Page 14 of Sinner’s Torment

I felt the words settle into my chest like stones. Montana was out of the hospital. That was good news. Better than good. It meant he survived, that he was strong enough to come back, to lead. But a board meeting—that was something else entirely. A board meeting meant decisions. Big ones. The kind that would shape the future of the club, determine whether we stayed patched over with the Golden Skulls or tried to rebuild on our own. The kind that would force us to confront everything we lost and everything we still had left to lose.

I typed a quick response.

Me: I’ll be there

Then I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Marcus was still watching me, waiting for an answer.

“You start by being honest,” I said, refocusing on him. “With yourself first. About what you want, what you’re capable of, and what your limits are. And then you communicate those limits to anyone you’re in a scene with. You don’t push past them. You don’t test them. You respect them.”

“And if I can’t trust myself to do that?”

“Then you don’t scene,” I said bluntly. “Not until you’ve done the work to understand why you lost control in the first place. Not until you’ve rebuilt that trust with yourself.”

He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “That’s going to take a long time, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” I admitted. “But it’s worth it. Because the alternative is living with the fear that you’ll hurt someone again. And that’s no way to live.”

Marcus was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then he looked up at me, his eyes searching. “Have you ever... have you ever lost control like that?”

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. I kept my expression neutral, my voice steady. “This session is about you, Marcus. Not me.”

“I know,” he blurted. “I just... I guess I’m wondering if it’s possible to come back from something like this. If someone like me can ever be trusted again.”

I held his gaze, weighing my words carefully.

“Yes,” I said finally. “It’s possible. But it requires work. Real, hard, uncomfortable work. And it requires you to forgive yourself eventually. Not right away. Not until you’ve earned it. But eventually.”

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“Good.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Our session was almost over. “We’ll pick this up next week. In the meantime, I want you to journal. Write about what happened, how you felt, and what you think triggered the loss of control. Don’t censor yourself. Just write.”

“Okay,” he said, standing. “Thank you, Dr. Dunaway. I... I really appreciate this.”

“You’re doing the work,” I said, standing as well. “That’s what matters.”

He left, closing the door softly behind him, and I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty chair where he had been sitting, my mind still caught on his question.

Have you ever lost control like that?

Yes.

God, yes.

I didn’t go straight home after Marcus left.

Instead, I sat at my desk, staring at the wall, letting the memories I had spent years burying claw their way to the surface. The office had grown dark around me, the city lights filtering through the blinds in thin, broken strips. I should have turned on a lamp. I didn’t.

Elise—that was her name.

She had been twenty-six, a graduate student studying art history at Columbia, with dark hair that fell in waves past her shoulders and darker eyes that seemed to see right through me. She had a need for control that mirrored my own, or rather, a need to surrender it completely, which was the other side of the same coin. We met at a BDSM club in Brooklyn, one of those underground places tucked away in converted warehouses where people went to explore the parts of themselves they couldn’t show the rest of the world. The kind of place where you checked your everyday identity at the door along with your coat.

She had been a natural submissive from the very beginning. Eager, trusting, willing to push her limits because she believed, truly believed, that I could keep her safe. That I knew exactly how far to take things. That I would never let anything truly harm her. She had placed her complete faith in me, surrendering control with a vulnerability that was both beautiful and terrifying in its totality.

And I had.

For months, I kept her safe. I learned her body, her mind, her boundaries with meticulous care and attention. I studied every reaction, every tremor, every breath. I learned what made her feel secure, what pushed her to the edge, and what brought her back. I had given her what she needed. Structure, discipline, release, and she had given me the same. She had given me her trust, her submission, her raw honesty, and we built something together that felt unshakeable.