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She sits. The shirt hitches up, and I’m acutely aware of her bare pussy against my work pants.
“Do you want to give up control to me?” I ask.
Her brows knit. “What does that mean?”
“It means you let me be the Dominant in this relationship, and I’ll care for you,” I say. “But you’re still in control. Your submission is always voluntary, darling.”
Her eyes are round. “What’s the purpose of that?”
I brush her hair back and touch her chin. “You’re afraid of losing control, Diane, but you want to know how good it feels to give it up. I want that too.”
Her breasts heave. Under my shirt, her nipples harden. She’s at war with herself, but I know I’ll win out. I won last night when I went down under the sheets. I saw her give in. Maybe she doesn’t know it yet, but her armor is cracked.
“It’s a deal, Mr. Quinn,” she says hoarsely.
“I’ll hold you to that, Miss Carter. Now, go on upstairs and get the contract. We’re going over it while we eat.”
She obeys. I wash up in the sink and fill two plates with sausage and eggs before setting them on the table. The coffee is poured, and I’m waiting with a pen when she returns. Her eyes move over me, like she wants to hesitate, but she sinks down in the chair beside me.
“Open it up,” I say. “Show me any questions you have.”
She flips through. The contract is short and contains the usual things—safewords, honorifics, aftercare, indicators of consent. There’s one page at the beginning with specifics. She flips to it and points.
“That. What is the point of that?”
I have to bite back a smile.
The submissive agrees to be used freely by the Dominant, before and during the night, two days a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. These sessions will be followed by aftercare, as per usual. An anklet will be worn to indicate consent.
“Oh, that’s just for fun,” I say.
Her brows arch. “Maybe I don’t want fun.”
I slip my hand between her thighs and find her clit. A little gasp escapes her as my fingertip works it.
“You’re holding so tightly to control with both hands, darling,” I say.
Her eyes are round, her lips are parted. I’ve struck a chord. She drags her gaze back down to the second page, and her shoulders sink as she releases a long breath.
“I don’t even want what I’m holding onto,” she whispers.
“Diane,” I say quietly, “this contract gives us a space that’s just for us. You want to heal, to be safe and let go. This is the safety net that lets you do that.”
There’s a long silence. She wraps her arms around her body. I reach across and pick her up, putting her in my lap.
“You read the contract front to back upstairs?” I ask.
She nods, eyes down, like she’s guilty about something. I take the pen, put it in her fingers, and flip to the last page.
“Sign it,” I say.
Her lips part as she glances over her shoulder. I bury my face into her neck and inhale. She smells like soft sunshine. My hand slips into her lap and slides beneath the hem of my shirt.
“Spread your legs, darling,” I whisper.
She does as she’s told. Her eyes flutter shut.
“No, keep your eyes open,” I correct, finding her clit between her thighs. It’s warm, and her pulse thrums beneath my fingers. My halfway hard cock hardens the rest of the way.
