Page 82 of Masters of Control

Dammit!

The hard smack against her ass made her gasp. Her skin was becoming more and more sensitive, and the heat was burning through her, sparking off a new emotion—anger—not at Q, but at herself.

Why was she so down on herself? Why didn’t she feel worthy? She’d always thought she had good self-esteem, but clearly, she’d missed something. There was no reason she should feel that way… except…

She’d always fought against the notion that money defined her worth, especially in high school. Pride had pushed her against telling anyone what was going on or what motivated her. She’d found her confidence in her grades, her AP classes, her intellect.

But in real life there were no grades. There was no one telling her she was top of the class. The only thing she could really measure her success by was her income.

Oh, yeah? What about measuring by the number of people who care about you? The number of people who would help you if you just let them?

What about measuring by the number of kids you’ve helped?

Her lack of money was causing issues in her life, but that didn’t mean she was failing. Heck, she knew better than anyone that hard work didn’t guarantee financial comfort. Otherwise, her dad would have been a millionaire.

She’d never blamed him or been ashamed of him.

So, why was she so focused on it for herself?

Because I wanted to make Dad’s work and sacrifices worth it.

In her head, that had meant being financially successful enough to take care of him in the way he’d taken care of her. Sam sniffled, as much from the painful burning igniting in her butt as realizing that she’d been so hard on herself because she’d wanted to be able to give back to her dad—and do it on her own. So many people had talked about what promise she had and how successful she was going to be, she hadn’t wanted anyone to know that she wasn’t.

Granted, she was a bit of a loner, but feeling like she couldn’t let anyone down, especially her dad, made it so much worse. He wouldn’t want her to feel this way. He didn’t care how much she made, only that she was happy.

And she was happier now than she’d ever been, though still worried about money. It was definitely time for a change, but she didn’t have to sacrifice everything that was making her happy to get it.

“I’m worthy!” She said the words fiercely, not in reaction to the sting of Q’s hand coming down on her ass—though that probably helped—but because she really truly believed it.

She was worthy. Even if she needed some help sometimes. Even if she hadn’t met all the goals she’d set for herself when she’d graduated or when she’d gotten her job. What happened to her didn’t define her worth, and she was worthy.

“Good girl.”

Sam sniffled when she found herself being pulled up onto Q’s lap, his arms wrapped securely around her.

“Ouch!” A freshly spanked ass rubbing against jeans was not comfortable. Q just chuckled, the big jerk, his hand coming down to rub against the side of her burning bottom.

Resting her head against his shoulder, Sam wiped away the tears adorning her cheeks, still sniffling and sighed happily. Despite the tears, despite her chastised bottom, she was happier and more at home here in Q’s arms than she had been all week. This was right where she wanted to be.

“Now, then. I won’t lie, I don’t particularly want to move to Ohio, but if that’s where you’re going, I would absolutely consider it. Strongly.” His arms tightened around her. “I want a future with you, Samantha Dupre. I’m hoping you want one with me, too.”

“I do, I promise, I do.” She pressed her hand against his chest. “I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that. I just… I just realized that I had some ideas in my head that I don’t particularly like. A lot of them about money and about accepting help. I might have a little too much pride sometimes.”

“I don’t think pride is necessarily a bad thing, but yeah, accepting help can be hard, but it can also make a huge difference. A friend got me my job. Sure, I’ve worked my way up through the company on my own merit, but I got the job because of a friend.”

“Hmm.” Sam blinked. She hadn’t even though about reaching out to some of her past friends. She did have them even if they’d grown apart. As Morgan and Noelle had pointed out to her, if one of her old OT friends from either school or work reached out to her and asked for help, she would want to help them, right? Or if she’d found out they could have used her help and didn’t ask, she would be upset.

She could absolutely reach out to her old college friends or some of the OTs who had left her practice for other jobs and ask them if they knew of any job openings.

Why hadn’t she done that?

Because I didn’t want to admit that I need help, that I had to do it all on my own.

People weren’t successful all on their own. One way or another, they had help along the way, whether it was where they were born, what family they belonged to, the connections they made through their life, or even just being lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. People didn’t exist in a vacuum, and she needed to remember that.

She had friends. She had Q. She had her dad. She had help.

She’d get through this.