“What are you talking about? I’m planning to propose to her. That’s why you’re here. I need you to help me pick out a ring.”
“Okaaaay.” She didn’t look convinced.
I drove. It took almost an hour to get to the jewelry store Kate had scoped out for me. It was off the beaten path, but as Kate pointed out, there was no reason to go to the most expensive store in Seattle when you could find beautifully handcrafted jewelry from a local craftsman who didn’t have to pay the expensive overhead and who had rings that were just as nice. She had compared the quality of diamonds available at a variety of stores and at what prices. I was impressed that she’d found the highest quality at the best price. There was no reason to give a chain store extra money just because they required a bigger marketing budget.
The minute we walked through the door I knew we were in the right place. The decor was upscale, but the atmosphere was comfortable. I didn’t feel like I would be judged by snobbish salespeople, but I also didn’t feel like I needed a bodyguard to get out of the neighborhood alive.
“How may I help you today?” a plump little woman asked as she approached us from behind the counter. She had a pleasant smile and I imagined she made a lasagna every Sunday night that was the pride of her family.
“I’d like to see your engagement rings please.”
“Ah, is this the lucky lady?” The woman nodded toward Kate.
“No, ma’am.” Kate was quick to answer.
“No. She lives in Texas. I asked my friend here to come with me to help me decide.”
“Aha. Smart thinking bringing reinforcements. Do you know what kind of ring she wants—your intended?”
“Her name is Sophie, and no, I’m not sure. Kate, from what I told you—what do you think?” I’d asked Kate to research engagement rings, how they fit with personality and such. I wish I knew exactly what Sophie wanted, but she and I had never even had a conversation about rings, or engagements for that matter.
“I think we’ve ruled out marquis, emerald, and oval,” Kate said.
I peered into the case. “I like that one.” I pointed at a square diamond and the woman pulled it out of the case and handed it to me.
She chose another two similar rings and laid them on a blue velvet mat on the counter. “These are nice too.”
“What about a cushion cut?” Kate asked. “Those are very feminine. Romantic.”
The woman pulled out another ring in the shape of the square and handed it to Kate.
“What do you think?” Kate asked
“It’s nice. But I was hoping for something a little more exciting. A little flashier while still being somewhat conservative. Also these are a little small …”
The sales lady’s eyes lit up. “I may have just the thing in the back. Wait just a minute.”
I shifted my weight back and forth from one foot to the other. It had been a long time since I’d considered buying a woman a ring, and my first marriage hadn’t turned out so well.
“You okay, boss?”
“Yeah, I’m all right.” The sales lady came back out to the front with a gray velvet box. She opened it to reveal a lovely diamond that would look perfect on Sophie’s finger. I must not have been able to contain my reaction because the sales lady couldn’t stop smiling.
“This princess cut is very traditional, but for a bride who likes a little modern flair as well.”
“That sounds like Sophie the way you described her to me,” Kate said.
“How big is that stone?” I asked.
“The center stone is 4.5 carats with another carat in the setting.”
“It’s breathtaking, Quentin. There’s not a girl alive who wouldn’t love it.” Kate nodded her approval.
The saleswoman and I discussed “the four Cs” until I was satisfied the ring was good enough for my Sophie. Then I gave her my black AMEX, and she wrapped the ring up in a little box with gold wrapping paper and topped by a mini bow.
“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Kate asked.
“No,” I agreed. “That was the easy part.”
The hard part was going to be getting her to say yes.
7
Quentin
I waited until the end of May when school was out.
Sophie needed time to think, time to process her new condition as a mother-to-be. I’d reached out to her numerous times in a variety of ways and each time she let me know by her silence that she wasn’t ready to talk with me yet.
Rather than force the issue—I decided to be patient with her.
But I was starting to wonder when the fuck she was going to do the right thing, and tell me I was going to become a father in about seven months. I’d done the math, and I figured her due date to be around Thanksgiving. And I would be a part of this child’s life as well as his mother’s.
She was the best thing that had ever happened to me and I wasn’t going to let my own stupidity ruin that.
She had to forgive me. Give me another chance. It was just that simple.
For the last month I prayed she would come around, but when she didn’t I boarded a plane and made my way across the country to confront my baby momma.
Now I waited outside her house in my rented vehicle, and when I saw her car pull into the driveway I got out and strolled over to her.
At first she didn’t see me, and I had the chance to observe her for a minute. Pushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, she leaned over and grabbed some plastic sacks, her purse, and another large bag before turning to open the door.
When she saw me her eyes rounded and she hesitated.
I opened the car door for her. “Hello, Sophie.”
Her brows came together to form a “V” and she frowned. “What are you doing here, Quentin?”
“You wouldn’t return my calls. You left me with no choice. Here, let me help you with those.” I reached out and took the large bag and the plastic sacks. They had the name of a pharmacy emblazoned on the side of them, and I resisted the urge to look inside them. Would they contain prenatal vitamins?
She let me take them, but it was clear she wasn’t pleased to see me. “Quentin, I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.”
