Page 43 of The Dominator

“I know you do.” My heart sank and my body stiffened. Kay, bye bye Ice Cream Parlor Hottie. So much for that.

He snuggled me closer, maybe in response to my tensing up. “I’m very pleased that you didn’t run away from me. Or that someone hadn’t taken you.” He sighed and played with my hair.

“I woke up early and I was just tired of wearing Sarah’s clothes and you said my clothes were down there. You said I could go down and–”

“I know. You’re welcome to wear your own clothes anytime but in bed. In bed you need to be naked or in something of mine. I want you to smell like me.” He nuzzled into my throat and then twisted me so that my face was buried in his chest. “But you need to know that running away, had you done it, would be bad, Tia. Real bad.”

Taken me? Who’d take me? The police? Was he worried Rose and Cal were trying to rescue me? And how would I get away, anyway? This place was locked down like a prison.

“I didn’t,” I reminded him.

“I know.” He cuddled me closer. “I’m glad.”

I started to cry, like ugly cry right into his chest. I couldn’t hold the tears back. He tilted my chin up toward his face.

“Talk to me.” His expression was soft.

I grimaced. “One minute you’re being sweet and the next minute you’re threatening me. One minute you’re rough, the next minute you’re not. Is messing with my head a sport for you?” I couldn’t even believe I was having this conversation with him. I couldn’t believe how weak I was, letting him fuck me and then crying like a baby again. Yet again.

He sighed, was silent for a minute, then whispered, “I need control.”

He was searching my face for something with roving eyes. “I need you to keep being exactly who you have been so far, okay? You’ve been perfect.”

I didn’t know what that meant. Most times he was one guy and sometimes he was another. Gangster Tommy and what? Ice cream Parlor Tommy? How could he say I was being perfect? I was a mess. Last night I’d hit him with a lamp and messed up his face. How was that perfect? And today I had to have dinner with his family and pretend that I was happy to be engaged to him. How would I pull that off?

He twisted in the direction of his nightstand and reached for the heart-shaped box. He looked at me with a stone-cold serious face. “I want you to wear this. My family doesn’t need to feel any awkwardness between us. I don’t want them worrying the way you’ve got Sarah worrying.”

I frowned.

He continued, “So you’ll wear this and it’ll be reality to them. Okay? Like our dinner date the other night. Alone with me, always be real, always be you. But when it’s not just us, no one can think things aren’t perfect, that you’re not ecstatically happy to be mine.”

I was speechless. He was teetering between the two personalities, it seemed. Hadn’t I just been responsive while we were alone? That hadn’t been enough to keep him sweet, though. I didn’t understand. And now my reaction would probably tip him one way or the other. I sat up, pulling up the blankets to cover my nakedness and chewed the inside of my cheek. Me being real was fucked up. I didn’t know what to be right now.

He opened the box. Inside was a gorgeous diamond ring. It was cushion-cut with a big stone and then surrounding round diamonds. More round diamonds took up two thirds of the band. I’d never seen something so sparkly, so beautiful. I wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted nothing to do with a proposal that I’d had no choice but to accept from a man who threatened me every time he looked at me, either with this mouth or with his eyes.

But, what could I do? If I showed him an emotion other than what he wanted to see, would he hurt me again? I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Shh, don’t say anything. Just wear it. When my sisters ask questions about setting a date or anything like that, say we haven’t discussed it yet.”

She nodded, but I could see she was trying but failing to guard how she was feeling – freaked. I put the ring on her finger and then I leaned over and touched my lips to hers. She stayed still. I leaned up and kissed her forehead.

“I’ve got stuff to do but I’ll be back here to pick you up at 4:30 and then we’ll head over to Pop’s. Best behavior there, yeah?”

She nodded, but her eyes were filled with confusion. I couldn’t exactly blame her. I was confused, too. I knew I was acting like a psychopath. I left to get a shower and get dressed.

In the shower, I tried to get my head straight. This girl, she was doing something to me. I didn’t feel like me. Yeah, I felt the desire to dominate her, but I also had the strange desire to be the ice cream shop guy she’d told me she’d fantasized about. Could I be that guy? Did I want to be? I hated the sadness on her face, hated the way she seemed to be beating herself up for enjoying it when I fucked her. So far, she was everything I wanted. But I was me.

One minute I found myself being sweet to her but inevitably I’d become me again. The way she’d responded to me downstairs? That was fucking amazing. I loved that she reached for me, that she kissed me back, and it felt real. I wanted her to keep feeling bold enough to reach into my pants for my cock because she was showing me she wanted me. But I wanted her afraid, too, and eventually I wanted her to want to please me, to do whatever I wanted, even if was out of her comfort zone, because she wanted to please me that badly. I wanted her to want me so badly that she ached for me, ached to submit for me.

A lot of girls want to be submissive, give in to belonging to a lover. I’m not saying every woman wants it but there are a lot of women who enjoy it, who crave it and embrace it. I had no problems finding women who did, but I needed the fear first and most couldn’t pull off convincing me of it unless I went over the edge with them and made them truly afraid. And none of them made me want them like she did. I didn’t want a submissive with safe words putting limits on what she’d give me. I wanted a willing slave, someone willing to give me whatever I needed.

If I let her go tomorrow and she went on to live a normal life I knew I’d already ruined her for vanilla. She’d always think about sex with me. No one would measure up because after me she’d think she had to pick some accountant in a sweater vest, the polar opposite of me. As she laid there staring at the ceiling waiting for sweater vest to finally go limp inside her, she’d be thinking about getting her hair pulled, her ass smacked, and having my hand caress her throat, while feeling my breath against her ear as I whispered in her ear how I owned her and what I wanted to do to her.

How did I walk the line of taking what I wanted to ensure I kept wanting her without breaking her? In the beginning I’d been thrilled by the notion of breaking her spirit and bending her to my will, but now… I still wanted her to be mine, but didn’t want to extinguish that fire in her. Because unlike the women I had to take over the edge to make them feel real fear temporarily, I wanted Tia. The other women were a one off. I couldn’t break her or she wouldn’t be Tia anymore and I’d be married to this empty shell of a person who did what I wanted but in a way I wouldn’t crave it anymore.

She was getting to me in a way I hadn’t expected and I wanted something else from her, too, but I didn’t know what name to give what I wanted. I wanted her to see the real me, to want me, even if I wasn’t perfect, even if I could be a cold-hearted prick sometimes. Did I want her to love me? Love was something I never had before. I got praise and respect through accomplishments. I had to earn everything I got.

Right now, before work, I needed another session with the heavy bag. When I got out of the shower I got dressed to head out, but first I took off my silver chain. It was a curious thing, the way my mindset shifted when I wore it. It belonged to my mother and when I had to make tough decisions, tap into my inner beast and handle the dirty shit in my life and my line of work I couldn’t do those things as well if I was wearing it.

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