18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hours later, Sophia and I are in my comfortable bed and she’s lying on her side, snuggled up facing me. Her hand is tracing small circles on my chest, straying over to my tattoos again. We’ve napped on and off for a few minutes at a time but we can’t seem to get enough of each other tonight. The experience in the playroom has solidified my feelings for her. She gave me all of her—no holding back and no fear. Her full submission was willingly handed over to me and I treated it with the utmost respect and care.
“Dominic?” she asks quietly. Using my full name now instantly alerts me. I don’t think I’m going to like what she says next.
“Yes, love,” I reply, stroking her back.
She continues absently tracing her fingers over my skin while she works up the nerve to say what’s on her mind. Finally, after a couple minutes of me waiting patiently, she asks, “Why did he say you killed his sister?”
I knew this conversation would eventually surface and I’ve dreaded having it. My only solace is in knowing that our mutual trust has just multiplied several times over tonight. I consciously make my arm keep moving, skimming across her smooth skin, and focus on the wonderful lady lying in my arms. Taking a deep breath that I know I will need to get through this conversation, I dive in headfirst.
“His sister, Carol Ann, was my last submissive. She—died,” I stumble over the words, “and he blames me.”
Her hand stops, she inhales sharply, and every muscle in her body tenses simultaneously. Not changing my rhythm, I continue to slowly caress up and down her spine, feeling every bump and dip along the way. She’s grasping to process the bomb I just dropped on her.
“What happened?” she whispers. “How did she die?”
I’ve relived this so many times in my mind, it’s almost like I’m right there with her every time. “It was our one-year anniversary of being together and I had a special night planned for us. Carol Ann didn’t like crowds, so I had hidden surprises for her to find throughout the day while she was at home and I was at work.
“When she got up that morning, she found a basket of new bath supplies—bubble bath, shower gel, all that stuff women love. It was sitting on the side of our garden tub, all wrapped up with a big bow. She always dressed in the walk-in closet, so I hung her new silk lingerie and matching robe up just inside, right where she would see it first. There were other things hidden all through our condo—earrings, necklaces, bracelets, shoes—just in random places, but she loved the scavenger hunt,” I smile but my heart clenches, remembering these little details of her.
“I had planned an elaborate dinner for us at home, knowing she would be wearing her new lingerie and waiting for me to arrive. Her fear of going out around people had increased over the time we were together. She didn’t even want to be around her family—especially her brother. I’m sure you can see why from our brief encounter with him. But her phobia had become worse, and in hindsight, I did worry about her becoming depressed with staying home so much. She assured me over and over that she was happy—that she couldn’t ask for more. I believed her and trusted her to tell me when she was overwhelmed.
“Our favorite restaurant made us special plates to go and delivered them to the condo, along with a cake and special vintage bottle of champagne. The champagne I had picked out was special in many ways, actually, and I had to order it months ahead of time. There were very few bottles available so I was fortunate to even get one. The bottle design itself was very unique since the 1998 version was the only vintage in a plated, white gold bottle. It was Dom Perignon White Gold Jeroboam champagne.
“Anyway, I had a courier deliver the champagne to the restaurant and then they delivered it all together to our condo. As usual, I had meetings that ran over and I was late leaving from work. Carol Ann called just as I was walking out of the building to ask where I was. I apologized profusely for being late for our anniversary celebration and she laughed. She said, ‘Dominic, you know you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m not going anywhere.’ We both laughed at that double entendre joke and I assured her I would be home soon.
“She told me the food and champagne had already been delivered and she couldn’t wait to get into that bottle. I told her she could haveone glasswithout me but no more than that. I decided at the last minute to stop and get her a bouquet of flowers on my way home. Carol Ann always loved flowers. When she would become sad over her family drama, I would give her flowers and her face would glow from excitement. It was always the little things that she loved the most,” I reminisced.
What I’m about to say is the part I don’t want to talk about. The next scene changed me forever. Even though I’ve taken another sub, the memories of the past haunt me. I can’t get it out of my mind. The lingering doubts are still there.Should I even be allowed to be a Dom? Am I worthy of such a title? Am I deserving of the complete trust and total submission given to me?These are the questions that have plagued me relentlessly for the last sixteen months. Every fucking day.
Sophia lifts her chin to look up at me, waiting for me to finish the story. I know I can’t leave it here and the least I can do is man-up and just tell her what happened. Scraping my hand down my face, I blow out a forceful breath and unconsciously ball up my fist.
“When I turned into our condo drive, the first thing I saw was red and blue flashing lights everywhere. It was obvious there was an emergency, with the fire trucks, an ambulance, and several police cars parked haphazardly. Of course, I was concerned with what was happening, but I really just wanted to get to Carol Ann. I was already so late,” my voice trails off and I feel Sophia grip me tighter as she tries to give me her strength.
“Grabbing the flowers from the front seat, I hopped out and quickly strolled toward the entrance. A cop was stationed at front of the door, checking everyone’s identification before he let anyone pass—comingandgoing. He saw my name, and even though I saw the flash of recognition across his face, I chose not to see it. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you or not,” I wait for Sophia to catch up with me.
“Yes, I think I know what you mean,” she says quietly.
I nod once and continue, “I reached to take my license back from him and he said, ‘Mr. Powers, we need to speak to you somewhere private, sir.’ Those are not the words I wanted to hear at all. It suddenly became very important for me to just get to the condo and see Carol Ann. I told him that I had dinner plans, I was already late, and I needed to go.
“A detective came up behind me and told me that I had to go with him, and even though I was severely fucking pissed off, I went into the complex manager’s office with him. It was then that he told me that everything was still being investigated, but it appeared that Carol Ann had killed herself by jumping from our twenty-third floor balcony,” I recite like I’m a fucking robot.
Sophia gasps loudly and instantly covers her mouth with her hand. When I glance down at her, I see her eyes well up with tears and she shakes her head from side to side, as if she’s saying ‘no.’ I know the feeling—I did the same thing every day for months after it happened. I ran through every scenario, I recounted every word, but I always came back to the end conclusion—Carol Ann is no longer with me. She’s dead and I didn’t protect her.
“The detective asked if we had any trouble in our relationship, had she been depressed, and if she had any other mental problems. You know, all those really intimate, intrusive questions feel so very impersonal when the other person is taking copious notes as he asks you about the death of someone you love. I was questioned for a while longer, but they wouldn’t let me see her no matter how much I threatened. It was an ongoing investigation and any suicide is treated as a crime until the medical examiner rules on it.
“Her brother, Harrison, has always blamed me for her death. He accused me of making her agoraphobic—said Iforcedher to stay hidden away in the house all the time with ‘our lifestyle.’ He knew she was my submissive and he always accused me of taking advantage of her. Said I brainwashed her, that I was abusing her, stupid shit like that. That’s why he says I killed her—she wouldn’t have been depressed or afraid to leave the house if I hadn’t controlled her so much,” I finish, drained of all energy now, but I know it will be a sleepless night.
“Is that why you have nightmares?”
“You think I have nightmares?” I ask, not to dodge the question but to find out why she thinks that.
“You talk in your sleep pretty frequently. Most of the time, I can’t understand what you’re saying, but you always sound so…sad. So desperate. I’ve wondered why that was.”
“Yes, that’s why I have nightmares. As her Dom, her wellbeing was my responsibility. If she was depressed, sad, hurt, sick, or whatever—it wasmyjob to make sure she was taken care of and I let her down. In a way, Harrison is right—Ididkill her.”
