Dominating Amy (4 page)

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re not supposed to right away. Your job is to find out what to do. You can’t know what she really needs until you convince her to talk to you. You have good instincts, though. She sees in you everything she wants. Trust yourself enough to consider exploring the parts of yourself you’re not comfortable with.”

Latent drives were what worried him. Mac swore beneath his breath. Amy had wanted to talk and he’d shut her up. What if that was his only chance? Outside, the rain continued to pound the pavement, a wet curtain standing between him and Amy. He opened his mouth to end the call but Elizabeth spoke first.

“Listen, she’s taken a huge step opening up this much to you. The next step is yours. If you want to walk away, if you can’t deal with a wife who needs to surrender control, you should tell her that. If you want to try to be what she needs, explain to her you’re willing to try but you need time to learn. And you can learn. If you decide you want to, I’ll arrange for you to meet with an experienced dominant
who
can answer questions and guide you.

“You have to go and tell her something, though. She’s okay right now, but she’s stripped off all her clothes and planted herself in front of you, naked and vulnerable, and she’s in a scary place. The longer she’s alone, the more frightened she’ll get. Go home, Mac. Don’t torment my friend with silence.”

He swallowed. “Okay.”

“Call me if you need anything.
Advice, or…anything.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Amy eventually stopped watching the door and reaching for the telephone. She showered so she could pretend she wasn’t crying, but she couldn’t trick herself…and she couldn’t fool Mac anymore, either. Now he knew, too -- she wasn’t the same woman he married.

He wouldn’t have betrayed her by marching her out in the middle of the street and calling her on her ability to love him. She’d committed a grievous wrong by doing that to him. Needles of water dashed over her skin, punishing her for such vast stupidity.

The bathroom door opened, interrupting her self-pity.
The shower curtain swayed close and sucked against her skin.

“Do you still love me?” he asked.

Yes
caught in her throat. She struggled to force the word to her lips. Why was it so hard? What if she said yes and he didn’t love her anymore? Then what defense would she have? Silent moments slipped through her fingers like soapy water, escaping and swirling down the drain. The bathroom door closed and for a single, terrifying moment, she thought he’d given up and gone away.

“You have to answer me, even if the answer hurts.” He paused, and asked, “Do you?
Yes or no.”

She pulled the curtain back a few inches. Mac’s reflection in the steamed up mirror was only a blur, devoid of facial features or texture or color. His hand came out of nowhere, folding over hers. The simple touch shook “Yes” past the block in her throat. She said it again to be sure.

“Yes. I still love you.”

Mac blew out a breath she could hear, even over the patter of water on the shower tiles. His relief gave her anxiety permission to pull back. The tight knot in her stomach eased. Only for a minute though.

“The night at Elizabeth’s wasn’t the beginning. When did this start?”

“I don’t—”

He cut her off. “You didn’t change overnight.
When?”

“The job I took as a figure model for that summer art retreat.” She squeezed her sponge hard. Rivulets of soap slid from her wrist to her elbow, silky and softer than her confession. “I liked being watched. People studied me, criticized me,
drew
me into the body they saw.”

“Jesus, Amy. Fuck. That was more than five years ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say? I changed almost overnight. I didn’t know what it meant until later.” She exhaled. “Mac, your hand is cold as ice,” she said. “There’s still hot water. Do you want the rest of it?”

He pulled the curtain back, removing her plastic wall of defense. She shrank up to the wall, covering her chest. Mac was a mess. Rain plastered his hair into a dark, dripping cap. “You want people to look at you?”

Breathing was difficult. Amy mustered a small affirmative squeak.

“Fine.”
He released the third and fourth buttons, baring his hard chest, the dark, soft swirls of hair she loved to touch. Cloth parted down to his navel and he pulled the tails from his pants. Inches lower, his cock once again strained at his fly, the round shape of the head unmistakable. He lowered his zipper. “I never had any problems with looking at you. Don’t hide yourself from me again.
Unless you want to be seen by everybody except me?”

He stared pointedly at her shielded chest. Half-numb, Amy slowly uncrossed her arms. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, or, for that matter, her body’s responses. He had never stripped her of every single hiding place before now.

“What are you thinking?” she ventured.

Mac didn’t answer. He peeled the sodden shirt from his shoulders and dropped it in the sink. His pants followed and he climbed into the tub, pulling the curtain into place.

His erection reached her first, hot and heavy as it nuzzled the cleft between her thighs. He ducked his head, burying his face against her throat and biting. Amy threaded her fingers through his hair until he grasped her wrists and stretched her arms wide, pinning her hands to the shower tile. She rose on tiptoe and rocked forward, desperate for contact with him.
“
Mac
.”

