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I definitely never realized I would wake up the morning after and feel so…
Powerful.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I hum to myself and smooth lavender lotion onto my legs. After a small hesitation, I apply more, higher, to my inner thighs and hips. To my breasts and belly. I watch myself in the mirror, hands roaming all over my skin, remembering everything that happened last night in the courtyard. The simultaneous loss of control and gaining of it. The passion and frenzy and…understanding.
That’s it. I feel understood. By Duncan.
I stand and walk to my dresser, taking out a pair of simple blue panties, smooth to the touch. Bordered in dusky pink. My plan is to help Duncan pack the paintings today, so I start to put on jeans and a sweater, then change my mind, donning a short, floaty dress instead. A dress that technically is a slip, usually worn on summer days in the courtyard when the gallery is closed and I want to feel the sun on my skin.
Today I’m wearing it because I want to feel his touch on my skin.
Want to feel it everywhere.
I realize I’m staring into space, my hands climbing my ribcage toward my aroused nipples—and I drop them away. More than anything, I want to go downstairs and forget the ominous stirring inside of me, but…I can’t. I can’t deny that I woke up this morning with the knowledge that something is off. There is something I’m missing.
Something Duncan isn’t telling me.
It’s almost as if I dreamed him up. Suddenly he was here. Suddenly we were connected by some fated force, physical and emotional, and I never had a chance to examine how it all came about. I’ve been too distracted by what he does to me.
What he allows me to do to him.
My breath picks up the pace and I drop my head against my closet door, visions of last night flashing in my mind, his words echoing in my ears.
Anything you give me is good pain. Anything.
You’ll order me to breed you.
Baby’s so tight.
My skin flushes so hot, I retreat to my bathroom and press a cold, wet towel to the back of my neck. And I look myself in the eye over the vanity. I tell myself that today I’m going to ask him questions about his supposed darkness. How he came to be here. Yes, he is from the art packing company I contacted, but he…hasn’t left the gallery once, as far as I can tell. Does he have a home? What happens once he’s done with this job?
I vow I’m going to ask these questions, but when I get downstairs and find him bare-chested, suspenders hanging down from his hips, muscles flexing as he removes a painting from the wall, every sensible notion I have in my head flees like darkness in the face of the sun.
Duncan turns to face me, his face transforming with utter adoration and hunger…and obedience. Yes, he’s waiting to see what I want. Me. The girl who barely reaches his shoulder. The girl he had to carry like a baby to bed last night. He gives me what I need. Control in a life where I’ve had so very little. A life where I’ve been neglected, abandoned, confined and lonely.
My fingertips tingle with that control now, chest swelling with gratitude for him. For his understanding and care of me, so unique and perfect in nature. And instead of asking him who he really is, I say, instead, “I’m ready to go outside the walls.”
His chiseled mouth lifts into a half smile and he opens his arms to me.
I run and leap into them, no questions asked, his big hands finding my buttocks and boosting me high so I can lock my thighs around his hips. My giant just smiles at me, rubbing soothing, happy circles onto my back and…and I fall in love with him. Then and there. I can feel my heart splitting into two halves, one side crawling into Duncan’s chest, invisible and unseen, to stay forever.
As I’ve gotten older and my fantasies started to include teasing and controlling and torturing, I thought myself flawed. Sick. But he’s not only accepted my flaw, he’s turned it into a blessing. Something about me he craves, maybe even needs. By allowing that part of me to run wild, he’s given me the courage I need to face the outside world, instead of hiding from it.
“Where would you like to go, lass?”
I press my face into his warm neck, nibbling at the sinew there, loving the way he tips his head to the side so I can get a more thorough taste. “The beach,” I murmur. “I want to see the ocean. I want to see…a library. I want to get coffee in a paper cup I see people using when they come to the gallery.”
