And finally, she told him her truth. “I wanted you to. I hated it, but I needed it. No one’s ever taken me as far into surrender and submission as the twelve-hours-of-fucking-hell scene, not even long-time Doms.” She looked at him a few seconds. “And it’s like you learned shortcuts. Like, once you had me there, you know how to get me back — faster, with less intensity.”
“Good. That’s what I needed from you.” He picked his steak knife up and basked in the glow of knowing he’d taken her farther into submission than anyone else. “We’re good.”
And then, while he cut into his steak, he asked her if he should buy his own shoes and harness, and conversation went to easier places.
- - -?- - -
Days later, Tuesday was trying a little experiment in her hotel room’s kitchenette when the video call came through, and she smiled when she saw it was Knife. Her tablet wasalready propped on its holder, the stylus in front of it, and it worked out that she was in the camera when she accepted the call.
Her little hopefully-masterpiece was almost finished, so he had good timing, and she lifted the pan from the burner, poured the glaze over the main portion. The idea was to get the taste of an opera cake without the labor cost. Simplify it. There were only four major flavors — almond, coffee, buttercream, dark chocolate. The question was ratio — how to keep all four as individual supporting players without one bullying all the others. Also, how to get the textures right.
“I’m glad you called,” she told him while she carefully poured. He was sitting in his living room, wearing a black shirt, looking sexy as fuck.
“I’m glad you answered. What are you making?”
She started to tell him, realized the problem with that, and had to tell him, “It’s a pre-experiment, before I take it to the client during tomorrow’s dessert menu meeting, and there are NDAs. I’dloveto share it with you, but…”
He tilted his head and his eyebrows pulled together, but he said, “Yeah. I get that.”
Clearly, he didn’t like it, but he understood.
She searched for a way to change the subject and get them out of awkward territory, and asked, “How was your weekend?”
He paused. Not long, maybe a half-second, but she’d been paying attention to this man for months now, and she saw regret in his eyes, but he merely said, “Good.” Then, as ifhe realized it needed more, he shrugged and added, “Club stuff.”
Ah. Things he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t. It seemed there were secrets going in both directions.
He bridged the awkwardness this time by asking, “How is your grandmother?”
Tuesday couldn’t help her smile. “As nosy and prying as always. Even over the phone, she’s managed to get most of our date out of me. The daytime events, not the rest.” Tuesday grinned. “She’s actually a little miffed I didn’t get a picture of you on the carousel.”
He smiled. “Your grandmother is a character, that’s for sure. I love that the two of you are so close.”
She deemed her creation cool enough to try, and she took a bite. It needed a little more almond, and about twenty percent less coffee, but she was certain she could make it work. That gave her five things to suggest the following day. He wanted three more dessert items. Surely he’d like one of her five proposals.
“She’s always been the one I go to, you know? She never tells me what to do, but her advice is solid. She’s lived a long and interesting life. She was at the original Woodstock, and she saw Elvis at this huge concert in Mississippi back in the fifties. Young Elvis, not fat Elvis.”
She gave him a big grin. “The fun stuff though. Her brother once let it slip that she’d been… Do you know who the Allman Brothers were?”
She waited for him to nod before giving him the tea. “She and Gregg Allman were a thing, back before she settled down with my grandfather.”
He laughed. “I can totally see her just out there living her life before she settled down. I’m not sure my grandparents have ever gone more than about a hundred miles from their mountain. They still have sage advice, but it’s from a different perspective.”
They’d talked about his family a little. Super close-knit, most everyone lives on a mountain the pack owns southwest of Asheville. Their pack is family-based, and you have to either be born into it, or marry into it.
He was still really close to his family, but he’d needed to go out into the world, and he’d had to leave the pack to do so.
She put the pan and other dishes into the sink, double-checked she’d turned the stove off, and went to the bed. She’d brought her wedge so she could read and research in bed, which meant she could comfortably sit up and talk to him.
“How often do you talk to your family?”
“My mom texts me pictures and videos daily. What she made for dinner, the dogs being silly, her basket of eggs when the chickens outdo themselves. Random stuff. I text her pics of what I’m eating when it’s interesting, places we go on road trips, sometimes the cows are doing funny shit when I go up to load them on the truck and bring them down. We video chat every Tuesday night, and my dad’s usually there for it. Sometimes my grandparents are, too.”
“I like that you’re still close to them even though you needed to leave.”
“I probably know more of your pack than you realize,” he told her. “I’ve gotten close to Silas. At first, he wanted to choose his beef, but over time, he’s come to trust me to get it right. I never let anyone else put his orders together, though. He demands perfection, and I respect that about him. We have lunch or dinner together at least once a month. Cool guy.”
She worked hard to keep her face neutral while her brain flashed to Silas. He was more sadist than Dom, though he was absolutely both. They’d been good together for a while, but he’d been too intense in ways that hadn’t worked for her. In retrospect, she thought maybe they would now, and she just hadn’t been ready for him all those years ago. Or, perhaps not. His sadism was in a class all by itself.
