Who was he kidding? That wasn’t the issue here. They’d been falling in love with each other even before BDSM had entered the equation, whether or not either one of them had been willing to admit it.
No, the problem was him. He’d plucked a BDSM virgin, cockily assuming he’d be the one to claim, tame and teach her to be the slave girl he’d always been so sure was a requirement for his fulfillment as a Dom. Instead of tuning in better to her needs, he pushed his own agenda, with disastrous results.
And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t risen to every challenge to the best of her ability. She was brave, strong and genuinely submissive when handled properly. But he’d fucked it up.
And damn it, he wanted to fix it. Now.
At the same time, he had to respect her request to give her some time and space to figure out her own heart. Through it all, she’d taken his hand, trusting him at every turn. Now he needed to accord her the same trust, no matter where the chips eventually landed.
As hard as it was for him both as a Dom and as a man to restrain himself from leaping in to make things better, he owed her that.
The day had been pleasant and mild, a nice change after all that snow and wind. He decided to leave his car in the Masters Club garage and take a walk around Washington Square before the sun went down. It occurred to him that he was hungry. Maybe he’d grab a couple of hotdogs if the vendors were out.
Just as he stepped outside, his phone dinged. Refusing to get his hopes up, he fished it out of his pocket and tapped the screen.
Hi.
Dahlia! Heart in his throat, he waited, in case she was sending more. When the screen remained blank, he texted back.
Hi. How are you?
This time the wavy dots appeared right away, indicating she was responding.
Okay, I guess. I was wondering if maybe you were available to get a coffee or maybe a glass of wine or something?
He let out a huge breath of relief.
Absolutely. When and where?
There’s a little wine bar near my place. They have coffee, too.
Sounds perfect.
She texted the details, and they agreed to meet in twenty minutes. Hayden loped back to the garage, his spirits lifting for the first time since she’d run away. Even if she was meeting in order to finalize a break up, it was better than this horrible limbo.
When Hayden entered the wine bar, he saw Dahlia already seated at a small table near the back, a glass of wine in front of her. She hadn’t seen him yet. He briefly considered stopping at the bar to order a bottle of beer, but his feet were already carrying him straight to her.
She looked up as he approached and gave a small wave. It took every bit of willpower he possessed not to swoop her out of that chair and into his arms. Instead, he slung his jacket over the back of the chair across from her and took a seat.
“Hey,” he said, trying to go for cool but unable to contain his grin. Just seeing her again made his heart float up like a balloon.
“Hey,” she replied softly, a shy, nervous smile lifting her lips.
“You okay?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know, to tell you the truth.” She stared down at her lap.
Don’t panic. Listen and be calm.
When she didn’t continue, he decided to take the lead. “I’m really glad you reached out, Dahlia. You have no idea how bad I wanted to. But I totally get that you needed some space.”
She nodded and then looked up, finally meeting his eye. “I feel bad about the way I ran away. I was half afraid you wouldn’t even want to see me again, even to talk. So, thank you for that. This has been really tough, Hayden. And I…I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too, you,” he said softly.
She made a quizzical face, as if trying to parse out the grammar of his sentence. Then she smiled, a little less tentatively this time.
They sat in silence for several long moments.
Eventually, Hayden said, “I’m sorry I made you feel unsafe. I guess I…got carried away by the moment.”
He wanted to add more—to explain himself better, to make excuses, to somehow right whatever was wrong. But the words wouldn’t come. He wasn’t a man used to apologizing—for anything.
She looked up, something flickering in her eyes. He wanted to think it was hope. Perhaps forgiveness. But it was gone too quickly for him to be sure.
“I appreciate that,” she finally said. “But you were doing what a Master does. Training, teaching, taking control.”
“The very first thing a Master needs to do is make sure his sub feels safe. You didn’t. My fault. End of story.”