Annabel Joseph Owning Wednesday (pdf)

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own, and Daniel seemed to hint at wanting something even
deeper, an actual relationship. Commitment. Love. It drew me,
fascinated me, and yet repulsed me. Alarmed me. Scared me. I
was so used to being alone.
I was all in black, from head to toe and underneath.
Wednesday Addams had nothing on me, but I was not a child
anymore, with impish black braids. I was in mourning for the
death of my attempt to find myself, to take some time for myself.
Time was up. I swept my hair up in a loose chignon so he could
look all he wanted at my neck. The timeless tease from
submissive to dominant, the bowed neck, unfettered and pale. I
imagined for a moment his thick fingers smoothing a black collar
around my fair skin. I could almost feel his rough fingertips
graze my nape, working the clasp...
Oh Jesus, I had to get a hold of myself before he came to the
door.
Then right on cue, there was the knock, right against my
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Owning Wednesday
back. He was there, now, on the other side of the door. Where
had I heard that knock before, not too loud or too soft? Not too
long or too short or staccato? Don t think of him now. I took one
last deep breath of freedom, and picked up my small black bag.
I opened the door almost warily. Daniel. He looked just as
amazing as he always did. Dark jacket, crisp white shirt, a tie the
exact color of his beautiful eyes. Classic, masculine style. He
seemed such a virile man standing there that I had to fight the
urge to drop to my knees. He smiled a half smile as if he could
tell exactly what I was thinking, then moved closer, took my
hand, murmured my name softly, and kissed me on the cheek.
I floundered, I floated. I almost fainted. Vincent had never
greeted me this way. Daniel s cheek was warm against mine,
slightly rough, and his lips...I was acutely aware of the place
they pressed just below my ear. I breathed in and felt his chest
brush against mine for a second.
Shall we go? he suggested quickly.
Yes, I breathed, saved.
* * *
Do we really have to go to dinner? We both thought it to
ourselves, I m sure. Wisely, she didn t invite me in, or I m quite
certain all hell would have broken loose. No, we had to go to
dinner first. We had to talk. We had to explain, profess, discuss,
negotiate. Limits, guidelines, desires, expectations, safe words,
arrangements, rules. It s how any serious relationship like ours
got started, and our relationship was going to be serious if I got
my way.
She was wearing a little black dress that made my breath
catch. She was as pale and doll-like as ever, her pretty lips
curved in a scared, breathless smile. I took her hand and kissed
her. I had to, there was no way to resist touching her. I was
probably nearly as nervous as she was, but I had to hide it. I was
the one in control. I was the one who had to convince her that
she needed, wanted, to come where I led.
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5. Dinner
And where, exactly, did I want to lead her? I know I wanted
to lead her to bed. This evening, this very night, if I got my way.
I really, really wanted to wake up in the morning with her still
beside me, satiated and sweet. But more than that, I wanted to
lead her away from Vincent, from the things Vincent had taught
her, the way he d treated her all those years. Yes, he had loved
her, but he had damaged her. She had no idea what love was,
besides fear and impersonal care.
I was not an impersonal dominant or an impersonal person,
for that matter. I would want to know her and love her, all of her,
and I would want her to know and love all of me. Vincent was a
talented and exacting dominant, I was the first to admit it, but his
way wasn t mine, and he d had his hands on this lovely woman
for far too long.
She sat beside me in the car, tense and still, and I could feel
the protective shield drawn around her like a veil. I reached over
and took her small hand in mine.
You re nervous, what s the matter?
I m just...you ll laugh at me, she said with a shake of her
head.
I won t laugh at you. Tell me what s wrong.
I ve never actually been on a sort of...you know...
Date?
Yes, if that s...
Yes, that is what this is, Wednesday. A date. A man takes a
woman out to dinner, and talks to her, and pulls out her chair,
and pays for the check.
I mean, Vincent took me out sometimes, but it was
mostly...
Foreplay for his threesomes?
You are laughing at me.
No, I m not laughing. I don t find this funny in the slightest,
I promise you. Vincent
I clamped my mouth shut. I was going to say, Vincent
wronged you, or perhaps even go so far as to say, Vincent
mistreated you, but tearing down her long time lover and his
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Owning Wednesday
eccentricities probably wasn t the way to ingratiate myself.
I had a lot more to say to her at that moment, but we d arrived
at the restaurant, so I bit my tongue and handed the keys to the
valet. I led her inside with my hand splayed possessively on the
small of her back, looking down at her lovely pale neck,
remembering his collar there.
When we were finally seated at our dark and private table,
she perched on the edge of her chair and looked around in a
daze, as if she d suddenly, inexplicably, fallen into real life. Like
Alice down the rabbit hole. Now what do I do, what do I do? The
fear, the panic, showed all over her face. I wanted to soothe her,
reassure her. This is how men treat women in the real world. This
is how men treat women that they want to know. And I do want
to know you, Wednesday. I want to know you very well.
The menus arrived and I ordered wine and dinner for both of
us, and that...you ll eat what I tell you to eat...that at least
seemed to put her at ease. Dominant 101, order for your
submissive. Take away her choices in the insignificant things
that didn t really count, but learn what really mattered to her, and
work your ass off to give her that.
So, Wednesday, I said, leaning back in my chair. Tell me
about yourself.
What would you like to know?
Everything. I d like to know everything.
She laughed. There s an awful lot to know.
Good girl. So she had retained at least some shred of self-
identity after all this time. What do you like to do? When
you re not on your knees?
She blushed. I like to write.
I like to write too. We have that in common.
I like your writing, she said quickly, I ve seen all your
movies, I love your style
Yes, thank you, I cut her off gently. But we re talking
about you. What else do you like to do, Wednesday? Besides
write? You like to read, I assume?
Yes. I read a lot. And I work a lot, too.
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5. Dinner
You like your job?
Yes. It s really rewarding, to edit people s writing. It s a big
responsibility. They give it over to you when it s so personal and
meaningful to them. Entrust you with it, to improve it. I don t
know. It s hard to explain.
I understand. Taking care of something given over to you in
trust. She met my eyes. Trust me.
I m sure you re very good at it, Wednesday.
I try to be.
And so do I.
She fell silent again.
What else? I prompted. Surely you do more than work and
write.
She shrugged. I like to work out.
You like to work out? Most people find it a chore.
I like to work out and...think. I think about things while I
work out. I like to just think about things sometimes, for hours.
I m boring, I know.
No, you certainly aren t. What do you think about, when you
think about things for hours?
She balked then. You can t have my thoughts. You can have
everything else, but not that.
Okay, I said, conceding. Tell me this. What did you think [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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