by L. DuBois
Finally she ripped the eye mask off, throwing it away angrily.
Dante opened his arms. “Katrina, come here—”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” She stumbled back a few steps, hugging herself, her body bent slightly. “This is not your body. It’s mine. Mine. How dare you treat me like this?” She closed her eyes and tears leaked from beneath her lashes. “I was your wife. You were supposed to love me no matter what.”
Ah. Dante’s self-hatred and panic faded a bit. He’d pushed her and in doing so he’d opened up old wounds. Now it was time for triage.
“Katrina. Listen to my voice. It’s Dante. You’re in Las Palmas. We’re just playing, having fun.”
A sob shook her.
“Come here, honeypot.”
“Go…go to hell.” The words were strong but her voice broke. “Leave me alone.”
“No. I won’t.” Dante put aside his own worries and focused on her. She was hurt and in crisis. He could help her, he would help her.
Hands outstretched, he took one step towards her. “Katrina, I’m here. I’m not going to leave you.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to help you. Let go.”
“Don’t.” She looked up. Strands of hair were stuck to her face by sweat and tears. Her eye makeup was smudged and her lips trembled.
Dante took one more step, then stopped. He wouldn’t stalk her. He wanted to grab her and sit her on his lap, hold her until she was calm and happy. He wanted to make her feel safe and loved.
But she wasn’t a submissive right now. It wouldn’t be right to take control from her in that way.
So he waited.
Katrina dipped her head and the first sob shook her body. She seemed so small.
She dropped to her knees, hugging her naked torso as she bent over, hair falling in a curtain that hid her face.
Dante’s muscles tensed with the need to comfort her. He fought the urge, and instead grabbed a pair of sweats, pulling them on. Then he knelt in front of her, not quite close enough for her to touch.
Dante watched her, willing her to let go, to let him help her, comfort her.
* * *
Katrina cried for the life she’d lost. For the person she’d been when she first met Jeff. For her daughter, whom she loved so much, and who had been the catalyst for so much change.
Her sweet baby Lena, who was now the center of Katrina’s world. Lena, whom Katrina had, in her darkest moments—those moments when Katrina was overwhelmed by the slow destruction of her life—blamed for it all. Then she’d hugged her daughter tight and the smell of Lena’s skin and the soft sound of breathing made everything okay.
Katrina sucked in a choppy breath, and as if the air itself was flavored with his presence, she became aware of Dante.
She looked though the curtain of her hair. He knelt, sitting back on his heels, hands on his thighs. It was a submissive’s posture, but there was nothing submissive about him. He reminded her of a painting she’d once seen depicting an Egyptian god kneeling regally while subjects prostrated themselves before him.
Even through the camouflage of her hair, he caught her gaze. His face was calm, kind, and understanding. He looked so solid and warm.
She was so cold and alone.
Lips trembling, tears slipping down her cheeks, Katrina crawled to Dante.
He raised his hands, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. Katrina threw herself against his bare chest with a sob.
He pulled her close, gathering her up until all she could feel was his warm skin, no cold stone. She wrapped her arms around him, holding tight as he stood with her cradled in his arms, carrying her to the chair. For the second time in as many days, he held her as she cried.
His calm spread over her, as if it were warm, soft honey being poured over her skin. Katrina’s tears dried on her cheeks, her breathing even. The tears had been cathartic, and she felt warm and safe now.
The feeling didn’t last. Embarrassment and chagrin made her cheeks heat and she was glad her face was tucked against his neck.
She needed to explain. Explain and apologize.
Hoping to lighten the mood, she said, “Fancy meeting you here.”
Dante stroked her back and said nothing.
Katrina squeezed her eyes shut. He was probably livid, but too good a Dom not to comfort her. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
Katrina knew she should slide off his lap and kneel on the floor but she wasn’t ready for that yet. Even saying “Sir” had been hard.
The comfort of his touch soothed her soul, but right now she wasn’t in the headspace to submit. Old anger was too close to the surface.
“Dante, Katrina. I’m just Dante right now.”
She shook her head even as his words eased some of the tumult inside her. “I was disrespectful—”
“I’m going to guess.”
That stopped her. “Guess about what?”
“About what happened to you.”
“What happened was I got a divorce.”
“Yes, but why did you get a divorce, Katrina?” He started to tip her chin up, then dropped his hand. “It’s because you couldn’t submit when you were pregnant, wasn’t it?”
Rage. She was full of remembered rage. Katrina curled the hand not hugging him into a fist. “Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“You won’t be able to see me as a submissive if I do.”
“I promise you I will.”
Katrina sat up, then got off his lap, sitting in the other chair, facing him. A sense of deja vu made her shake her head.
“I’m so sorry, Dante. I thought I was ready.”
“You needed this. You said it yourself.”
“But I couldn’t…I couldn’t stay in the scene.”
