Her Dom (Dominic Powers #1)

by A. D. Justice

  “I don’t like you hiding your feelings from me, Sophia,” I clarify. “If you have happy or sad thoughts—or tears—I want them. I want you, all of you, and if they’re ever sad tears, I want to be the one to make them go away.”

  She nods and swallows hard, pushing her feelings down her throat again. “You have all of me, Dom. Forever. You have all of me,” she vows. She lowers her hands to my pants and eases them off of me.

  Leading her to the bed, I shower her with kisses all over her body as I tighten the restraints on her wrists and ankles. Her arms and legs are secured to the bed and she’s in a comfortable, but spread eagle, position. “Do you know why we use restraints, love?” I ask as I double-check her comfort.

  “No, Dom. Why?” she asks, cocking her head to the side and looking genuinely interested in the answer.

  “When you move, it subconsciously takes your mind off the pleasure you’re feeling. It makes your mind and your body focus elsewhere so you don’t get the full effect,” I state and she bites the corner of her mouth as she considers my words. “The restraints keep you from squirming as much, as well as showing your submission and trust. They’re just as much for your pleasure as for mine, just in a somewhat different way.”

  Crawling up her body, starting at her feet, I take my time to make love to her entire body—not just the act of sex but also the demonstration of total love. My mouth and my hands properly worship every inch of her. As much as she wants to move, to squirm, my words return to her and she relaxes to accept the full effect of our union.

  When I finally enter her, my dick is throbbing beyond belief, but I move slowly and purposefully, bringing her to orgasm time and time again while I maintain control over my body. She pulls against the restraints and cries out again, asking me to join her.

  “Please, Dom, now,” she begs reverently.

  I can’t refuse her, especially when she asks like this, or when my body physically can’t hold back another second. Thrusting into her harder and faster, she reaches her peak again just in time for me to join her. Lying on top of her, my body covering hers, and I reach up and release the restraints from her wrists. I gently massage each one to relieve any numbness and help completely restore the blood flow.

  Sniffling catches my attention and I look at her to find tears streaming down her face. “Are you alright, My Angel? Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Her words shock me as she speaks her mind between tears and sobs. “I love you, Dom. You’re everything no one has ever been to me. You’re good, kind, loving, and honest. You take care of me, and I may get in trouble for this, but I just don’t deserve you. I can’t let you go, though. No matter how undeserving I am, I can’t let you go.”

  Cocooning her with my body, I shield her from the outside world so that all she can see and feel is me. There is nothing else in the room. There is nothing else in the house. There is nothing else in the world. There is only she and I and every day I will make sure that she knows she is my world. She is on my pedestal and she is my queen. I am her Dom but she is my heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hours later, Sophia and I are in my comfortable bed and she’s lying on her side, snuggled up facing me. Her hand is tracing small circles on my chest, straying over to my tattoos again. We’ve napped on and off for a few minutes at a time but we can’t seem to get enough of each other tonight. The experience in the playroom has solidified my feelings for her. She gave me all of her—no holding back and no fear. Her full submission was willingly handed over to me and I treated it with the utmost respect and care.

  “Dominic?” she asks quietly. Using my full name now instantly alerts me. I don’t think I’m going to like what she says next.

  “Yes, love,” I reply, stroking her back.

  She continues absently tracing her fingers over my skin while she works up the nerve to say what’s on her mind. Finally, after a couple minutes of me waiting patiently, she asks, “Why did he say you killed his sister?”

  I knew this conversation would eventually surface and I’ve dreaded having it. My only solace is in knowing that our mutual trust has just multiplied several times over tonight. I consciously make my arm keep moving, skimming across her smooth skin, and focus on the wonderful lady lying in my arms. Taking a deep breath that I know I will need to get through this conversation, I dive in headfirst.

  “His sister, Carol Ann, was my last submissive. She—died,” I stumble over the words, “and he blames me.”

