Chapter 20
The Compromise
Ian
I shouldn’t have delivered that punishment.
I shouldn’t have even checked the piano bench.
Jenna had already had more than enough for one day, and I knew pushing her would be risky even before I entered the room.
But seeing sweet, innocent Jenna sitting there, looking all nervous, I couldn’t hold back.
She begged to be ravished, spanked, and humiliated, just by being herself.
I knew I’d find an excuse to do just that underneath the hem of the T-shirt.
The shy girl likes having her ass stuffed.
So I lost control and pushed her more than I should have.
I knew I was going too far the moment she leaned against the piano, her legs quivering with the sheer effort of remaining upright.
But as I carry Jenna to the living room and she clings to me like I’m the safest place in the world, I don’t regret it one bit.
Because as much as sex and deep talks bring closeness, there’s nothing to forge intimacy like pushing a submissive to the edge—or just beyond it—and then comforting her as she cries herself out.
Jenna didn’t just need the cry. She needed something stronger.
So I told her to scream. And when she did, it was the most intimate moment of my life.
It was like she bared her soul to me in that very moment, and I know this won’t be the last time I push her so far.
Because I want more. I want to bare her completely.
Strip away her defenses until she’s naked, inside-out, so I can uncover all that anger and hurt that seems to be tucked away deep inside her.
In the living room, I sink onto the couch with her in my arms. She’s about to crawl off me when I reach for a blanket.
“Uh-uh.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, I prevent further retreat. “You’re not going anywhere, my sweet little sub.”
She seems surprised when I pull her back into my lap.
“You’re not used to getting comfort for free, are you?”
She doesn’t answer, and I don’t press. Verbal, sexual, and emotional intimacy are three very different things, and just because I’ve plunged her headfirst into the latter two doesn’t mean she’s ready for more.
If anything, it means that she’s had more than enough, considering the short time we’ve known each other.
Furthermore, pushing would very likely bring her into a dilemma that might cause her to forget my most important rule.
Exemptions are not an option this early in the new dynamic.
I would have to come up with a milder punishment, like making her eat a spoonful of sharp mustard, and I fear even that might break her.
I wrap the blanket around her and hold her tight, and she openly leans into me. It doesn’t take long before she drifts off, maybe even falls asleep.
It’s been half an hour of quiet silence and just holding her when footsteps sound on the stairs.
“Out,” I say when Killian appears at the door.
He points toward the kitchen. “Relax, I was just grabbing a bite to eat.”
I cover Jenna’s ear to cushion the sound as I harden my voice. “Get out.”
Killian lifts his hands in mock defense and backs out. “Wow, wow, take a chill pill.”
I gnash my teeth. I rarely get truly angry at Killian—not even when his temper flares—but right now, I want to ground him or threaten to take away his Xbox.
But that’s not an option since he’s twenty-one, and he doesn’t even use his Xbox anymore.
I can, however, cut back on the generous allowance I give him every month.
Shaking the idea out of my head, I gently push the blanket aside and lean down to see Jenna’s face. “Are you sleeping?” I whisper.
“M-m.”
“Are you hungry?”
She peels her eyes open, blinking. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay.” It’s normal for a sub to be out of tune with her body when she’s still deeply affected by a scene, so I make the decision for her. I rise to my feet with her and lay her on the couch. “I’ll fix us something. Stay here meanwhile. If you want, you can watch TV.”
I place the remote beside her, then go to the kitchen.
As I move about, taking out the ingredients for mushroom risotto, I’m pleased to hear that she turns on the TV.
As much as she needs plenty of rest, she has already had more than enough during the day, and I want her to be able to sleep tonight—my first night with her.
While moving about and making the risotto, I pause at the edge of the kitchen to check on Jenna every now and then.
She’s watching a nature documentary with peaceful images of sprawling landscapes and bears and wolves hunting to feed their young.
She looks very child-like, yet feminine in all the right ways.
It’s a combination that draws me in, heightening my urge to degrade and protect, the latter taking precedence right now.
“Do you like animals?” I ask once the risotto is done and I set a tray with two portions on the coffee table.
She pushes up to sit, wrapping the blanket close. “Yeah.”
“Killian does too. Well, used to.” A memory of him rushing down the stairs to show me a picture of his classmate’s new puppy pops into my mind.
Dad, Dad, can we get a puppy too? It’s soo cute.
You should’ve seen how it chased its tail.
He begged me like that for two years and would always stop to pet the dogs we met on the street, gazing up at me with bright, happy eyes.
But his mother didn’t want the added responsibility, and I was touring too much.
And then Killian shut down, and I haven’t heard him mention a dog or ask me to go to the zoo ever since.
I refocus my attention, realizing I went quiet for a long moment.
“What’s your favorite animal?” I ask, handing her a bowl and placing a spoon in her other hand.
I keep her talking about trivial subjects while we eat, and I’m surprised how much I enjoy hearing her talk about raccoons and their incredible problem-solving skills and her nan’s cats and their diverse personalities.
Once we’ve finished eating, Jenna seems somewhat revitalized. She sets down the bowl, dabs her mouth with a napkin, then glances at the clock, which says it’s almost eight. “What about my things?”