Oh that’s where she was so fucking wrong. She had no idea that I knew about the baby. Well, she was in for a surprise if she thought she could keep that little secret from me.
“I disagree.”
“I think you should go.” She stepped out of the car and headed for the front door.
“I’ve traveled thousands of miles to see you. The least you could do is invite me in and offer me something to drink.”
She stood at the door glaring at me, trying to decide her next move.
A neighbor across the street had just pulled into her driveway and was getting out of her car. I didn’t need Sophie to get all uncomfortable with me now. My heart rate quickened.
“Hi, Mrs. Chastain.” Sophie waved.
“Hello, dear.” The woman smiled and waved back. “Out of school for the summer?” Mrs. Chastain looked me over. I waved politely.
“Yes, thank goodness.”
“Well, you two have fun,” the woman said and went inside her house.
“Aren’t you supposed to offer me some sweet tea or something? You don’t want me to have to tell Bunny you’ve forgotten your manners, do you?” I teased.
I knew threatening to tattle on her to her mother would piss her off, but it worked. She glared at me and headed for her front door. When she got there, she opened the door for me before storming inside and leaving it open for me to follow.
Getting in the door—check.
“So do you want tea?” she asked, barely able to contain her hostility. Her dark eyes flashed and she looked beautiful. Pregnancy agreed with her.
“I’d love some. Thanks for asking.”
She strode into the kitchen and took two glasses from the cabinet and set them on the counter. Then she opened the refrigerator door and got out a pitcher of
tea. Not bothering with the ice, she poured two glasses and handed me one.
“Thank you. May I sit?” I motioned to the living room.
“If you must.” She rolled her eyes, and suddenly I wanted to turn her over my knee and spank her bottom.
“Don’t do that,” I snapped.
“What?”
“Roll your eyes at me, young lady.” I sounded more like her father than her Dominant, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let her disrespect me like that.
“Quentin, you’re not my …”
Before she could finish that statement, I jumped in, raising my voice. “I’m not your what? I’m not your Dom? I’m not your father. That may be, but I’ll tell you whose father I am—that baby you’re carrying!”
Her mouth opened wide to form an “O” and she dropped onto the couch.
I sat down next to her.
“What? How …?”
“How did I know?”
She nodded.
“Never mind that. When were you going to tell me?”
“I don’t know.” She covered her face with her hands.
“What were you thinking, Sophie? That you would raise this child by yourself? That I didn’t need to know? That you could get away with not telling me?” I spit out the words with venom, wanting to hurt her the way she’d hurt me by keeping our baby a secret from me.
“No.” She looked up, her face troubled. “I didn’t know what to do. I just needed to think.”
“Think? Well, you’ve had a chance to think. And now it’s time for us to make plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“To raise our son.”
“But … I don’t know about that, and I don’t know that it’s a boy.”
My heart stopped. She couldn’t be considering terminating the pregnancy, could she? “What do you mean? You must keep the baby.”
“I know. Of course I will, but I don’t know how we can raise the baby together.”
Fuck. This was what I was afraid of. “Sophie, a child needs a mother and a father. You know that.”
She shrugged. “But I can’t trust you, Quentin. You lied to me. I don’t see how I can live with a man who I know will lie to me.”
“Sophie, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’ll never lie to you again. I promise. It was stupid of me to do it before.” Biggest mistake of my big fat fucking life.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Quentin, but I can’t.”
I took a sip of tea. “I understand you’re not ready to forgive me yet, but I want you to know that I love you and I love the child you’re carrying. If it takes me the rest of my life, I’m going to make it up to you and show you that you need me as much as I need you.” I leaned closer to her and held her shoulders as I kissed her on the forehead.
A sob escaped her throat.
I stood up. “Thank you for the tea. Please let me know if you need anything. For yourself or the baby.”
Her bottom lip began to quiver.
I turned and strode to the front door. “This is not over. I am not giving up. I will never give up,” I said before walking out the front door.
When I got to my car, I took a deep breath.
So she was going to make this hard.
As much as it made my blood boil, I had a grudging respect for her position. Sweet little Sophie had morphed into a mamma bear determined to protect her cub from the likes of big bad liars like me. She must think I was the worst kind of bastard—unwilling to commit, dishonest, a curse to everyone around him. I couldn’t blame her for cutting me out of her life.
But that’s who I was before. Ever since I found out I had another chance to be a father, I had been committed to her one hundred percent. In fact, it had happened even before then. I’m not sure when I realized that I needed her, that I couldn’t live without her. Maybe it was that night at the Oscars when I realized that without her by my side all my accomplishments didn’t mean a fucking thing.
If I was honest with myself, I realized it too late—after I came clean with her about how I’d been posing as another Dom, BA, deceiving her into believing that she was serving me by allowing my apprentice Dom, BA to dominate her. She’d hated the idea of me “sharing” her, but I’d forced her, called it a test of her loyalty to me, and she fell for it. I’d manipulated her, and since I was BA all along, I could see why she felt she could no longer trust me.
