Chapter 10

I hadn't dated in a long time, minimum three years. When I had landed the promotion at Regional Bank, I dove into my work, determined no one would regret giving me the opportunity of CEO at such a young age. I'd been with them since I graduated from the University of North Carolina and then completed my MBA at the University of South Carolina while working. Needless to say, I had spent over fifteen years of my life invested in the company. Men, other than those who held clout in the banking industry, hadn't been on my radar-they were just a distraction I wasn't interested in entertaining. I had never longed for the white picket fence or the family with a dog-certainly not the two point three kids and the minivan. My goals had always centered on my career.

My head was all over the place these days. I needed to be at work-I was good at it. That was what I was programmed to do. But for the first time in my life, I wondered what I was missing by living and breathing the business world. I hadn't been in a serious relationship in over a decade, and until now, that hadn't bothered me; yet sitting here in Dax's lap, I felt like a clueless teenager and suddenly timid.

"Relax, kitten." He eased me into his chest, but I was still stiff and the cast on my arm made things even more awkward.

I could accept comfort from him when distress or panic was involved, but I struggled with it on a normal basis.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The infamous lie from a woman.

He pulled back to see my eyes. "Cam." He drew out my name, warning me to be honest with him.

"I don't know, Dax. I don't know how to do this."

"Don't know how to do what?"

"Be with someone. I mean I don't even know if that's what you want. You claimed me as yours, but what does that mean? You said I was your responsibility-that's not a ringing endorsement, more like a liability. I'm lost when I'm not calling the shots," I rambled, and he smirked-apparently, he enjoyed my discomfort.

"You're my responsibility because you're mine. That's not a burden; it's a privilege. And when you trust me and put your faith in me to provide for you-in every way-it becomes an honor. I want all of you. I know you aren't there yet, I know you aren't ready to trust, and you aren't ready for anything physical, but I'm patient. I'll wait, but once you submit, there won't be any turning back from me."

"I do trust you!"

"No, you don't, and you shouldn't after what you've been through."

"That's not true. You're the only person I can let near me, the only person who doesn't freak me out when touching me. I'm living in your house."

"Right now, you need a comfort I give you that no one else does, but you don't trust me, not one hundred percent-but I promise, you will."

"You want me to submit to you. Are you into that?"

"Do you mean am I into BDSM? The lifestyle?"

I nodded, almost afraid of his answer yet craving a yes.

"Not the one commercialized in the last couple years, at least not anymore. But yes, I'm very dominant, and you're very submissive."

"What do you mean anymore? And why do you keep saying I'm submissive? You know I'm a control freak."

"I was into the club scene in college; it was big in New York-in the South, not so much. When I came home, I realized it wasn't the bondage, the spanking, or the toys that drew me to the dynamic, but the need for a woman to trust me to care for her. Submission is not about being weak, Cam-it's the ultimate position of power. The submissive has all the control. I want you to trust me to always push your boundaries but never take you further than you can go."

"So, you just mean sexually?"

"No, not just sexually, and for us, that won't come for a while. I want you to be free to be whoever you are outside of our home, but inside, inside the boundaries of our relationship, I want you to submit to me in every way-not question my judgment, to know everything I say or do will be to make us better."

"I'm sure I sound daft, but I really don't understand. What do you want from me? Is this a relationship of convenience? Would you expect me to call you Sir or Master?"

"When we are together sexually, yes, I will insist you call me Sir, but I don't have any desire to be your Master. Surely you know how deep my feelings are for you. But those are things that come in time, and that time will not be soon."

"But why? You don't even know me."

"I know enough. I know I waited a long time to meet you, to have an opportunity with you, for you to see past who you thought I was. I know you want this as much as I do, but you're afraid to give up control." He paused and tucked my hair behind my ear before he continued. "But if you're honest with yourself, it's the only area of your life you haven't had any control over."

He watched me, presumably waiting for a response, but I couldn't give him one that wouldn't sound lame. So instead, I got as far away from him as I physically could. Picking up my journal from the floor, I hit the couch where I proceeded to stare at a blank page for an hour when it finally dawned on me-this was my opportunity to write down what I thought, to ask all the stupid questions I wanted to purge myself of the feelings clouding my mind. And I could do it without making myself vulnerable to him.

