“Now that we’re alone, there’s a question I’m dying to ask.”
“Okay.”
“What made a football-playing, trust fund baby like you get into the scene?”
William chuckled after taking a sip of water. “I guess at the basic level, it started with control. After my mom died, I seemed to always have to be in control of myself and my emotions. The older I got, the more responsibility I seemed to have. There was something within me that wanted to be able to let all that go—even if it was for a short time.”
“Mmm, you’re the classic case of the overachieving professional who needs to give up control and be bossed around.”
“You sound disappointed.”
I laughed. “I guess I hoped for a more illicit story like you got off on your nanny spanking you.”
William grimaced. “My nanny was sixty-years-old.”
“Maybe a granny fetish?”
“Hell no.”
“When was your first experience with BDSM?”
“I was nineteen, and I started dating a girl who had Domme tendencies—she liked to tie me up and spank me and tell me what to do to her. I started to really get off on it—like I realized something had been missing before. We went to a club just as a joke, but it ended up opening both of our eyes to the world that was out there. We dated for a few years before breaking up. After that, clubs have always been the way I met my girlfriends.”
“Girlfriends? You sound like quite the player.”
William snorted with amusement. “No, Sophie, I’m not a player. I can still count on one hand the women and Dommes I’ve been with.”
“Just five, huh?”
“You can call me Mr. Monogamy.”
“Oh, I see.” I couldn’t help feeling slightly relieved that he was in monogamy and relationships. “Would I be number six?”
William’s expression became sheepish. “My number is defined by actual sex.”
“Ah, that pesky penetration thing again, huh?”
He grinned. “Exactly. Now it’s your turn. How did you get into the lifestyle?”
“I didn’t.” At his furrowing brow, I said, “I mean, I’m not in the lifestyle. Being a Domme is just my job, not who I am.”
“You don’t ever participate in BDSM outside of 1740?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
Both confusion and disappointment flashed in William’s eyes. “You’re just a professional Domme?”
“For the last five years. But yesterday was my last day at 1740.”
William frowned. “I can’t believe it. I guess I should have known when you said you didn’t receive pleasure from subs. I just assumed you were like…”
“Calla?” When he nodded, I asked, “Don’t tell me you’re feeling slighted that you spent time with someone who wasn’t a lifestyle Domme?”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
The waiter returned with our drinks. William took such a hearty gulp of his mimosa that he almost drained it. When I continued to stare expectantly at him, he sighed. “Since I got involved in the lifestyle thirteen years ago, I haven’t had a non D/s relationship. I’m not sure what a regular relationship looks like anymore.”
When I realized what he was alluding to, I stared down at my lap. The way I felt about him was such a jumbled mess that I didn’t know how to respond. “Oh.”
“Hmm, have my unwanted overtures made the usually mouthy Domme speechless?”
I tore my gaze away from my hands to look at him. “I’m sorry, but you did take me a little off guard. This entire day has taken me off guard…more than anything, you take me off guard.”
“I do?”
“Of course you do. I’ve never let myself go with a sub before. Even though what you did to me physically was the greatest sexual experience of my life, I could have easily walked away from you. But emotionally…”
“So you’re feeling it too?”
“Yes and no. Maybe.” I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t know what I feel, except confused as hell. In the last couple of years, I haven’t had any relationships, period, least of all one in the scene.”
William crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I find it hard to believe that a woman as beautiful and sexy as you are hasn’t been serious with anyone in years.”
“Aren’t you the flatterer?” I teased.
In a low voice, William replied, “A good sub always compliments his Mistress.”
“And you’re an extreme rule-follower when it serves your purpose. Tell me, were you a Boy Scout growing up?”
William gave a bark of a laugh. “No, smart-ass, I wasn’t. And I wasn’t giving you false compliments. I meant every word I said.”
Our crepes arrived then, and I happily dug in to avoid any further relationship talk. Unfortunately, William wasn’t letting it go. “Just out of curiosity, how long are we talking time wise when it comes to your last relationship?”
My knife pierced a plump strawberry. I didn’t have to stop to calculate the time in my head. The date was pretty emblazoned on my mind. “Three years, five months, and ten days ago.”
William’s lips crinkled in an amused smile. “Hmm, you must’ve gotten burned pretty badly if you can remember the exact date.”
I traced the rim of my champagne flute with my finger. “Some things you just don’t forget.” Pinching my eyes closed, I tried to shut out the voice echoing through my mind. “Jesus, Sophie, all you do is give and give to your father. One day soon he’s going to die, and then where will you be? All by yourself.”
“I’m sorry if I brought up something painful, Sophie.”
