“Our relationship was a house of cards I’d built,” I said. “I should have known it wouldn’t take much to bring it down.”
I watched her uneasily. Would she leave after I admitted what came next?
“It was a Wednesday,” I said. “Almost eight years ago. I was—”
“What does eight years ago have to do with anything?”
“I’m trying to tell you,” I said. “I was meeting Todd for lunch on campus. He wanted to meet at the library.” I wondered if she even remembered that day. Probably not. “I saw a woman running up the stairs. She tripped and fell, looked around to see if anyone was watching. I went to help, but you made it to her first.”
“Me?”
Okay, she didn’t remember. I suppose I never really expected her to. Who would remember a stumble from almost eight years ago?
“Yes, it was you. You knew her, and you both laughed as you picked up her books. There were several people nearby, but you were the only one who helped.” I picked the napkin back up. “I made sure you didn’t see me and I followed you into the library. You did a group reading of Hamlet. You read Ophelia.”
Her jaw dropped open.
“I stayed and watched,” I said. “I wanted more than anything to be your Hamlet.”
The boy reading Hamlet was no match for her. No one deserved to be Hamlet to her Ophelia.
I looked up—she still watched me in amazement.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I asked.
“Go on.”
“I was late meeting Todd. He was upset.” An understatement. Do you know how crazy my schedule is, Nathaniel? he’d asked. I gave up meeting Elaina to have lunch with you. “Then I told him I’d met someone. It was only a little lie.”
There is no such thing as a little lie. All lies are wrong.
“Why didn’t you come up to me?” she asked. “Introduce yourself? Like a normal person would?”
Like a normal person? Was she serious?
“I was already living the lifestyle of a dom, Abby, and I thought you were a young, impressionable coed. In my mind, there was no way we would have worked. I had no idea of your submissive inclinations until your application crossed my desk.” I wondered briefly if I’d have done anything differently if I’d known. No, I decided, not since I’d been in a committed relationship. “Even if I had known, I had a collared submissive at the time, and I am always monogamous once I collar a submissive.”
“My submissive inclinations?”
She didn’t know? How was it she didn’t know? The truth hit me then—it was because we’d never talked. About anything.
I leaned toward her. “You’re a sexual submissive, Abby. You have to know that. Why do you think you hadn’t had sex for three years before you were with me?”
“I hadn’t found anyone who . . .”
Ah, she understood. Finally.
“Who would dominate you the way you needed,” I finished.
She dropped her head.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said gently. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not embarrassed. I just hadn’t thought of it like that before.”
The puzzle pieces started falling into place.
“Of course you hadn’t,” I said. “Which is why you were so angry when I suggested other dominants for you.”
A flash of anger shot through her eyes. “I hated you for that.”
As I suspected. “I was very much afraid you would take me up on it,” I said, wanting her to know how painful those words had been for me to say. “I searched my mind trying to find someone I thought would suit you. But I just couldn’t bring myself to imagine you with someone else. I would have done it if you’d asked, though. I would have.”
“You were thinking of me and what I needed when you suggested other dominants?” she asked, and I knew she was still having a hard time understanding my offer.
“I knew you had asked specifically for me, but after actually being a submissive, I knew you would need to do it again. Then I saw how you reacted, so I’m sorry for that as well.” Because as her dom, it had been my responsibility to make her understand, and that was just one more way I’d failed her.
I’d failed her. That was the truth.
“Jackson keeps saying you should have done more,” I said. “Tried harder to get through to me. But he doesn’t know the details. What I did. It’s easy for him to place blame. He doesn’t understand there was nothing you could have done that would have changed my mind that morning. Nothing would have changed the outcome. Don’t blame yourself.”
Because it was all my fault.
“I pushed,” she said. “I shouldn’t have expected so much so fast.”
“Perhaps not, but you could have expected more than I was willing to give you.” Anything but my rejection of the love you gave so freely. “Instead, I shut you down completely.”
She nodded.
“But there’s more,” I said.
“Todd?”
Elaina still didn’t know, Todd had told me. Which meant Abby still didn’t know about Tampa.
“I didn’t pursue you, but I couldn’t let you slip away either. I would watch you at the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He knew I was watching someone, but I told him I was working up the courage to speak to you.”
“He believed you?”
Smart woman, that Abby. Even she didn’t believe it.
“Probably not, but he knew I wouldn’t do anything improper.” Without realizing it, I reached across the table toward her. I wanted so desperately to touch her. I caught myself just in time and pulled my hands back—she still wouldn’t want to touch me.
