She sighed blissfully. “You take such good care of me, darling. I love you for that.”
He leaned in and kissed her on the nose and then patted the top of her thigh. “Eat up. I don’t want to leave you to take my shower until I know for certain you’re going to be able to keep down your toast.”
EIGHT
CHESSY awoke, the late afternoon sun filtering through the bay window of their bedroom. She was surrounded by warmth and strength. Tate’s body was wrapped around her, arms anchoring her to him, one leg thrown possessively over hers while her head was pillowed on his broad shoulder.
She let out an imperceptible sigh, not wanting to wake him and spoil the first moment of true contentment she’d felt in a very long time. All felt right with the world. She wasn’t a fool to think that everything had been miraculously fixed with Tate’s magic peen, but it was a start.
Their lovemaking had been a coming together of two lost souls. Or at least hers had been lost until now. She’d been bereft of his presence for so long and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d awakened in his arms, or that they’d spent the better part of a day in bed.
He was always hurrying out to work in the mornings with barely a kiss on her forehead and a gruff “hope my girl has a good day” before he was off, with her never even knowing when she’d see him again.
It was hard not to focus on those not so great times even when here and now the world seemed perfect. He’d certainly nailed it when he’d said that their relationship couldn’t be fixed in a single weekend, but the ever-optimistic side of her knew that it was something. That he was giving her something he hadn’t been giving her in over a year. Himself. His absolute priority and attention. His love that in her darker moments she’d thought she had lost. But he’d been utterly sincere last night and this morning, especially this morning when neither of them was so volatile and overly emotional. She knew Tate hadn’t liked going to bed the night before with things still unresolved between them but she also knew she was right for putting it off until a time when they both had the night to reflect and better think of how and what needed to be said.
“Is my girl awake?”
Tate’s voice rumbled from his chest and she smiled against his chest where her lips rested.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
Her smile broadened. This was the old Tate. Always so in tune with her every movement, her every thought. She closed her eyes, simply savoring the moment, drinking it in. It very nearly brought tears to her eyes but she refused to allow them because she feared he’d take it the wrong way and they’d be right back at square one.
Instead she simply nodded, confirming what he already knew. He hugged her to him more tightly and brushed an affectionate kiss on the top of her head.
“Not that I’m not loving exactly where I am and having you naked and in my arms, but I promised you a do-over of our anniversary dinner out, and if we’re going to make it, we need to get up and moving. I need to get cleaned up and I was thinking about a dual shower, one where I wash and pamper you. And then we have dinner and then come back home so I can make love to you all over again.”
“Mmmm,” she said against his chest. “That sounds wonderful, Tate.”
“I’m glad,” he said gruffly. “I owe you so much more, but I promise that you’re going to get that from me twenty-four-seven from now on.”
She pushed up to her elbow so that she looked down at his contented, sleepy eyes as they gleamed back at her.
“I believe you,” she said quietly.
Relief brightened his eyes, fire quickly replacing any signs of sleepiness. “Thank you for that, Chess. You have no idea what your forgiveness means. And your willingness to give me another chance.”
She reached down and lovingly cupped a hand to his face, stroking the chiseled line of his cheekbone with her thumb. Then she leaned down and kissed him. For once she was in a position of control, her over him, taking the initiative.
His hand immediately went to the back of her head, tangling in her hair, but he was careful to allow her to direct the kiss. It was almost as if he were still treading in very careful waters, and if he only knew that wasn’t what she wanted from him at all. She wanted him to assert his control—his dominance—over her again. She craved it with everything she had in her heart and soul.
She was born for this man. Born to be his submissive and he her Dominant. It was a need that defied reason or explanation. Some things just were and for her that was their relationship. She hated to even use the word marriage because it was so … traditional and quaint and in a lot of ways outdated. What they had between them went far beyond the edges of most married couples’ faith and trust in each other. The things she offered Tate, the things he demanded of her, could well be grossly misunderstood by outsiders unfamiliar with the dominance/submissive lifestyle and how deeply emotional and connected—profoundly connected—those bonds were. Yes, she had a kick-ass diamond wedding set but that wasn’t what made her Tate’s girl.
She literally put her entire safety, her well-being, into Tate’s hands. And in return, there was not a more cared for woman on the earth. Well, when things were normal between them … Their relationship defied convention and neither of them gave one damn. They made the rules. No one else. And most of the rules were made by Tate.
There wasn’t a handbook on “how to be a proper Dominant” out there. Tate would have laughed himself silly over the idea that he needed some “how-to” book in order to live his life and satisfy his cherished submissive. Maybe those sorts of guides worked for other couples, and if they did, more power to them. But that wasn’t the way it worked between Chessy and Tate. It never had been.
Tate made the decisions and he didn’t give a flying f**k if he was thumbing his nose at propriety or paying homage to others who lived the same lifestyle.
In the very beginning of Chessy and Tate’s relationship he made it very clear what he wanted and told Chessy that this may not be the way she thought such a relationship would work, but he’d be damned if he playacted some cookie-cutter “Dom” scene from an instructional manual. Over his dead body would he have others directing his relationship with his wife! His cherished submissive.
“What’s my girl thinking?” he queried softly, taking in her pensive expression.