Chapter Thirty-Eight - Diane

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

DIANE

I move our things into the primary bedroom. It's enormous, and the bathroom off the side has a big, round tub. The best part about it is the window seat that looks out over the back field. I climb into it, wrap myself in a blanket, and watch a group of deer scavenge in the snow as the sun sets.

Maybe tomorrow, I can bring them hay.

Westin went back out after a quiet lunch at the kitchen table. We haven't spoken much since our conversation the other day. I hope I didn't cross a line we can't come back from.

Downstairs, the door opens, and Billie's nails click on the floor as Westin tells her to go lay down and his steps move up the stairs. The primary bedroom is at the top, and he pauses just outside the door. It pushes open, and he steps inside.

My stomach flips. He looks especially good today, maybe because he just got a haircut. I like how the edges are shorter. It makes me want to run my fingertips through them.

"Are we sleeping here now?" he asks.

"I like that the bathroom is right off the bedroom," I say.

He nods distractedly and starts unfastening his shirt. Maybe I went too far moving his things into the dresser. I didn't touch the closet, though. I follow him with my eyes, and his face doesn't change as he puts his clothes in the basket and goes to shower.

I curl up against the pillow. This bed has red flannel sheets, and they're cozy enough that I'm in just a blue slip. He bought it for me, and I wear it because…because I want him to look at me and be pleased.

Maybe I'm too prideful to admit it, but I want to please him.

It makes me feel good.

My mind drifts back to the contract I signed. I stretched the truth when I said I read it, but before he finds out, I'll go over every word.

The shower turns off. Then, he appears in those sweatpants, the ones that look like sin on him. My thighs clench. I think I might be ovulating, because I want to jump him despite all the confusing thoughts in my head. It hasn't been that long since I had my period, so it's possible.

He circles the bed.

"You didn't read that contract when I left it out for you, did you?" he says.

My brows rise. Did he just read my mind?

"Answer me, darling," he says, his voice low.

I shrink. "I read the first few pages. I was going to read the rest later, I promise. You were just…annoying me, so I said I read it."

He looks down at the bedspread. There's a long silence, and finally, he crosses the room to the pair of armchairs on either side of the gas fireplace.

He sinks down, his knees spread.

"Go get the contract," he says.

He's not fucking around tonight. Cowed, I get up and pull it from his bedside drawer where I moved it. His eyes rake over me, but I can't read them.

"Come here," he says.

My bare feet pad over the floor. I dig one into the other, waiting for him to speak again.

"You will sit here, at my feet, and read every word of it," he says .

Something shifted. We're past the point where I can wriggle out of doing as he asks. All I have now is a safeword. Flushed, I sink to the floor. He beckons me closer until I'm facing him, down between his knees.

"Read it," he says. "I'll wait."

Heart pounding, I flip to where I left off.

The submissive agrees to a system of punishment and reward as part of the 24/7 dynamic and must use her safeword to halt it.

The submissive agrees to sexual overstimulation, including forced orgasms and edging as punishment.

The submissive agrees to impact play as punishment and stress relief.

The submissive—

I have to stop and take a breath. He's right, I should have read this before signing it. I glance up. He points at the papers.

I lower my gaze.

—agrees to the use of aids during sexual punishment, such as toys, props, etc. The submissive may always veto any items.

The next portion is separated by a line. I hope it's less overwhelming.

The Dominant takes on full responsibility for the emotional, physical, and mental wellbeing of the submissive during and outside of sexual encounters.

The Dominant and the submissive will communicate clearly and directly with each other. Bratting is allowed and encouraged, but all serious discussions must be held outside of the dynamic in a neutral environment.

The Dominant will provide aftercare in all circumstances, regardless of the scene.

The Dominant will provide weekly stress relief for the submissive.

I'm at a loss. Is this what he was talking about when he begged me to let go and allow him to care for me? I lift my eyes.

"Is this all…necessary?" I whisper.

He nods once. "I'm not always kind in-scene. I need to know you feel safe. "

I give him my best pleading, bedroom eyes, the big, round ones that usually break him down. His face stays hard like stone.

"Finish the contract," he says.

My pussy tingles, but I manage to pull my attention back down. I think I like when he's stern—it's distractingly sexy. The contract goes on and on, alluding to every possible scenario. He's thorough, and it does make me feel safe. I don't have to guess what he wants or if I'm going to get what I need.

