by Ward, Deena
I started slightly, gave him a hard look. “What do you mean? Protect me from you?”
“I didn’t push you to resume a D/s relationship with me because I thought with more time and familiarity, I’d get better at controlling my physical reaction to you. I needed confidence in myself before we returned to the temptations of the power exchange.”
“And when we did start up again ...”
“I did all right. Held myself in check.”
“And did weird middle-of-the-night workouts to compensate?”
“Yes. Then you started pushing me to go further. Asked too many uncomfortable questions I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want to tell you the truth because I didn’t want to frighten you.”
“I don’t see how it would have frightened me.”
“To learn that your dominant feared losing control with you?”
“Okay, well, maybe a little, but I’ve always trusted you.”
“I couldn’t risk losing the faith you had in me. And so I put the focus on your resistance to using safe words. It was a genuine concern anyway, something you needed to work on. And then there were issues with how easily you passed into subspace. I knew I was holding back more than I needed with you, but I thought it was necessary for both of us. I thought I was protecting us.”
“Protecting us from you.”
“Yes.”
“So then,” I said quietly, “it wasn’t so much that you didn’t trust me. It was that —”
“I didn’t trust myself.”
I sat there, absorbing those last words. He didn’t trust himself. Because of the times he’d lost control with me in lesser ways, he didn’t trust himself not to lose it in bigger ways. I’d shaken the walls of safety he’d built around himself, walls supported by his vaunted control. He lost faith. Not in me. In himself.
He was studying the far wall, purposefully avoiding eye contact, or perhaps lost in thought, recovering from his confession. I stood up and went to the kitchen, took my time puttering around, finding mugs and pouring coffee. Giving him a chance to settle, and giving myself a chance to put my thoughts in order.
This confession changed everything. I thought I knew what came between us, and all my plans to fix what was broken revolved around what I thought was true — that he didn’t trust me, that I needed to prove myself, that he needed to bend enough to take a risk and give me a chance to do the proving.
Now, it seemed I would have to reconsider everything. I needed a way to teach Gibson how to trust himself. I felt overwhelmed.
I returned to the sofa, handed him a mug then sat down. I blew into the cup, hid behind the steam and pondered the difficulties.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That I’m going to have to come up with a whole new plan of action to if we’re going to fix this relationship.”
He blinked. “You’re not angry.”
“What?”
“You should be angry, that I held back. I wasn’t honest with you.”
“Oh Gibson, I see why it all happened the way it did.”
“Which is why you should be angry.”
“No, it’s why I love you.”
He bodily flinched. “But I’ve done everything wrong. I’m an ass who drove you away because I was too proud to admit my failures.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Again. You’re an incredible man who made some mistakes and drove me away because you wanted to protect me more than you wanted to satisfy yourself.”
“You’re still making excuses for me.”
“I’m not going to argue with you about it. I love you and that’s that. You’ll just have to deal with it, whether you want to or not.”
He ran an unsteady hand through his dark hair, ruffling past the small patches of gray I thought added so much to his considerable attractions. “This isn’t going how I thought it would.”
“What did you think would happen?”
“That I’d tell you everything and you’d throw me out, permanently.”
“And you came here anyway?”
“I had to try. I thought there was a small chance I could convince you to let me try to make it right.”
“And here we are. Your small chance paid off. Once again, I’ve disrupted all your plans. And the only thing you have to do to make things right with me is work on this relationship.”
“You love me.”
“Desperately.”
“I love you, too.”
“I know.”
“How long have you known?”
I waggled my head slightly, pondering. “Since I ran into you on the landing out there.”
“For the record, I’ve loved you a long time, even before I realized it.”
“Same here.”
We smiled at one another, tentatively at first, then giving in and smiling wider.
“I want to kiss you,” he said.
“Yeah, but let’s wait. We’ve rushed it too much before, and look where it got us.”
“You’re right.”
I sipped at my coffee, as did he. I enjoyed the pleasure of watching the way he held a cup, the way he pursed his lips before he blew on the coffee. I was happy with the reminder of how he looked taking a drink.
“We need to make a plan of action,” I said. “I had one earlier, when I was going to get you, but it has to be thrown out because of all the new info.”
“You were coming to get me?”
“I was going to storm your office and demand that you give us another chance. I had it all worked out. I even had a power song to keep me pumped.”
“‘Eye of the Tiger?’”
“Wrong ‘Rocky.’ The first one.”
“‘Gonna Fly Now.’”
“Is that the name?”
“Yes.”
“Kind of boring. Anyway, that was the one playing in my head when I charged out of here,” I said.
“And then you ran into me in the stairwell.”
“And the rest is history.”
“No, we’re just getting started.”
A warm flush spread through me. I wanted to climb all over him. It had been a long, cold and lonely winter. “We need to go slow.”
“Agreed.”
“Go on a date, maybe.”
