The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please, Book 4)

by Ward, Deena

  “Um, were you coming to see me?” I asked.

  “Yes. But it looks like you’re going out.’

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “I don’t want to inter —”

  “No, you’re not. I was ... it wasn’t important.”

  He nodded and I nodded back.

  “So come on up,” I said, gesturing with my arm and inwardly cringing at my lameness.

  We climbed the stairs and I fumbled with the keys in the lock. He followed me inside.

  I hung up my coat and ditched my purse then dared to glance over at him. He stood not far into the room, looking around with a solemn expression.

  “It’s not much, I know,” I said. “But it’s —”

  “I like it. It’s all you.”

  A flush of pleasure passed over me. I asked him to hand me his coat and after he did, he strolled around the room inspecting my drawings and paintings. I inspected him.

  He wore one of his immaculately-fitted suits, but his necktie hung loose and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned, as was his jacket. His hair was longer than he usually wore it. In all, he presented a less put-together version of his usual self.

  He stopped in front of a still life painting. “When did you start doing water colors?”

  “This semester.”

  “You’re a quick learner. It’s good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I hope this doesn’t offend you, but what is it?”

  I grinned. “I have no idea. I found it in the store where I work. I can tell you the owner wants $22.50 for it.”

  “$22.50? I thought it might be a mushroom, but that seems pricey for a single mushroom, unless it’s a truffle, which it’s not.”

  “I thought it might be a mushroom, too. Then I smelled it, through the packaging. Fishy. Whatever it is, it came from water.”

  He studied it a bit longer, then moved on. This time, he stopped in front of a series of six chalk drawings. He looked at the pictures then out the big windows, then back to the pictures.

  “It’s the view from your window seat, isn’t it?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Interesting. I like what you did with the shadowy figure on the sidewalk, how his size changes out of proportion to his distance. It’s hard to know if he’s near or far.”

  I mumbled a thanks and wondered how he’d feel if he knew that shadowy figure was him, that I’d drawn the series in a futile attempt to exorcise my daily vigil in the window seat.

  After he finished his tour of the room, I offered him a seat on my lumpy sofa. I asked if he’d like some coffee or tea, but he declined. I sat at the other end of the short sofa, unnervingly near him.

  We exchanged small talk, the how-have-you-been’s and the fine-how-are-you’s. He mentioned he hadn’t seen Ron and Elaine in a while, I told him I saw them the weekend before. We both said we’d been keeping busy, that we enjoyed work, and so on and so forth. We sure wished spring would come.

  And then we ran out of inanities. We sat there, me picking at the little nubbly bunches on the afghan which covered my side of the sofa, and him crossing his legs and staring at the far wall.

  I finally took the initiative, unable to stand the suspense any longer. “I haven’t seen you since I left your house that day. Why are you here, Gibson?”

  “I’d almost forgotten how forthright you are,” he said.

  “You could call it that. Or impatience. I’d dearly like to know why you’re here.”

  He readjusted his seat on the sofa, turned more toward me. “Paulina came to see me last night, at home.”

  “She was in the visiting mood. She came to see me, too.”

  “I know. She told me. I hope she didn’t upset you. You couldn’t have appreciated her prying into your business.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t appreciate it, but she didn’t upset me.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “Plenty. The gist of it was that you were never going to come back to me and that I needed to read a book she bought me, ‘How to Move on When Your Ex Has Moved on Without You.’”

  “Ouch. At least I didn’t get a book. But then, she likes you more than me.”

  He smiled a little. “What did you get?”

  “Two cups of coffee and lectures on numerous topics.”

  “I’m jealous.”

  “Don’t be. One cup was decaf.”

  “But you didn’t drink it.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I meant the lectures, by the way. I’m jealous of those. You got a variety. She was a broken record with me. Told me in every possible way that you were gone forever.”

  His dark gaze held mine. I saw vulnerability there, and something else. I wanted to believe that something was hope.

  “She surprised me,” he said. “You’ve been gone for four months and I guess I’d never admitted it was truly over. Paulina woke me up. You weren’t coming back.”

  I thought of how if he had he waited a little longer, I would have proven Paulina wrong.

  “This might sound ridiculous, Nonnie, but every night when I went to sleep and you still hadn’t come back, I told myself that the next day would be the day. You’d come back then. Always tomorrow. I never stopped thinking it. Even when I was traveling, I’d tell myself that you’d call.”

  “What did I say when I came back, or when I called?” I asked.

  “You told me you’d changed your mind, that we’d work it out. That our problems weren’t as important as being together.”

  Hearing him, seeing the pain in his eyes, in the lines around his mouth, I wished I had called, had shown up, told him what he dreamed of hearing.

  “Then Paulina made me see the truth. It was over,” he said.

  Something twisted inside me. “So you came here to tell me that you realize it’s over?”

  “No. Knowing you weren’t coming back forced me to face the reality of never seeing you again. And I can’t do it.”