“What am I thinking? I’m trying to figure out what you want,” he said roughly. The beginnings of a beard scraped her skin. Amy rubbed her cheek along his jaw, imagined the abrasive sensation against the rim of her vagina. Her knees weakened.

“I want you to make me come.”

He thrust between her legs, not penetrating. “That’s what you want right now?”

She squirmed, grinding her pelvis against his. The base of his cock lodged up against her clit. A bolt of pleasure arrowed north, split and targeted her nipples. Amy arched her back, seeking the sensation of his curling hair and wet skin. “Please, yes.”

“You can’t have that yet.” He licked the spot behind her ear. “Ask me for something else.”

Amy hitched her knee high, straining for closer contact.
Penetration.
Mac lifted her arms above her head and braced her wrists with one hand. He grasped her knee with the other and shoved it down. “Amy, look at me and ask for what you want.”

Breathing hard, she forced her eyes open and blinked rapidly in the spray of water. Mac’s face was centimeters from hers, his eyes dark and intent.
So close the tip of her tongue caressed his lips when she licked hers.
This was it. What she’d wanted from him. Control and insistence she recognize his power.
His attention, his selfishness.
The water began to lose its heat but her body didn’t. She swallowed, flushed and hot, and said, “Will you fuck me, Mac?”

He surged between her legs, riding the slick valley but still holding back. “That’s not all you want. Tell me the damned truth.”

She curled her hands into fists above her head. “God, Mac. I want you to make me feel like I belong to you. Like you want the world to know I belong to you.”

He ducked his head, but not before she saw the surprise in his eyes. He released her hands, cupped her ass and lifted her. The grout between the tiles, jagged in places, scraped her shoulders as he slid her up the wall. Amy reflexively wrapped her arms around his neck and spread her legs.

“There’s no way I can be gentle with you right now,” he muttered.

Her eyes closed against the deluge of water raining over them and she rocked her head back against the wall. Gentle or brutal didn’t matter; she exulted in the physical contact, the solid assurance he still wanted her. She hiked her legs up high around his waist and dug her heels against the small of his back, ensuring he couldn’t rescind his claim. 

He pumped hard and fast, shoving her into the wall, his fingertips digging painfully into her hips. Amy worked one hand between their bodies. Her fingertips slipped over her clit and a tiny shock of climax jolted through her limbs. Mac bit her shoulder, punishing, hard. “No. Not until I say so.”

 Wild with want, desperate to please him, she balled her hand into a fist. Mac drove into her another half dozen times and growled “Mine” in her ear as he came. After, with the water pounding cold over their heads and Amy trembling in his arms, he whispered, “I love you.”

Twice wasn’t enough. His cock stirred again, rising against her thigh. Even the chill that had set into her skin didn’t diminish the drive to fill her again. He kissed the side of her neck, her cheek, and turned off the water. He ignored the urge to take her a third time, still conscious of the fact he’d selfishly denied her climax. This soon after breaking abstinence, despite coming twice, he wasn’t certain he’d be generous enough to focus on her. Amy didn’t need further stimulation, anyway, if her jumping pulse and jittery hands were any indication. The shell-shocked look in her eyes worried him even as her fragility turned him on.  Her vulnerability shouldn’t arouse him.

“Come dry off.” He dragged a towel off the rack hanging over the laundry hamper and rubbed it over her shoulders.

Amy drew a corner of the towel up to dry her face and ears. He started to scrub at her hair and hesitated.
“How long until the dye fades?”

“Not long.
A week.
It’s temporary.”

“Good. Don’t do it again. It doesn’t look like you.”

She lowered her eyes. “I won’t.”

He dried her hair and drew her from the tub, carefully blotting the water from her legs and feet.

“Can I have my robe?”

Mac hesitated, remembering the way she’d covered herself in the shower. Looking up the line of her body, he met her eyes. “Do you want it because you’re cold or because you’re naked?”

She frowned, relieving his worry she was retreating from him. A frown was a sign of emotion, something besides meek surrender.

“I’m cold because I’m naked,” she said.

Mac straightened and dried himself with the damp towel. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Then I don’t understand the question.”

“Do you want to be warm, or do you want to be covered up so I can’t see you?”

She bit her lip, which was answer enough for him. Mac dropped his towel on the floor, pulled her purple bathrobe off its hook, took her hand, and led her into the kitchen.

“Throw it away.” He pushed the bundle of cloth into her hands. “Turn up the heat if you get cold, but you won’t wear clothes when we are alone in our home. If you want to be seen, I’ll see you.”

