Secrets & Submission

“And what is that?”

“Would we record anything?”

He searches my expression, his body stilling. “Like the videos of you I found on the internet?”

“No. Not the … not the punishments and rewards. That’s not what I was thinking about. Although, I think that’s a separate conversation. I mean our sessions. Where we talk. Can we record those?”

“With what intention? You wish to play them back?”

“I want to share them on my social media. Like us talking through it. Not … not the rewards and punishments. But the therapy sessions. I want to show people how I’m getting through it. The good and the bad. I want to help them too.”

“I think we should move through some of the harder topics before we get comfortable with inviting people in. I will consider it, though. I will review first.”

A huff of humor that’s mostly genuine leaves me. All the men want to review everything. I remind myself that they’re protecting me. And I nod although the semblance of a smile slips as I realize something.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” My focus whips back to him and his stare directed at me holds a possessive intensity that catches me off guard. My answer is immediate and spoken without conscious consent. “My voice.”

With a narrowed gaze, I answer more thoroughly before he pries. “It’s different than it was before. Scratchier. It sounds different, and they’ll notice.”

“I see.”

There’s a small beat in time that passes before he says, “I want you to tell me something about why your voice hurts. Anything at all.”

Dread chills any desire I’ve had over the last hour.

He adds, “I only want one fact but if you want to tell me more, you can. At least one, though. You can do that.”

I speak without thinking at his urging, just to get it out there. “I regret it.”

“You regret what exactly?” Shifting in this expensive dress on the sofa, I feel cheap and unworthy. “You can change what you want to tell me if you prefer that. But what you tell me must be exact.”

“It hurts because I needed surgery after I drank something I wasn’t supposed to. I also needed a blood transfusion.” I stare at the floor as I speak, focusing on anything other than Zander.

“Look at me,” he commands and I do. I obey even though it pains me to do so. “You were aware of what you were drinking?”

I nearly whisper that he told me to tell him only one thing. Just one. Instead the words get caught in my throat, and my eyes prick.

“Good girl,” Zander murmurs in a low timbre. Closing my eyes, I do what I’ve always done, I hold back the tears.

“You have a powerful voice. They will want to hear it even if it sounds different.”

I slowly open my eyes to find Zander’s expression full of both want and approval.

“If you want to record something, we can. I will be selective about what’s saved for you to share.”

Pressing my fingers to the corners of my eyes, I comment dryly, “All the men in my life are.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Kam is also monitoring what I post. Damon monitors what I write.” For the first time today, my throat feels hoarse and sore; it’s definitely gotten better with time. The silence doesn’t go unnoticed as I pick up my teacup and drain the now cold tea, leaving behind nothing. It clinks when I set it back down on the table.

It’s not until I look back up at Zander that he tells me, “Understood.”

Leaning forward in his seat across from me, Zander rests his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers, resting his chin on the tips of his pointers. “Do you acknowledge that you are my submissive and I am your Dom given the verbal agreements we discussed tonight?”

There is a calmness in his question, but a threat in his hungry gaze.

I murmur, “Yes.”