by Julia Devlin
“You’re avoiding.”
She took a shaky breath. Praying he’d let it go and praying he’d push with equal fervor.
He sat back in his chair and raised his coffee mug to his lips, taking a sip before he continued. “But I’m not going to push.”
Disappointed, she sagged in her seat. Inexplicable sadness washed over her, making her tired and oh so weary. God, she was a mess. Unsure what to say, she looked at him with watery eyes, hoping he’d continue so she wouldn’t have to deal with the silence any longer.
He studied her for long, measured seconds. “They both are. I wasn’t pretending with you all these months. I’m the same man, only with a couple of darker layers added in to keep things interesting.”
Her brows knitted. “It’s more than a couple of minor changes.”
“Is it? Are they really that different?”
“Yes!” she blurted. He’d made her different too. Made her do things she’d never even considered. Never even thought about. She barely recognized that person she’d become under his strong hands and superhuman will.
It terrified her.
“How?” he asked, head tilting to the side.
“You know,” she sputtered, gesturing wildly. She couldn’t voice any of this to him. “Don’t make this complicated.”
“I see.” His voice took on that edge and her heart quickened. “So you can’t explain the difference.”
Confused and scared, she retaliated. “The Mason I knew didn’t like to inflict pain.”
His expression darkened and he sat forward, eyes narrowing.
To Anna’s horror, her core heated and her nipples puckered.
Dear god, there was a part of her that wanted this so bad. Wanted what he’d shown her. What he’d given her.
“The Anna I knew,” he said in a low, menacing rumble, “didn’t make false statements.”
She lowered her gaze to her lap. Ashamed. Part of her wanted to believe he’d tricked her somehow because it abdicated her responsibility, but she knew the truth. She’d loved it. Deflated, she twisted her napkin. “I’m sorry.”
Silence. The seconds ticked by, punctuated only by the sound of the clock hanging over his refrigerator.
Tick, tick, tick. Like a bomb about to detonate.
“How am I different, Anna?” he prompted after several minutes of thick tension.
She shrugged. “Before you were always cordial, such a gentleman. Asking for my thoughts and opinions. But last night, there was none of that. You took what you wanted.”
“True,” he said, sitting back. “Let me ask you this, did you feel disrespected?”
She shook her head. Never. As impossible as it sounded, given the lewdness of the acts they’d engaged in.
“Was there ever a time you didn’t feel safe? Or that I didn’t have your best interests at heart?”
She bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head again, shredding her napkin.
“But it’s still different.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” she said in a whisper. “How does it actually work in real life?”
He studied her for long, measured seconds until she started to fidget. “I have no desire to turn you into a 24/7 slave girl if that’s your concern.”
She couldn’t deny the thought hovered in the corner of her mind. She touched her temple. “I can’t see it.”
“We haven’t defined it, so I can’t imagine you would. We’d talk, explore our options and then we’d figure it out. Together. As a couple.” He took a sip of coffee then his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “Just like any other couple.”
Why did he have to say all the right things?
She needed so badly to believe that. That this was normal. That they could be normal. But she couldn’t quite manage to buy it. It was too different. Too foreign to what she’d believed her whole life. The unknowns were too great. She sighed. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
His grip tightened around his coffee mug, turning his knuckles white. “No. I’m not going to tell you it’s all about me forcing you to my will. It’s not.”
The tone in his voice and fierceness of his expression made her heart lurch in fear and hope, confusing her even more.
He sat forward, sliding the mug onto the table. “And I’m sure as hell not going to make it easy for you to avoid what you’re really afraid of.”
Her sluggish blood picked up speed.
His glance dipped to her mouth, lingered. “After last night you’re aware I know exactly how to make you talk, correct?”
A shiver raced along her spine. “Yes.”
“But I’m not going to do that.”
Disappointment slammed through her with enough force it would have bowled her over if she hadn’t been sitting down. “You’re not?”
“No.” A simple, flat word.
“Why?” God, she needed desperately to be forced. Wanted to be made to talk. Make him push all her fears and worries out into the open because she couldn’t do it on her own.
She met his rock-steady gaze and silently pleaded. Help me.
His eyes darkened to almost black. Mournful. “Because this isn’t my decision. It’s yours.”
“But…” She twisted her hands, looking down at her plate, unable to speak the words of desperation clogging her throat.
“You know I love you, right?”
“Yes, I love you too.” The words automatic after she’d whispered them over and over again last night in the dark.
He rubbed his hands over his face, looking tired and weary. “On the surface, this relationship seems like it’s all about the Dom. About his will, his pleasure. And to an extent that’s true. If you stay, there will be times I give you a choice and times I don’t. But even your choice will be under my control, because it will be granted at my discretion.”
Her throat tightened and she knew. She was going to have to go it alone. He would not rescue her.
