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“Of course.”
* * * *
She spent the next day doing nothing but that. On Sunday, she went over to Vanessa’s house.
Vanessa blended up an extra-large batch of margaritas and poured each of them a glass before they went outside to sit on the deck. Even that reminded her of being with David. “Bring Mama V up to date.”
“Mama V?”
“One of the twins calls me that.”
“Shit. They’re twins?”
“Fraternal.”
“And you’re the Domme now?”
“Not always. But it turns out I look pretty good in boots and holding a whip.”
“I bet you do.” Maggie took a drink.
“Let me know if you’d like me to practise on you. I can show you a few tricks to get your man to lick your boots.”
Maggie choked on a piece of ice. Vanessa laughed and slapped her on the back.
“Now get serious,” Vanessa said. “And give me the ugly details.”
Maggie brought her friend up to date, leaving nothing out. “And he wants me to call him Master.”
“What the hell did you expect? Unlike my boys, your man’s a Dom. It’s not just a term of respect, it’s an acknowledgement of the power exchange. And you get to decide whether you want to have that kind of relationship or flip him the bird. You get that, right? He didn’t fire your ass, and you can continue your work relationship on professional terms. What the man asked you is if you wanted to be his sub. Do you?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“No relationship is, especially with someone as demanding as he is. Nothing comes with guarantees, you know that. Is it better to go for it or live with the regret?”
Maggie thought about her father’s premature death. Would her mother have been better off if she’d never met him, sparing her the grief of loss?
“I’d trade in the twins for a chance like you’ve got,” Vanessa said.
“Seriously?”
Vanessa drained her margarita in a single, big gulp. “Well, I’d consider it, at least. My advice? Call him what he wants and take your punishment like a big girl.” She put down her empty glass. “I’ll be back with the pitcher.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about a dozen different things, and by the time Maggie arrived back home, she felt settled in a way she hadn’t before. She thought about sending him a text message then opted to wait.
That night, she had her usual, middle-of-the-night glass of water on the patio.
She looked at the cloudless sky and realised all the nightmares had one thing in common—they were trying to force her to look deep inside herself, to see what she feared then face it.
Alone, she did.
Yes, he might be dominating and overbearing, demanding more from her than she’d ever given. But he also gave more than she’d ever received—comfort, belief, trust. Next to him, all other relationships became insignificant. What he was offering was something real and authentic. There’d be no hiding, no other men, no lies or half-truths. She’d be physically exposed and emotionally vulnerable.
Was she brave enough to meet his demands?
At the office, he continued to be cool and polite. He didn’t bring up their personal relationship. He seemed energetic and as focused as always, and that annoyed her. She envied his calm, wanting him to be as torn up inside as she was.
Over the next couple of days, she ran through the gamut of emotions before facing the truth. Somewhere along the line, she’d fallen in love with him. She admired his business acumen, but most of all she liked the way he was relentless in insisting she give everything she had to offer. She respected his inflexibility, his honesty, the way he cared for her when they were together. He made her feel safe and kept nightmares at bay.
Last week he’d said he missed her, taking the first step in repairing the damage she’d caused. She missed him and wanted to be with him, even if it meant she had to accept a caning as well as his terms.
On all levels, she was terrified.
During her lunch hour, she sent him a message asking if she could have a moment of his time late this afternoon.
He responded that he would see her at six o’clock.