At the very end is an amendment.

The submissive will take birth control of her choosing. The Dominant may not finish on or inside the submissive's vagina until she is sufficiently protected against pregnancy.

That's the last thing, right above my signature. I know he added that for me. He's outspoken about how he feels about having children with me, but I'm not ready. I stare down at it, and everything feels so final.

How did we get here?

Was this where he'd planned on bringing us all along?

I don't have to ask that aloud. I already know his answer. I close the papers and hold them out. He sets them aside and shifts, spreading his legs.

"Get on your knees," he says, his tone smooth, devoid of emotion.

My body tingles as my toes curl. I do as he asks.

"Good girl."

My mind goes completely quiet. His praise falls into me like a drop in a pool, spreading warm ripples through my veins.

"Put your hands on your knees, palms up."

I obey, laying my upturned hands on my thighs. They're pale in the firelight. He takes something from his pocket wrapped in a handkerchief.

"Eyes on me," he says.

I force my gaze up. He's half shadowed by the fire and cut like stone, from the V of his lower abdominals all the way to his heavy nose and lowered brows.

"What did you do?" he asks .

My dry mouth parts. I lick my lips.

"I lied," I whisper.

My nipples poke through my slip. Tonight, I'm acutely aware of my body and how different it is from his. He's hard and big and takes up space. I fit perfectly between his thighs, and that makes me feel so small.

It's all part of his design. I see that now.

"Give me your hair band," he orders.

I obey. Carefully, he smooths my hair into a high ponytail. Then, he uses it to tilt my chin up.

"You're not going to use your teeth. Just hold this on your tongue."

He reaches into his lap, and I wait for the hiss of his zipper. Instead, he takes something from the handkerchief.

"Open, darling."

My head empty, I open. Something cool and…oh God, it's soap. He's using soap in my mouth because I lied to him. I might burn up into dust from the shame. It barely fits between my lips and lays on my tongue. He adjusts my jaw so my saliva won't drip down my throat and tucks a flyaway curl behind my ear.

"You weren't good," he says gently. "Were you?"

Humiliated, I shake my head. Something trickles down my inner thigh.

"You will not lie to me, especially where your safety and consent are concerned. Understood?"

I nod. My heart pounds.

I can't tell if I want to cry or come or both.

He waits for several humiliating minutes. My jaw aches, but I keep perfectly still. Finally, he leans in and takes the soap from my mouth and sets it aside. My mouth tastes sharp. I don't want to swallow. A tear slips out and etches to my jaw.

"Spit into my hand," he says.

He cups it under my chin. I'm already embarrassed, so I lean in and spit into his hand until the taste subsides. He wipes his fingers on his handkerchief and lays it over his thigh.

"Do you need to rinse now, or can you continue your punishment? "

His tone is even, like he's not angry, just disappointed. It's so stern, it makes my toes curl. Deep inside, I ache. All I want is for him to pick me up and slide me down over his cock.

"I can continue, sir," I whisper.

He strokes my cheek with his thumb. "That's my girl."

I open my mouth to speak again, but the faint taste of soap gags me. His brows crease, and he leans back.

"Run to the bathroom and rinse," he orders.

My legs are weak as I stand. I'm dizzy and flushed in the bathroom mirror as I rinse my mouth until the taste is gone. Then, I do as he says and return to where he sits, waiting in the armchair.

"Do you want me to kneel, sir?" My whisper cracks.

He shakes his head once. "No, lay yourself across my right knee."

My pussy has a heartbeat like a drum. He could get me off with a single touch. His thigh looks thick and hard, like it would be paradise to ride myself against it.

"Focus, darling," he says.

I shake my head once. "How…do I do this, sir?"

He takes my hand, guiding me between his thighs. His other hand rests on my lower back as he drapes me over his arm and lowers me over his knee. My cheek lays on the armrest, and my toes dig into the floor.

"You're not ready for the crop or the belt, not for punishment," he says. "I prefer to use my hand anyway."

I shiver—maybe not yet, but I think I might like to try them soon. He lifts the short hem of my slip, and warmth from the fire washes over my pussy. I'm so wet, it's sticky on my inner thighs. His fingertips trail over my ass and dip down, sliding to my clit.

