Chapter 32
Vincent
After the long day of answers, I knew he’d prefer to kneel at my feet. He confessed that it was his favorite spot. But I wanted him to see and understand that it was okay to be seen as an equal.
Believe me, I wanted him to be at my feet, too. Warming my cock, or even simply laying his head against me made me feel full and content in ways that most others didn’t understand.
I loved the idea of twenty-four-seven master/slave life. It gave me the structure that I wanted in life, as much as what the Omega beside me desired, too.
I knew Charlie would want that eventually. He already spoke of needing rules and structure and protocols. So I could see the Omega wanting more of that, day in and day out.
And I wanted to give it.
But only once he understood that the power was truly his. It always belonged to the submissive. No Dominant worth the title would ever take more than what was freely offered.
This wasn’t just a power exchange; it was a responsibility. Yes, I set the rules. I defined the structure. But it was never for me. It was for the Omega. For the one submitting.
To give them something steady to lean into. To help them find courage in the everyday. To offer what they needed, not what I wanted.
Because real dominance isn’t about control. It’s about care. And care begins with consent.
Having Charlie sit on the couch was more of a break for both of us. Although I loved a sub’s mindset, I didn’t want to push him into a full-time thing. Not yet. In time, yes. But right now, he was still healing. He didn’t exactly see himself as my sub, but he would. Probably sooner than I expected.
This Omega was adaptable to all sorts of changes. Mostly due to his training, but with it, would come the downfall of haunted memories that were surely going to make healing challenging.
I was prepared as well as I could be for when that time came.
When Charlie shifted, uncertain, maybe unsure how to sit, I turned down the volume on the TV.
At first, he’d perched on the edge of the couch. Feet flat, spine rigid, hands folded tight in his lap. Then he leaned into the cushion, only to pull himself upright again.
“Stay. I’ll be right back.” I stood, watching for that flicker of obedience. It came, of course, a small nod, his hands returning to his lap like muscle memory.
It took only a few minutes to retrieve a notebook and a pen from my office. Nothing elaborate. Just a green cover with silver coil binding. Plain. Functional. Perfect.
Back in the living room, I sat beside him and placed the items gently in his hands.
“When you feel restless,” I said, “like you do now, you’ll write. Whatever comes to mind. These pages are yours. I won’t read them unless you ask me to.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I know you prefer to be at my feet.” His eyes lifted, hope flickering there, soft and sharp. “You may do so while you write. While you breathe. While you settle.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He barely waited until I sat back down before he was at my feet, leaning against one leg. His own legs were folded under him.
It didn’t take him long to start. First one word. Then another. Then more.
I kept my eye on the TV, giving Charlie the essence of privacy while he put his thoughts to paper.
I truly didn’t care what he wrote. He could cuss me out; he could cuss out the world. As long as it gave him an out for his thoughts and feelings that he couldn’t put words to.
Eventually, my hand found its way to his head. I didn’t do it on purpose, like all the other times. But at my touch, Charlie melted more into me, his pen still moving with each stroke of a word.
***
I woke up to the smell of coffee the next morning. It was strong enough to fill the entire house with the aroma.
Forgoing the shower for the moment, it didn’t take me long to use the restroom and brush my teeth.
A glance at the clock on the bedside table indicated that it was way too early to be up, for either of us. Only the insane people were up before six o'clock in the morning.
I found Charlie in the kitchen, scrubbing the floor of all things.
“What are you doing?” I kept my tone as neutral as I possibly could while making my way to the cup of coffee that was on the counter. It already had the perfect amount of cream and sugar.
“Cleaning the floor, Sir.”
I could see that. “Why?”
“I haven’t scrubbed it yet.” He answered like it was that obvious.
“You do know what time it is, right?” I leaned against the counter, sipping the coffee.
“It’s ten past six, Sir.”
“And how long have you been awake?”
Charlie’s eyes flickered toward me before he went back to his task. He had a brush and rag, along with a bucket of water beside him.