That journal became my saving grace. Initially, I thought it was insipid-I never wanted to admit my inner thoughts or put in writing what ran through my head or happened during the day-but the words seemed to pour onto the page. Each time I presented them to Dr. Wright, she read them with a smile. Her pride in my progress drove me further. And she praised my ability to assess my feelings regarding Dax without acting on them. Other than sleeping next to him at night, he'd never made any sexual advances. I'd been meeting with her twice a week for several weeks, and I had almost filled an entire notebook.

I had heard back from both HR and the EC at the bank the day after I sent the email, granting me three months' leave, but they declined my offer to work from home so I could focus on my recovery. They had also committed to fielding inquiries and assured me there would be no public acknowledgment by Regions of the incident. I'd been distraught by the company's ability to move on without me when I received the email, but after meeting with Dr. Wright, I had conceded that they were all right, even Dax. The world wasn't going to crumble without me at the helm, and I'd trained my staff to do their jobs. I wasn't ready to be in a position of responsibility when I still had a hard time leaving the house without Dax by my side.

The first week after I'd been discharged, I'd tried to go to the grocery store to get cat food by myself. I was fine until I reached for the bag on the top shelf and bumped into a man grabbing for the same thing. It had sent me spiraling into a panic attack, and the store manager had to call Dax to pick me up. I hadn't tried again since. I worried my continuous presence would cause Dax to retreat in need of space, but he took it in stride-feeding off my need for support. And as time passed, I grew more comfortable with him and in our relationship-although it was more of a friendship. A relationship implied that one or both of us acknowledged growing emotions, and although mine were sprouting wings, I'd refused to admit them. And there had been zero intimate contact.

He knew I hadn't even begun to scratch the surface with Dr. Wright. I'd told him in a roundabout way what we'd discussed in my sessions-although, I certainly hadn't admitted the feelings I harbored for him. While he hadn't said the words, I knew until I dealt with the rape he wouldn't pursue anything beyond what we were currently doing-which consisted of kisses to my forehead or hands, hugs, and holding me at night. As much as I wanted to move beyond those things, I didn't want to deal with what had happened. I refused to think about it, much less process it, but I wanted more from him.

Glancing down at the pad in my lap, I realized I'd written down every detailed thought I felt for him, from worrying I was falling in love to craving an inappropriate touch from him. The second it dawned on me that I'd have to show this to Dr. Wright, I proceeded to rip the pages from the journal, not thinking the noise would catch Dax's attention.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just going to throw these away and start over for today." My need to reach the trash can at lightning speed destroyed my ability to act nonchalant. He followed behind me as I picked up my pace until I was in a full-blown run, tearing the pages into pieces as I stormed the kitchen.

"Cameron!" His voice boomed through the house, stopping me dead in my tracks while holding shreds of paper.

I waited for him to give me instructions I knew I'd follow, hoping they didn't include handing over my tattered notes. But sure as shit, if I thought it, he sensed it and then called me out on it. I heard him take the remaining steps toward me before he circled his arms around my waist with a reassuring squeeze. I was one step away from the trash can, I might have been able to lean into it and toss the paper. But as I tilted, he caught my hands, and my shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Explain."

"Explain what?" I asked as if I wasn't aware of exactly what he referred to.

Taking the remains of the pages in his hands, he released me and held them up in front of me. "This."

I could've kept it going, but in the end, he'd get what he wanted because I'd give it to him, wanting to please him. I had no idea when I'd become compliant, but at times like these, it was a trait I didn't find all that endearing.

"I just want to start over."

He waited for me to continue.

"I wasn't thinking about what I wrote. It was just a stream of consciousness; I don't think it even makes sense. Anyway, I don't want Dr. Wright reading it. I'd rather do it again."

"What were you writing about that you don't want to share with Shelly?"

"Can't you let this go, Dax? Please?" I didn't know why I bothered-he never gave in to my pleading.

"Not until you tell me why you don't want her to read it. You haven't had any issues with any other word you've written."

Frustrated and verging on anger at my stupidity for reacting the way I had, I blurted, "I don't want her to know how I feel about you!" I cringed as soon as the words left my lips.

"How do you feel about me, kitten?"

"Ugh...I don't know." I dropped my head to stare at the floor.

"You don't want me to know, either?"

I shook my head, still refusing to make eye contact. I wanted to run to my room-not the room I shared at night with Dax, but mine.

"I'd like to read what you wrote." His voice commanded me, and there was reverence in it but utter control as well.

I wanted to make him happy, even if it made me uncomfortable-I loved to see him smile, especially if I was the one to put the smile on his face.

