Page 24

His eyes darken slightly. "Partly. But it's more than that. It's about protection. Guidance. Creating a safe space for someone to be vulnerable. To surrender control without fear. Earning a woman’s submission and not demanding it."

The way he describes it makes something inside me ache with longing. To surrender without fear. To be strong and independent in the world, but have a space where I can just... be. Let someone else take the weight for a while.

"And what do you get out of it?" I ask.

"What don’t I get out of it? Knowing someone is trusting me that much," he says without hesitation. "Having someone strong enough to handle the world on their own but choose to give me their submission. It's... there's nothing like it."

The raw honesty in his voice sends a shiver through me.

"Enough talking for now," he says, sensing my reaction. "I want to try something. Will you trust me?"

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Say it," he instructs gently.

"I trust you," I whisper.

"Good girl." He shifts to sit at the end of the sofa. "Come here. Lay down with your head in my lap."

It's such a simple request, but it feels monumental. Intimate in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with vulnerability. I hesitate only briefly before stretching out on the sofa, resting my head on his thigh, looking up at him.

"Close your eyes," he says softly.

I comply, heart racing.

His fingers slide into my hair, gentle but sure, massaging my scalp in slow, rhythmic movements. The tension I didn't even realize I was carrying begins to melt away beneath his touch.

"That's it," he murmurs as I exhale deeply. "Let go. I've got you."

It shouldn't feel this good, this right, to surrender to such a simple touch. But as his fingers work through my curls, occasionally grazing my neck or the sensitive spot behind my ear, I find myself sinking into a state of relaxation that borders on euphoric. If I relax anymore, I am going to fall asleep.

"You carry so much," he says, his voice a low rumble above me. "Always taking care of everyone else. Always in control."

I make a soft sound of agreement, too relaxed to form words.

"But not now," he continues. "Now you're letting me take care of you. Being a good girl for me."

The praise washes over me like warm honey, sweet and enveloping. Is this what it feels like? This dynamic I've read about, fantasized about? This sense of safety, of rightness, of belonging?

"How does this feel?" he asks.

"Good," I murmur. "So good."

"What color are you, Sunshine?"

"Green," I say without hesitation. "Very green."

I feel rather than see his smile. "I'm going to tell you what's going to happen next," he says, his voice taking on a firmer edge that makes my pulse quicken. "I'm going to keep touching you like this for a few more minutes. Then I'm going to help you get ready for bed. You're going to take a shower, put on something comfortable, and get under the covers. I'll join you, and we'll hold each other. Just hold each other. Until you fall asleep in my arms. How does that sound?"

Like heaven. Like exactly what I need after days of stress and pretense and professional smiles.

"Perfect," I whisper.

True to his word, he continues the gentle scalp massage until I'm practically purring with contentment. Then he helps me sit up, brushes a kiss against my forehead, and guides me toward the bathroom.

"Take your time," he says. "I'll be here when you're done."

The hot shower is exactly what I need, washing away the tension of the day and leaving me loose-limbed and drowsy. I towel dry my hair, apply my usual nighttime moisturizer, and slip into the silk pajama set I'd packed, thankful they are modest enough to be comfortable, but still pretty enough to feel feminine.