He dropped his head, throat working as he swallowed. “I hurt you. I abused you. I’m so very sorry. I let myself off the chain and—”
He thought this was his fault? No, she wouldn’t let her issues rub off on him. He was wonderful, a mix of funny and sexy that she hadn’t known existed before but now desperately wanted. She held up her hands to stop him from continuing that sentence. “And it was amazing. If you’d told me what you were going to do, I probably would have come just from how sexy and dirty the description would have been. There was nothing wrong with the scene, or how you handled me. Please believe that.”
Dante looked up.
Katrina motioned to herself. “It’s me.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
Katrina sighed. There was nothing to be gained by keeping anything a secret. “Yes.” She crossed her arms over her breasts.
“Do you want something to wear?”
Katrina nodded. Dante jumped up, bringing her his shirt and a bottle of water. His brows were drawn together as he handed her the shirt. “I want you to wear my shirt.” A growl of possessiveness threaded through his voice and Katrina instinctively leaned toward him, wanting to feel the heat of that dark fire inside him. Dante cleared his throat and looked away, his tone calm and collected when he spoke again. “I can go get you something else, or a blanket.”
Katrina accepted the shirt. “No, I want to wear it. Thank you.”
She tugged on the short-sleeved polo, which was made of an incredibly soft material that screamed expensive. It smelled like him. Katrina flipped up the collar, rubbing it against her cheek.
Dante retreated to his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. He waited, his gaze steady on her. She knew that he would wait, as long as she needed.
Katrina cleared her throat and fiddled with the hem of his shirt where it lay across her thighs.
“I met Jeff when I was in grad school, getting my MBA. He was a guest lecturer. Sexy, successful, and kind of cold and aloof. After class he found me in the lounge where I was setting up my laptop to get some work done. He asked me to coffee. Looking back, I know why he chose me.”
It hadn’t be
en until everything started to fall apart that she’d thought back to that day, dissecting it to try to understand.
“As he lectured, he was looking at the class, looking at each person. I saw him doing it and decided that when he looked at me, I was going to challenge him. I had a big chip on my shoulder. I was a relatively nice looking woman in an MBA program and fighting to be taken seriously.”
“Katrina, you’re gorgeous. I understand how that might have made it a challenge to be taken seriously.” He smiled in understanding.
Katrina leaned back in the chair. “When he looked at me, I stared right back at him. He stopped in the middle of the sentence, and I felt his attention focus on me. It was like I was the center of the world.” She huffed out a laugh. “Or more realistically, I was a rabbit frozen in place by a predator’s gaze.
“I looked at my laptop. I remember typing random words, just to make it look like the only reason I looked down was to take notes.”
Dante pinched his lower lip, tipping his head to the side as he considered her story. “So he saw a gorgeous, young woman who was strong enough to try and stare him down, and then slowly, deliberately lowered her gaze.”
Katrina slumped slightly. “That’s what I figured too; without knowing it, I’d behaved like a submissive trying to attract the attention of a Dom.”
“I don’t know if I’d say trying to attract. I don’t want to normalize the idea that just because a woman looks at a man, she’s interested in him.”
Holy God, Dante was perfect. Katrina’s heart thumped.
“But you challenged him. Even without a D/s lens, maintaining eye contact is usually considered an aggressive move. You were aggressive and then submissive, and all that was wrapped up in a very beautiful package.”
“Thank you, Dante.”
“For what?”
“For being you.”
“Er, you’re welcome?”
Katrina chuckled softly. It would have been easy to end the conversation there, leave things unsaid. But she wanted to tell her story now. She wanted to share it with Dante, who might understand her a bit better if he knew.
“We got coffee, and then went to his place. He was so different than the guys in my program. He was arrogant, but he could back it up, if you know what I mean. All the boys in my program came off like spoiled little shits when they tried to be aggressive. Maybe they were going for assertive, I don’t know.
“That night we had the most amazing sex. I wasn’t super experienced, so when he fucked me up against the wall, pinning my wrists with one hand, I lit up.”
“Is that when you realized you were submissive?”
“No. To be fair to Jeff, he was careful. We started dating, and had what I thought was just kinky sex—he’d tie me to the bed with scarves, then handcuffs. He bought me nipple clamps that had semiprecious gemstones dangling from them. They were tight enough to keep me aroused and I loved to be naked in front of him and wear them.”
“When did he explain about D/s?”
“Six months in. We went to a private play party. I was terrified and turned on. He told me exactly how to act, and I did what he said. All night people stopped by to compliment him on how lovely and obedient I was. He praised me the whole way home. We went to another party, and then we started playing at home. He trained me little by little, and it was all this amazing, sexy game at first.
“We’d go to the parties and I’d hold the perfect form while he spanked me, or stay totally quiet while I was cropped. I looked at the subs who were mouthing off and wiggling as they got a spanking and thought ‘those stupid girls.’”
Katrina winced, remembering how arrogant she’d been.
“Don’t close down,” Dante said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I was young and stupid, and so new to it all. After a month he pulled out the D/s contract. I read it carefully, negotiated it even. I thought I was so smart. We started a full time D/s relationship that night. We got married two months later. I finished my MBA, but barely—my GPA was terrible, because while he ordered me to go to class, once I was home, I was his—no time to work on projects and assignments.”
