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“I’m fine.” Her voice was too thin. Then again, it was three o’clock in the morning.
“Yes, you are.”
He wasn’t talking down to her. He was telling her exactly where to go in her mind. She obeyed. She was home.Safe.She reached up and unlocked the bathroom door.
Richard sat on the carpet outside, his legs drawn up, his arms casually hooked over his knees as if he sat in front of a campfire and not on their bedroom carpet, singing her off the ledge for the hundredth time since they’d moved in together.
He didn’t move forward but waited. She did what she always did on nights like those. She crawled toward him and laid her cheek against his muscled thigh. “Master.” She’d need to say his name like that for a while to bring herself back completely.
His hand descended on my hair and stroked. “Another one. Yet, you didn’t seek me out.”
“I’m sorry.” The dreams were becoming more frequent now, every other night instead of every other week.
She’d find herself lying on the cold tile behind the locked door. Someone like her could find a room with a door with a lock in their sleep. She’d learned that as soon as she’d learned to run as a child.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, not quite sure what else to say. He had to be getting so sick of her stress nightmares. If she didn’t get a grip, he could leave her. Most men would have been done with her long ago.
“You’re worried about today.”
It was today already? The day she’d been waiting for. To walk down a runway wearing Laurent’s new wedding dress design, a dress he’d spent hours fitting her into.
She loved being seen, showing herself off. So, why did she dread today? The second she was asked to do it, a thick, gray mist began to rise in her. She’d wanted to say no. But she never could say no to a dominant’s request, and Sarah was one powerful Domme—not to mention Washington, DC’s, most prominent stylist.
When Sarah asked her to be in the runway show, Charlotte had merely cast her eyes down and nodded. After lifting her lashes, the pleasure that spread across Sarah’s eyes bloomed in Charlotte’s chest, hitting her like a drug. She still thought to back out, but she killed any thought of that when Richard’s face lit with delight after hearing she would show off the custom-made gown to the city’s elite. After all, he’d wanted to see her in a wedding dress for so long, preferably walking toward him.
Charlotte couldn’t figure out why she was so terrified of going through the fashion show and had so many nightmares about the idea. At least, she thought that was where they came from. Her memories of weddings always led to one thing: whoever her mother had married, he’d eventually made his way to her—or tried to, anyway.
It was no wonder the dreams were the same every night. She was in Laurent’s dress and running from a mob of men, their black silhouettes grotesque and misshapen. Her feet bled from running—so much running. The dress was ruined with mud and dirt and torn from tripping every few steps.
Even now, safely nestled against Richard, she could call up how the white silk was nothing but shreds of fabric, destroyed from tangling among branches and brambles as she clawed her way out.
Large gashes in the long white gown showed her bare waist, and the hemline, tattered beyond recognition, bared her legs.
But it was the veil, the gossamer slip of fairy fabric, as she’d dubbed the material upon seeing it for the first time, that sent her blood thrashing in her veins.
She’d rise from falling and start running again, but the veil would snag on a tall branch she tried to duck under. The pull on her scalp was excruciating. She twisted to catch even a little bit of the tulle floating in the foggy air, but she always missed becausetheywere getting closer.
In a way, her nightmare was such a cliché.
“Eyes,” Richard whispered.
She raised her gaze to his and focused her attention on his face, his beautiful dark eyes like liquid obsidian.
His fingertip lifted her chin an inch. “You won’t do the show.”
Her spine straightened. “No. I mean, please. I want to.” She’d spent countless hours preparing for the day, practicing walking and going through so many fittings. And he’d looked so proud during the first one, pleased Laurent had chosen a sheer lace for the cap sleeves and a deep V neckline for the dress. He’d remarked on it as if he’d already pictured her wearing a wedding dress.
His hand circled her neck. “Truth.”
His move made her pussy instantly weep with wanting him. Any touch of his elicited such a reaction. “Always, Master.”
“You don’t want to do this, do you?”
She curled up in his lap instead of voicing the only thing her mind conjured up.I want to do it for you.
He sighed and rose.“Take off your t-shirt. Get in the shower. You will think about answering me honestly.”
He pulled her to standing and led her into the bathroom, where he started the shower. She jerked her t-shirt off and stepped under the warming water. Shivered a little from it not being quite hot enough. A punishment, perhaps?
