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“Hello, Septus.” I greeted him with a smile I knew didn’t reach my eyes, feigning the confidence that was so damn difficult to cultivate when the very sight of him sitting there, relaxed in the chair, sprawled like a damn god made me weak at the knees. He was too attractive, his very demeanor pulling me in, the memory of his kiss making my mouth water and yearn for that intimate touch. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Don’t play that game with me,Sadie.” His derisive scoff cut like a knife.
“I’m not playing a game,Thatcher,” I answered, emphasizing his real name, just as he had mine.
“Yes, you are. Two weeks, Sadie. Two fucking weeks of no contact.”
“I know, but I had my reasons, and —”
“Fuck your reasons!” His words, yelled nearly violently as he stood suddenly, the chair screeching against the floor, were loud enough to make me wince. “Don’t give me that shit. You’re a better Dominant than that kind of behavior. You’re a betterpersonthan that.”
His words stung, cutting me to the quick like a hot knife sliding through soft butter.
“Thatcher, I wasn’t trying to play a game.” I tried again, slowly crossing the room and taking the seat beside him.
“Then explain it.”
“What?”
“Explain it. Explain yourself. Explain why you, a well renowned Dominant in a reputable kink club, decided that it was good procedure to discuss negotiations for a dynamic with a submissive, to discuss an actual relationship with one another in a romantic sense, sleep with him, and then just disappear. Poof. Gone. Honestly, Sadie, you’re better than that. You’re better than ghosting someone, so I don’t know what you could say that would even come close to explaining, let alone rectifying, such gross misconduct. So please, let me hear whatever platitudes you deem worthy of such a moment.”
His words took my breath away like a punch to the gut, leaving me bereft and bleeding from the bite of his pained tone.
“You’re right.” I muttered. There was no defense to be made, no argument to be had.
“Excuse me?” I could feel the paradoxical heat of his gaze, as icy as it was hot.
“There is no excuse for my behavior, which is what you are asking of me. There is an explanation, but the truth of my decisions and the reasons behind them do not absolve me of the damage I caused. And Thatcher, I did cause damage to you. For that, I am truly and completely sorry.” My eyes found his, and I cursed the tears that welled in my eyes.
“Okay, then, no excuses.” He sat back down, elbows on the table and fingers interlaced, though I could tell he was holding himself back from tapping his fingers anxiously — or perhaps frustratedly.
“So, what are we here for? What is the purpose of this meeting?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I don’t know, Sadie. I don’t want excuses, but I want to know why. And I need you to know that you hurt me. I’m not some newbie submissive who doesn’t know tits from taint or whips from canes. I know what I’m doing. I have had experience over decades of time. I am well vetted, well educated, and I am fuckingworth it, dammit. So why? Why fuck this all up like some teenaged, angsty drama? Why?”
I opened my mouth to speak, and realized I had nothing to say. That wasn’t entirely true. I had about a dozen well-rehearsed responses at the ready, but I didn’t say them. If I had uttered them, it would just be the same song, different verse. His impassioned pleas for me to see his worth, his value as a person and a submissive spoke to me and stopped my memorized and nearly ritualized rhetoric of self depreciation and feigned confidence.
Instead, I took a moment. I took a breath. And I gave him the truth.
“Because I’m not okay,” I said so softly it was barely audible.
“Explain.”
It was odd. I was the Dominant in this scenario, at this club and in the pseudo-dynamic between us, yet he was running this show like a Dominant extraordinaire. A submissive who was strong, and, as he said, very well spoken. It was a dream to find such a person for a submissive — and I had done just as he said. I had fucked it up to epic proportions.
“I have issues. I have reasons why I’ve never crossed the line from dynamic to romantic. It’s not simple. It’s not easy for me to talk about, and at the end of the day, I got scared. I’m scared of this, Thatcher.”
“I get that, Sadie. I do. But being scared doesn’t excuse your behavior. You’re better than that. And I deserve better than that.”
“You do, and I understand that you don’t want to continue this journey with me —”
“Are you kidding me? That’s the worst part of it all.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I want to continue more than anything. Against my better judgment, against every voice in my head, telling me to run in the other direction. I don’t have time for games. And don’t mistake my words. I’m here for your pain, Sadie. I’m here for your process. But I will not stand for the lack of communication and utter disrespect you’ve shown me these last two weeks.”
“You… want to continue?” I asked in a voice I didn’t recognize. Soft and subdued wasn’t my style, especially not here.
“Sadie, you’re one of the most incredible tops I’ve ever worked with. The idea of exploring more with you — fuck me. And not just a dynamic, but a real relationship. I want that. I want this. But you have to decide if it’s what you want. So, that’s what this all comes down to. Do you want this? With me? And I don’t mean playing around. All in or nothing. You decide.”
“Thatcher —”
