"And you?" Her eyes meet mine, steady despite the weight of the question. "Are you safe?"
The air in the office shifts. We've been dancing around this from the moment she walked in, circling the real question neither of us has been willing to ask. Now it's here, laid bare between us. The space between my desk and her chair feels suddenly inadequate, like the distance has been measured in inches instead of feet.
"Yes." The word scrapes out of me. "I've been part of this world for a lot of years. I know what I am and what I want, and I've never confused that with the right to take what isn't freely given."
"What are you?" She doesn't flinch from the question. "What do you want?"
Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight tremor in her hands, the way her fingers press against her thighs like she's bracing forimpact. She's afraid of the answer. She's also leaning toward it, toward me, and I don't think she realizes she's doing it.
"I'm a Dom. Always have been, as long as I've understood what the word means." I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth of it. "I'm drawn to power exchange, to the dynamic of control and surrender. I want a partner who chooses to give me that control, not because she's weak but because she's strong enough to trust me with it."
"And Sarah? Was she...?"
"She was my submissive." The words don't stick in my throat the way I thought they would. "Our relationship had that structure from the beginning. It worked for us, better than anything I'd experienced before. She needed to be held, and I needed to be the one holding. We fit."
Gemma is quiet, processing. Her fingers twist together in her lap, the only sign of the turmoil beneath her composed surface.
"Since she died," I continue, because she deserves the full truth, "I haven't touched anyone. Not in that way. The Forge kept running. I helped other people find what they were looking for. But for myself, there hasn't been anyone."
"Why?"
The question hits closer than I'm ready for. I've asked myself the same thing more times than I can count, late at night when the house feels too empty and the need for connection scratches at the edges of my control.
"Grief, at first. Then habit. The Forge kept me connected to that part of myself without having to let anyone new in." I shrug, a motion that feels stiffer than I want it to. "Sarah knew everything about me. Starting over with someone else seemed like more trouble than it was worth."
Gemma stands abruptly, and for a moment I think she's going to leave. Instead she moves to the window, staring out at the parking lot with her back to me. The set of her shoulders istight, defensive, but there's something else in the way she holds herself. A restlessness that mirrors what's churning in my own chest. The light from outside traces the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder beneath her sweater, and I have to force my gaze back to my hands before my thoughts go somewhere they shouldn't.
"I want to understand this." Her voice is quiet but level. "Not just intellectually. I spent four years being told that what I wanted was shameful, that my desires were proof of something broken in me. And now you're telling me there's a whole world of people who want the same things, who've built communities around doing them safely and ethically." She turns to face me. "I need to see it. I need to know it's real."
"Gemma." I stand, but I don't move toward her. The distance between us feels necessary. "Whatever this is between us, I'm not going to be the man who takes advantage of it. You're not ready. And if you walk into The Forge with me, it needs to be because you want answers, not because you're looking for somewhere to hide."
Her chin lifts, defiance flashing in her eyes. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Maybe not. But I need you to be sure. Absolutely sure, with no doubts and no regrets. Because once you see what's behind that door, you can't unsee it. And once we cross certain lines, we can't uncross them."
"You think I'll regret it?"
"I think you don't know yet. And I think rushing into anything, with me or with anyone else, is a mistake you can't afford to make right now." I let that land before continuing. "There's also the matter of your brother."
Her jaw tightens. "Cole doesn't get a vote in what I do with my life."
"No. But he's Brotherhood, and he's a member of The Forge, and he's my best friend. I'm not going to sneak around behind his back with his sister." I keep my voice even. "If this goes anywhere, he knows. That's not negotiable."
Her jaw works, but she nods. The frustration on her face is plain, though beneath it I see something else. Understanding. Maybe even relief, though she'd probably deny it.
"So what do we do?"
"We take it slow. We build trust the old-fashioned way, through time and conversation and seeing each other clearly." I hold her gaze. "And if you want to see The Forge, I'll show it to you. Just the space. No pressure, no expectations, no demonstration of anything. You can walk through, ask questions, and then go home and think about whether it's something you want to explore further."
"When?"
"Tomorrow night, after we close. Monday's slow enough that I can send everyone home early. We'll have the place to ourselves."
She considers this, her expression unreadable. Whatever internal debate is happening behind those eyes, she keeps it to herself.
"Okay." She nods once, sharp and decisive. "Tomorrow night, then."
She moves toward the door. Her hand is on the frame when she pauses, looking back over her shoulder.
