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He pinched her chin, hard enough to make her suck in a breath. “Josslyn.”
“Because I don’t want a Dom to do something they don’t like, simply because I like it or want it.”
He released her. “That’s a heavy statement.”
She shrugged.
“You understand how insulting that is?”
“It’s not,” she protested.
“It is,” he countered. “It implies that your top isn’t capable of ensuring that both parties get what they need from the power exchange.”
“It implies,” she countered in a soft voice, “that I know tops will sometimes sacrifice their own desires, and do things they might not want to, because a sub asked for it.”
Their gazes met, held.
“Who?” Ilias asked after moment. “Who topped you and then made you feel like a burden?”
Josslyn’s expression went slack with shock. He’d been fairly certain his conclusion was right, but the way her expression froze and then crumpled was a sign that he’d been dead-on correct.
“My husband,” she whispered.
Now it was his turn to freeze. Shit, was Josslyn married to another Las Palmas member? Marriage wouldn’t guarantee being partnered in the checklist game. During the game announcement, the overseers said that only bonded partners—“bonded” was an official club designation—were guaranteed to be paired together.
Then again, just because she was married to another member didn’t mean she normally scened with him. Especially if they weren’t a good Dom/sub pair, which her words and reaction seemed to imply.
Ilias opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat when she blinked, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
She blinked again, and more tears fell.
He wasn’t one of those men who didn’t know what to do with emotions. A good Dom had to be comfortable with catharsis, since for many subs scenes were a way for them to release pent-up feelings.
But Josslyn’s silent tears hit him dead center. Stole his breath like he’d been punched in the solar plexus.
Ilias dropped onto his knees, then sat. If he’d been smart, he would have gone to the chair, had her come sit on his lap. But he was sure, for no particular reason, that if he walked away, even if it was only to the chair, Josslyn would lock those tears away.
So instead, he sat on the concrete floor, cold leaching through his slacks, and opened his arms.
Josslyn just stared at him, and Ilias felt like a dumbass, sitting on the floor with his arms spread.
Then Josslyn’s face crumpled, her mouth screwing up, and she crawled into his lap. Usually subs sat sideways, but Josslyn put her back to his chest. Her butt rested on his crossed legs; her own legs stretched out across the cushion.
He dropped his arms loosely around her, not touching her in any intimate way, and not restraining her.
Josslyn cried quietly for several minutes, occasionally wiping her cheeks with the side of her hand.
As they sat there, Ilias realized that his initial assumption—that her spouse was another member of Las Palmas—was probably wrong. If her husband was also her Dom and made her feel like a burden, he probably wasn’t a very good Dom, and wouldn’t have been allowed to join Las Palmas. It was more likely that Josslyn joined Las Palmas on her own because her husband didn’t understand, or couldn’t pull off, a real power exchange.
“My husband,” Josslyn said, “was a good man.”
Ilias tightened his arms around her as he realized there was a third option.
Josslyn was a widow.
“But he made me feel…like a burden.” She let out a watery laugh. “No one ever put it like that. People who know us, who lived through his dying with me…”
“Was he ill?”