  Her hand stops, she inhales sharply, and every muscle in her body tenses simultaneously. Not changing my rhythm, I continue to slowly caress up and down her spine, feeling every bump and dip along the way. She’s grasping to process the bomb I just dropped on her.

  “What happened?” she whispers. “How did she die?”

  I’ve relived this so many times in my mind, it’s almost like I’m right there with her every time. “It was our one-year anniversary of being together and I had a special night planned for us. Carol Ann didn’t like crowds, so I had hidden surprises for her to find throughout the day while she was at home and I was at work.

  “When she got up that morning, she found a basket of new bath supplies—bubble bath, shower gel, all that stuff women love. It was sitting on the side of our garden tub, all wrapped up with a big bow. She always dressed in the walk-in closet, so I hung her new silk lingerie and matching robe up just inside, right where she would see it first. There were other things hidden all through our condo—earrings, necklaces, bracelets, shoes—just in random places, but she loved the scavenger hunt,” I smile but my heart clenches, remembering these little details of her.

  “I had planned an elaborate dinner for us at home, knowing she would be wearing her new lingerie and waiting for me to arrive. Her fear of going out around people had increased over the time we were together. She didn’t even want to be around her family—especially her brother. I’m sure you can see why from our brief encounter with him. But her phobia had become worse, and in hindsight, I did worry about her becoming depressed with staying home so much. She assured me over and over that she was happy—that she couldn’t ask for more. I believed her and trusted her to tell me when she was overwhelmed.

  “Our favorite restaurant made us special plates to go and delivered them to the condo, along with a cake and special vintage bottle of champagne. The champagne I had picked out was special in many ways, actually, and I had to order it months ahead of time. There were very few bottles available so I was fortunate to even get one. The bottle design itself was very unique since the 1998 version was the only vintage in a plated, white gold bottle. It was Dom Perignon White Gold Jeroboam champagne.

  “Anyway, I had a courier deliver the champagne to the restaurant and then they delivered it all together to our condo. As usual, I had meetings that ran over and I was late leaving from work. Carol Ann called just as I was walking out of the building to ask where I was. I apologized profusely for being late for our anniversary celebration and she laughed. She said, ‘Dominic, you know you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m not going anywhere.’ We both laughed at that double entendre joke and I assured her I would be home soon.

  “She told me the food and champagne had already been delivered and she couldn’t wait to get into that bottle. I told her she could have one glass without me but no more than that. I decided at the last minute to stop and get her a bouquet of flowers on my way home. Carol Ann always loved flowers. When she would become sad over her family drama, I would give her flowers and her face would glow from excitement. It was always the little things that she loved the most,” I reminisced.

  What I’m about to say is the part I don’t want to talk about. The next scene changed me forever. Even though I’ve taken another sub, the memories of the past haunt me. I can’t get it out of my mind. The lingering doubts are still there. Should I even be allowed to be a Dom? Am I worthy of such a title? Am I deserving of the complete trust and total submission given to me? These are the questions
that have plagued me relentlessly for the last sixteen months. Every fucking day.

  Sophia lifts her chin to look up at me, waiting for me to finish the story. I know I can’t leave it here and the least I can do is man-up and just tell her what happened. Scraping my hand down my face, I blow out a forceful breath and unconsciously ball up my fist.

  “When I turned into our condo drive, the first thing I saw was red and blue flashing lights everywhere. It was obvious there was an emergency, with the fire trucks, an ambulance, and several police cars parked haphazardly. Of course, I was concerned with what was happening, but I really just wanted to get to Carol Ann. I was already so late,” my voice trails off and I feel Sophia grip me tighter as she tries to give me her strength.

  “Grabbing the flowers from the front seat, I hopped out and quickly strolled toward the entrance. A cop was stationed at front of the door, checking everyone’s identification before he let anyone pass—coming and going. He saw my name, and even though I saw the flash of recognition across his face, I chose not to see it. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you or not,” I wait for Sophia to catch up with me.

