begin. For the first time in a long time, I feel wanted, I feel excited. I feel a heated pulse that’s run cold for nearly a year now.
“Show me the commands,” he orders. “You have my permission to speak, but only to tell me the commands as you demonstrate them.” His deep, steadying breath raises his shoulders and his hands flex on the armrest before he grips them once again. It’s heady to watch a man like him resist his own desires. I want to know what will happen when he gives in. When I do what he says and he rewards both of us, fucking me the way he fantasizes about. I’m desperate to know what it’ll be like.
Raising my pointer in the air, the other fingers forming a fist, I make a circle parallel to the ceiling. “Undress.” I remember the signals easily. The recollection bombards me with the memories of a handsome man who used to care for me like no one else had before.
My pointer over my lips. “Silence.”
My pointer directed at the floor. “Come to me now.”
My pointer and middle finger both pointed at the ground and touching one another. “Kneel for me.”
My pointer and middle finger pointed at the ground but spread apart, forming a V. “Spread your legs for me.”
With my chest rising and falling easily, I attempt to recall any others, but I don’t think there were any.
“And what of specific kneels, eyes down, hands and knees at the point? What of that?”
Shaking my head gently, I maintain eye contact, and question if I should tell him or if I should remain silent.
“You can speak,” he states easily and frees me from the dilemma.
“I have never done any of that, and I don’t know what ‘at the point’ means.”
