But it’s not. Admitting the things I want and need isn’t dangerous. What happened with Quincy was a cruel coincidence. It has to have been, otherwise I can’t do this with Ella, and I want it.
I more than want it. I need it. And so does she.
“I believe she could benefit from having a stronger hand. Something in line with her previous relationships.” He opens his mouth to ask a question, but I speak first. “I’ll clarify everything with her beforehand. She’s forthcoming.”
Harrison steeples his hands in front of him. “What is it that you’re afraid you aren’t seeing beyond your own desires for this … would you call it a Dominant/submissive relationship?”
I don’t feel anything like embarrassment when he says it out loud. I feel no shame. What I feel is a certainty that he is the right person to discuss this with, just as I’m certain this kind of mediation would be right for Ella. But that certainty, like all other things, is only a feeling. It’s not necessarily the truth. If there’s an aspect I haven’t considered, then maybe Harrison can help me find it. What I know for sure is that I can’t do this—won’t do it—without some sort of confirmation. I double-check feelings the same way I double-check the details when I’m working security. Flip every lock twice.
“That’s what I would call it, yes. A Dominant/submissive relationship to aid her in a positive recovery.” A thousand images flood into my mind of what, exactly, our relationship would look like. There are real boundaries when it comes to D/s relationships. Ironclad ones. And they will have to mesh together with the limits of the contract we’re both engaged in. “I’ve observed her closely. I’ve talked with her. This approach could help her heal.”
“And your reservations?”
“She has past trauma,” I say, ushering the truth into the silence. It’s an easy quiet here in Harrison’s office. He never seems to be in any sort of rush. “I’m sure of that. But she’s resistant to discussing it or seek therapy.”
“Ah. Much like you were,” Harrison points out.
“Yes.” I was resistant as hell. I was angry. Grieving. Suffering. Pissed at Damon for making me come here in the first place, and for having the balls to look at the wreck I was and call it like he saw it. I was pissed at him for being right, and I knew he was. When my dad died, I learned the consequences of bottling things up, so damn it, I knew he was right. But that didn’t make me less furious. The first few sessions with Harrison were quiet, but not like this. It wasn’t peaceful. “It’s similar to my situation in that way.”
“And you’re concerned she could suffer if you aren’t—”
“If I don’t critically consider every aspect of her care. If I miss something because I’m blinded by my own needs.”
My own needs have been screaming at me since the day I saw her in that courtroom, and I would be a fool not to admit that and seek caution.
Harrison considers me, and I know he’s taking note of everything. The way I sit in the chair. The expression on my face. The tone of my voice. Even the way I dressed for the meeting. “It sounds like you’ve already come to a conclusion.”
“I haven’t.”
What I have come to a conclusion about is that Ella would respond well as a submissive. With the right Dominant caring for her, she could heal in a way that aligns with who she is. It’s written all over her. But knowing it and choosing to act on it are two different things. I haven’t yet made that final decision. Harrison furrows his brow.
I’m adamant when I tell him, “I haven’t, Harrison.”
“You want me to tell you that you’ll be critical in all things and see beyond your wants. You want me to guarantee that for you. You should know better, Zander. There are no guarantees.”
“I’m not looking for a guarantee.” A match strike of irritation scrapes against the inside of my cheek. I know better than that. I know there are no guarantees in life, not ever, and the worst things that happen to a person seem to appear out of nowhere. It’s never the thing you’re expecting. Never the thing I’m expecting. “I’m looking for a consultation.”
“Then I believe your thoughtfulness reflects a high level of concern for this client.”
“Is it your opinion—” I pause to sit up straight and tall in my seat, my fingers tapping on the armrest as I consider my next question carefully. “Is it your opinion that I shouldn’t do this?”
The empathy in Harrison’s eyes is the one thing about this session that presses at some soft spot I keep hidden. Harrison knows about my past. He knows, because after Quincy, Damon insisted that I seek help. What he actually said was that if I didn’t go, he would drag me here himself and sit through the session to make sure I talked. I told him it was against every possible policy to barge in on someone else’s private therapy sessions. He’d looked me straight in the eye. “I don’t care,” he said. “I’ll do it anyway. Harrison won’t kick me out and I’ll kick your ass if you don’t.”
I believed him. And I ended up here, in this office, telling Harrison things I never thought I’d tell another human being. He helped me sort through the overwhelming guilt and shame.
“It could be what she’s missing,” I tell Harrison, and I hear it—I hear that note in my voice that I hate. It’s the one that’s craving affirmation. Just one nod from an outside party to tell me that this is not a terrible idea. That listening to my gut instinct is appropriate for the situation. “It could help her sort through the mess. Give her an outlet that’s more inclined to her comfort.”
Harrison doesn’t laugh. “Because Dominant/submissive relationships are bound by the agreement.”
“Yes. There can be a release in it for subs. She—” Shit. I almost did it again. I almost said Ella. I almost spoke her name into this room, and I cannot do that. It’s one of the hard limits. She cannot become a part of my life like that. Because of the contract. Because of Cade. Because of me. “She seems to need that assurance.”
Ella has been holding herself together in a tight grip for a long, long time. It’s obvious from the way she stood in the courtroom and those first days at the house. I know if I took her over my knee, I could unwind part of that tension for her. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
Fuck.
I am not, not, going to think about that in this room. Not when I’m in full view of my fucking therapist.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it. What I am saying is that if you’re going to move forward, it might be worth calling in backup.”