Chapter 9
Gage
The scent of cedarwood clings to the steam curling out of my bathroom as I towel off and move into my bedroom. My house is quiet. It’s the kind of silence that used to comfort me. Now, it just feels like it's missing something. Or someone. But that isn't something I want to unpack just yet.
I tug open a drawer and pull out a fresh black shirt, running my fingers along the fabric before slipping it over my head.
Even knowing I still have an hour before I'm supposed to leave to meet her, I check the time again.
I haven't seen her in days, but somehow it feels like longer.
Time stretches differently when she's not near.
As I head into the walk-in closet, my phone rings. It's Carter.
"How was the trip?" he asks the second I answer.
"Good," I say, grabbing a clean pair of jeans. "Better than I expected. Met with some great professors at the university. They were more excited than I thought they'd be about helping us build the BDSM curriculum. One of them already had a research proposal started."
"That's amazing," Carter says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. "I can't wait to see the first draft. This is going to be huge for the club and for the community. You're really doing something important."
"Trying to," I reply. "It felt good to have those conversations, to know we're being taken seriously."
Carter hums in agreement. "You needed that."
"Yeah," I say, then pause. "What about you? How's the wedding planning going?"
He laughs. "Honestly? I don't care what the centerpieces look like or what flavor the cake is. I just want to be married. Everything else is noise."
I chuckle. "You're so far gone."
"Damn right I am," he says proudly. "And you'll be the same way one day."
My stomach twists a little at that. Not in a bad way. Just unexpected. I change the subject. "Well, as long as the planning is making her happy and not stressing her out, it will be worth it.”
"Oh, it will be worth it. You going to the club tonight?"
"Yeah," I say, the corners of my mouth tugging up. "Meeting someone."
"This new sub I keep hearing about?"
"Yeah."
"Good," Carter says. "She grounds you."
I hang up a few minutes later and finish getting dressed.
In the mirror, I catch myself adjusting the buttons on my sleeves, and I pause.
I look... different. Not in the physical sense, but something about the way I carry myself lately.
Lighter. More grounded. Is it her doing this?
That is the only change that I can think of.
How the hell does she have this kind of pull already?
I grab my keys and head out the door. My phone buzzes with a message from her responding to an earlier conversation, simple and perfect.
Skye: Yes, Sir.
That's all it takes. My pulse kicks up, and by the time I'm sliding behind the wheel, I already know tonight is going to be something else. I don't just want to play with her. I need to see her. Touch her. Hear the sounds only I can pull from her lips.
I grip the steering wheel tighter as the need curls low and tight in my gut. It's more than lust. It's more than control.
It's her. And I'm not sure I know how to stop this.
Now I'm pacing in my private suite on the third floor, waiting for her.
The St. Andrews cross stands ready, polished, waiting.
The cuffs dangle, the scent of leather thick in the air.
My body is already keyed up, as anticipation vibrates beneath my skin.
How the hell does she have this hold on me already?
When there is a knock on the door, my nerves ramp up. She’s here. I open the door, and when she walks in, everything inside me goes still.
She's wearing a dark green dress, one that hugs all her curves and clings to her hips and whispers over her thighs like it knows what kind of torment I have in store for her. Her eyes meet mine, and there's that little spark of challenge. She wants to be pushed tonight. Needs it.
"You came," I say, voice low.
She steps forward and lifts her chin. "You asked."
I stalk toward her, watching her pupils dilate, her breath hitch. My fingers brush her cheek.
"Strip."
She obeys slowly, a deliberate tease. By the time she's bare before me, I'm already hard, already aching. I take my time securing her to the cross, adjusting the cuffs so she's stretched just right. Vulnerable. Beautiful. Mine.
I step back and look at her for a moment. Her breathing is steady, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch, needing to touch.
"You missed me," I say, not a question.
"Yes, Sir."
I pick up the flogger and drag it across her upper thighs, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.
"Good. Because I missed you, too. What is your color?"
“Green.”
With that, I begin lightly, letting her body remember me. The rhythm is slow, sensual, more caress than strike. Her skin warms beneath each pass, with pink blossoming on her shoulders and the curve of her ass.
"You're stunning like this," I murmur. "Bound. Open. Trusting."
She shivers, a low moan slipping from her lips.
I increase the intensity, alternating between leather and the sting of a thin crop.
She writhes, her body dancing for me in the restraints.
Each sound she makes sends heat straight through me.
I test her limits, watching her closely, reading her reactions.
Her safe word stays buried, her breathing rough but steady.
I move in front of her, pressing close. My hand slips between her legs.
"Dripping. Just from a few strokes. My perfect little submissive."
She gasps when my fingers tease her folds, but I don't let her come. Not yet.
I return to the flogger, her muscles trembling now, her cries breaking the silence like music. I graze my fingers over the welts blooming along her skin. Each one a mark of trust. A signature.
"You take it so well," I whisper, kissing her shoulder. "So damn well."
When I feel her reaching that edge, teetering, I stop. Set the flogger down. Step closer.
"You need to come, sweetheart?"
"Please, Sir."
I free one of her wrists and guide her hand between her legs. She's soaked. Perfect.
"Come for me. Now."
She shatters, her scream muffled against her arm. I hold her steady, grounding her, whispering praise in her ear. When I release the other cuff, she slumps forward, boneless.
Catching her before she falls, I carry her to the padded lounge in the corner. I wrap her in the blanket I brought from home, the one that smells like me, and pull her into my lap.
She curls against me as if she were made for it. Her breathing evens out as I run my fingers through her hair.
"You, okay?" I ask, checking in on her.
She nods, voice small. "So good."
We sit in silence for a while. I've missed this. Not just the sex. Not just the dominance. But this. Holding her. The quiet after. This wasn't about me tonight. This was about her. The trust she gave me was better than any orgasm I could have received.
Her fingers trace circles on my chest.
"I start some new hours at work this week."
I nod, trying to keep my face neutral. "You'll be busy."
"Yeah. It's just for a few weeks while the owner goes on vacation, so I'll only really be able to come here on weekends."
Something tugs at my chest. A mix of disappointment and something else. I want to ask more. What kind of work? What do your days look like when I'm not in them?
But I don't. Because if I ask, she'll ask back. And I'm not ready to answer those questions.
"Weekends are still something," I say quietly. "And when you're here, you'll have all of me."
She tilts her head, studying me. "That sounds dangerously close to romantic."
I smirk. "Only if you want it to be."
She laughs, soft and breathy, then sighs. "I don't do romantic, and I don't want to overthink this. I like what we have. So, I don't want to mess it up by trying to label it."
I nod, brushing my thumb along her jaw. "Same. Let's just keep doing what feels good. What feels right."
"It feels right," she says, so quietly I almost miss it.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then we don't change a damn thing."
She nestles deeper into my chest. "I never thought I'd feel this safe with someone again."
I feel the truth of that settle into the room between us, heavy but honest. I want to ask questions, but I also don't want to ruin the night by bringing up what she is holding back.
"You trust me. That's not something I take lightly."
"I know."
Her words lodge in my chest like a brand. I kiss her temple, letting the silence stretch again, but it's not empty. It's full of everything we're not saying. Everything we're still learning to say.
Eventually, I feel her breathing slow, her body relaxing completely. She's drifting. I don't move. I don't want to wake her.
So, I hold her. And I let her hold me too.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like maybe I don't have to be alone with the pieces of myself I keep buried.