“I don’t want to go on a date.”
“Me either.”
“What do you want to do?”
He set his mug and the file folder on the trunk that served as my coffee table. “I want to kiss you, and then I want to hold you for a long time.”
I put my mug next to his and leaned forward.
He met me in the middle.
Our lips touched and I could have melted away. It had been so long since I’d felt him, since I’d tasted and smelled him. He raised his hand and cupped my cheek, his fingertips feather-light on my skin. I lifted my own hand to his cheek.
And we stayed that way for the longest time, breathing in one another, kissing softly and sweetly.
When he was through with that, he scooped me up and lifted me onto his lap. He held me in his arms, and I lay my head against him, curved my arm up and over his shoulder.
He nuzzled my hair while he cradled me. He surrounded me, enclosed me in the bliss of his protection. I closed my eyes and somehow didn’t cry at the sweetness of it. The relief. The homecoming.
I don’t know how long we sat there. My phone rang but I ignored it. A short while later, it rang again. And again. Worst of all, I recognized the ring tone, I knew who was calling.
“Should you answer that?” Gibson asked.
“Yes, I don’t want to, though.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, you’ll see.”
And I reluctantly climbed off his warm lap and found my phone. I made the call. It was exactly what I thought. I said okay, then ended the call and tossed the phone into my purse. I turned to Gibson.
“Who was it?” he asked.
“My boss. The owner of the store downstairs.”
&nbs
p; “What did he want?”
“He needs me to cover for someone, as usual. A co-worker called in sick, meaning he’d rather get drunk with his buddies tonight than work.”
“You agreed.”
“I did. I can’t help it. No one else will do it.”
“When do you need to be there?”
“Five minutes.”
“And when will you get off?”
“Closing, around nine.”
“I can’t wait until nine to see you again,” he said, making my heart flutter.
“Me either. Come sit in the shop with me. It’ll be fun, and it’s never busy.”
He made a “why-not” gesture. “I did want to get a closer look at the mushroom thing you painted.”
“Oh, well, it’s not there anymore. Someone bought it.”
“And they didn’t tell you what it was?”
“They didn’t know either.”
“But they bought it anyway?”
“You wouldn’t believe the stupid things people buy. Especially men,” I said.
He stood up, walked toward me. “Maybe they just bought whatever was at hand so they’d have a reason to talk to the beautiful lady behind the counter.”
“You think so? I hadn’t thought ... no. That’s ridiculous.”
He held my waist in his big hands, looked down into my eyes. “Men will do all sorts of crazy things for a pretty girl. And you, Nonnie Crawford, are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I smoothed my palms over his chest. “I’m not, but I love that you think so. And Gibson, we’re going to work this out.”
“We will.”
“We can outline a plan down in the store. I’ll bring my sketchpad. We’ll make notes.”
He nodded.
“We’ll have to go through my checklists, but not right away, probably,” I continued. “I think it’s going to be important for us to work together on what we do for a while, maybe know ahead of time how far we’ll go. It won’t be as spontaneous, but it’ll be for the best. And we need to focus on honesty. What do you think?”
“I think we should talk about it, like you said. As for honesty, I’m having a hard time concentrating at the moment.”
“Me too. Okay, so we’ve talked business and we’ve committed to an early plan. I think that qualifies as doing the smart thing. Now we should be rewarded.”
He lifted an eyebrow, one of his sexiest quirks. “What kind of reward?”
I glanced at my watch. “We have to leave in three minutes. I think we should be allowed to do whatever we want, but it has to be over in three minutes.”
“I’m praying you’re saying what I think you are.”
“I’m saying it.”
“Good.”
And for the first time in what seemed forever, I welcomed the good-girl tingle.
“Three minutes,” he said, his hands tightening on my waist, pulling me against his hard body. “I’ll take it. You did say we could do whatever we want.”
“Yes. You know the clock’s ticking, right?”
“I do. I think I might be overwhelmed with the choices.”
“Pick something. Anything.”
He smiled down at me, his dark eyes shining. “I love you.”
A perfect choice. “I love you, too.”
And then we took full advantage of every remaining second. Four months of longing and sorrow, erased in less than three minutes.
A miracle.
A beginning.
Chapter 23
I knelt on the mat in the dungeon. It wasn’t simple getting to this spot, on this night, this time with this man. We’d struggled, disagreed, compromised, regressed and progressed. And though the journey was neither speedy nor easy, we never faltered. Too much was at stake.
With patience and care, we moved forward. I flew secure inside the safety of his charge. He never failed me. I knew he wouldn’t. He was the best man I’d ever known.
And now, after weeks of work, it was my turn to let him fly. Twice already I’d failed, or not so much me personally, but us together. His courage wavered, or mine slipped at the wrong moment. Whichever it was, I had knelt on this mat twice before with the same intention that impelled me on this night.