  He rubbed his palms over his thighs. “I can’t, not without trying to explain and make it work. God! I’ve got to know. Are you seeing anyone? Am I wasting my time? Is there any chance for us ... to try.”

  The giant lump in my throat prevented me from answering at length. I managed to shake my head and say, “No one else.”

  Relief shone from his features. “I’m not too late then.”

  I stretched my hand toward him then, and he accepted it into his own, gently brushed his thumb across mine.

  “Never,” I said.

  Chapter 22

  We sat in silence for a while, our hands touching, the blood thrumming in my veins. I knew that I shouldn’t be too excited, that there was still the same old issue between us.

  The only revelation thus far was that he was as willing to try as I was. I needed to keep perspective, not jump on his lap and kiss him breathless. Wits. I needed them now more than ever. If I didn’t keep my wits about me, I’d be repeating the same old mistakes in no time.

  I needed distance, so I pulled my hand back with a gentle smile then went into the kitchen to make coffee, whether he wanted some or not. I got the pot brewing then returned to the sofa, feeling more even-keeled than when I’d left it.

  “We have a lot to work through,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind about anything, Gibson. I can’t be with you if you don’t trust me. And I want all of you, not just the parts you think I can handle. I’m willing to give you more time, and to try to prove myself. You did have cause to doubt me, I see that now.”

  “No —”

  “You did. I was flippant about D/s and the rest of it. I wanted all the excitement and none of the dull parts, like knowing what the hell I was doing. I laid what I thought was boring on you and made you responsible for it. I’m sorry I did that.”

  “I was supposed to be your teacher. You weren’t necessarily wrong in that.”

  “No, I wa
s. Let me accept my share of the blame.”

  He gave me a small smile, though it seemed sad to me. “I should have done my job and educated you properly. But your enthusiasm was ... distracting at times.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. All mine, Nonnie.”

  “Both of us then, if you want. Also, I want you to know that I realize I should have been more patient, given us more time to build the trust you needed.”

  He nodded in a slow way. He appeared thoughtful, and perhaps a little uncomfortable, but I didn’t know why that should be.

  I hopped up off the sofa. “I’ve got something to show you. I think you’ll like it.”

  I went over to a small file cabinet I kept near the door. I opened the top drawer, pulled out a file folder then returned to the sofa.

  I laid the folder on the cushion between us. “Open it.”

  He took up the folder and opened it, scanned the top page then began leafing through the rest, slowly, one page at a time.

  I bubbled up with excitement, wanting a reaction. “It’s D/s checklists and contracts. I got them on the Internet. They’re supposed to be good ones.”

  He nodded, his gaze moving over the page.

  “I’ve filled them all out,” I continued. “And I promise you I understood everything I ranked. I’ve done loads of research. I know about all sorts of things, even the ones that are scary, or gross me out.”

  Gibson turned pages, not saying anything. I couldn’t read his expression.

  I reached out and tapped the thick pile. “There’s so many, see, because I filled out the checklists twice, and some of the other stuff, too. I thought it would be a good idea to do one version that’s all about me, what I find sexy or pleasurable, or what I’d like to try.”

  “Then after I finished that,” I said in a rush, “I went through it all again with the premise that you liked everything on the list. I rated activities based on how willing I am to do things because you want it, even when I don’t like it. I thought that way, you could know ahead of time whether your wishes would change my feelings about it.”

  He stared at the pages. He swallowed hard, once, his jaw muscles clenching and his Adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down. He blinked.

  I babbled on. “If that’s not useful for you, it’s okay.”

  Gibson looked up from the file folder finally. “Thank you. Not just for doing it, but for doing it with me in mind even though we weren’t together.”

  “Oh.” I realized it was kind of telling that I did the list that way, considering. “You’re welcome,” I said, hating how stupid it sounded under the circumstances. “I just wanted to do the right thing and I guess I was always thinking of you when I was learning about the life. I wanted you to be proud of me and I —”

  “I’m proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you.”

  “I guess, oh, you know what I mean.”

  He closed the folder and set it on the cushion. “It’s perfect,” he said. His hand lay on the file, his fingers spread, almost as if he were caressing it.

  I couldn’t seem to stop babbling. “I’m glad it’s all right. It’s not normally how it’s done, I know, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. And you had concerns about being selfish, so this would reassure you that you weren’t —”

  “I’ve been a selfish man my whole life, Nonnie.” His voice was low, a confession he’d been waiting to share.

  “That’s not true,” I said. “You take care of everyone, put everyone before yourself.”

  “No. I was raised to accept responsibility, taught to do my duty and to always consider the impact of my actions on others. Worthy goals. But I was given free rein in how I went about it. Few would gainsay me.”

  “Few would need to. You always put yourself second.”

  “I wish that were true, but it’s not. I’m used to getting my way, to making the decisions and having everyone obey them without argument. I’ve become arrogant, convinced I know what’s best. If that’s not selfishness, what is?”

  I didn’t have an answer.

