Kept! (BWWM) (Dangerously Devoted Doms (BWWM) #7)

Chapter 1

* * *

Josephine Collins stood on the front porch with her suitcase beside her and the key to her new house pressed against her palm.

The late afternoon sun warmed the back of her neck, and the quiet street stretched in both directions with neat lawns, parked cars, and trimmed hedges.

She had walked into hotels in Paris, London, Rome, and New York without hesitation, but this door made her pause.

This was not a suite waiting to be left behind after a performance weekend.

This was a house with her name on the papers, her boxes inside, and no departure date attached to it.

She slid the key into the lock and turned it.

The deadbolt released with a soft click, and she pushed the door open to the scent of fresh paint, cardboard, and polished wood.

Sunlight filled the front room and touched the stacks of moving boxes placed in careful rows along the walls.

The movers had followed every label exactly: kitchen boxes near the counter, wardrobe boxes by the stairs, the larger containers of books and costumes against the living room wall.

For the first time in years, nearly everything she owned had arrived in the same place.

Josephine rolled her suitcase into the entryway and closed the door behind her.

The sound echoed through the empty rooms, but the silence that followed did not feel as harsh as she’d expected.

It felt unfamiliar, which was different.

She stood there for several seconds and listened to the hum of the refrigerator, the faint rush of the air conditioner, the soft settling sounds of the house.

No hotel television on low volume. No hallway traffic outside her door.

No alarm set for an early flight. The absence of movement unsettled her, but beneath that unease sat a small, cautious relief.

She walked into the living room and turned slowly, studying the space Avery had loved on sight.

Tall windows faced the street, the hardwood floors clean enough to reflect the light, the open kitchen giving the downstairs a warm, practical feel.

Avery had talked about holidays here, lazy Sunday dinners, stopping by without needing to check which country Josephine happened to be in.

Josephine had smiled during the tour because her sister’s excitement had been impossible to resist. Now, alone with the reality of it, she understood why Avery had wanted this for her.

The house offered room for a life. That thought tightened her stomach, but it didn’t send her running for the door.

It made her look again at the windows, the staircase, the boxes waiting for her hands.

A home was not a cage unless she treated it like one.

She had spent so long equating freedom with leaving that the possibility of choosing to stay felt almost suspicious.

Still, the possibility was there, quiet and real, tucked beneath the nerves.

She set her purse on the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator.

Avery had left two bottles of water and a carton of almond milk on the top shelf, probably because she knew Josephine would arrive with pointe shoes, cosmetics, and no groceries.

Josephine took a bottle and drank half of it leaning against the counter.

A small smile pulled at her mouth — Avery had always known how to care without making a production of it.

The thought softened the empty kitchen around the edges.

Her phone buzzed before she could open the first box.

Avery’s name lit the screen, asking if she’d made it inside.

Josephine answered that she had, then waited as the next message asked if she wanted company.

For a moment she imagined Avery arriving with takeout, sitting cross-legged on the floor, filling the house with the kind of easy conversation she’d missed more than she liked to admit.

She almost said yes, but the house needed to meet her without a witness first.

She typed back that she wanted to unpack a little and get settled alone.

Avery replied with a heart and a simple love you, and Josephine answered the same before setting the phone facedown on the counter.

The exchange left warmth behind. Staying in Georgia didn’t mean stepping into an empty life.

Avery was close. Julian was close. There would be dinners, laughter, arguments over nothing, people who expected her to show up because they believed she belonged there.

She opened the nearest cabinet and found bare shelves waiting for dishes.

She opened another and imagined glasses lined inside, mugs within reach, plates stacked where she could find them every morning.

The emptiness no longer felt like proof she’d made a mistake.

It felt like space she had permission to fill.

She pulled a box marked kitchen closer and cut through the tape with the small scissors from her purse.

Packing paper crinkled under her fingers as she unwrapped the first white plate.

The simple work grounded her. She placed each plate, then unwrapped bowls, tumblers, mugs, each item making a soft sound as it found its shelf.

The motions were ordinary, but ordinary didn’t feel small tonight.

It felt steady. She had lived for applause, contracts, curtain calls, airport lounges, performance schedules — yet a stack of dishes in her own kitchen gave her a quieter kind of satisfaction.

After several minutes, she reached for her phone to change the music and caught herself opening an airline app instead.

The habit was so automatic the screen loaded before she understood what she’d done.

Flight options filled the display, departures from Atlanta to cities that had once represented work, escape, and identity all at once.

Josephine looked at them without touching anything.

Her chest tightened, then eased when she realized she didn’t actually want to book a ticket.

She closed the app and set the phone on the far side of the counter.

She didn’t scold herself for opening it.

Old habits didn’t vanish because a woman bought a house.

They faded because she chose something different, then chose it again the next time the urge returned.

Tonight, choosing something different meant returning to the cabinet and placing a pale blue mug on the middle shelf — Avery’s pick, which Josephine had teased her about, but she liked the color against the white wood now.

Evening settled slowly outside the windows.

The light shifted from gold to soft gray, and the kitchen began to look less like a room waiting for someone else and more like one she’d entered on purpose.

She left most of the boxes untouched, but the cabinets held dishes.

A glass sat beside the sink. Her suitcase waited near the entryway instead of by a hotel bed, and for once she didn’t feel the immediate need to repack it.

She walked back to the living room and stood among the boxes, listening to the small sounds of the neighborhood — a car door somewhere outside, a child laughing in a yard down the street.

The sounds no longer pressed on her. They settled around her instead, practical and human and steady.

Josephine rested a hand on the back of the sofa, facing the windows, and let herself imagine the room with curtains, books, music, and Avery curled in a chair with a glass of wine.

The nerves remained, but hope had joined them.

She could feel both at once — the fear of staying and the pull of what staying might give her.

That balance felt honest. She didn’t need to pretend she’d become someone entirely different the moment she unlocked the door.

She only needed to admit that the woman who used to run might be tired enough, brave enough, curious enough to learn another way.

Josephine returned to the kitchen, opened another box, and began unpacking again. The house still didn’t feel completely like home, but it no longer felt like a sentence either. Tonight, surrounded by boxes and fading light, she let herself believe she could learn how to stay.

* * *

Avery pushed through the front door carrying a box against her hip and stopped to look around.

The house looked almost exactly the same as the day before.

Boxes lined the walls. Packing paper covered the kitchen island.

A lamp sat in the middle of the living room floor, waiting for someone to decide where it belonged.

Josephine stood near the counter holding a bottle of water, looking more like a guest than the owner of the house.

Avery set the box down. “Please tell me you’ve done more than stare at cardboard since I left yesterday.” She glanced around the room again. “Actually — don’t tell me. I can already see the answer.”

Josephine twisted the cap onto her water bottle and narrowed her eyes. “I’ve been busy. There are a lot of decisions involved in setting up a house.”

“You haven’t made any of those decisions.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name one.”

Josephine opened her mouth, paused, and pointed at the coffee maker. “I decided where that goes.”

“The movers put that there.”

Josephine sighed. “You are impossible.”

Avery laughed and grabbed the scissors off the island. “You’re lucky I’m here. At this rate you’ll still be living out of that suitcase next month.”

Josephine glanced toward the suitcase parked near the stairs. “That suitcase has never let me down.”

“That suitcase has enabled you for years.”

“It sounds like you’re blaming luggage for my life choices.”

Avery pulled a stack of wrapped plates from the box and shook her head. “I’m blaming you for your life choices. The suitcase is just an accessory.”