To set Gibson free. To let him think only of himself for once, to let him have the abandon he deserved and which he readily gave me, to take what he wanted without fear of it being too much, or going too far. And for that he’d have to trust himself, and he’d have to trust me, trust that I’d learned enough, that I could take what needed taking and stop what required stopping.
So much practice, me learning to stay out of subspace, how to hold it at bay so my mind remained clear, so I could make a call if it needed calling. I accepted the absolute necessity of remaining present, recalled the many speeches I’d given myself about what I could bear for him. For my love.
Clarity. This was a night of clarity. Of vision and focus. Self-possession. I couldn’t fail him. I wouldn’t. Please, don’t let me fail him.
If I were to founder, it wouldn’t be the end. We were more committed than that. But I desperately wanted it for both of us. And I believed it would happen on this night.
So I knelt on the mat, naked, chest out, hands on thighs and knees spread. And I looked to my lover, who stood nearby, his back to me, sorting through a box of I didn’t know what, preparing for what was to come.
He was a fine sight from behind, his torso bare and a pair of well-worn leather pants snugged low on his hips, stretched across his muscled thighs and firm rear. His shoulder blades shifted under muscle and smooth skin as he dug in the box.
My heart thumped loudly when he turned to me. He held something in his hand, but I wasn’t paying it any mind. It didn’t matter what he held. I was a captive of his stride, his forward momentum, every traversed inch that brought him closer to me. Closer to the moment.
Another step. Another. I shivered, felt my insides shift. The dimmed light played across the supple leather of his pants, the flat flexing plane of his stomach, the foreboding swing of his arms.
And I felt miniscule, a fleck, a mote. I foundered in jumbled worry that I wasn’t enough. There could never be enough of me for this man.
Then he stopped, stood before me. I trembled with waiting, and I had to see. Had to know.
So I looked up at him, met his dark gaze, searched for who would take me.
There he was. Gibson. Unleashed. Insatiable. Unstoppable. I read it in his eyes. He would take what he wanted, my wants be damned.
This was the moment.
He raised his hand, reached for me.
I thought I might falter, shrink away.
He was coming for me.
I remembered to breathe.
And time ... stopped.
Stop.
Time.
Stop time.
See me there on the floor, a tiny bundle of weak flesh and fragile bone. I am insignificant, an afterthought, powerless in the shadow of the force which looms over me.
See how mighty he is, how easily he could break me, tear me apart. He is everything. I am nothing. A cowering, flimsy vessel.
In the next instant, he will loose himself on me. He’ll descend and I’ll accept it as I must. As he demands. As he pleases.
Wait.
Not so fast.
A new sense springs to life inside me, straightens my spine when it should have bowed, pushes me forward when I might have fallen away. Because I see how it is, how it truly is.
Step back.
Widen the field of view.
Get the bigger picture.
Look again at me kneeling on the mat. I understand that when his hand closes on me, he depends on me to stop him if he clamps down too hard, takes too much. It only requires the slightest shift to see the picture change.
I am growing larger and larger, the tiny bundle that was me expanding, swelling. I realize that only I can give him what he wants. And only I can deny him. I can deny.
I
am the power and the control. I have the last word. I am mightier than the beast and can stop the unstoppable. The knowledge inflates me, raises me up and lends me infinite courage.
If I am a vessel, then I am made of steel.
And I have a limitless capacity because only I can contain him. But beyond that, in this stopped-frame realm where I’ve grown to tower over him, I recognize yet another truth.
It’s he who must please me. Because consent belongs to me alone, and because he has the integrity and strength to honor my ownership, he must always serve my final will.
The ultimate power to please is his.
The ultimate power is mine.
And I know that this night we’ll find success. It doesn’t matter what the details are of what he does, of what I accept and what I won’t. It’s unnecessary to weigh up what he takes and to measure it against my sacrifice, to judge the value of the sides. There’s no meaning or merit in that.
All that matters is we’ll do what we intended, achieve what we’ve worked for. Go further than we dreamed. Then there will be no stopping us, ever again.
Strength courses through me as I continue to grow. I transcend this place, and I become someone I’ve never been, someone I’ve been waiting to become.
Whole. Complete. With him and without him. I am vested with the ability to do and be anything. To mould my future. To stake my claim.
He is mine. I am his.
Tonight and forever.
And now the lesson is learned and I’m ready to leave this stopped frame, to resume the clock, let it tick time forward once more. And I will begin what I’ve already finished.
Being a woman who’s worthy of being pleased.
Start.
Time.
Start time.
I am.
At last.
Epilogue
I jogged through the courtyard and up the gravel path. I waved at one of the gardeners so he’d know there was no trouble or emergency. I was simply running because I could and because I was looking for Gibson.
It was deep summer, and warm, but not bad for this time of the year. The grounds of the estate were lush and green, a fragrant and luxurious wonderland.