"Oh God," I burst out.

He hasn't let me come since the night he ate me out on my period. I'm not brave enough to touch myself without his permission. My hips wriggle, desperate for friction.

"No. You made your bed, darling. You lay in it," he says.

He's so cruel, but he's so kind about it. I go still, tilting my head to lay my cheek on the chair. One of his big, rough hands goes to the back of my neck, and the other starts rubbing slow circles over my ass.

Then, he spanks me, hard enough that I yelp.

"Do not struggle," he says. "Hold still and be a good girl for me. You may cry if you need to."

I'm slipping down through sweet, warm darkness, into a gentle space where there's nothing but the sensations moving through my body. I have no memories of the last few years. All I know is he's holding me. He's in control, and I'm safe in his arms.

It's euphoric.

His palm strikes me over and over again. My skin heats up, and I drip down the inside of my thighs. I moan, whimpering, but I sound so far away. It hurts, but the way it does when he fucks me hard, only this is less frantic. It's like a purging of my emotions.

All the fucked-up things in my head and chest ebb away. There's no anxiety, no fear, just sweet release.

My ass burns by the time he decides I've been sufficiently punished. I'm a wet mess, my eyes dripping, my pussy soaked. He lifts me into his lap and brushes my hair back.

I sniffle. He wipes my tears with his thumb.

"Good girl," he says. "Are you going to be truthful with me moving forward?"

My heart is raw, but he's the safest place in the world. Nobody has ever held me the way Westin does. Here, in his arms, I can be honest.

My throat tightens. I squeeze my eyes shut, and tears slip down fast, etching hot trails down my neck. He cradles my face.

"Diane," he says. "Tell me what they did to you."

My eyes fly open. His face is gentle, his brows drawn together. My nose runs, my lips shake, but he waits, holding me until I'm ready to speak.

"Avery found out about you, the night I came to Sovereign Mountain," I gasp. "He came to the house with Thomas and David. Avery pushed me on the floor and Thomas just…beat me. I don't know how else to say it. He used his boot…and David, he just watched. "

It all pours out, ugly and jumbled, right into Westin's lap.

He doesn't flinch. He listens without lowering his eyes. It feels good to have a witness.

"I don't know why David just watched," I whisper. "He must hate me so much."

His jaw tightens.

"He's a coward," he says.

I wipe my face. "I don't want sympathy. I just want to forget it ever happened."

That's the truth, laid out before him so there are no more secrets between us. Now, maybe all the horrific memories of my time as Thomas' wife can just fade away. I want to scrub them from my mind. I want to lose myself in the warm summer sun that is Westin and pretend Thomas was nothing but a bad dream.

"Please don't ask me to talk more about it," I blurt out. "That's all that happened. He beat me, then he left. The night you and Sovereign showed up, I was going to sleep with him for the first time because I was afraid Avery would hurt me. But you saved me. I never want to think or talk about them ever again."

He's quiet, his hand moving in slow circles on my back.

"I'm done," I say, louder. "I'm free and I'm safe with you."

He narrows his eyes, like he's thinking deeply. "Is this dynamic what you need to heal? Be honest with me, darling."

"I think so. It's different," I say. "You were right. I felt safe tonight."

He pulls me in, holding me to his chest. I close my eyes, and I'm back in his truck, untouched by misery. In my mind's eye, I turn and see him, so handsome in the driver's seat.

We were so alive for that summer. He brought me to life.

I know he can do it again.

"You saved me, Westin," I whisper. "I'm hoping you can do it one more time."

"Darling," he says, mouth moving in my hair. "Of course."

He carries me to bed. A warm washcloth runs over my body before he brings cold water and holds the glass for me. He puts me in one of his flannel shirts and tucks me into bed .

I lay with my back against him, spent from crying.

"What do you need to sleep?" he asks.

"Touch me," I whisper. "Sir."

He slides his hand down my thighs, beneath the sheets and flannel. His touch finds my clit, and he pleasures me slowly in the dark. Outside, the world is harsh. Outside is where all the memories of the past live. Inside, there's just me and Westin, buried beneath the quilt, skin on skin, voices hushed, little sighs of pleasure drowned out by the rush of the fireplace.

Both wrapped up in each other, trying to keep the cold out.