“I’m not.” She shook her head, still laughing, eyes glistening. “It all makes sense now. The way you look at me. The way you touch me. Calla in the daylight, Dahlia in the dark. It’s you, of course it’s you.”
Her words struck deep, not mocking, not judgment, but acceptance. My chest loosened, just a fraction.
James finally lifted his head, his jaw still tight, his eyes moving between us.“So now you know,” he said, voice low, unreadable. “Question is, what are you gonna do with it?”
Amiyah looked between us, her hand still resting on my thigh. She didn’t flinch, she didn’t run, she just breathed deep, then whispered, “I want… both of you. I don’t know what it means, or if it’ll ruin everything we have at work, but I can’t stop wanting it. I can’t stop wanting you.”
Her words melted something in me I hadn’t realized was still frozen.
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to hers, cupping her cheek in my bare hand. “You’ll never have to do anything you don’t want. With me, you’ll always be safe, always. I’ll hold you when you kneel, and I’ll hold you if you can’t. Submission isn’t about breaking yourself apart, it’s about letting someone worthy keep you whole.”
Her eyes watered, her lips trembling. “Then take me there, teach me, just… don’t let me lose myself.”
My smile was soft this time, not sharp, not cruel. “You won’t because I won’t let you.”
Behind her, James shifted, finally lifting his head, his voice deep and certain. “Then what does this mean for us?”
I looked between the two of them, the man who gave me his pain, the woman who’d just begged to kneel at my feet. Power curled in my chest, but so did something else, something I hadn’t felt in years.
“It means,” I said slowly, deliberately, “that you’re mine. Both of you, together.”
Amiyah shivered. James' eyes darkened with desire.
And for the first time in my life, I let myself believe that owning them both didn’t have to mean losing myself.
Lastnight was beautiful.
James on his knees, trembling with need. Amiyah, soft and sweet, whispering Mistress like it was carved out of her soul. The two of them together, their pleasure braided into mine until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. For a few hours, I felt whole, not broken, not haunted. Just wanted, claimed, and complete.
And that’s why I hated this—sitting here in this too-soft chair, in this too-gentle office, with sandalwood curling through the air like a lie. Therapy felt like dragging my ghosts into the light, like smearing blood across clean white walls. I wanted to stay in the glow of last night forever.
But if I was going to love them, both of them, it had to be whole. I needed to allow myself to have something tangible, not another performance, and it had to be healthy. It had to be healed. Otherwise, I’d bleed all over them, cut them with wounds that were never theirs to carry.
The therapist’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. Calm, measured. “Calla, last week you mentioned how your father’s choices shaped the way you see relationships. If you feel ready… can you share more today?”
My throat tightened. My nails dug crescents into my palms.
Caleb sat stiff on my left, his broad shoulders rigid, eyes shadowed. Calil leaned forward on his knees, restless energy practically vibrating out of him. Mama sat across from us, hands clenched so tight in her lap her knuckles were bone-white, eyes fixed on the rug.
I wanted to stay silent. To keep my walls up. To bury it all under steel and control like I always did.
But last night’s sweetness lived under my skin. And if I was going to give James and Amiyah my truth, they trusted me with their submission, and if I was going to trust them with my dominance, I had also to trust them with my pain. I couldn’t keep pretending.
So I inhaled and I let the words tear their way out.
“Daddy…” My voice cracked. “Daddy wasn’t what people thought he was. He cheated like it was second nature to breathing, and everybody in the city knew, and Mama knew too.”
I felt Caleb’s jaw lock. Calil’s fist clenched in his lap.
I kept going. “When I was a teenager, I thought if I confronted him, he’d stop. I thought if he saw how much it hurt you, Mama, he’d care, but he laughed. He looked me dead in the face and said, “All powerful men cheat.” That no woman is ever special enough to stop them. And then—” my stomach clenched as the memory cut sharp, “—he told me if I didn’t want to end up bitter like you, Mama, then I should learn how to make men stay. Learn to… perform. To please them in ways that would make them forget whoever else they were screwing.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
“I tried to fight back once,” I whispered. “Told him I wasn’t going to live like that. And he tore me down so fast it was like I’d never had a voice at all. Said I wasn’t beautiful enough, wasn’t lovable enough, that I should be grateful for whatever scraps a man gave me. I carried that voice into every relationship I had.”
My throat burned. My eyes stung. Still, I pushed on.
“My last relationship, he was everything Sr. said a man should be. Powerful, charming, everyone loved him, but behind closed doors?” I let out a bitter laugh. “He chipped away at me piece by piece. Told me who I could see, what I could wear. Reminded me every chance he got that no one else would ever want me. When I resisted, he didn’t raise his fist, but he didn’t have to. His silence was worse. His words… they cut deeper than any whip I’ve ever held in my hand. And when I cried, when I begged him to stop tearing me down, he’d smile and tell me I was proving him right. That I stayed because I liked it.”
