Page 77 of For Her Own Good

I have been on my best behavior here. I’m not on my own turf, Jade and Starla have a history and relationship of their own that I’ve been respectful of. But for this woman to tell me I don’t understand the ways in which Starla is delicate? That’s a load of rubbish and she ought to know it.

“Ah.” Jade holds up a hand like she knows I was about to unleash a torrent of “I’ve known Starla Elizabeth Patrick since she was fourteen years old” and is not here for it. “She’s told me about you. I know you were the savior doctor who she credits with being alive. Which, fine. My understanding is that she has her depression really well under control and a bunch of the best doctors in the world to help her keep it there. That’s not your job anymore.

“What I’m talking about is that there’s a very delicate balance you have to strike in the way you treat her. She’s smarter than I am, tougher than I am, and god knows she could buy my entire life a million times over with all the money she has. I’ve never had to worry about all of that because it is literally my job to make her feel small, vulnerable, a little embarrassed. You know why she lets me do that?”

Yes, I would like to be let in on any secrets Jade can share with me. “Why?”

“Because I’ve never given her a reason not to. I have always stuck to our arrangements, I have always played our game. She can be like this here, with me, because I’ve never asked her to be anything else and at the end of a few hours, she takes out her pigtails and leaves. I don’t ask her about the rest of her life, I don’t inquire about her health aside from asking about new injuries that I need to know about. She thinks you could be everything to her, which I think is a risky proposition for anyone, but this isn’t about me. My point is that if you tease her about this or make her feel bad about it in anyway, it will hurt her deeply. And then I will be forced to hurt you deeply.”

“Are you…”

“Yes, I’m threatening you, and don’t you think for a second that it’s only a threat. I hurt people like Starla for pleasure, but I also hurt people for money, and if you make Starla feel bad or sick or wrong in any way for wanting this, for needing it, it will be my pleasure to hurt you for free.”

I’d like to think I’ve led a fairly interesting life during my fifty-one years on the planet, but never have I ever been threatened by a dominatrix. I didn’t know that she also does this professionally, Starla hadn’t mentioned that. Only that Jade was a partner of hers.

“Understood, but I have no intention of hurting her. Ever. I have spent a great deal of time and energy protecting Starla Patrick and I will keep doing so until the day I die.”

“Says the man who abandoned her fifteen years ago.”

“You can’t honestly tell me you’d have had me stay here and—”

“Don’t you fucking even, doc. She was a child. You were an adult. You had a responsibility to her that you abdicated because you couldn’t control your dick.”

It’s a shock to the system to hear it put so baldly though I’ve berated myself for the same reason for years upon years. I open my mouth but Jade shakes her head.

“Yes, Starla told me about your conversation but honestly it wasn’t news to me. Just a confirmation of my suspicions of why you left. So you want to know what I would’ve had you do if it had been up to me? I would’ve had you do anything you needed to remain professional and care for her like you were obligated to. She literally could’ve died. Did you think about that? Because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, you self-centered, oversexed, woe-is-me asshole with a fucking Lolita complex. Fuck you.”

Starla stirs in my arms and the feel of her anchors me. I’d like Jade’s approval because Starla clearly respects the woman a great deal. But I don’t know that there’s anything I could say to convince her I’m not a terrible person. She’s right, and I need to live with that.

“I worried about her every day. I thought about her all the time. And you’re right. If I were a better man, a stronger man, then I would have been able to shut down every inappropriate feeling I had for her. I like to think that if I’d stayed, nothing would’ve happened. But the only way I felt certain I could guarantee that was to leave. It’s not an excuse. It’s entirely my fault. If there were some way I could make it up to her, I would. The best I can do now is to love her and try to figure out how we can make this work now that we’re both adults and we still have these feelings for each other. It won’t be easy, but I’m not going anywhere. Not unless she tells me to. I swear on my life.”