Katrina took a deep breath, reminded herself that there was nothing she could do to change the decisions she’d made then. “I was so focused on having a career when I started the program, and then I met him and walked away from all that. I gave up my life and my future to marry him, and to be his sub. No, not just his sub, but the perfect sub, better than any other sub. I was the princess of all the clubs. I’d been in the lifestyle less than a year and I was training other subs.”
Dante nodded. “You shifted your focus from becoming the best business person to becoming the best sub.”
Katrina stared at him, eyes going wide.
Dante held up his hand. “I was just guessing. I’m probably totally wrong.”
“No, you’re…you’re right. I just never thought about it like that. Put it that simply.” Katrina rubbed her scalp with her fingertips, not caring that it probably made her already messy hair look worse. “I went to a lot of therapy, but I never told my therapist about the D/s.”
“Hard to explain it to someone who doesn’t already know. There are therapists who are aware of the lifestyle and might be better. There are even several therapists who are members here.”
“I don’t need therapy anymore.”
Dante raised one brow. Katrina realized how stupid that sounded and grimaced. “Okay, maybe I do.”
Dante chuckled. “Everyone can benefit from talking with a therapist.”
“Maybe I should meet one of them.”
“I can help with that.” He considered her. “So you met and married a Dom, started a 24/7 D/s relationship. What made it end?”
“I got pregnant.”
“You’ve said that before. Was the baby his?”
Katrina’s blood went cold. “Excuse me?”
Dante grimaced. “That was a terrible way to ask the question.” His head came up, and his voice lowered, tone laced with anger, but not at her. “Katrina, from the hints you’ve given me, I’m imagining the terrible things he did to you. I’m ready to murder this asshole.” Dante slid off the chair, kneeling before her.
He held out his hands, and Katrina slipped her fingers into his. “Honey, did he share you? Did he let some other Dom use you and you got pregnant?”
Katrina blinked. “What? No.” She squeezed his hands. He was so warm and solid. “It wasn’t anything as dramatic as that. Lena is his. We even planned the pregnancy. It was me. I… I changed when I got pregnant.”
Katrina took her hands from his, softening the gesture with a smile. He remained on his knees, gaze unwavering on her face.
“This,” she gestured to herself, “was his body. His pussy. His breasts. His property. He expected to have his property available to him at all times.”
Dante’s frown lines smoothed out, a look of understanding on his face, but he remained silent.
“I had a hard pregnancy.” It felt weird talking to him about this. Pregnancy symptoms weren’t the sort of thing one discussed in a sex dungeon, especially a fancy, expensive sex dungeon.
“Tell me,” he said simply.
“It’s… I…” How could she explain this to him? Only another woman who’d been pregnant would be able to understand.
“I have a ton of nieces and nephews,” Dante said. “I know a bit about pregnancy.”
Maybe he’d heard enough from his sisters when they were pregnant that he’d get it. One way or another it was time for her to say these things out loud, not just in the silence of her mind.
“Okay then.” She took a deep breath, giving herself a moment to figure out how to say what she wanted. “I was really sick, from the beginning of my pregnancy. It was nothing like I’d expected. And I’m sure nothing like Jeff expected either. When I wasn’t vomiting, I was lying on the couch. I was too tired to shower some days, and kept my hair in a ratty braid. I was sure it would get better,
and the sickness did, but that just meant there were other things going on.
“I developed a crazy skin rash that covered my whole body. I was careful about what I ate but I swelled up from water retention. I was seeing the doctor almost every week from the beginning, when normally it would be every month.
“Jeff would say that I needed to take better care of ‘his’ body. But it wasn’t his body. It’s my body.” Katrina bunched fabric of his shirt between her fingers. “When he said it before it was sexy, but at the beginning of my pregnancy it truly didn’t feel like my body. I felt like I’d lost all control, and whenever he referred to me as his property, I wanted to scream.”
Her voice was husky with remembered anger. “I would tell him what was going on, and he’d order me to do what the doctor said, and then he’d ignore me. I needed help. I needed him to care for me, but he didn’t change.” Katrina slapped the arm of the chair. “He wouldn’t change. I was hurt and suffering and he thought that it was okay to order me to take care of his property, like I was his damned apartment manager, and my body his deteriorating investment.”
Dante’s lips thinned. “Asshole.”
“Towards the end of my pregnancy we started to fight. All my symptoms got worse. I had to walk with a cane because of a pelvic issue. I had to use a special cream that smelled terrible because of a skin infection.
“I couldn’t have sex—doctor’s orders, so instead he insisted on fucking my ass. It was fast and hard—using me, not really having sex with me. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
“I understand.”
“Being used can be sexy. He’d done that before, but that was before I was pregnant. I used to get aroused when he’d fuck me roughly. It made me feel…owned or possessed in the very best way.
“But once we hit that point, where he would use my ass while radiating disapproval and reminding me to ‘take care of his pussy and tits’, it made me feel horrible. I would bite my tongue and hide the fact I was crying.”
Dante’s face was hard with rage. “You have a right to say no, always. That’s the fucking point of a safe word. You always have the right to say no.”