“But underneath all that, this relationship is really about the sub,” he continued, reaching across the table for the first time that morning and laying his palm up on the wood surface. “Everything I did to you last night was for your pleasure. Even at your most vulnerable and uncomfortable.”
She stared at his strong, capable hand and big, fat teardrops slid down her cheeks. “Yes, Mason.”
“You gave me that responsibility. I didn’t take it from you.”
She slipped her fingers into his. How could he make her feel so safe and so scared at the same time?
He squeezed, looking deep in her eyes. “I can’t take it from you now. You have to choose to give it to me. Do you understand?”
She pressed her lips together and the tears streamed down her cheeks.
It wasn’t going to be his choice. He wasn’t going to write her a list and give her explicit instructions to follow. He wasn’t going to give her a road map.
She covered her face and wept, forcing out the three words she least wanted to say, even though they were true. “I-I need time.”
Silence. Nothing but the clock ticking away.
His grasp went slack. “Take all the time you need, Anna.”
She brushed away her tears. “It’s just—”
“Stop.” He pulled away from her.
She looked at him through vision blurry with tears.
His expression was resigned but concern tightened the corners of his mouth. “You don’t need to explain. I’m not going to talk you into it. Not about something so important.”
She looked down at her plate. She needed him to understand. Know how very significant last night and he was to her. “That was the best night of my life,” she said in her soft, quiet voice. “I never knew…”
“I’m glad.” There was no happiness in his tone.
The words she least wanted to say hovered in her throat and she forced them free. He deserved at least that much from her. “I don’t know if I could live like that all the time.”
He nodded. “I understand. It’s a lot to process.”
The delicate cords of her neck worked as she swallowed. Part of her wished he’d yell at her. Fight. Do anything but be understanding and accepting. A tear slipped from the corner of one eye. “You have no idea how badly I want to stay right now.”
He smiled, a sad, bittersweet twist of his lips. “Of course I do. You’re submissive. It’s your nature to want to please the man who’s owned your body for the last fourteen hours.”
She wrapped her arms protectively around her chest. “How do you know that? How do you know it wasn’t just the heat of the moment?” How could he know when she was so unsure? So confused?
He stood and walked over to her. Her heart squeezed as she stared at his beautiful face, those deep, soulful eyes. He trailed his finger down the curve of her neck.
She shivered at the hint of possession in the gesture.
“That’s easy, Anna. The body never lies.”
She averted her gaze, ignoring the truth.
“It’s only a matter of whether the heart accepts. And that’s something you’ll need to figure out on your own.” He crooked a finger under her chin and forced her chin up. “You need to go now.”
Fear chilled her to the core. Was this the end? She whispered, “I don’t want to.”
He looked at her for a long, long time as though he was memorizing every nuance and feature of her face. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “That’s an order, girl.”
Tears filled her eyes as her heart broke. She wanted to snatch it all back. Fall to her knees and beg forgiveness. But it was too late for that. He’d given her his last order and she’d learned enough to know he never relented.
She nodded and stood. “Goodbye, Mason.”
Chapter Ten
She was in hell.
Anna stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The damage was too great to fix. She didn’t have enough makeup skills to paint on a happy face, so she’d have to teach her first graders looking as if she’d been hit by a truck.
Deep, purple circles shadowed her eyes, making them too big for her face. After two days of barely eating, her cheeks had hollowed and the grayish cast to her complexion made her appear fragile. As tragic and empty as she felt.
The last thing on earth she wanted to do was go to work. How could she do something so mundane when her whole world was collapsing?
This weekend was one of the worst in her life. She’d restlessly roamed through her house like a lost soul, desperate to talk to Mason. To call him. Rush back to his house and beg his forgiveness. But she hadn’t done any of that, instead she’d paced, cried.
Wallowed in her own misery.
Why couldn’t she call? She loved him and he loved her. It was easy. She was making it hard. She wanted so bad to call but something stopped her.
Fear.
But what exactly was she afraid of? That she’d have to spend the rest of her life having multiple screaming orgasms? No, that wasn’t right. She just didn’t want to be controlled to get them. Or worse, she didn’t want to need to be controlled to experience them.
Or did she?
Her shoulders sagged. That was the problem—her night with him had changed everything. Changed her perception. Made her question what she’d believed about herself, about Mason and about relationships.
Now she didn’t know what to do with the knowledge. She didn’t think she could live like that all the time, obeying his every whim. Being controlled. She hated that word—submissive. Everything it represented. She wasn’t like that. She wanted to be empowered, not repressed.
Vivid images of the things he’d done to her flashed in her mind and her stomach dipped. Heated.
He’d tied her up, abused her breasts. Spanked her, not only on the ass but…everywhere. That wasn’t right. It defied everything she understood about the way men were supposed to treat women. She shouldn’t have liked something so obscene. And yet she had.
