More than a Dare (Masters Club 4)

“The thing is…” she said slowly, but she left the sentence hanging.

“The thing is,” he prompted gently. He had to remain patient. Whatever it was she was trying to say was clearly difficult for her.

She placed both hands flat on the table. “Okay. I’m just going to say this, and hopefully you’ll figure out what I mean, since I’m barely sure myself. I met with Jess this morning for breakfast and we had a nice talk. She offered some good advice. With her help, I was able to take a step back and try to get at what was bugging me. I think I’ve figured out that it wasn’t just the cage thing that freaked me out.”

She reached for her napkin and wound it between her fingers. “I’m not saying this well. I guess.” She paused for another long moment, and then blurted in a rush, “It’s not you—it’s me.”

Oh, shit.

That particular phrase was invariably the kiss of death. It was a way for the aggrieved party to exit gracefully by claiming they were the one to blame, so sorry. But what they really meant was, I’m going to take all the blame so you can’t do anything to fix it.

He wanted to grab her then and there and put her over his knee. A good, hard spanking would set things to right.

Except that was the problem, wasn’t it? He kept assuming he knew what was good for her. But clearly he didn’t.

“What does that mean—it’s not you, it’s me?” he asked instead. “I’m the one who fucked up here. I don’t think that’s in dispute.”

“No. I’m not talking about what happened at the end there. I’m talking about a basic disconnect that I’m afraid is a dealbreaker for you. Like I said, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.” She shook her head, her smile suddenly bitter. “Who am I kidding? I’ve been obsessing about this nonstop since yesterday. And I’m coming to realize what really freaked me out wasn’t the cage per se, although that was definitely a crystalizing moment. But it was really about me. About who I am and what I actually want.”

She plucked at her twisted napkin, pulling away bits of it and rolling them into tiny balls. He wanted to reach over and take the napkin from her. He wanted to take her hands in his and hold them until she stilled.

Instead, he urged gently, “Go on.”

“I think I misrepresented myself,” she continued, “not only to you, but to myself. I got so caught up in the thrilling adventure of it all. Being someone’s erotic slave—it just sounded so sexy. And it wasn’t that I hated what was happening. It was the opposite, actually. And that’s what really freaked me out. It wasn’t that I didn’t love what you were doing. I was loving it way too much. But, at the same time, it was like this freefall into an abyss with no end in sight. By abdicating control to that degree, I was losing myself. That’s really why I ran. It was my own reaction that freaked me out, at least as much, if not more than, anything you did.”

Hayden nodded, trying to understand. “I think I get what you’re saying. You were scared not so much by what was happening, but by how it made you feel. But the blame still ultimately rests with me, Dahlia. I lost sight of just how new you really are to all this. I let my own desires and expectations take precedence. I think the real crux of the matter was a breakdown in communication. As the Dom, I should have known better. I do know better.” He gently took the napkins from between Dahlia’s twisting fingers.

“Oh. Look at me,” she said with a nervous laugh as she scooped the tiny balls of paper scattered over the small table into a neat pile. “You’d think I was fourteen.”

“You’re fine,” he assured her. “This is tough stuff we’re talking about. Important stuff.”

She nodded, her smile fading. She reached for her wine and took a long sip.

Hayden returned to his train of thought. “So, here’s the bottom line. I’m the one who fucked up. I will do better.”

Shaking her head, she opened her mouth as if to interrupt. He held up a hand.

“No. Don’t try to let me off the hook. I should have brought more empathy to what you were dealing with. Giving over yourself so completely was a supreme act of faith, not just in me, but in yourself. And I’m guessing it had to be doubly difficult for someone like you, so used to being in control in every aspect of her life. Moving from the fantasy of novels to the reality of a genuine D/s relationship must have felt like jumping out of a skydiving plane with no real idea if your parachute would open or not.”