‘Oh, God,’ I said, with a hysterical little laugh. ‘The angst of it all.’
His lip curled. He was softening.
‘It’s the price we pay for our perversions,’ he said. ‘We have to live with our cognitive dissonance. You, a strong woman who likes being subjugated by men. Me, a stand-up guy who likes being cruel to girls. It’s not who the world might want us to be, but it’s who we are.’
‘I’ve never had to really think about it before,’ I said. ‘Because I’ve kept that part of myself hidden.’
‘Well, it’s out now, Foxy, for better or worse. And if you’re out, you might as well be proud. I intend to be.’
‘I don’t know if I can be.’
He pulled up on the corner of my street and turned an intense gaze on me.
‘Listen. If you just want this to be a professional partnership, looking into whatever happened to Mia, that’s fine with me. Well, not “fine” exactly, but I’ll respect it.’
‘You mean…?’
‘I mean, I’ll leave you to your hangups and make my own Safeword account.’
‘But that’s not…I didn’t mean…’ My subeditor vocabulary was letting me down tonight.
‘You’ve done something good for me, Ella – you’ve made me see that I don’t want to suppress this side of myself for ever. I’m going to look for somebody I can explore it with.’ His eyes were like immobilising rays, pinning me to the seat. ‘I was hoping it might be you,’ he said, in a whisper now. ‘But if you aren’t ready…’
‘I am! I’m ready.’ The words shot out. ‘You’ve taken a bit of mumbling and muttering and turned it into something way bigger. I’m new to this – you’re new to it. Can’t you cut me some slack?’
‘I thought that was exactly what I wasn’t supposed to do,’ he said, his cheekbones stretching in a way that suggested he was suppressing a smile. ‘As your Dom.’
That sounded like a commitment. It was a commitment, wasn’t it, to call yourself somebody’s Dom? But what was its social significance? Was it equal to, or greater than, calling yourself somebody’s boyfriend? Or was it nothing, just a role to play with any sub who passed your way? I needed some kind of BDSM equivalent of Emily Post; this terrain was too new and uncharted.
‘You know what I mean,’ I gabbled. ‘I can’t be perfect straightaway at something I’ve never done before. I need help and understanding, and I’ll do my best to offer you the same.’
‘Guidance?’ suggested Tom. ‘I can give you that.’
‘And you needn’t worry that I’ll be judging you or thinking you’re some kind of sociopath. I won’t. I’ll be too busy enjoying your terrible cruelties.’
His smile was unforced now, and the sparkle was back in his eyes.
‘Ah, I’m sorry, Foxy.’ He reached over and clasped one of my hands. ‘I was being a bit oversensitive. It does happen. Just don’t tell them in the newsroom, eh?’
‘My lips are sealed,’ I said. ‘Or gagged, even.’
‘Mm, there’s an idea.’ He bent over and kissed me. ‘So, it’s still on, then?’
‘I want to if you
do.’
He kissed me again, more lingeringly.
‘I do,’ he said.
I take thee, Tom Crowley, to be my lawful wedded Dom.
The words flitted through my head, making me blush worse than ever.
‘But I really do have that piece to sort out,’ he said apologetically. ‘Possible corruption in high places, my dear. I’m going to have to wield my sword of justice before I can get round to my cane of deviant pleasure.’
I was too flattened by a wall of crush to answer for a moment.