Jade stares at me, looking as though she wants to cut off my bollocks, stuff them in my mouth, and then cut off my head. She doesn’t trust me and, if our positions were reversed, I can’t say I’d trust her either. But the only way to earn those stripes is to do your time. Put in the work. Show up every day and prove that you’re not a leaf in the wind, but a tree with roots grown deep. That I will shelter Starla as well as I can while trying not to stifle or suffocate her.

In response to my promise, Jade shrugs.

“Look, Starla’s a big girl and she makes her own choices. She’s choosing you. And I hope for her sake that she’s choosing well. And if she hasn’t, I’ll be here to clean up the mess you doubtless will have made on your way out. Again.”

Chapter 25

Starla

Last weekendwith Jade went well. Like,reallywell. And when we went back to Lowry’s apartment, we had some of the best sex I’ve ever had, oh yes, we did. Tonight, Lowry’s coming to pick me up and take me out for a late dinner. Late not because either of us had a late meeting or anything, but because we’re going to play before we go out.

Yes, sometimes it’s fun to squirm with anticipation through a meal, but sometimes it’s equally as fun to have to sit on your freshly spanked ass at a really nice restaurant and have your daddy offer you bites of food from his plate. To anyone else, it would probably look like a well-off couple—with, yeah, a bit of an age gap—having a romantic dinner, but nothing scandalous. Nothing kinky. Certainly not anything that’s making you wet under the freshly pressed table cloth because you’re wearing frilly panties that not only make you feel little but also create added friction against the tender flesh of your bottom where your daddy left bruises and welts. Yeah, we’ll probably fuck when we get home too.

Home.

I love my tiny apartment. Have always loved it. And Lowry has never said a word against it—I think after we talked about it he understands why I live here in addition to respecting that decision. It’s not his to make, it’s mine, so that’s how it should be.

But I can’t help but feel when he’s been here for a while that perhaps I should move. Maybe to a bigger unit in the same building, even? My studio feels small when he’s here. And not because he’s one of those dickhead manspreaders who take up three seats on the T. It’s felt more that way recently than when he first used to come. Perhaps because he stays for longer these days. Perhaps because in the back of my head, I can picture him staying for longer still. Like maybe even forever?

That’s a dangerous thought and it’s not as though we’ve talked about it, but I also have a hard time imagining what my future would be like without him. That path is cloudy now, fogged with uncertainty and improbability, whereas when I think of being with Lowry, that version of the future is clear. Sharp, even. So sharp it threatens to cut the vulnerable and paranoid part of me that is still so very certain he is going to abandon me again because although the reason for him leaving in the first place is no longer relevant, my brain can be a total asshole.

But if—if—he were to be a permanent fixture…I don’t think we could live here. Part of me wonders if I’d finally be able to face living at my father’s house, but that wouldn’t be fair to Lowry. If I can’t manage that, why should he? He has a busy and important job he won’t want to give up, and I don’t know that he’d want to spend his leftover energy dealing with an estate. God knows I choose not to allocate my spoons that way.

No use dwelling on that at the moment—or ever, but let’s be real, it’s going to happen. But it doesn’t have to happen right when I’m expecting Lowry to show up at any moment. I had a full day and maybe pushed myself a bit further than normal dealing with business shit, winding myself up into a coil of tension knowing I would have Lowry to unwind me…or flat-out shatter me because he’s good at both of those things. He’ll be here soon—oh, so soon—and I am freshly ready for him.

I’m wearing one of the dresses I ordered recently, finally brave enough to do it. My heart is racing some, though not a full-out sprint of panic. The picked-up cadence is a jog of anxiety plus a skip of embarrassment. I hope Lowry thinks I look darling with my long sleeves and short skirt that puffs out and makes a really nice twirl when I spin around. Will he be enchanted when I show him or will he think he’s made a mistake? That he wasn’t expecting this to be a thing. Not for-realsies, as a pillar of what makes usus,and not simply a once-in-a-while element to spice things up. I don’t know, and I have to sit on the couch and reach down to fiddle with the buckles on my black patent leather Mary Janes, make sure the lace tops of my socks are folded down just so.

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