Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Maureen

"I like you, feel a real connection with you, but before things progress, I need you to know that I'm a Dominant, a Daddy Dom actually."

Trent's last words rang in my head, and suddenly they were all I could hear aside from the blood thrumming in my ears. The whole restaurant, the noises of which had been a pleasant humming bustle around us only moments ago, disappeared into a blur that seemed to roar around me.

I couldn't breathe. The date had been going so well too. The food had been excellent, the conversation engaging, and Trent's smile had kept me enraptured through the whole evening. Perfectly straight, white teeth, tan skin, full lips that I knew were soft, and oh, those dimples! Those dimples were my weakness. I could have happily stared at them all night.

Then suddenly, without warning, they'd disappeared, and he'd fallen serious. And popped out with the one thing I'd needed him not to say. He was a Dom. A Daddy Dom, no less. And yes, I'd called it in the stupid little game I played, but thinking it, knowing he fit the type, was very different from hearing it out loud. It was different from hearing what he'd said next, too.

He wanted a submissive, or a woman who was willing to be one. Out of the bedroom, it didn't matter, but in the bedroom was a must, a dealbreaker. It was that important. Because of course it was.

And now I was sitting here, barely cognizant of what was going on around me, aware of nothing other than the fact that Trent was sitting in front of me, wearing a crooked half-smile and anxious eyes, awaiting a response.

I looked at his chest. It wasn't moving, not even a little bit. He was holding his breath, reminding me I was too.

I took a breath. He didn't.

"I…um…" I could barely get the words past the lump in my throat. I knew I wouldn't be able to speak them out loud. Couldn't watch his reaction as I played the Grinch to his hopeful Cindy-Loo Who. "I…. Excuse me." I jumped up and rushed to the bathroom, shoving the heavy door closed behind me, relieved when I found it empty.

Suddenly unable to stand up straight, I doubled over, balancing with my legs bent, my hands splayed on my knees as I gasped for breath.

This was the worst possible outcome for a date like this one. It had all been going so well, and then, BAM! I couldn't go back out there.

Expelling several puffs of air until my lungs stopped burning, I made my way to the counter where the sinks were and splashed cold water on my face, makeup be damned.

When I looked in the mirror, I could hear my mom's voice.

Stand up straight. Push your hair out of your eyes. You're going to get wrinkles if you don't stop smiling for no reason. No man will ever like you if you dress like that.

Do this. Do that. Wear your hair this way. Dress that way. Don't take that class. That extracurricular activity is a waste of time. Don't be friends with this girl. Don't talk to that girl. Don't dye your hair. Don't wear red lipstick. Don't pluck your brows. You can't do anything right. You are who you are because of me. And without me, you'd be useless.

The list went on, and on, and on, and on. Every aspect of my existence had been controlled my entire life. Right up until I got my college degree and no longer needed her help in any way.

Not that the controlling abuse had stopped then; I'd just stopped listening to it.

And when I put my life on hold to care for her during her battle with cancer, it only got worse. In fact, her last words to me were a criticism and a demand on what to wear for her funeral.

"So help me, Maureen, if you wear that black pantsuit to my funeral, I'll find a way to come back and haunt you."

And when I stood at the cemetery in the rain, tears tracking down my face as they lowered her into the ground, I was overcome with relief. So much relief.

I'd gone home that night and dyed my hair the color I'd always wanted, donned bright red lipstick and plucked my brows. I doused myself in the perfume she always pretended to be allergic to, ordered an entire wardrobe full of clothes I knew she'd hate, and swore I'd never be controlled again. By anyone, ever.

Looking back, it was probably why I had so much trouble dating, and why I wouldn't allow myself to finally experiment with BDSM and go to a club, despite a lifelong interest.

And here was the hottest guy I'd ever laid eyes on. Mr. Perfect, really. Great job, similar interests, easy to talk to, an actual honest-to-goodness Daddy Dom, wanting me , me!

Of course there was a condition. And of course, it had to be the one I couldn't give in to. What had he seen in me that made him think I'd be open to it? Was I, despite all my hard work to take back my own life, giving off a vibe that said, "I'm a doormat, control me"?

I took one more steadying breath and looked at myself in the mirror, really looked. And for the most part, I liked the person I saw staring back at me. I trusted her. I knew she was strong enough to control her own life and be in control in other aspects as well.

Someday, I thought, as I realized what I had to do, I would see Trent Holland again, and I would thank him. I would thank him for being the catalyst that made me realize who I was meant to be: Maureen Stahlbaum, independent woman, professor, and kick-ass Domme. That was who I was, it was what I wanted, it was who I needed to be.

So, with that realization in my head, I did the very least "woman in control of her own life" thing I could do, for the last time. I climbed out the bathroom window, and never looked back.