"I've had my eye on it."
"You had it furnished enough that we could move in right away."
He leans back, "Feel free to change anything you want."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"It's you." The waterworks threaten again. Shit, is it the hormones? Or is it the fact that, with Saint there to lean on, I finally feel secure enough to let go of all of my fears? In its place, there's a vulnerability that is new, that threatens to overwhelm me. That seduces me to simply melt into him and let him make all of the decisions. Hell! Is this what it means to be a real submissive? To have the onus of decision-making taken away from me? And why do I like that so much?
"Hey," he tips my chin up, "what is it?"
"You're overwhelming me, Saint."
"Ah," his lips quirk. He wipes away my tears, "And?"
" I like it.
"So?"
"I'm not sure if I want to."
"But you do," he smirks.
"I do?" I frown.
"Of course, my lovely Gigi. If you'd allow yourself to relax into the moment, you'd see that this is exactly what you need."
"B...but."
"Trust me, babe."
I peer up into his eyes. Do I dare put my faith in this alphahole of a dominant male, the father of my unborn child, who's changed his entire life for me overnight?
"I do," I whisper.
"Excuse me?" he frowns.
"I do trust you, more than myself. I believe in you so much that it hurts," my voice cracks.
His nostrils flare, "Do you have any idea what it does to me to hear that from you?"
He bends in close enough for our breaths to mingle, "You're mine, Gigi." He touches his lips to mine.
His touch sinks into my blood, coils in my belly.
"Promise me one more thing?" I whisper.
"Anything." He kisses me again.
"Promise you'll see a psychologist for the flashbacks and for the...scars?"
"You mean for my self-harming?" his voice is wry.
I peer up into his face. Hope blooms in my chest. The fact that he had called it by that term... That is the first step to recovery. It won't be easy, but as long as we are together, we can overcome any challenge.
"Will you?" I prompt him.