Page 127 of Until I Own You

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BRIDGET

It might sound silly, but I never knew Seth was even capable of weeping. Didn’t know he even felt this much.

But of course, he does. He’s human.

I’ve never thought of Seth as human. The way he kept me at arm’s length, then became the measured, precise Dom I’ve always wanted.

As he weeps in my arms, I feel like weeping too.

For one, I’ve realized I care for him in such a way that his emotions are becoming my emotions. My insides mirror his pain. And for another, I know this must be coming from somewhere so deep and painful that Seth doesn’t even know what to do with himself. I hope he doesn’t turn away from me.

The only thing I can control is not turning away from him.

So, I let him sob his eyes out for lord knows how long. I hold him.

And he doesn’t push away.

I bestow soft kisses to his shoulders and neck, say his name in a low and soft way to remind him I am here. And I will not be going anywhere unless he physically pushes me away.

He never does.

When Seth’s tears begin to abate and his breath steadies, he turns his head just slight enough to look at me. Not eye contact. No, too embarrassed for that, maybe.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I squeeze his biceps. “What? Don’t be sorry.”

“I lost control, I wasn’t supposed to–”

“Seth, I won’t let you apologize for feeling.” I tuck my chin on his shoulder and tighten my arms around his chest.

He tucks his fingers on my wrists. Thumb strokes the back of my arm. “Thank you,” he whispers.

I have learned from the best what good aftercare looks like. And I am more than happy to give it in return. “Lay down with me.”

“Bridget, I should–”

I have learned when I can press back on my Dom. When to cross the line. And I won’t allow him to walk away from me now. “Please lay down with me,” I repeat in a voice that I would give to no one else.

Seth does not refuse. He allows me to pull him down into the pillows, allows me to pull the covers up over our shoulders.

We face each other now but our bodies don’t dare touch.

I’m able to get a good look at him in the warm lamplight and…

Oh, my poor baby.

His face is sticky with tears, face blotched with red, eyes catatonic from how hard he was crying.

I’d hazard a guess that it’s been a long, long time since he’s cried.

Years, maybe.

I grab his hands and pull them to my mouth, kiss his knuckles.

Again, he doesn’t pull away.

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