I opened my eyes to see William’s remorseful face. The sincerity of his words and tone were like the final fissure that split my emotional armor. There were many things I could have done in that moment. I could have made a joke and changed the subject. I could have fabricated a story of a cheating ex. But the dangerous mixture of compassion and concern pooling in William’s dark eyes thawed my firm resolve. There was also the fact he understood grief, the fractures that resulted from loss. It made him…real
“Three years, five months, and ten days ago, my father became wheelchair bound with Myotonic Dystrophy, a form of Muscular Dystrophy. The guy, or I guess I should say bastard, I was dating then claimed I didn’t make enough time for him and broke up with me. I vowed then that my father was the most important man in my life, and I didn’t have time for any selfish assholes.”
“I’m so very sorry about your father.”
“Thank you,” I whispered as I fought to keep hold of my emotions. There was no way in hell I was going to lose it in a café full of people, least of all come off vulnerable in front of William.
“May I hold your hand?” At what must’ve been my bewildered expression, William gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to leave the lifestyle behind after being with you as my Mistress, so I had to ask your permission to hold your hand.”
“That’s okay.”
Instead of reaching his arm across the table to take my hand, he stood up. He slid his chair around where he could sit beside me. He took my hands in his. His fingertips tenderly slid over my skin. Everything about the way he touched me was gentle and kind. It was such a paradox from the harsh treatment he desired.
“You know when I first saw you, I thought you had battle-worn eyes.”
“You did?”
“That’s why I first stared at you in the club when I shouldn’t have looked you in the eye. It’s why I wanted you to choose me. I could tell you’d experienced sorrow in life like I had. Some people would think it was wrong to want to connect with someone who has as much baggage as you. But I think there’s something to be said for shared pain.”
“Yes, there is,” I agreed.
“Tell me about your dad.”
Surprise filled me at his request. “Seriously?”
William nodded. “But only if you want to. I don’t want to upset
you any further.”
Suddenly, I didn’t like the way he was making me feel—like I truly had a man outside my family who cared about me. One who was genuinely interested in what I had to say without any real ulterior motive. “Listen, you really don’t have to do this. I don’t need your pity.”
“Don’t do that,” he said softly.
“Do what?”
“Close yourself off.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
I yanked my hand out of his. “What the hell is up with the whiplash emotions? One minute you’re saying you don’t want to upset me and then you’re getting pissy because I don’t want to talk?”
“They’re two separate things. I genuinely wanted to know about your father, and you don’t want to tell me, not because of the pain you might feel about him, but because of what talking about him with me might mean.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“But I’m right.” At my frustrated huff, he added, “Aren’t I?”
“Okay, fine. You’re right. Are you happy?”
“No. But something tells me I should be because you don’t admit you’re wrong very often.”
I laughed in spite of my anger. “I would so love to beat your ass right now.”
William winked. “I would like that very much, too.”
“Are you sure you didn’t major in psychology, rather than teaching? I mean, you sound like a walking shrink decoding my emotions.”
“When you spend as much time in therapy as I have, you pick up some things.”
“You don’t strike me as the therapy type.”
“I started when my mother died. It’s why I first started playing football. My therapist suggested it as a means to release my repressed anger.”
“I’d wondered what a rich boy was doing playing football. I thought you all played golf or lacrosse.”
William laughed. “The very reason why my grandfather is wealthy is because he got a football scholarship to college. Without his engineering degree, coupled with growing up on a chicken farm, he would have never developed the patent for the chicken coop heater that made him millions.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No. I’m not.”
“It seems therapy has worked really well for you in life. I mean, besides the benefits of getting into football, you seem to have your shit together.”
He laughed. “It’s a cleverly constructed façade.”
“I doubt that.”
“You learn soon enough that we’re all a little mad here.”
The English major in me nerded out at him using the quote from Lewis Carroll. “I was pretty much certain of that one even before I started working at 1740.”
“How about a little free therapy?”
“Okay. Why not.”
William stared intently into my eyes. It was almost as if he was trying to make me obey his will. “Tell me about your father, Sophie.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a command. While it felt strange being on the receiving end of a command, there was something comforting in it as well. “My father—my daddy—is my world—my universe. The sun rises and sets with him.”
“A true Daddy’s girl.”
I nodded. “My grandmother told me that my mother used to say that when I was a baby, I could be throwing the biggest tantrum in the world, but as soon as my father walked in, I would become calm. He didn’t even have to pick me up. It was like as soon as I could sense his presence, I was okay.”
Ever perceptive, William said, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you mention your mother.”
“I guess that’s because I don’t remember much about her. She was killed in a car accident when I was three.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I would say you knew how I felt, but it had to be harder for you having your mother longer.”
“I think losing your mother is hard no matter how young or how old you are.”
“Like you, my grandparents stepped in to help. But my dad still did almost everything for me. He was devoted to every aspect of raising me from feeding to bathing. I don’t know how he had the energy to take care of me, run the farm during the week, and do roping competitions on the weekends. But somehow he did it.” As I thought of who my father once had been, I gritted my teeth in anger. “Once upon a time, he was the epitome of a rugged cowboy. And then fucking MD robbed him of all that. First, he couldn’t rope anymore because he didn’t have the strength in his hands. Then he couldn’t ride anymore.”
