by W. Winters
As I’m reading them, another comes through. Don’t be mad, I messaged Damon.
Shifting so my ass is on the floor, I let the shirt go and respond. I’m here. Just had a moment. It’s not so ladylike as I wipe under my nose and consider using the damn shirt as a tissue. A small laugh leaves me at the thought, but then without warning, I sob. Crying into the shirt with fresh hot tears.
“Oh my fucking God what is wrong with me,” I murmur in between wiping at my face with the shirt. Feel it and let it go.
Even as I tell myself to let go of the emotions, I don’t want to let go of the shirt. I don’t know that I’m ready. I don’t think I’m ready.
Focusing on my breathing, I quickly text, Kam I don’t think I’m ready to throw anything away.
That’s okay, that’s totally fine.
My fingers fly across the keys. I mean the houses too. I don’t want anyone to touch them.
Even as I send them, I know it’s unreasonable. I know it is. I just want to stay still for a moment. I’m just not ready for it to change.
I text him again adding, Please, but I can’t explain why.
I spend too long staring down at the rumpled trash bag and wrinkled-up shirt, with my hands trembling. It’s not until Kam tells me no one will touch anything and that he’ll make sure of it that I’m able to consider pulling myself together.
Shame creeps up my spine at how easy it was for me to fall apart.
I couldn’t clear out a dresser of clothes.
“Ella.” Zander’s voice carries through from the cracked bedroom door. It creaks open; he doesn’t wait for me to answer.
I’m sure I’m a sight to behold. There’s no doubt my mascara has run, my cheeks are tearstained and I’m sure my nose is red. Taking in a steadying breath, I slowly rise to my feet, not bothering to hide anything at all.
“Ella,” he repeats, saying my name with a gentleness, a comfort that’s unexpected. I suck in a deep breath, meant to make it all right, but instead my expression crumples and my throat goes tight. He’s quick to wrap his arms around me, bringing me back down to the ground, nestled in his lap as I cling to his shirt. I fist his cotton T-shirt, burying my head in his chest.
One deep breath after the other as he shushes me, rubbing soothing circles on my back and rocking me slightly. Back and forth as the waves of chaotic grieving dim.
With my eyes closed, I breathe Zander in, his unique scent. It’s masculine but clean. Like fresh open water.
“I thought I was doing good,” I whisper, opening my eyes to see the light shining off the silver frame. My gaze drops until Zander grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing my eyes up to his.
The world pauses. All my thoughts, all the sorrow just as much as the battering of the rain when he traps me with his emerald and amber eyes. He doesn’t see through me, he sees all of me. Every last piece and I can’t breathe.
“You did very well and I’m proud of you.” He’s the one to close his eyes and when his lips meet mine, I close mine too. His kiss is bruising, taking without remorse and consuming me in a way I’d forgotten I could feel.
The only way I can think to describe it is safe, cherished, wanted … I don’t know that any one word is enough. It feels like it’ll be okay. Maybe even that nothing else matters. As long as I just stay right here.
He lowers his head again and my eyes close, eager for him to do that again. To make it all go away. To make me his and nothing but that.
My lips mold to his until he nips my bottom lip. A gasp leaves me at the sudden hint of pain.
“Good girl,” he whispers against my lips and then kisses my forehead.
I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I rest my cheek on his chest.
“Did I interrupt you?” he questions.
A knot forms in my chest and I readjust to sit up, to feel the cool air against my heated face. “I think I did all I should for today.”
I peek up at Zander to find him considering the bag of clothes. He doesn’t question anything, he only nods and then pushes the drawer shut to lean against the dresser, keeping his arm around his waist to pull me along with him.
With his legs bent on either side of me, both arms wrapped around me and my head resting against his shoulder, he sits with me, in this room that doesn’t belong to either of us.
It belongs to what once was.
My exhale shudders out of me. Unsteady and daring me to let my thoughts wander.
“You came in with a purpose. I will stay until you’ve done what you wanted.” I tilt my head back to peer up at Zander, who takes his time to look back down at me.
“What are you going to do? Follow me from room to room?” I don’t hide the incredulousness from my tone.
His answer is as simple as it is definitive. “If that’s what you need.”
“You have more important things to do than to babysit me.”
“No, Ella, I don’t.”
For the second time in only moments, I feel caught, but safe. Seen and protected. All at once, it’s suffocating and I tear my gaze from his. Staring across the room, I tell him, “I had planned to do one drawer.”
“It looks like you did that.”
I can only nod, my snide thoughts telling me I should have stopped while I was ahead. “I did.”
“Next time I’d like you to tell me.” His strong hand wraps around my thigh. “Poor Damon was standing outside of the door not knowing what to do with himself.”
Surprised, I turn to face Zander, who grins at my shock.
“No he wasn’t.”
He laughs slightly, his broad chest shaking as he does. He nods and tells me, “He was.”
Brushing at my knee, I stare at the thick accent rug, feeling guilty. “I didn’t mean to make him worry.”
“We can’t help but worry,” he tells me. His thumb runs along my cheek, as if he’s brushing away tears that no longer exist. “I want to be here for you. Don’t deprive me of that, my little bird.”