  “Yes, I think I know what you mean,” she says quietly.

  I nod once and continue, “I reached to take my license back from him and he said, ‘Mr. Powers, we need to speak to you somewhere private, sir.’ Those are not the words I wanted to hear at all. It suddenly became very important for me to just get to the condo and see Carol Ann. I told him that I had dinner plans, I was already late, and I needed to go.

  “A detective came up behind me and told me that I had to go with him, and even though I was severely fucking pissed off, I went into the complex manager’s office with him. It was then that he told me that everything was still being investigated, but it appeared that Carol Ann had killed herself by jumping from our twenty-third floor balcony,” I recite like I’m a fucking robot.

  Sophia gasps loudly and instantly covers her mouth with her hand. When I glance down at her, I see her eyes well up with tears and she shakes her head from side to side, as if she’s saying ‘no.’ I know the feeling—I did the same thing every day for months after it happened. I ran through every scenario, I recounted every word, but I always came back to the end conclusion—Carol Ann is no longer with me. She’s dead and I didn’t protect her.

  “The detective asked if we had any trouble in our relationship, had she been depressed, and if she had any other mental problems. You know, all those really intimate, intrusive questions feel so very impersonal when the other person is taking copious notes as he asks you about the death of someone you love. I was questioned for a while longer, but they wouldn’t let me see her no matter how much I threatened. It was an ongoing investigation and any suicide is treated as a crime until the medical examiner rules on it.

  “Her brother, Harrison, has always blamed me for her death. He accused me of making her agoraphobic—said I forced her to stay hidden away in the house all the time with ‘our lifestyle.’ He knew she was my submissive and he always accused me of taking advantage of her. Said I brainwashed her, that I was abusing her, stupid shit like that. That’s why he says I killed her—she wouldn’t have been depressed or afraid to leave the house if I hadn’t controlled her so much,” I finish, drained of all energy now, but I know it will be a sleepless night.

  “Is that why you have nightmares?”

  “You think I have nightmares?” I ask, not to dodge the question but to find out why she thinks that.

  “You talk in your sleep pretty frequently. Most of the time, I can’t understand what you’re saying, but you always sound so…sad. So desperate. I’ve wondered why that was.”

  “Yes, that’s why I have nightmares. As her Dom, her wellbeing was my responsibility. If she was depressed, sad, hurt, sick, or whatever—it was my job to make sure she was taken care of and I let her down. In a way, Harrison is right—I did kill her.”

  “Did she leave a note?” Sophia asks, opening another wound.

  I sigh, “Yes, the police found a note. It wasn’t out in the open, but it was somewhere I would’ve found it.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It’s late, Sophia. I think you should get some sleep,” I try to steer her away from this.

  “Please, Dom,” she asks.

  Rolling over to my side, I open the top drawer of my nightstand and retrieve the folded note that Carol Ann left behind that fateful day. Holding it for a few seconds, I can almost feel her with me again. It’s the most painful, familiar feeling I’ve ever felt. Without looking at her, I reach behind me to hand Sophia the note to read on her own.

  I don’t expect her to read it aloud, but it’s not like I haven’t already memorized every syllable of that handwritten note over the last sixteen months. It’s the only time I’ve ever had photographic memory in my life, and it just happened to be the worst fucking thing that’s happened in my life.

  Sir,

  I can’t believe we have been together for a whole year. So much has happened in our short time together. I often feel that I’ve brought more sadness than happiness to your life. You have brought me nothing but happiness and I want you to always remember that. No matter what storms have hit, you have been my steadfast rock in the turbulent seas.

  Never doubt the good you’ve done for me. Never doubt my appreciation for you. And never doubt my love for you. I’m paralyzed at the thought of losing you and I know I could never live without you. Through all of my problems, it’s been your love that has pulled me through. I love you, My Sir, and there’s nothing about our life together that I regret. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused for you.