I clenched my fists as I thought about the agonized expression on my father’s face the day he couldn’t get up into the saddle. Too proud to take help, he stopped riding then. “Then he couldn’t walk.”
“He’s wheelchair bound now?”
“Yes.”
“I could once again say I was sorry, but that seems so insignificant with all he has been through. It has to be so hard for him, but it’s also hard for you. To have your superhero become mortal, and that mortality become frail and fragile.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Yet somehow you’ve soldiered on. Now the cared for has become the caregiver.” He eyed me curiously. “That’s why you became a professional Domme. To help care for your father financially.”
“And for my brother. He’s just seventeen,” I reminded him.
This time he didn’t ask to touch me when he brought his hand to tenderly touch my cheek. “Do you have any idea how amazing you are?”
I shied away from his touch and his compliment. “Whatever.”
He shook his head. “I’m serious, Sophie. Few people in the world have the capacity for love and kindness like you do. Not to mention your selflessness.”
With his admiration overwhelming me, I waved my hand flippantly. “I got a job partially prostituting myself so my family could keep our farm, and I could go to college. I hardly see that as heroic.”
“You did what you had to do to see that those you loved had what they needed. Not everyone would do what you did for their family. They would have focused on themselves and let their father and brother fend for themselves.”
“Then they would be selfish assholes.”
“Yes. They would. Sadly, that is predominantly what the world is made up with.” He smiled at me. “And that is why you’re amazing.” When I opened my mouth to argue with him, he placed a finger on my lips. “Don’t argue with me, Sophie. Just take the compliment, but more than anything, try to appreciate the sentiment.”
“Once again, I’d like to beat your ass.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Our conversation flowed as freely as the mimosas we continued to order. We talked through the breakfast diners thinning out and being replaced by the lunch crowd. I’d never found someone outside of my father who I could talk to as easily as I could to William. He was genuinely interested in everything I had to say. He never glanced at his phone or zoned out like most guys I knew. Of course, most guys I dated were my age, and as we chatted, I learned William was thirty-two. Almost a decade older than me.
I was just as interested in hearing about him. I learned that although he had grown up in the Atlanta area, he had gotten a football scholarship to the University of Tennessee. He blew out his knee his sophomore year, ending his football career. But he had managed to parlay his love of the sport into coaching. I was envious of all the traveling he’d done in his life. Using his summers off, he’d backpacked all over Europe and explored caves in Australia and New Zealand.
With the café beginning to set up for the dinner crowd, our waiter appeared at our table with a look of impatience. I couldn’t blame him since we’d been at the table for hours. At least William had slipped him a fifty to make up for the tips he might be losing from us staying. “Are you ready for the check now, sir?”
As undeniable electricity popped and cracked around us, William’s dark eyes bore into mine, seeking and searching. The moment wasn’t just about casuall
y ending a breakfast date. It was about severing a connection—one that neither one of us could have anticipated. We both knew the finality of when we said good-bye. I would go home and start teaching, and William would go back to 1740 and find a new Mistress.
Since I knew he was waiting for my response, I replied, “Yes. We are.”
“I’ll be right back.”
After the waiter left us alone, William gave me a small smile. “I suppose that’s the only time in our dynamic when I would ever get to be called ‘sir.’”
I laughed. “Yes. It is.”
He surprised me by shoving his chair up against mine. After placing one of his hands on the table, he put the other on the top rung of the chair and leaned in. At the feel of his warm breath on my cheek, I fought the urge to jerk away. But a Domme and a strong woman always held her ground.
“Give me one night.”
My heartbeat broke into a wild gallop at his request. “You can’t be serious.”
“But I am.”
I shook my head. “What’s one night going to do?”
“It gives me the chance to be inside you.”
I inhaled sharply at his words. Regardless of all the reasons why I shouldn’t, I wanted the same thing he did. After seeing and feeling him last night, I couldn’t help wondering with his size and girth what he would feel like as he pumped inside me. Fuck, I had been dreaming about exactly that this morning. In spite of his words and my illicit thoughts, I argued in a low voice, “You had your tongue inside me last night. Wasn’t that enough?”
“No. It was just a tease.” A wicked look flashed in his eyes. “Just a taste, no pun intended.”
A laugh bubbled from my lips, slightly easing the tension that hung around us.
“You want to go to 1740?”
William shook his head. “No. I want to be somewhere alone with you without all the distractions and complications.”
Cocking a brow at him, I said, “I’m assuming Mistress Calla would be part of your reasoning?”
“That’s part of it.”
“Is it true she wanted a relationship with you?”
“Yes. But more than anything, she wanted to collar me.”
I couldn’t hide my disgust. “Sorry, but I’ve never understood collaring. The whole idea of an outward symbol to show that you’re owned and possessed by someone else is bizarre to me.”