But there was no way in hell I was giving up on her now. Not when everything I wanted, everything I needed, was so fucking close.
Time for Plan B.
8
Quentin
I awoke with a start. Sitting up in my bed, I rubbed my eyes, trying to get my bearings. The evening flight I’d taken home the night before should have worn me out. I should have slept like the dead.
Taking a drink from the glass of water beside my bed I realized I’d been dreaming again. I blamed Dr. Beckett. Before I’d started seeing her, my memories of Sam stayed buried. Dredging them up had only made me crazy again, the way I’d been after his death. I’d told the shrink I was having trouble sleeping and now her fucking “treatment” was giving me nightmares. Dreams where I was drowning in blood, thrashing around in an ocean of blood. Flailing wildly the way Sam had …
Yeah, fuck that bitch. Maybe I’d quit therapy, tell her I was done the next time I saw her. I could get a referral to a doc who could give me some sleeping pills. I’d tried the over-the-counter stuff, but it just made me a zombie the next day.
The clock said 3:36 a.m. in bright-blue numbers.
I was wide awake now, and if I was honest with myself, I dreaded going back to sleep. The last thing I wanted was to go back into that churning red water.
I briefly considered reading or watching television. Who the fuck was I kidding? I turned on my tablet and opened a window to a porn channel. Scrolling through, not much caught my eye. Just a lot of “MILFs destroyed by black cocks” and “fucking my stepdaughter” shit.
Closing my eyes, I decided to conjure my own fantasies, rather than try to garner satisfaction from someone else’s.
Whenever I wanted to get hard, all I had to do was think of Sophie. Even though we’d had more intense sexual experiences, my favorite memory to retrieve was that of our first meeting.
My hand slid under the elastic of my boxers and I wrapped my fingers around my hardening cock.
Before I saw Sophie for the first time I’d prepared myself for anything. In fact, I’d convinced myself that she would be a rather unattractive girl by media standards. Why else would she have been so damned stubborn about not wanting to do webcam sessions? She used privacy as an excuse, but I prepared myself that vanity might be the real reason. Every other woman who had been my submissive had eventually caved to the pressure I’d exerted upon them and participated in camera sessions with me. As a man, I’m visual. I wanted to fucking see the results of my commands. I wanted to watch my sub slap her ass, pinch her nipples, or fuck her pussy. Sophie was the first to deny me that pleasure, but for some reason I went along with that hard limit of hers.
Then I became entranced by her. Something about her spirit came through in our play together, and there was something there that attracted me. It was odd, because, looking back, you’d think we would have at least asked each other about the other’s appearance, but for some reason, it didn’t seem to matter.
So when I walked into that dining room in the Omni Hotel that evening, I didn’t know what to expect. If she had looked like a mud fence I would have still wanted to dominate her. But, to my great surprise, she was an angel. When I leaned in and whispered for her to close her eyes, the sweet smell of honeysuckle tickled my nose. She smelled fresh. Innocent. Utterly and deliciously corruptible.
Fuck yeah she was. She made my dick and my heart stutter. And somehow her prettiness made me want to see her suffer all the more. When we got into the elevator to go upstairs she tried to kiss me, but much to her surprise I refused her and instead forced her to her knees and
made her suck my cock instead. Then I humiliated her, making her stay on her knees after I shot my load down her throat. When the doors opened on our floor and two businessmen saw her in that position the “atta-boy” look they gave me was priceless. Gave her a valuable lesson about what it was like to be the object of men’s fantasies. And while her lips protested, I could see in her eyes that she liked being objectified like that. Craved it in fact.
So I made her undress in front of me.
Of course she was shy.
That was what made it so fucking sweet. If she’d have been a professional at it, I’d have been bored out of my mind. But instead she was as gawky as a new colt learning to stand. She bit her lip nervously, not knowing what to do with her hands, her legs. The whole experience had been delicious and as much as I’d wanted to devour her, plunge my cock into any number of her wet little orifices, I wanted to torture her even more.
So I did.
I gave her three implements to choose between—a cane, a Wartenberg wheel, and a crop, and made her pick them up and carry them in her mouth.
I smiled at the memory.
She chose the Wartenberg wheel first. Laying her on the bed with her arms and legs spread wide, I used rope to tie her to the bed. Making sure to tease her along the way, I scraped the coarse rope across her nipples and grazed her face with my pants, though I didn’t offer her another taste of my cock. She was so responsive, easy to read. That made dominating her rather simple. I knew what she needed, what she wanted but couldn’t voice herself.
There’s not much I love more than a tied-up, naked, helpless woman who has given me permission to use her as my personal toy. Every time I recall that moment, looking down at her with the realization that I had an entire weekend with that beautiful, innocent yet naughty little plaything, my mouth waters.
I dragged that wheel, with its wicked metal tines, over her soft, supple skin. First gently, then after I warmed her up I did it harder and harder until she screamed so loudly I warned her, “If you’re going to scream like that I’m going to have to gag you while I abuse you and fuck that cunt of yours.”
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