“We’ll go to your flat tomorrow instead. I’ll call in sick for you in the morning so you can sleep in.”
She casts a surprised glance at me. “Thank you.”
“Just because I have demands and follow through on consequences doesn’t mean I can’t be caring as well. As I said, you’re my responsibility, and that means I’m taking care of you.”
“Oh.” She glances up and down a few times, a cute rosy hue spreading over her cheeks.
I’m inclined to inquire who has been taking care of her, but once again, I hold back, knowing it might not be a comfortable subject for her.
I remember Killian saying—when he looked her up a few months back—that her mother died two years ago, and although she has been asking for her phone, she hasn’t mentioned anyone in particular she’d like to call.
I suspect the little girl doesn’t have many people in her life—if any at all—who really count.
It’s more than ideal for our new living arrangement, but it breaks my heart a little.
***
Once we’ve finished eating and Jenna looks nice and comfy on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching another soft-spoken nature documentary, I bring a bowl of risotto upstairs.
Killian is in his bedroom, sitting in his leather armchair, legs spread, a folded cloth draped across his thigh, his flogger resting on it.
The soft leather strands spill over his lap in neat ribbons, and he runs a cloth down each one with slow, deliberate care.
A fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and his shorts and bare chest tell me he’s been working out.
He doesn’t look up when I enter.
“You’re really doing the whole ritual,” I say.
“I need to do something while I wait.”
I set the bowl on the side table and go to sit in his desk chair. “I’m sorry to kick you out like that earlier, but Jenna is very fragile right now. I don’t think your presence would do her good.”
He glances up at me. “What did you do to her?”
“I punished her.”
He pauses, eyes narrowing into thin slits. “Is that why she was screaming like that?”
“Partly.” I must say I didn’t expect him to care about me going too far. But when he trails his tongue along his lower lip, I realize that’s not it. The idea of me taking it too far turns him on. He likes the idea of her screaming her lungs raw and wants the full story.
“She needed an outlet. Pent-up emotions,” I explain, not sure I want to tell him everything. The details are too intimate to use as fodder for his dark lust.
“How did you punish her?”
I sigh. “Just a quick spanking.”
He cocks an incredulous brow. “It sounded like you caned her feet.”
“The reaction came after I spanked her.”
“Why?”
“Emotional release, like I tried to explain.”
He goes silent as he returns his attention to the flogger, which gets more love and care than I’ve ever seen him bestow upon a woman. “When am I gonna have her?” he presses after a minute.
I huff. “I’ve just told you she screamed her lungs raw because she had a breakdown, and you expect me to send her up here so you can whip and humiliate her?”
He shrugs.
I get up. “Come on, Killian. You might act all tough and uncaring, but I know you don’t want to break her like that.”
“What if I do?” He lifts his gaze, the seriousness etched into his expression making me pause on my way to the door.
“Well, do you?”
He drags a hand through his hair and sighs. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like that.”
“How so?”
He stares off to the side, biting his cheek. “It’s just this energy. It wants to destroy… something.”
“I’m not going to leave you alone with her until you feel somewhat in control and she’s starting to feel safe here.”
He returns his attention to me, eyes gleaming wickedly. “Do I get to rip that safety apart?”
I shake my head and lean my hands on the back of the desk chair. “How about a pretty dress? Something with many layers. You can rip that apart.”
A glimmer of anticipation breaks through the cruelty, lighting up his eyes. “Like the one she wore that night?”
“Something like that.” I clearly remember the wide, multi-layered skirt that shimmered with streaks of silver, cascading from a soft, rosy bodice that hugged her torso like a second skin—that image of her coming down the stairs, the dress hanging loosely off her body, and mascara smeared on her reddened cheeks.
That night, I just wanted her out of my house, but thinking about it now—how broken she was—I just want to go hold her. And that’s what I intend to do. All night.
“You should go use that expensive punching bag I bought you. Or try screaming. You need an outlet too.” Simply lifting weights and running on the treadmill doesn’t seem to cut it.
He just shrugs, and I know he’s not going to do either.
The punching bag has been hanging unused in his fitness room since I got it on recommendation from his therapist several years ago.
He never did get much out of all those hours of therapy except the satisfaction of going against all the advice he got.
I repress a sigh and move to leave, but pause as I remember what I came up here to ask. “Will you do me a favor and stay out of Jenna’s way for the next few days—try not to bump into her.”
A scowl draws Killian’s brows tight. “Don’t get too attached, Dad. She’s still mine.”
“Still yours,” I confirm. Something inside me revolts at the words. Right now, I want to protect Jenna more than anything—from anything but myself. Sharing her with Killian is doing the opposite of that. But eventually, I’ll have to let him have her.
“Okay,” he agrees. When I linger to be sure he means it, he gives me an exasperated look. “I’ll stay away from her. I’ll even stay late at school and practice there. Does that make you happy?”
It does. “Thank you,” I say and leave the room with a sense of relief, but also a twinge of guilt.
I know Killian doesn’t like to spend more time than necessary at the Royal Academy of Music.
If it were up to him, he’d spend all day here and have me teaching him, only leaving for competitions and recitals.
He’s like me in that way, and that is not a good thing.