Subordination:Chronicles of a Domme(13)
“I’m sorry if I brought up something painful, Sophie.”
I opened my eyes to see William’s remorseful face. The sincerity of his words and tone were like the final fissure that split my emotional armor. There were many things I could have done in that moment. I could have made a joke and changed the subject. I could have fabricated a story of a cheating ex. But the dangerous mixture of compassion and concern pooling in William’s dark eyes thawed my firm resolve. There was also the fact he understood grief, the fractures that resulted from loss. It made him…real
“Three years, five months, and ten days ago, my father became wheelchair bound with Myotonic Dystrophy, a form of Muscular Dystrophy. The guy, or I guess I should say bastard, I was dating then claimed I didn’t make enough time for him and broke up with me. I vowed then that my father was the most important man in my life, and I didn’t have time for any selfish assholes.”
“I’m so very sorry about your father.”
“Thank you,” I whispered as I fought to keep hold of my emotions. There was no way in hell I was going to lose it in a café full of people, least of all come off vulnerable in front of William.
“May I hold your hand?” At what must’ve been my bewildered expression, William gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to leave the lifestyle behind after being with you as my Mistress, so I had to ask your permission to hold your hand.”
“That’s okay.”
Instead of reaching his arm across the table to take my hand, he stood up. He slid his chair around where he could sit beside me. He took my hands in his. His fingertips tenderly slid over my skin. Everything about the way he touched me was gentle and kind. It was such a paradox from the harsh treatment he desired.
“You know when I first saw you, I thought you had battle-worn eyes.”
“You did?”
“That’s why I first stared at you in the club when I shouldn’t have looked you in the eye. It’s why I wanted you to choose me. I could tell you’d experienced sorrow in life like I had. Some people would think it was wrong to want to connect with someone who has as much baggage as you. But I think there’s something to be said for shared pain.”
“Yes, there is,” I agreed.
“Tell me about your dad.”
Surprise filled me at his request. “Seriously?”
William nodded. “But only if you want to. I don’t want to upset you any further.”
Suddenly, I didn’t like the way he was making me feel—like I truly had a man outside my family who cared about me. One who was genuinely interested in what I had to say without any real ulterior motive. “Listen, you really don’t have to do this. I don’t need your pity.”
“Don’t do that,” he said softly.
“Do what?”
“Close yourself off.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
I yanked my hand out of his. “What the hell is up with the whiplash emotions? One minute you’re saying you don’t want to upset me and then you’re getting pissy because I don’t want to talk?”
“They’re two separate things. I genuinely wanted to know about your father, and you don’t want to tell me, not because of the pain you might feel about him, but because of what talking about him with me might mean.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“But I’m right.” At my frustrated huff, he added, “Aren’t I?”
“Okay, fine. You’re right. Are you happy?”
“No. But something tells me I should be because you don’t admit you’re wrong very often.”
I laughed in spite of my anger. “I would so love to beat your ass right now.”
William winked. “I would like that very much, too.”
“Are you sure you didn’t major in psychology, rather than teaching? I mean, you sound like a walking shrink decoding my emotions.”
“When you spend as much time in therapy as I have, you pick up some things.”
“You don’t strike me as the therapy type.”
“I started when my mother died. It’s why I first started playing football. My therapist suggested it as a means to release my repressed anger.”
“I’d wondered what a rich boy was doing playing football. I thought you all played golf or lacrosse.”
William laughed. “The very reason why my grandfather is wealthy is because he got a football scholarship to college. Without his engineering degree, coupled with growing up on a chicken farm, he would have never developed the patent for the chicken coop heater that made him millions.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No. I’m not.”
“It seems therapy has worked really well for you in life. I mean, besides the benefits of getting into football, you seem to have your shit together.”
He laughed. “It’s a cleverly constructed façade.”
“I doubt that.”
“You learn soon enough that we’re all a little mad here.”
The English major in me nerded out at him using the quote from Lewis Carroll. “I was pretty much certain of that one even before I started working at 1740.”
“How about a little free therapy?”
“Okay. Why not.”
William stared intently into my eyes. It was almost as if he was trying to make me obey his will. “Tell me about your father, Sophie.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a command. While it felt strange being on the receiving end of a command, there was something comforting in it as well. “My father—my daddy—is my world—my universe. The sun rises and sets with him.”
“A true Daddy’s girl.”
I nodded. “My grandmother told me that my mother used to say that when I was a baby, I could be throwing the biggest tantrum in the world, but as soon as my father walked in, I would become calm. He didn’t even have to pick me up. It was like as soon as I could sense his presence, I was okay.”
Ever perceptive, William said, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you mention your mother.”
“I guess that’s because I don’t remember much about her. She was killed in a car accident when I was three.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I would say you knew how I felt, but it had to be harder for you having your mother longer.”
“I think losing your mother is hard no matter how young or how old you are.”
“Like you, my grandparents stepped in to help. But my dad still did almost everything for me. He was devoted to every aspect of raising me from feeding to bathing. I don’t know how he had the energy to take care of me, run the farm during the week, and do roping competitions on the weekends. But somehow he did it.” As I thought of who my father once had been, I gritted my teeth in anger. “Once upon a time, he was the epitome of a rugged cowboy. And then fucking MD robbed him of all that. First, he couldn’t rope anymore because he didn’t have the strength in his hands. Then he couldn’t ride anymore.”
I clenched my fists as I thought about the agonized expression on my father’s face the day he couldn’t get up into the saddle. Too proud to take help, he stopped riding then. “Then he couldn’t walk.”
“He’s wheelchair bound now?”
“Yes.”
“I could once again say I was sorry, but that seems so insignificant with all he has been through. It has to be so hard for him, but it’s also hard for you. To have your superhero become mortal, and that mortality become frail and fragile.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Yet somehow you’ve soldiered on. Now the cared for has become the caregiver.” He eyed me curiously. “That’s why you became a professional Domme. To help care for your father financially.”
“And for my brother. He’s just seventeen,” I reminded him.
This time he didn’t ask to touch me when he brought his hand to tenderly touch my cheek. “Do you have any idea how amazing you are?”
I shied away from his touch and his compliment. “Whatever.”
He shook his head. “I’m serious, Sophie. Few people in the world have the capacity for love and kindness like you do. Not to mention your selflessness.”
With his admiration overwhelming me, I waved my hand flippantly. “I got a job partially prostituting myself so my family could keep our farm, and I could go to college. I hardly see that as heroic.”
“You did what you had to do to see that those you loved had what they needed. Not everyone would do what you did for their family. They would have focused on themselves and let their father and brother fend for themselves.”
“Then they would be selfish assholes.”
“Yes. They would. Sadly, that is predominantly what the world is made up with.” He smiled at me. “And that is why you’re amazing.” When I opened my mouth to argue with him, he placed a finger on my lips. “Don’t argue with me, Sophie. Just take the compliment, but more than anything, try to appreciate the sentiment.”
“Once again, I’d like to beat your ass.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Our conversation flowed as freely as the mimosas we continued to order. We talked through the breakfast diners thinning out and being replaced by the lunch crowd. I’d never found someone outside of my father who I could talk to as easily as I could to William. He was genuinely interested in everything I had to say. He never glanced at his phone or zoned out like most guys I knew. Of course, most guys I dated were my age, and as we chatted, I learned William was thirty-two. Almost a decade older than me.