Her breath quickened and her chest flushed pink. She shook as she obeyed him and discarded the robe.

“You hide from me too much.” He caressed the curve of her back, stroking from her nape to her hips as she bent over the trashcan. “I don’t want to play hide and seek. I want to reach out and find you where you’re supposed to be.”

She struggled with figuring out how to hold
herself
after she straightened. Mac watched silently as she folded her arms across her chest only to realize what she’d done and drop them to her sides. She laced her fingers together below her navel and aborted that in the next motion. Distress pulled at her mouth and struck him with the force of a direct hit.

“You can always hide behind me if you really need to hide,” he reminded her, trying to make the words gentle, to hide the pain of knowing she needed a reminder.
“Just no more hiding
from
me.”

“Will you hold me?”

Her voice was so small he ached.
“If you come to me.”

She moved, leaning into him chest to thigh. He tried to adjust himself so he didn’t jab her with his persistent erection and hugged her close. Her soap drew him into its clean, floral bouquet. He cradled the back of her head, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. Christ, he’d missed the weight and curve of her body.

“Now what?”
The question kissed his skin.

He shivered. “Now we figure out what’s gone wrong, and work on making it better.”

“What if it takes too long?”

“I promised you forever. “ He squeezed her briefly, then turned her around and nudged her toward the bedroom. “Do you want the heat up?”

Amy paused at the thermostat on the wall between the kitchen and the bedroom, and shook her head. She eased back half a step until the head of his cock rubbed her hip, and looked back at him, over her shoulder. “I’m not cold anymore.” 

Indecision caught and held him fast. He wanted her, but he didn’t want their relationship to turn from sexless to sex-based. Besides, the direct approach wasn’t in character for his wife. She didn’t initiate. She gave little signs, hugged and cuddled, but she didn’t turn around and rub up against his dick and say “do me,” even in a subtle fashion. Unless he read her wrong, though, that’s exactly what she had just done. The change in her was too fast, too abrupt. A single instance of taking charge and forcing her to talk to him couldn’t have spurred that kind of a transformation.

Uncertainty cooled his arousal; his energy faded along with his erection. Between his shift, Amy’s session, and everything after, he’d been awake too long. The fingernail of sky visible between the kitchen curtains attested to the passage of time. It wasn’t storm-dark anymore. True dark had taken over.

He took too long to respond. Amy ducked her head and half-turned toward their bedroom, wringing her hands.
Shit
. He didn’t want to make a poor judgment call and lose her again. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t know how to proceed anyway.

Amy’s stomach rumbled.

“I’m too tired and you’re hungry,” he said by way of rejecting her offer. “Call in something for delivery and come lie down with me.”

She missed a beat responding, probably because she hadn’t expected to be turned down. He wrapped his arm around her waist and cupped her breast possessively. “Do you have any jobs scheduled tomorrow?”

“Nothing yet.
It’s my day to be on call at the agency.”

“Cancel your day. You’re
mine
tomorrow, and I don’t feel like sharing.”

“Are you going to work tonight?”

“Night off.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” Her shoulders hunched, a certain sign of shame.

“We haven’t paid attention for a long time.”

She jerked a nod, blinking rapidly.
Tears.

“Don’t cry.” He kissed her ear and let her go. “I feel like Mexican.”

He left her to take care of dinner and her phone calls, and switched directions to the laundry room. All his clothes were in baskets near the dryer these days, a symbolic material separation. He gathered an armload of underwear and t-shirts and took them back to the bedroom, determined to reclaim his half of the bureau.

Amy’s voice murmured in the other room. He was tempted to boot her laptop and do a quick internet search for advice on handling a submissive woman outside the context of fetish sex, but good sense told him to put it off until a less emotionally-charged time. Instinct would have to do. In the meantime, he wasn’t entirely ignorant. He at least had his parents as examples in how not to behave.

As an attempt to keep his libido in check, he pulled on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. When she padded into the room, damp pink hair curling around her ears and pale little nipples hard, he was glad he’d had the forethought to cover himself. Horniness was giving his good sense a run for its money.

“Forty-five minutes.” She worried her lip. “I hope shrimp is alright. I didn’t know what you had yesterday. Did you have seafood?”

“No. Shrimp is fine. Come here.”

Amy inched closer. “Can I ask a question?”

Mac spread his knees and drew her between his legs. The flannel definitely wasn’t helping. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you want to have sex again?” Her hands fluttered to rest on his shoulders.

“Because I don’t know what to do for you.”
He leaned in, resting his forehead above her navel, breathing in the scent of her skin. “I haven’t known for a long time.”