It was like coming home.
Now she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she longed to go back to ignorance. Even in her devastation, she responded. And it appalled her.
Last night as she’d lain in bed unable to sleep, her thoughts had drifted to Mason. She’d replayed when they met, their relationship, all the nice, normal things they’d done together. And finally she’d replayed every second of their night together, over and over until she’d been filled with it. It had come alive in her mind until she could vividly recall every sensation, every stab of pleasure and pain, smell their sex, hear their moans and the low rumble of his voice in her ear ordering her around.
Despite her despair, she’d been so worked up she couldn’t help herself. She’d frantically rubbed her clit, pulling viciously on her nipples, coming in a mad, hurried rush as she cried out Mason’s name.
After, as she lay there panting for air, shame had filled her.
And she’d just wanted to be normal again.
Mason said that there was no normal but he was wrong. There was, she’d been happily living it for twenty-eight years. They’d had a perfect relationship before he’d had to go and ruin it.
But was that really the truth? Or only what she told herself?
Her chin trembled as she wept, staring at herself for so long her image blurred and distorted into something unrecognizable.
God, she had to pull it together.
Somehow she had to find a way to get through this day. After she returned home from school she could collapse on her couch and curl into the fetal position, but for now she needed to get ready.
She was strong. She could do anything. She’d proved that the other night.
Just get through the day.
She brushed the tears away and flipped on the faucet, splashing water over her face until the icy wetness washed away some of her cloudy haze.
The cold liquid slid over her hand and water pooled in her open palms as a beam of sunlight caught the pale-blue veins of her wrists.
She studied them, frowning. She twisted and turned them in every direction, searching for the barest hint of the bruises Mason had left there, and couldn’t find anything.
How could that be? They’d still been visible to her yesterday.
She walked over to the window, holding her hands up to the bright morning light and found…nothing. She rubbed the skin with her thumb, peering so closely her eyes crossed. Nothing. Not even the barest trace.
Slowly, almost numb, she returned to the sink and turned off the faucet. Mason had been right. He’d told her they’d be gone by the time she returned to school and they were. She wouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone.
No one would know she wasn’t normal.
She looked in the mirror and the truth hit her.
She wanted them back.
Chapter Eleven
One Month Later
The only thing good about Mason’s day was that he’d gotten to blow up a building. In his current mean-son-of-a-bitch mood, there was something supremely satisfying about watching ten stories of concrete and steel crumple to the ground in a cloud of dust.
He pulled a beer from the fridge but before he opened it, he slid it back onto the shelf and shut the door.
Fuck it. He reached for the bottle of aged scotch instead, grabbing a high-ball glass.
He had to get his shit together. Put Anna behind him. He gave himself the same speech every night. She wasn’t coming back. A month had passed and he hadn’t even gotten a fucking text message.
It was over.
He needed to accept it and move on.
He drove everyone crazy. His employees stayed away from him. His mild-mannered assistant threatened to quit. He’d scared a poor clerk at the grocery store when it hadn’t been her fault he’d stupidly gone to the place he’d met Anna.
A couple nights ago, ’Rissa finally had enough and stormed in his house in full Mistress mode, demanding he pull himself together. She’d bitched, cajoled, threa
tened to hogtie him and drag him to some private party.
He’d thrown her out on her leather-covered ass.
There was no way he could play with someone else, not even in the most casual sense. Anna had lodged herself in his heart and refused to let go. All he could do was wait and pray it got better.
He poured two fingers of the brown, smoky liquid and downed it in one gulp. The expensive scotch hit his stomach like a fireball burning his insides and reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He shrugged and poured another half a glass. He was too damn tired to eat.
He made his way to his great room and sank down on the sofa, flicking on the TV. Bone-weary, he tossed the remote onto the coffee table and scrubbed his hands over his face before staring blankly at the plasma flat screen.
God, he was such a fucking idiot.
He should have left well enough alone the night he’d tried to end things with Anna. Should have stuck to the plan and left when he’d had a chance. But because he’d wanted her, was desperate for that small inkling of hope, he’d convinced himself one night with her his way wouldn’t make a difference.
He’d been wrong.
One night had made missing her pure hell.
At least before he could have lived with the what ifs and the she’d nevers.
But now, fuck, now he had to live with the Technicolor memory of her absolute submission. Live with the sound of her screams as she came over and over reverberating in his brain. Live with the gut-wrenching knowledge that no matter how good it had been, it wasn’t enough.
That in the end he’d failed.
The doorbell rang, ripping him from his depressing thoughts.
He growled. Goddamn, ’Rissa, why wouldn’t she leave things alone?
He rose and stalked to the door, muttering every obscenity he could think of in irritation. He flung open the door.
“Go to hell,” he bellowed then froze. Blinked. Stared. Blinked again. Unable to process through his shock. “Anna?”
