Owning Wednesday (6 page)

“Really?” That surprised him. Her entire lack of enthusiasm for his existence surprised him. He studied her, trying to find the right words to say. “It would be a shame for you to leave the lifestyle. You’re good at it.”

She made a bitter sound, something between a snort and a laugh. “I’m not so sure about that. I wasn’t good enough for Vincent.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes. He wanted to destroy Vincent for causing the bleak look on Wednesday’s face. “Did he tell you that?”

“No. He said something about me moving on, finding a soul mate or happiness or something. It was the classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing. But whatever. The bottom line is I’m not in a real hurry to get into another D/s relationship.”

“I can understand that, with all you’ve been through. I’m disappointed to hear it though. I had hoped you and I might give things a try.”

She walked a little faster. “I don’t know.”

“Wednesday, I’m nothing at all like Vincent. I actually think you and I would be a much better fit.”

“You seemed a lot like Vincent that night.”

“I mean, yes, I am like Vincent in some ways. I’m a d-type and a sadist. I like kinky sex and exchanging power. But I want more than that too.”

They walked in silence for a moment. This wasn’t how he’d imagined their long-awaited reunion. She was so pent-up, so defensive. He put a hand on her arm, a soft touch that nonetheless stopped her. She looked down at the sidewalk between them.

“What do
you
want, Wednesday? Where do you want to go next?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. I don’t know what I want right now.”

God, that was obvious. He wanted to take her in his arms, strip her naked, and lay her down and make all her fears go away. Instead he said, “Let me help you figure things out.”

“How? Scenes in your playroom?” He could guess what she thought of that idea from the pinched set of her mouth.

“I don’t have a playroom. Or collars or a dungeon with bolts in the walls. I’m not like him. I want something different.”

“Something different? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know how to sum it up in a few words, but I’d like to talk to you more about it. If you’d like.” He took her hand loosely, and she let him, leaving it cool and still in his. “We had a connection that night. You felt it as much as I did.”

“Daniel—”

“Didn’t you? Answer me.”

“Yes,” she said. “I guess I did feel something, but that was another time, months ago.”

“I still feel the same. And I think you do too. I think you’re scared.”

“Yes, I am scared! I’m not even fully over Vincent yet, and this is…so soon—too soon.”

“We can take things slowly. We can take our time.”

“Can we?” she asked, cocking one eyebrow at him.

Touché
. “We can try.”

“I don’t know.” She tossed her head, a nervous, panicked gesture. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

God, he didn’t want to let her go, not like this. “Wait. Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night. Just one dinner, and if you say it can’t happen, if there’s nothing there, I’ll leave you alone. But can’t we at least talk, you and me? Not on here on the street, but over dinner. Yes? Please?” He pressed her, full benevolent-dominant mode. It was now or never.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “I guess we can have dinner.”

She said
okay
, but she sounded far from enthused.

* * *

Oh God, let me breathe now. Please give me breath
. Daniel—
Daniel
—was arriving soon to take her out to dinner. Daniel, whom she had dreamed about so many countless hours before she realized he wasn’t coming back to find her. Daniel, who wanted to be with her after all. She didn’t know whether to celebrate or cry.

She’d resigned herself to letting it all go, the BDSM, the idea of finding another dominant. She’d begun looking forward to a lifetime alone eating tons of ice cream and collecting stray cats. She was finally totally okay with it, then there he was outside her office like some kind of specter. He’d been sexier and more compelling than ever, impossible to resist. She should have pretended she hadn’t seen him, and kept walking. Would he have let her go?
No
. He had seemed quite insistent on talking to her. In fact, she wondered if he had just
happened
to be there or if it had been planned.

Either way she let herself talk to him—mistake number one. She’d let him walk home with her, spilling words in her ear, words that had convinced her,
almost
, that it was a good idea to try again at the lifestyle. The lifestyle of belonging to someone, giving herself over to someone day in and day out, that lifestyle of lying in bed or kneeling or standing bolted to the wall, waiting to be
done to
. That lifestyle she was finished with—he made her want it back. “
We can take things slow
,” he’d assured her, but they were already past slow. They had been past slow the very moment they’d met.

She stood against the door, breathing in and out, trying to calm herself. She dreaded belonging so soon already to another man. The belonging was exciting to her, yes, but still dangerous. Even Vincent, who’d held her at arm’s length, had managed to take over her life. He had taken over
her
, made her not completely her own, and Daniel seemed to hint at wanting something even deeper, an actual relationship. Commitment.
Love
. The idea fascinated yet repulsed her. It alarmed her. She was so used to keeping her emotions stuffed down.