"I'm going upstairs." I left him with the remains of my journal, silently giving him permission to piece them back together. I reached my room-although I spent little time there-where I had added some personal effects, primarily pictures of my friends and stored my favorite books I couldn't bear to be without. My computer hung out in there as well, but I had little need for it these days. I closed the door behind me and made myself comfortable on the bed, not intending to drift off to sleep.

Other than the first night I came here after the hospital, this was the first time I'd slept without some connection to Dax. If I napped, it was usually on the couch with him while he watched TV, and I slept in his arms in his bed at night. I had been afraid to attempt sleeping without him there to ward my demons away. When I woke, my eyes drifted to the window, amazed I'd napped peacefully on my own. But when I rolled onto my back, I about jumped out of my skin-there he sat in the chair close to the door, holding what I assumed were the reassembled pages of my journal.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

"I came up as soon as I put the puzzle back together and read it. You were already asleep. I didn't want you to have any nightmares, so I kissed you on the cheek and sat down to wait." This man had an inane amount of patience.

"You read it?" My voice trembled. He now knew my most inner thoughts-ones I hadn't shared with anyone for fear that speaking them would make them a reality, exposing me.

"Wasn't that the intention when you left them with me?" He came in here to say something, and I knew I wasn't going to like whatever it was.

"Dax, we don't have to do this, okay? Let's just pretend you never read them and keep things the way they are."

"Are you kidding me?" He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "You want me to pretend I didn't read this?" The crumpled papers shook in his hands.

I shrugged. It seemed logical to me.

"Cam, baby, I can't come back from this-I don't want to. What I want is to talk about what we need to do to get you to a point where we can move forward...together."

"Dax, you don't have to do this. You don't have to pretend you feel the same things to protect me or keep from hurting my feelings."

He stood, dropping the paper on the chair, coming to the bed. Sitting next to me, he pulled me across his lap. My uncertainty refused to allow me to soften, preparing for the unknown. He wrapped his arm around me using one hand to turn my head. He watched my eyes for warning signs and proceeded cautiously, but when his lips meet mine, my eyes closed. He cupped my jaw softly with one hand while carefully invading my space. He didn't part my lips, but the closed-mouth kiss was full of emotion. When his lips pressed against my forehead, I opened my eyes, unsure of why he'd stopped-but grateful he had.

"We need to talk about this, Cam."

"I don't want to."

"Okay, then you listen, and I'll talk. I can't tell you how many times I've read the words you wrote, memorizing them, etching them into my brain. Baby, I want all of you. I want to be buried balls-deep in you both mentally and physically. I want to taste every inch of your skin. I don't want there to be a single spot I'm not intimately familiar with. I want to please you and you to please me. I want to hold you, to share my day with you, to love you, but I need you to be whole again to do that.

"I know you don't want to face what happened, but you have to. I don't want my touch to ever be a trigger. No one has touched you intimately since then. I want to move through this slowly with someone guiding you, helping you heal without torturing you in the process. You and I can deal with our feelings for each other, and let me assure you, Cameron, I do love you, the same way you love me. I will still love you on the other side of this."

His eyes searched my face, and his fingers moved my hair aside tenderly.

"We can navigate our relationship at whatever pace you're comfortable with, but I will not touch you sexually until you can honestly tell me you have talked to Shelly about what happened that night."

The involuntary tears trickled down my cheeks.

I didn't think anyone, other than my girlfriends, had told me they loved me since my parents had died. And while he hadn't said those three little words in the magical sense, he'd admitted them. But if I were honest, I didn't know which would be more painful-not having him because I refused to face the issue at hand, or facing the issue and it destroying me.

"Sweetheart, why are you crying?"

"I can't do it, Dax. I can't talk about it. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I want to pretend it never happened and just be happy in my little bubble in your world."

"You can still be happy in your bubble in my world-although I must say, your world has collided with mine. Your friends might as well move in with us. Were you guys together this much before all of this?"

I admitted we were. We were always together. We were all single without kids. We had no reason not to be together.

"This isn't something I'm going to give in on, Cam. You either talk to Dr. Wright about it and start to heal the wound, or nothing moves forward between us. Don't get me wrong-I won't let you go, but this is going to get more and more painful for both of us." He winked at me, and it dawned on me he was as sexually frustrated as I was; he was just good at hiding it.

"Will you come with me?"

"If that'll help you get started, yes."

I called Dr. Wright with a rundown of what had happened and asked if Dax could join our next session-she had readily agreed.