  Sophia finishes reading and turns the paper over to the other side. Not finding anything else, she asks, “She didn’t sign it?”

  “No,” I shake my head and stare at the ceiling.

  “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t she sign it?”

  “I don’t know, Sophia. I tore our condo apart looking for else—anything else—but there was nothing. Only that incomplete note that doesn’t even really tell me goodbye,” I reply solemnly. “I understand if you don’t trust me to be your Dom, or if you don’t want me to be any longer.”

  Sophia launches herself off the bed and directly on top of me. The look of horror on her face speaks volumes and makes me feel a little better about our commitment. Placing her hands on my face, she leans over close to my face and speaks softly, “I trust you with all of me and there will never be a time that I don’t want you to be my Dom. Don’t even joke about that.”

  The pain etched in her beautiful eyes gets to me. Just the thought of losing me bothers her tremendously. She lies on my chest, wrapping her lean body around me as if she’s trying to shield me from the world like I did her. I feel the other half of my soul in her. Like a jigsaw puzzle that has been missing a piece, I haven’t felt whole in a very long time. Sophia is the piece of the puzzle that perfects the picture, and as if it was always meant to be, the picture in my mind is the two of us—Sophia and me.

  Over the last six weeks, Sophia and I have become closer than I ever imagined. She spends most of her time at my house now, except Sunday nights, as she still insists on staying alone at her condo. While I do miss her, the time alone gives me a chance to handle other matters without any interruptions. Not that she’s hard to have around—on the contrary. But I can’t do much else, besides her, when she’s here.

  We’ve moved way out of the plain vanilla sex realm into truly experimenting with limits and new techniques. Although, as far as vanilla goes, I have had plenty of my favorite kind of cupcake and icing over these past many weeks. I can hardly bear to think about the first time I used the flogger on her without then taking her back to the playroom to have another go at it.

  She walked to the padded cross, spread her arms and legs to the restraints, and quietly waited for me to secure her to the furniture. Once she was bound, she had a look of pure satisfaction on her face that must have completely mirrored my o
wn. When I picked up the flogger from its place on the wall, she let out a small gasp and tried to hide the smile playing at the corner of her lips.

  I walked to her, leaned in, and bit her lip, not too hard but not too soft. She just needed a reminder of who was in charge. She had to remember that she didn’t tell me what was in store for her. So, I turned and put it up and picked up the bullwhip instead. Flicking my wrist and curving the whip to make an “S” shape, the clacker popped loudly as it struck her thighs. I aimed perfectly, after years and years of practice, so that it didn’t wrap around her and cause damage, but gave just enough of a sting to be sensual, too.

  Once she was sufficiently submissive again, I approached her with the multiple stranded flogger and proceeded to whip her breasts until they were red and swollen with desire. The flogger isn’t intended for stinging pain like the whip, but it does sweetly sensitize the skin, making the sensation of skin-to-skin contact more heightened. Twirling it in my hand, rolling my wrist, and watching the strands as they smacked against her skin was pure bliss.

  These thoughts are continuously running through my mind as I climb into my car this dark Monday morning before work. Tucker has the day off but I don’t mind since I really enjoy driving my car. The rumble of the engine, the feel of the leather covered steering wheel gliding through my hands, and the power of the horses under the hood when my foot hits the gas are all there for my pleasure and control. On days when I just need to think, driving is my refuge.

  As I make my way from my house to the office, my mind is elsewhere as I drive on autopilot. It’s the same drive every day, and at this time of morning, it’s normally fairly isolated. My need for privacy dictates that I live well outside the suburban area, resulting in a longer drive than most. The eerie silence in the car brings me out of my daze and I realize the radio isn’t on. Just as I move my hand, the headlights of a car coming up behind me catch my eye. The driver is flying up on my ass at an incredible speed, so much so that I brace for impact.