  “You, wouldn’t back down, though,” he said. “I expected you to fall in line, the way everyone else had. But you didn’t. You actually left me. And even then, I wasn’t humbled. I convinced myself you’d eventually see things my way and come back. If that’s not conceit and arrogance, what is?”

  “And it’s not the only time you put me in my place and shook my conceit,” he said. “You’ve done it over and over, even when you didn’t realize it. All the way back to the first time we met.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know. Some things have become clear to me of late and I’ve discovered I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.”

  I wanted to reach out and reassure him, but I held myself back.

  “I pride myself on my self-control,” he said. “In business deals, with employees, family dealings, even in the bedroom, I always have myself under control. You can’t control a situation if you can’t control yourself. My father used to tell me that.”

  “Your self-control is impressive, Gibson. I admire it and wish I had some of it.”

  “I rarely lost control, and the older I got, the better I was at it, to the point that I never lost it in even the smallest way.” He paused. Looked down at the folder, then back up at me. “Then I met you. You changed everything, did it without even trying, it seemed. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

  “The first time I saw you, in that bar,” he said, “I was attracted right away, obviously, but I didn’t follow you to the bathroom with the intention of seducing you. I just wanted to walk past you when you left, I had a longing to smell your perfume. Maybe I would say hello. And then you came out of the bathroom and everything shifted. The next thing I knew I was dragging you down the hall, and we know what followed.”

  I smiled. “I do.”

  “It’s a fond memory now, but back then, it was as disturbing to me as it was exciting. Everything spiraled out of control. I barely managed to keep from having sex with you, but it was a hard struggle. When it was over, I wanted to tell you my name, then I realized what I’d done, how far I’d gone with someone I didn’t know, and I lost it.”

  “I wound up putting my tie in your purse and leaving,” he said. “I regretted it afterward, but mostly I was shocked at how I’d lost control. I never, not even when I was younger, had encounters like that. I never picked up unknown women, never played the seducer. I always chose my partners carefully, didn’t rush the process of getting them into my bed. That night with you was unprecedented.”

  “It was for me, too. And it never seemed to me like you were out of control,” I said.

  “You’ll have to take my word for it. And that was only our first meeting. The next time we were together, at the Frederick Hotel, my loss of control proved disastrous, and cost you so much I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “You’re taking too much on yourself.”

  “I’m not. Nothing went the way it was supposed to that night. From the call about Rose to the way I treated you. From the moment I entered that suite, none of it went the way I planned.”

  He tone became tense. “When I walked in and saw you sitting there in your robe, you don’t know. I wanted to take you right away, rip that thing off you and have you there. But I fought it back and stayed as distant as I could, not touching you.”

  “I had already decided,” he said, “to keep the meeting impersonal, the way I always did when interviewing a new sub. But it was hard with you. I didn’t plan on having you bring yourself to orgasm in front of the mirror, but I wanted to see it and I gave in to the urge. It was a struggle to get up and walk away afterward, and then you called me back, accused me, demanded to know why I wasn’t having sex with you, why I hadn’t touched you.”

  I remembered it well, always recalling it with great embarrassment.

  Gibson shook his head. “I should have walked away, gotten myself in hand. But there yo
u were, so beautiful, and I wanted you more than anything. Whatever sliver of restraint I had left, shattered. I came after you like an animal.”

  “Not an animal.”

  “I was. I fell on you like one. I’m just glad I didn’t do anything worse, not that what I did wasn’t bad enough. I did what I wanted, and I didn’t come back to myself until after you came, when I was still inside you. When I realized what I’d done, I got away from you as fast as I could.”

  “I went into the bathroom to get myself together,” he said. “I was appalled. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I never had sex with subs during the interview, and I especially shouldn’t have been so brutal with you. I was ashamed of myself. I calmed down enough to get myself out of the room. I said something to you, I don’t exactly recall what. I had to get away.”

  “I thought you’d punished me for being demanding,” I said.

  “No. And I should have confessed what happened, and been honest. But I didn’t do the right thing. I ran away and you wound up with Michael Weston because of it. Not just because I lost control, but because my pride and selfishness wouldn’t allow me to confess what happened.”

  I thought about it for a minute. Remembered that night. How he acted. What I knew about him now. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. It’s just as likely that you were freaked out by it and that’s why you didn’t confess. You weren’t yourself.”

  “I appreciate you making excuses for me,” he said. I could see by his look that he couldn’t accept my alternative explanation.

  He shifted on the sofa. “I was always losing it to some degree or another with you. Things almost never went the way I planned. When I was with you, I felt constantly on the verge of abandon.”

  “But you never really did lose it, Gibson. You never did me any harm. You were always in control, even if it wasn’t as complete as you’re used to.”

  “After the disaster at the Frederick Hotel, I was on guard, and I got better at restraining myself, somewhat. When I first proposed that we move in together, well that wasn’t my finest moment. Then, after the discovery of the videos, when I realized the extent of the damage I’d done to you, I clamped down on myself even harder. It wasn’t total, or perfect, but it was good enough, I hoped, to protect you from me.”