“And I didn’t, Abby. I promise you. I saw you only at the library. I never attempted to find out any more about you. I never followed you.”
“Except the morning I left you.”
So she knew; she’d noticed me on the road behind her. “It had been snowing and you were upset. I had to make certain you were safe.”
“So when you saved my mother’s house—you knew who she was? You knew she was my mother?”
Maybe she hadn’t figured that one out when I thought she had.
“Yes, I did it for you. I knew your name from the library. It was on the bank paperwork as well. You were the goddess I longed to worship. My unobtainable dream. The relationship I could never hope to have.”
I peeked up at her, wondering if she remembered the words she’d said right before I kissed her. How she’d called herself a goddess.
“When we were in Tampa, after we played golf, Todd joked with me about the library girl from all those years ago. Dinner the night before had jogged his memory. I told him it was you and he got angry.”
She nodded absentmindedly.
“A relationship like yours demands complete truth and honesty.” I ripped the napkin in my hands apart as I quoted Todd. “That’s what Todd told me. And I was not being truthful in keeping my past knowledge of you a secret. He wanted me to tell you, and I agreed. I asked for three weeks. I thought that was enough time for me to plan how to tell you, and he thought that was reasonable.”
“But we never made it to three weeks.”
“No. We didn’t. I would like to think that if we had, I would have told you. I had every intention of doing so. But then that night happened and I was afraid you would think I had tricked you or somehow manipulated you.”
“I might have.”
Tell her.
My heart thumped.
You have to tell her.
“I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for you,” I said. “I was scared. You were right about that. I thought it would be easier to let you go, but I was wrong.”
It hadn’t been easier, not for me, and more important, not for her.
She didn’t say anything, so I continued. “I’m in therapy now—twice a week. It feels strange saying that. I’m working through things. Your name comes up often.”
She gave a small laugh.
“I haven’t allowed you a chance to get a word in, but you haven’t run off screaming,” I said. “Dare I hope any of what I’ve said makes a little bit of sense?”
She inspected her nails. “I need to think,” she said finally.
She wanted to think—maybe that meant she would want us to talk again. She didn’t say anything else, but simply rose to her feet.
I stood with her. “Yes, you need to think things through. It’s more than I could hope for.”
It was probably crossing a line, but I couldn’t help it, I had to touch her. I took her hands and pressed my lips to them.
“Will you call me later this week?” I asked. “I want to talk more.” Not once, in all our time together, had she ever called me. Would she this time? “If you want to, that is.” Because again it was entirely up to her. Everything, this time, would be up to her.
“I’ll call you,” she whispered. “I’ll call you regardless.”
Chapter Thirty-five
On the way home, I called Paul.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“I think it went well,” I said, remembering the conversation. “She talked and I listened. I talked and she listened. She said she’d call me. I hope she does.”
“From what you’ve said about Abby, if she said she’d call—she’ll call.”
I merged onto the highway and headed to the estate, barely noticing the traffic I passed.
“She’ll call,” I said. “I just hope . . .”
“What?” he asked after several seconds.
“It’s just—” I forced myself to acknowledge the truth. “I want it all. I want to take her to dinner, ask her what her favorite meal is, what she wanted for Christmas when she was twelve. I want to take her to my bed and keep her there all night.” I paused. “And, God help me, Paul, I want her in my playroom.”
He laughed softly. “Got it all planned out, have you?”
“Most of it depends on her.”
“All of it depends on her,” he corrected. “Every step from here still has to be up to her. Take it slow. Get to know each other. Build her—”
“Trust in me. I know. I know. You’ve told me.”
“Just making sure you listened.”
“I did.”
“Good,” he said. “Because if you bring up the playroom too soon, you’ll scare her. And before you even think about returning to the playroom—”
“We have to talk,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Safe words, our new arrangement. We’ve gone over and over this, too.”
“I know we have. I just can’t emphasize enough how important it is for the two of you to talk this time.”
“This time,” I scoffed. “You say that like it’s going to happen.”
“I think it will,” he said. “Eventually. Eternal optimist, remember?”
“Hmmmp.”
From his end of the phone came the unmistakable sound of a baby’s howl.
“Oops,” he said. “Naptime’s over. Christine’s out shopping. Girl time, you know?” The howling got louder. “Call me after you talk to Abby.”
We disconnected, and I spent the rest of the drive home in silence, reflecting on my talk with Abby. When would she call? Would she want to meet again, or would she tell me to leave her alone?
But she’d let me kiss her hand—surely she wouldn’t have let me do that if she planned on telling me to leave her alone.