She was all in black, from head to toe and underneath. She was in mourning for the death of her attempt to find herself, to take some time for herself. Time was up. She had swept her hair up in a loose chignon so he could look all he wanted at her neck. She imagined for a moment his thick fingers smoothing a black collar against her skin. She could almost feel his rough fingertips grazing her nape, working the clasp…

Oh Jesus. She hadn’t wanted this. But she did. She
did
. Didn’t she? She had to get ahold of herself before he came to the door. Then, right on cue, there was the knock against her back. Daniel was there, now, on the other side of the door. Where had she heard that knock before, not too loud or too soft? Not too long or too short or staccato?
Don’t think of him now
. She took one last deep breath of freedom and picked up her small black bag.

She opened the door almost warily and let him into her apartment.
Daniel
. He looked just as amazing as always. Dark jacket, crisp white shirt, a tie the exact color of his beautiful eyes. Classic, masculine style. He seemed like such a virile man standing there that she had to fight the urge to drop to her knees. He moved closer, took her hand, and nuzzled against her cheek.

She floundered, she floated. She almost fainted. Vincent had never greeted her quite this way. Daniel’s cheek was warm against hers, slightly rough, and his lips… She was acutely aware of the place they pressed just below her ear. She breathed in and felt his chest brush against hers for a second.

He stepped away and made a gallant gesture in the direction of the door. “Shall we go?”

“Yes,” she said.
Or we won’t go anywhere at all.

Wednesday sat beside him in the car, tense and still, and he could feel the protective shield drawn around her. He reached over and took her hand in his.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m just… You’ll laugh at me,” she said with a shake of her head.

“I won’t laugh at you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ve never actually been on a sort of…you know…”

“Date?”

“Yes, if that’s—”

“Yes, that is what this is, Wednesday. A date. A man takes a woman out to dinner and talks to her and pulls out her chair and pays for the check.”

“I mean, Vincent took me out sometimes, but it was mostly…”

“Foreplay for his threesomes?”

“You
are
laughing at me.”

“No, I’m not laughing. I don’t find this funny in the slightest, I promise you. Vincent—” He clamped his mouth shut. He was about to say,
Vincent wronged you
or perhaps even
Vincent mistreated you
, but tearing down her longtime lover and his eccentricities probably wasn’t the way to ingratiate himself.

When they were seated at their dark and private table, she perched on the edge of her chair and looked around in a daze, as if she’d suddenly, inexplicably fallen into real life. Like Alice down the rabbit hole.
Now what do I do, what do I do
? He wanted to reassure her.
This is how men treat women in the real world. This is how men treat women whom they want to know. And I do want to know you, Wednesday. I want to know you very well.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She was wearing a sweet black dress that made his breath catch, and her pretty lips were curved in a scared little smile. He was probably nearly as nervous as she was, but he tried to hide it. He had to be the one in control. He was the one who had to convince her that she needed and wanted to come where he led.

The menus arrived, and he ordered wine and dinner for both of them, and that—
you’ll eat what I tell you to eat
—at least seemed to put her at ease. Dominance 101: Order for your submissive. Take away her choices in the insignificant things, but learn what really matters to her and work your ass off to give her that.

“So, Wednesday,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything. I’d like to know everything.”

She laughed. “There’s an awful lot to know.”

Good girl
. So she had retained at least some shred of self-identity. “What do you like to do when you’re not on your knees?”

She blushed. “I like to write. And I like movies. Good ones, not stupid ones.”

“I like movies too. We have that in common.”

“Tell me about your work. I’ve seen some of the film sets you designed. I love your style—”

He cut her off gently. “Thank you, but we’re talking about you. What else do you like to do besides write? You like to read, I assume?”

“I read a lot, yeah. I work a lot too.”

“You like your job?”

“Yes. It’s really rewarding, editing people’s writing. It’s a big responsibility. They give it over to you when it’s so personal and meaningful to them. Entrust you with it, to improve it. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“I understand. Taking care of something given over to you in trust.” She met his eyes.
Trust me
. “I’m sure you’re very good at it, Wednesday.”

“I try to be.”

“So do I.”

She fell silent again, his tense black flower.

“What else?” he asked. “Surely you do more than work and write.”

She shrugged. “I like to work out.”

“You like to work out? Most people find it a chore.”

“I like to sit and…think. I like to just think about things sometimes for hours. I’m boring, I know.”

“No, you certainly aren’t. What do you think about when you think about things for hours?”

She balked then. He could practically hear the inner monologue.
You can’t have my thoughts. You can have everything else, but not that.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell me this. What did you think about last night as you fell asleep?” He lowered his voice. “Did you think about me?”

Her gaze skittered away from his. “Yes.”

“Tell me what you thought about.”

“I thought about tonight. What we would talk about. How it would be to…be here with you. How it would be…if…”

“If you were mine? I was thinking about that too. I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time actually. Since the night I met you. It’s been a long, long time to think.”