My heart thumps, loud and heavy. Refusing to go unnoticed. Three words nearly slip from my lips, reckless and nothing but raw emotion. The moment I catch them, I swallow them down. I haven’t forgotten Damon’s comment about displacing my feelings.
Zander stands slowly, holding his hand out for me. “Come.” He towers over me.
There’s a question that lingers, that begs to be spoken. Asking if we’ll ever be more. With my small hand in his, I consider asking him, letting it out and seeing where the chips may fall.
“You did well today. I’m proud of you,” he tells me. Like a Dom speaks to his submissive. Matter of fact.
“Thank you,” I whisper and the chill of the room creeps over my shoulders.
The question goes unasked. We’ve both already loved. I’ll never be the woman he met in the bar who made him laugh. And he’ll never be the man who wanted me so desperately that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He’s only my Dom. And to him, I am only his submissive.
It’s only when we’re leaving, the bag and rumpled rugby shirt staying where they are, that I notice the rain has stopped.
Zander
Ella’s doing well. The sessions with Damon, the new coping habits—all of it is everything I could have hoped for when The Firm took over her care. But something makes me suspicious. Like it’s going too well.
Like she might be hiding something, or burying something. Separating from me in a way I don’t like. But then, of course, that’s the whole point. That Ella will grow to a place where she doesn’t need any of us anymore.
Except … I want her to need me. The way I’m coming to need her. Or maybe it’s only a powerful desire.
I am so fucking conflicted with her. She’s still grieving and I have no idea what she truly wants. A Dom or more. Let alone what she’s capable of committing to once her life goes back to what it was.
We’re in her sitting room in the middle of all that blue, and I can’t keep my eyes off her. Ella is curled int
o a chair with a book on her lap, and all I can do is sit here and stare at her. Marveling at her progress but hesitant to let my guard down.
It’s a cold, dreary day. We could spend days like this in a hundred different ways. Like in my dungeon, for instance. I want to show it to her, but I don’t know if she’d approve.
It’s one thing to have this relationship in the comfort of her home. It’s another to pluck her away and toy with her like I truly want to do.
I don’t know if it would meet her standards. Ella’s house is a testament to her wealth. She’s swimming in it. Drowning in it. Would she even accept the lifestyle I want? I don’t realize I’ve started looking out the window at the thrashing trees until she speaks.
“Z?”
“Yeah?”
A hint of worry in her dark eyes. “Would you hold me?”
I open my arms to her, and she drops the book to come to me. Her only stop is by the fireplace to hit the switch. It springs to life in the grate, filling the space with orange flames, and Ella crawls into my lap. It’ll be winter soon. The snow will blanket us in. It’s different from my place in Pennsylvania. Everything is different here, and I’m not sure how the two worlds fit together. I’m not sure if they can.
It’s all going well, but can this be sustained?
Ella rests her head on my shoulder, and I tuck a blanket around her on my lap. There. This is the way to sit in silence together. With her so close I can feel her heat.
Hypothetically, how would I live without her? I can’t exactly picture her in my house in lower Pennsylvania. It’s significantly smaller than her place. Substantially less in nearly every way and I have never wanted to live in a home that feels … expansive and impersonal. My home doesn’t have a separate sitting room and a rec room and an enormous backyard. It doesn’t come with gardening staff and people to take out the flower beds if you want them redone. Ella lives in a world surrounded by people to support her, care for her, and work for her. It would just be me in Pennsylvania. I don’t have any desire for this life.
I can’t even be sure I’d be with The Firm anymore, and I have to question myself—really question myself—about whether my desire for Ella is pure desire for her or if it’s strengthened by the fact that I’ve given up my job for her. For a long time, The Firm was the steadiest thing in my life. The jobs we took under my brother’s direction provided a shape to my days, a way to make good money, and a reason to get up in the morning.
I’m not questioning if Ella would be enough. She would be—I know that by the way she fits into my arms. By the way her scent makes me feel, which is powerful and peaceful at the same time. But would I be enough for her, if I told her I didn’t want this?
I breathe through the thoughts in my head. They are just thoughts, and having them doesn’t make any one of them truer than the others. I hold my emotions at a distance and try to consider them with an impartial mind. I’m obviously unsettled about how things have been left with The Firm. I’m wishing for more solid footing in my life, and not having it is causing some fear and anxiety. But mostly, overriding everything, is how much I want Ella. How much I care for her. I can’t keep that feeling at any kind of distance. It’s too close.
“Would you ever want to live with me? To continue our power exchange in my home, rather than here?"
Her head comes up, curiosity running through the shades of amber in her dark eyes. “Yes.”
“Even if it wasn’t all of this?” I gesture around us and the obvious wealth. “I can take care of you, but this is not a lifestyle I ever imagined for myself.”
She pushes herself up to look into my eyes. “Would you ever want to live with me, then? Even if it was all this?”
I smirk at her to cover the instant twinge of uncertainty that burrows into my gut. “I don’t think I could maintain this lifestyle for you.”
