Page 11 of Collision of Winters
Don’t fucking act like a sub around him.
Stupid, stupid!
“Don’t you miss music?” I huffed and puffed as I carried in more firewood.
The woodshed behind the cabin hadsomuch, but it needed to get indoors so it could dry properly.
“I do,” he conceded. “But it’s good to take a break from all that from time to time. We don’t even notice how much information we force our brains to process when we’re surrounded by social media, movies, TV shows, music, phone calls, meetings—hell, just walking down the street.”
I chewed on my lip. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense. I got overwhelmed fairly easily, and I could have the biggest headaches at the end of the day. But I wanted to exclude music from that list!
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to get you up here,” he admitted. “I checked your Facebook for a few weeks before you were arrested, and it worried me. You seemed lost—all while you were constantly out and about doing things. Parties, bar nights, kink events, arguing online, switching jobs—” He turned to me as we reached the porch steps. “You went through three jobs in five weeks. How’s that even possible?”
Well, crappity crap.
I squinted up at him and played things off with a shrug. “Rent’s due every month. If someone gets fired, they gotta find a new job.”
He smiled wryly.
I didn’t like this conversation anymore.
I hurried up the steps and got the door open with a twist and a shoulder-check.
Also, good thing I wasn’t much for posting photos online. I mean, Wade and I were fairly open about having kink in common; we could speak about it in general terms, but it was best to draw the line there. Rationally, I understood this. No matter how curious I sometimes got about his experiences and preferences.
I knew he was a Dom, and he definitely had Daddy tendencies, but that was about it.
In turn, he knew I was submissive—and that I hadn’t gotten the chance to explore submission in a proper relationship. I’d complained about it once or twice—that it was difficult to find someone for long-term dynamics.
After kicking off my boots, I went over to the fireplace with my hopefully last pile of wood. We had enough to last us several days now.
Speaking of kink, I did have a question for him. Something I’d been mulling over for months, if not longer.
“May I ask you a kink-related question?”
His eyes flicked with a bit of surprise, but he nodded, nonetheless. “Of course.”
Okay, so I had to phrase myself carefully here. “It goes without saying that BDSM shouldn’t be used as therapy,” I said. “But don’t you think a certain lifestyle can sort ofreplacethe need to talk to someone professionally, as you put it?” I removed the gloves I’d borrowed and shrugged out of my jacket. “For instance, the whole reason I feel out of sorts—or the biggest reason anyway—is because I lack the structure I would get in a D/s dynamic.”
He nodded slowly, brows furrowed. “I’m listening.”
“Basically, my brain feels fried most of the time, and I get worked up over nothing,” I explained. “Because I don’t have that factor that grounds me. If that makes sense. So, in short, yeah, I can see why you and Chris would want me to talk to someone, but at the same time, I know how to fix it. I know what’s wrong. Just like some people feel like they can’t find happiness without getting married, without having kids, without expressing their identity,Ican’t find that calm without a Dom.”
The furrow between his brows deepened, and he followed my lead when I left my gloves and jacket on the hanger by the door.
“Take Kate, for instance,” I went on. She was one of the women Yaya had taken in. “She worked her way up from nothing, but something was always missing. Until she met Dave. That’s kind of where I’m at, only Kate achieved way more in her career. I’m getting by on dead-end jobs.”
The furrow between Wade’s brows deepened, and he leaned back against the counter. “I didn’t know D/s was that essential to you.”
I wished itweren’t.
“I’ve tried vanilla relationships, and it’s just not the same.” I went to the kitchen to pour him a cup of coffee. “I’m not saying it has to be a twenty-four-seven lifestyle with a bunch of protocol. I’m not that heavy into it. Just a…”
“A grounding factor,” he murmured, accepting the mug.
“Exactly.” I nodded. “Also, asking a vanilla boyfriend for a beating or being forced to do things in general rarely goes over well.”
He coughed into the mug.