“Awake or working?”
I didn’t exactly want to know either of the answers.
“A rule, for every single morning. No chores of any kind until at least seven, if not eight. Coffee and breakfast can only be at seven, at the earliest unless I request it otherwise.”
Charlie tilted his head, looking at me like I was the crazy one for a second before he accepted that rule. “Yes, Sir.”
“My day normally doesn't start until seven. Some days, it's later. If you are up before then, you can read, or write, or find a hobby that you’d like to try.”
“Okay, Sir.” Then, he returned to cleaning the floor, as if the president was coming by.
Leaving him to it, I headed to the living room to enjoy my coffee.
With my phone in one hand, cup in the other, I sipped my drink and scrolled through social media.
And, of course, it took only minutes before my phone began to ring.
Again, it was way too early.
“Hey, Moore.”
“Hey yourself,” he greeted. He didn’t give me more than a breath before he went on. “So, I have a double shift. Can Adrian stay with you tomorrow? He’d love to spend some time with Charlie.”
“I suppose so,” I answered through a yawn. “As long as you order pizza for the boys.” Although, I would bet that they’d enjoy making homemade pizza if given the choice. “I’m assuming he’ll stay the night?”
“If it's not an issue…”
Adrian had stayed over a few times when Moore had to work a double shift. It wasn’t often, since my Alpha friend tried not to take them on more than he needed. Adrian wasn’t a fan of the long hours alone, let alone being left to his own devices during nighttime hours.
“Not at all.”
“Great. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
There was no small talk needed. Moore simply ended the call right there, leaving me to shake my head.
Surprised that Charlie had yet to venture to where I was, I slowly stood and made my way to the kitchen. I found him still cleaning the floor.
I watched from the doorway. The way Charlie moved wasn’t about cleanliness. It was about control. His own. Or someone else’s.
I stepped forward, setting my mug on the counter. “Charlie.” He froze, rag clenched in one hand. “You don’t need to do that.” The floor was more than clean enough. Not that it was dirty to begin with. I had let him get away with it, sure that he would have finished by the time my coffee was gone.
He didn’t look up. Just stilled.
“I wasn’t told to stop.” His voice was quiet. Careful.
“I’m telling you now.” I waited.
He sat back on his heels, eyes flicking toward me, uncertain.
“The floor can’t get any cleaner, sweetheart.” I dared to walk closer before kneeling at his level. “I don’t want you up this early doing chores anyway.”
“Yes, Sir.” He sounded so dejected. Charlie sat back on his heels, rag limp in his hand. He didn’t look at me right away. Just stared at the floor like it might give him the answer.
Then, quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask, he said: “What should I do instead?”
“You’re not here to perform,” I said. “You’re here to exist.”
He blinked. That word—exist—landed like a foreign language.
I reached for the notebook on the counter, where he had left it from the night before. I held it out. “When you don’t know what to do,” I said, “you write. You breathe. You can sit near me if you want to. You ask for structure if you need it.”
He took the notebook with both hands as if it were fragile. Like it might bite.
“You’re not failing,” I said. “You’re learning.”
He just nodded.
“Remember, that’s the reason for the notebook. If you feel unsettled or lost, write down your thoughts. Draw a picture. Whatever you need to do.”
“Yes, Sir.” This time, there was a bit more life to the spoken words.
“Good. Now, put away the bucket of water and rag. I’m going to take a shower while you write whatever thoughts you have.”
I stood, knees popping as I did so.
As I left the kitchen, Charlie was already moving, dumping out the water into the sink.
I knew retraining an Omega was going to be tough, but I hadn’t expected it to hurt my heart to see him try so hard to prove his place here.
Charlie had a place, and he didn’t need to earn it.
My heart hurt, knowing I couldn’t just fix it all with the snap of my finger. He was hurting deep down, even though it was buried deep enough not to show.
In time, it would come simmering to the surface, and I hoped beyond everything that he’d have enough trust to share it with me.