I brought my hand to my nose to see if any of her smell lingered on me.
Maybe.
I watched her uneasily. Would she leave after I admitted what came next?
“It was a Wednesday,” I said. “Almost eight years ago. I was—”
“What does eight years ago have to do with anything?”
“I’m trying to tell you,” I said. “I was meeting Todd for lunch on campus. He wanted to meet at the library.” I wondered if she even remembered that day. Probably not. “I saw a woman running up the stairs. She tripped and fell, looked around to see if anyone was watching. I went to help, but you made it to her first.”
“Me?”
Okay, she didn’t remember. I suppose I never really expected her to. Who would remember a stumble from almost eight years ago?
“Yes, it was you. You knew her, and you both laughed as you picked up her books. There were several people nearby, but you were the only one who helped.” I picked the napkin back up. “I made sure you didn’t see me and I followed you into the library. You did a group reading of Hamlet. You read Ophelia.”
Her jaw dropped open.
“I stayed and watched,” I said. “I wanted more than anything to be your Hamlet.”
The boy reading Hamlet was no match for her. No one deserved to be Hamlet to her Ophelia.
I looked up—she still watched me in amazement.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I asked.
“Go on.”
“I was late meeting Todd. He was upset.” An understatement. Do you know how crazy my schedule is, Nathaniel? he’d asked. I gave up meeting Elaina to have lunch with you. “Then I told him I’d met someone. It was only a little lie.”
There is no such thing as a little lie. All lies are wrong.
“Why didn’t you come up to me?” she asked. “Introduce yourself? Like a normal person would?”
Like a normal person? Was she serious?
“I was already living the lifestyle of a dom, Abby, and I thought you were a young, impressionable coed. In my mind, there was no way we would have worked. I had no idea of your submissive inclinations until your application crossed my desk.” I wondered briefly if I’d have done anything differently if I’d known. No, I decided, not since I’d been in a committed relationship. “Even if I had known, I had a collared submissive at the time, and I am always monogamous once I collar a submissive.”
“My submissive inclinations?”
She didn’t know? How was it she didn’t know? The truth hit me then—it was because we’d never talked. About anything.
I leaned toward her. “You’re a sexual submissive, Abby. You have to know that. Why do you think you hadn’t had sex for three years before you were with me?”
“I hadn’t found anyone who . . .”
Ah, she understood. Finally.
“Who would dominate you the way you needed,” I finished.
She dropped her head.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said gently. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not embarrassed. I just hadn’t thought of it like that before.”
The puzzle pieces started falling into place.
“Of course you hadn’t,” I said. “Which is why you were so angry when I suggested other dominants for you.”
A flash of anger shot through her eyes. “I hated you for that.”
As I suspected. “I was very much afraid you would take me up on it,” I said, wanting her to know how painful those words had been for me to say. “I searched my mind trying to find someone I thought would suit you. But I just couldn’t bring myself to imagine you with someone else. I would have done it if you’d asked, though. I would have.”
“You were thinking of me and what I needed when you suggested other dominants?” she asked, and I knew she was still having a hard time understanding my offer.
“I knew you had asked specifically for me, but after actually being a submissive, I knew you would need to do it again. Then I saw how you reacted, so I’m sorry for that as well.” Because as her dom, it had been my responsibility to make her understand, and that was just one more way I’d failed her.
I’d failed her. That was the truth.
“Jackson keeps saying you should have done more,” I said. “Tried harder to get through to me. But he doesn’t know the details. What I did. It’s easy for him to place blame. He doesn’t understand there was nothing you could have done that would have changed my mind that morning. Nothing would have changed the outcome. Don’t blame yourself.”
Because it was all my fault.
“I pushed,” she said. “I shouldn’t have expected so much so fast.”
“Perhaps not, but you could have expected more than I was willing to give you.” Anything but my rejection of the love you gave so freely. “Instead, I shut you down completely.”
She nodded.
“But there’s more,” I said.
“Todd?”
Elaina still didn’t know, Todd had told me. Which meant Abby still didn’t know about Tampa.
“I didn’t pursue you, but I couldn’t let you slip away either. I would watch you at the library, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He knew I was watching someone, but I told him I was working up the courage to speak to you.”
“He believed you?”
Smart woman, that Abby. Even she didn’t believe it.
“Probably not, but he knew I wouldn’t do anything improper.” Without realizing it, I reached across the table toward her. I wanted so desperately to touch her. I caught myself just in time and pulled my hands back—she still wouldn’t want to touch me.
“And I didn’t, Abby. I promise you. I saw you only at the library. I never attempted to find out any more about you. I never followed you.”
