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Yes, he’d had to go on vacation. Not the best time, but it’d been scheduled for months, and it wasn’t like he could tell his wife sorry, I have to stay behind because my girlfriend’s upset. And work had been crazy right up until he’d had to leave, so he hadn’t had any time to spend with her.

And then since he’d returned two days earlier, he’d barely gotten two words out of her via text. Yes, he was worried about her. He knew she’d taken the death of her grandfather hard—who wouldn’t? And it’d happened just a couple of days before he left town for two weeks.

But she had her husband and family there by her side. She wasn’t alone.

She didn’t need him.

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

And tonight when he’d asked her if she wanted to go to the club, she’d said no. He’d agreed to meet a couple of friends over there, then the passive aggression started. She wouldn’t come right out and ask him to come over.

Finally, knowing the only way to kick her out of this damn cycle was to confront her, he’d angrily agreed to come over.

He’d given her his orders—to be waiting, naked, collared, and cuffed, kneeling on the floor when he walked in.

He’d fucking beat this attitude out of her. Well, not beat it out of her, but maybe derail whatever bad track her brain had settled into enough they could have a productive conversation on the other side of it.

When he slammed his car into park, he shoved the car door open and got out, slamming it behind him. He yanked his implement bag out of the trunk, and slammed it shut, too.

She’s going to have a fucking black and blue ass to remember this night by.

The front door was unlocked. Her husband was already in bed and didn’t care what they did out in the living room. How the poor bastard tolerated her when she got this pissy, he didn’t know. He must just knuckle under and put up with it.

There she was, exactly as he’d ordered. Only…

He pulled up short in the doorway. She was already sobbing, her entire body shaking. She never cried before their scenes.

The only time she ever sobbed like this…

He closed the door and set down the implement bag, hurrying over to her, kneeling down in front of her. “Pet?”

He’d read about, but had never actually heard, a keening wail before.

Now he knew exactly what one sounded like, because as he had to physically peel her up off the floor and sit on the couch with her balled up in his lap, that’s exactly what she did. Wordless, painful sobs wracked her. Her mind wasn’t there. She’d already gone to wherever it was his beatings took her when she needed a cathartic cry.

Cries she could usually only achieve with a helluva lot of pain being applied first.

I’m an idiot.

He should have recognized it. It wasn’t something that had come up in a while, her inability to process grief. He’d seen her make such magnificent strides during their time together that he’d naturally assumed she’d be okay.

The refusal to admit just how badly she was doing. Her brave and futile attempt to hold everything together, to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Eventually, it had to fall apart.

Normally, she only fell apart with him, confident he had the strength to pick her back up and fit her pieces together again. A role he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, sometimes worrying she placed more faith in his abilities than he had in himself.

Through her sobs, she was trying to whisper something.

“I can’t understand you, pet,” he gently said.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she managed before breaking down again.

“No, it’s okay. I’m the one who’s sorry, pet. I thought you’d be okay. I didn’t know how bad off you were. I should have known.”

This resulted in renewed tears.

It took her the better part of an hour to cry herself out in his lap. He waited on her, not moving, not rushing, knowing if she didn’t get through it, it would only pop up again worse later. She had a pattern. One he’d fucked up by not thinking about sooner, but a pattern nonetheless. She held onto her pain until she could safely let it go with him.

While they each loved their spouses and didn’t want to ever leave them, while they clicked on fundamental levels with each other, this was the downside to poly. He couldn’t be there every time she needed him. It wasn’t as bad for him, because he could easily hold in his submissive side and needs as long as he had to, or get masochistic fixes in other ways.

She couldn’t.

When she lay hollow and still in his lap, softly sniffling, he laced fingers with her. “Better?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she repeated.

“No, it’s okay.”

“Did you want to beat me now?”

He shook his head. “No, pet. I’d rather just snuggle here with you, I think.”

She sniffled, a hitching, hiccuping breath. “But I earned it,” she said.

“No, you didn’t. I was angry. I wasn’t recognizing what you were going through. That’s my fault.” He gently squeezed her hand. “I should have known better and tried to make time for you before I left.”

“I was trying to be strong and not bother You while you were gone,” she said.

He hadn’t taken it that way. He’d taken it as silence because she was upset at him.

Dumb damn Dom.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to come over tonight, pet?”

“Because you sounded like you wanted to go to the club. I didn’t want to stop you from going because that’s what you said you wanted to do and I knew I couldn’t go the way I am right now.”

He successfully choked back
that
aggravated sigh. “You do realize most of these triggers happen when you try to take matters into your own hands and be Toppy instead of just leaning on me and telling me what’s going on so I can help you through it, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He stroked her hair. “Okay, new rule, pet. This is our default mode from now on. No flipping into toppy Ma’am mode unless you’ve asked permission first. No more trying to deal with things alone because you think it’s best. You bring everything to me from now on and let me be the judge of how we handle it. Understand?”

Her tension melted away, her body relaxing in his lap. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

Reaching up to her neck, he hooked a finger through her chain collar, the tag warm against his palm. The links clicked together as he gently tugged on it. “This is there for a reason,” he said. “I’m always with you, even when I’m not. Don’t ever forget that. Just like you’re always with me, the key on my keyring. It’s always with me, always in my pocket or right there in front of me when I’m driving.”

She nodded.

He leaned in and kissed her. “Now how about I get more comfortable and we’ll snuggle and play a little and then watch some TV?”

She nodded.

It was several hours later before he said good night and headed out to his car. Yes, he still felt somewhat guilty, but it had, at least, been productive. They clicked together so well most of the time that when they hit a wall, it was usually a spectacular collision, and not of the good kind.

But now he knew her just a little better than he had. They’d made progress. She’d worked her way through another emotional situation, and now had a different coping skill to use.

They didn’t repeat too many of the same mistakes twice.

As he loaded his implement bag and climbed behind the wheel, he found her key on his ring. Hard to miss, being right next to the ignition key for his car.

Yep, it would always stay right there. Right where he would know it was safe, even if not in his direct line of sight at the time. Much like her in his life.

* * * *

She waited until his taillights disappeared down the street to shut off the outside light. The front door was locked, and now she’d have to go slip into bed.

It felt like a boulder had been shoved off her shoulders. One way, one place in her life where she could fully let go and not have to be the decision maker, the one who called the shots. The one responsible for everything.

Where she could give up control and just…be.

She slid into bed and her husband awoke just enough to roll over and drape an arm around her waist. “Better?” he mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“Good. No offense, you’ve been a royal bitch. I’m glad he’s back in town.” Almost immediately, he fell asleep again.

No, she got it. When she bottled up the bad stuff inside her, it had to spill over somehow.

If she could let it spill over with Sir, that was always the best. Her husband had learned to hunker down and try to stay out of her way until she could get it out of her system, usually with a good beating.

Unfortunately, life had gotten in the way.

And she
had
been a royal bitch.

As she closed her eyes, she reached up and felt her tag. Peace settled over her.

Thank You, Sir.

THE END

WWW.TYMBERDALTON.COM

Tymber Dalton lives in the Tampa Bay region of Florida with her husband (aka “The World’s Best Husband™”) and too many pets. Active in the BDSM lifestyle, the two-time EPIC winner is also the bestselling author of over seventy-five books, including
The Reluctant Dom
,
The Denim Dom
,
Cardinal’s Rule
, the Suncoast Society series, the Love Slave for Two series, the Triple Trouble series, the Coffeeshop Coven series, the Good Will Ghost Hunting series, the Drunk Monkeys series, and many more.

She loves to hear from readers! Please feel free to drop by her website and sign up for updates to keep abreast of the latest news, views, snarkage, and releases.

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