Page 42 of Ward

We finish up at the boutique and drive back to the house. Somewhere along the way, Grace’s hand finds mine on the seat.

“Thank you, Sir,” she says quietly, so only I can hear.

I give her hand a squeeze. “You’re welcome, little one.”

At the house, Benjamin brings the spoils of our shopping spree up to Grace’s room, and Jen presents her with a gift of her own—an antique music box with a dancing ballerina that spins when the top opens.

“She’s so delicate,” Grace says, clearly touched that Jen would buy her something. “Thank you, Jen. You didn’t have to.”

“You deserve it, darling.” She hugs Grace tightly. “You’re most welcome. I’m off now, but I’ll be back in the morning. Enjoy your birthday feast.”

Grace and I take our seats at the dining table where Paolo has laid out an impressive spread. Grilled tenderloin steak with bearnaise sauce, Grace’s favorite whipped potatoes, and roasted spring vegetables and kale salad.

As soon as Paolo returns to the kitchen, I have to reach over and run my fingers through Grace’s mane. She must’ve gotten a trim at the spa’s salon this morning, because her hair is even bouncier than usual. You’d think I was touching her somewhere intimate, given the way she leans into my touch.

“Can I have my surprise now, Sir?” she asks.

I run my thumb along the edge of her jaw. “Not yet, little one. Eat your dinner.”

She picks up her fork. We eat and talk about past birthdays. How her mother promised to take her on a girls’ trip for her big one-eight. I make a mental note to surprise her with a trip before the end of the summer.

After dinner, there’s strawberry cake. Grace takes a small piece and devours it, tapping her foot against the chair leg with each bite. I eat my slice leisurely, drawing it out to the final crumb. As I lick the last of the frosting from my fork, I sense a twinge in my chest. I distill the emotion down to its core element: fear.

Fear that Grace will refuse my collar, compounded by the fear of what will happen if she accepts.

There are things she’s going to want from me that I cannot—will not—give her, and she’s going to want to know why. I won’t be able to answer honestly without confessing the damage that her patient, good, methodical Dom is capable of.

I’d just as soon cut my own heart out as tell her the devastating truth.

Of course, the irony is that I’ll end up losing her eventually anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time a submissive ended our arrangement because she wanted a sexual relationship with her Dom.

But the promise of future pain isn’t enough to dissuade me from the path I’ve chosen, the one that leads to Grace on her knees, should she choose to walk it.

I rest my fork on my plate.

“Go get ready for bed,” I say. “I’ll come to your room in a few minutes.”

She slides off her chair and walks primly into the hallway where her hurried footfalls betray her excitement. I take my time retrieving the flat, square box, wrapped in pink paper from my dresser drawer, along with a small pair of pliers.

I knock twice on Grace’s bedroom door before I enter.

My gaze finds her, seated on the edge of her bed, wearing a white lace camisole and matching shorts I haven’t seen her wear before. She must’ve gotten them today.

I point to a spot on the rug between us. “Kneel there. Palms in your lap.”

She lowers herself before me, her wide blue gaze locked on the box in my hand. I walk a slow circle around her, reaching out to capture a lock of golden hair around my finger.

“You’ve impressed me these past couple of months,” I tell her. Her chest rises, lifting her breasts. It isn’t cold in here, yet her nipples stand at attention. I imagine pinching them as I flog her breasts until they’re as pink as her cheeks are now. “Your dedication to service has far exceeded my expectations.”

She smiles. “Thank you, Sir.”

After a series of steadying breaths, I hold out her present.

“Happy birthday, little one.”

Grace takes her gift and tears the paper. Lifting the lid, she gasps as her gaze lands on the platinum O-ring, suspended on either side by delicate chains that end in a locking mechanism that’s currently open.

“Once that collar goes around your neck, it can’t be removed without damaging the chain,” I tell her. “Think carefully about whether you want to wear it, and don’t accept it unless you’re willing to dedicate yourself to me, mind and body.”

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