“You wouldn’t have to. I’ve never had to work a day in my life. When my father died, I got everything. There wasn’t anyone else to inherit a thing. Even his business partners and everyone else suing for this and that and claiming rights …” She lies back down, as if comforted by the memory and explains, “Kam took down every single one of them and I got every dime to my father’s name.”
There’s something … off about the manner in which she delivered that statement. Like she’s used to the vultures, used to litigation.
“Did you expect that? That when he died, you’d have to fight to keep what he left you?”
There’s a sad smile that graces her lips as she peers into the fire. “In this world, there is always someone wanting what’s yours. I remember once, I …” she hesitates and I tell her to go on, to tell me what she’s thinking.
Swallowing thickly she admits, “Kelly, Trish and I, we were as thick as thieves.”
“You still are from what I can tell.”
Her hair rustles against my chest as she readjusts in my lap, getting more comfortable, still staring at the fire as if it’s playing back her memories. “We are. Because of the shit we got into. Drugs, alcohol … we were given invitations that no one should ever give minors. And I didn’t have a father or mother to tell me no. I had Kamden. Who was used to getting himself and his sister out of trouble.”
“I’ve seen your record.”
“It’s a colorful résumé, isn’t it?” she sighs, not with nostalgia, but with regret. “I’m thankful for Kam and what he did for me. If it weren’t for him, I might not be this version of fucked up, but I would be a hollow shell of …” She breathes in deeply before clearing her throat. “What I mean is that, all of this, is forever mine. There’s no needing support from anyone. So if you could want this, then it’s no bother.”
“I imagine—this—comes with Kam? Kamden was there for everything?”
“Always.” Ella skims her finger over the collar of my shirt. “Ever since I can remember. Our families have known each other forever. You know Kam’s sister, Trish and I, we got along from the start. That’s the way it is in this life. There are so very few people you can trust. You tend to stick with the ones you know, and we always knew Kam’s.”
I had friends growing up, though none were wealthy and there was never a threat of trusting the wrong person. Family friends, of course. My family had those. But they came and went and came back. It was easy. Society fears were never something I concerned myself with.
“Why did you choose him to take custody of you back then? When your father died and you were sixteen.” I’m surprised by the spike of needless jealousy. I can’t go back in time to be in every part of Ella’s life, as much as I want to. And even if I could, I don’t know if I’d do it. The way Ella and I are together is only possible because of the people we are right now, and those people were shaped by the past.
She frowns, her eyes going distant. “I knew he’d do anything for me. He took care of … a lot of things. So it made sense.”
In the space of this one sentence, her tone has changed. It’s off, and her body stiffens in my arm.
“Don’t withdraw from me, jailbird. We’re in this conversation until it’s over, unless you want to use your safe word.”
Her eyebrows go up as color darkens her cheeks. “I can safe word out of a conversation?”
“You can use your safe word at any time,” I remind her. “It’s not just for when I’m fucking you, or when you’re bound. It’s for any time. Because our relationship is twenty-four seven, so is your safe word. Do you feel like you might need to use it?”
Ella considers it for a moment, like she should. I’m proud of her for not immediately saying no. Some submissives become convinced that using the safe word is a kind of weakness, and that it makes their Doms happier if they don’t use it. That’s not the case at all. I need her to know she can use her safe word at any point, because otherwise I can’t adjust my methods. It’s crucial to be comfortable with using a safe word. I’ve always thought that a reluctance to use it is a sign that the Dom hasn’t done his job. I’m going to do well
by Ella. I won’t let her down.
“No. I don’t need to use it.” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “When he died—my father, I mean—there were a number of people in my life I didn’t trust. I knew I could trust Kam.”
“How did you know you could trust him?”
“He knew things I’d done. And he knew things about my father. He knew everything.” Ella swallows, meeting my eyes. “You can trust someone who knows all your darkest secrets. You know?”
Ella
There is purpose in suffering. Damon’s previous declaration has wreaked havoc on me since I woke up in the middle of the night and struggled to get back to sleep. With my eyes feeling heavy, the questions roll around in the back of my mind.
What the fuck purpose is worth what I went through? The tragedies that so many people endure have purpose?
The question sticks to my tongue as Damon takes his seat on the patio chair across from where I’m lying. In high-waisted jeans and a cream sweater, I don’t have to worry about covering anything from him.
“Enjoying the fire without me?” he jokes, leaning back in the chair. The fire burns bright behind him. Damon’s gotten back to his more casual, friendly banter with me. Any bit of tension or uncertainty since The Firm found out about Zander and I has subsided entirely.
But why would he tell me there is purpose in suffering? The more I think about it, the more it almost seems cruel. The question is still there, but I swallow it and answer, “It’s the perfect day for the fireplace out here, don’t you think?”
“There’s a nice chill out here, I’ll admit.”
What purpose could be worth this? I’ve been thinking about it all day. He said there was purpose in suffering, but what could possibly be worth the suffering that comes with loss?
“Something on your mind?” he questions and I run my teeth along my lower lip, considering him.
“Did Z send you out here to babysit me while he left?”
With a shake of his head, Damon crosses his ankle to his other knee.