“Except the morning I left you.”
So she knew; she’d noticed me on the road behind her. “It had been snowing and you were upset. I had to make certain you were safe.”
“So when you saved my mother’s house—you knew who she was? You knew she was my mother?”
Maybe she hadn’t figured that one out when I thought she had.
“Yes, I did it for you. I knew your name from the library. It was on the bank paperwork as well. You were the goddess I longed to worship. My unobtainable dream. The relationship I could never hope to have.”
I peeked up at her, wondering if she remembered the words she’d said right before I kissed her. How she’d called herself a goddess.
“When we were in Tampa, after we played golf, Todd joked with me about the library girl from all those years ago. Dinner the night before had jogged his memory. I told him it was you and he got angry.”
She nodded absentmindedly.
“A relationship like yours demands complete truth and honesty.” I ripped the napkin in my hands apart as I quoted Todd. “That’s what Todd told me. And I was not being truthful in keeping my past knowledge of you a secret. He wanted me to tell you, and I agreed. I asked for three weeks. I thought that was enough time for me to plan how to tell you, and he thought that was reasonable.”
“But we never made it to three weeks.”
“No. We didn’t. I would like to think that if we had, I would have told you. I had every intention of doing so. But then that night happened and I was afraid you would think I had tricked you or somehow manipulated you.”
“I might have.”
Tell her.
My heart thumped.
You have to tell her.
“I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for you,” I said. “I was scared. You were right about that. I thought it would be easier to let you go, but I was wrong.”
It hadn’t been easier, not for me, and more important, not for her.
She didn’t say anything, so I continued. “I’m in therapy now—twice a week. It feels strange saying that. I’m working through things. Your name comes up often.”
She gave a small laugh.
“I haven’t allowed you a chance to get a word in, but you haven’t run off screaming,” I said. “Dare I hope any of what I’ve said makes a little bit of sense?”
She inspected her nails. “I need to think,” she said finally.
She wanted to think—maybe that meant she would want us to talk again. She didn’t say anything else, but simply rose to her feet.
I stood with her. “Yes, you need to think things through. It’s more than I could hope for.”
It was probably crossing a line, but I couldn’t help it, I had to touch her. I took her hands and pressed my lips to them.
“Will you call me later this week?” I asked. “I want to talk more.” Not once, in all our time together, had she ever called me. Would she this time? “If you want to, that is.” Because again it was entirely up to her. Everything, this time, would be up to her.
“I’ll call you,” she whispered. “I’ll call you regardless.”
Chapter Thirty-five
On the way home, I called Paul.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“I think it went well,” I said, remembering the conversation. “She talked and I listened. I talked and she listened. She said she’d call me. I hope she does.”
“From what you’ve said about Abby, if she said she’d call—she’ll call.”
I merged onto the highway and headed to the estate, barely noticing the traffic I passed.
“She’ll call,” I said. “I just hope . . .”
“What?” he asked after several seconds.
“It’s just—” I forced myself to acknowledge the truth. “I want it all. I want to take her to dinner, ask her what her favorite meal is, what she wanted for Christmas when she was twelve. I want to take her to my bed and keep her there all night.” I paused. “And, God help me, Paul, I want her in my playroom.”
He laughed softly. “Got it all planned out, have you?”
“Most of it depends on her.”
“All of it depends on her,” he corrected. “Every step from here still has to be up to her. Take it slow. Get to know each other. Build her—”
“Trust in me. I know. I know. You’ve told me.”
“Just making sure you listened.”
“I did.”
“Good,” he said. “Because if you bring up the playroom too soon, you’ll scare her. And before you even think about returning to the playroom—”
“We have to talk,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Safe words, our new arrangement. We’ve gone over and over this, too.”
“I know we have. I just can’t emphasize enough how important it is for the two of you to talk this time.”
“This time,” I scoffed. “You say that like it’s going to happen.”
“I think it will,” he said. “Eventually. Eternal optimist, remember?”
“Hmmmp.”
From his end of the phone came the unmistakable sound of a baby’s howl.
“Oops,” he said. “Naptime’s over. Christine’s out shopping. Girl time, you know?” The howling got louder. “Call me after you talk to Abby.”
We disconnected, and I spent the rest of the drive home in silence, reflecting on my talk with Abby. When would she call? Would she want to meet again, or would she tell me to leave her alone?
But she’d let me kiss her hand—surely she wouldn’t have let me do that if she planned on telling me to leave her alone.
I brought my hand to my nose to see if any of her smell lingered on me.
Maybe.
