His Perfect Submissive Read online

  Misery swelled within her. She needed to come clean, to tell him the truth about her past. She needed him to understand that the unreasonable panic that overtook her, when a man stood too close or when an unexpected whiff of familiar aftershave caught her off guard was a part of her, and was something she could not escape or predict.

  It was too much to expect anyone to understand the sudden panic that could wash over her or the mortification that followed, yet she knew he had a right to know. She swallowed hard and tried to gather enough saliva to wet her dry mouth. She still couldn't force the words past the shame that lodged in her throat. She knew intellectually that she bore no blame for what had happened to her when she was a child but the knowledge did nothing to stop the intensity of the shame, or the pain that lived deep within her.

  "Kara, are you okay?” he asked. His voice nudged her back to the present, to the reality of the situation in front of her, to the necessity of keeping Ted out of jail.

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. She felt completely overwhelmed, empty.

  She could promise to be obedient, to clean his house, to be there when he came home from work. She could even quit her job if he insisted, but there was absolutely no way she would ever be the enthusiastic uninhibited partner he wanted in bed. She was too damaged. There was nothing about sex that even mildly intrigued her. That part of her didn't exist; it had been snuffed out before it had had a chance to develop.

  If she agreed to marry him without telling him the truth she'd be deceiving him, purposely making a promise she knew she could never keep. It would be the height of dishonesty and she despised deceit.

  He'd gone out of his way to help her and she hated herself for the deception she was going to commit. But more than she needed to be honest with Slade, she needed to keep Ted out of jail. Tears clogged her throat and threatened to spill. She felt bleak and hollow. She wanted to cry lonely, sad, shame filled tears, yet she knew she wouldn't, couldn't. She picked up her sandwich, more to distract herself from the intensity of her emotions than because she wanted to eat.

  She took a bite and chewed methodically, not even tasting the turkey on rye. Swallowing helped push the hard ball of tears down and made her feel a little more in control of her ragged emotions.

  Guilt kicked at Slade's chest as he watched the tangle of emotions that chased across her pale face. She seemed lost in some deep, sad place and he ached to take back every word that had caused her pain.

  After a few bites of her sandwich she seemed to draw on some inner reserve. She looked at him. Her gaze was solid and unwavering as it found and held his. “Mr. Westin—Slade, I appreciate everything you've done for me and my brother."

  Here it comes, she's going to turn me down, he thought as her gaze skittered away.

  "I know you could have turned everything over to the police and we could be looking at a trial and lawyers. If marrying you is what I have to do to keep my brother out of jail then I'll do it.” She sucked in a deep breath.

  "I would like your word that the details of our marriage and Ted's part in it will not be disclosed to anyone. I also want your word that the—uhm—nature of our marriage will remain private."

  "You have my word Kara."

  "And you have mine that I'll do my best to be the kind of wife you want. But I really don't know how this can be what you want."

  Her words socked him hard. This quiet resolved reaction wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was her to be happy about marrying him. He didn't like making her unhappy, but then again he hadn't expected her to be excited about marrying him. He'd known from the beginning that making her happy would come later, after they were married. Once Kara trusted him, knew him, he'd teach her the joy to be found in surrendering herself to him.

  "You're right. It's not what I really want. But it's a start, and I'll settle for it."

  Chapter 3

  Panic rose clawing through her as the first notes of “Here Comes the Bride” filtered through the church.

  "Are you ready?” Ted asked.

  She swallowed hard and nodded her head, not trusting her voice. She wasn't ready. Not by a long shot.

  Her stomach churned and dizziness circled her like a hungry lion as she let Ted lead her toward the back of the sanctuary. She felt the frantic beating of her heart in her head and in her ears. Each beat brought a woosh of sound that echoed drowning out the other sounds around her.

  Ted urged her forward. She tried to keep her mind focused on just the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other as blackness swiped at the outside edges of her vision. She tried to close her mind to everything except the immediacy of what she needed to do to guarantee Ted's freedom.

  She swallowed hard attempting to generate some saliva to wet her mouth but came up dry. Panic clawed in her chest. Unshed tears and heated breath mingled and caught in the back of her throat. She was hyperventilating she knew, but felt helpless to stop even as the darkness encroached.

  She hadn't known exactly what dominance and submission was when Slade had mentioned it and she had accepted his proposal. She knew now, and the shadow his demands cast over her future obliterated everything safe and familiar. She blinked back tears of fear and loneliness. Dread coursed through her bringing images of force and pain that twisted and turned in her mind superimposing themselves onto her future.

  Run! Run! Run! Her mind screamed as she stopped beside Slade. Each thump of her heart echoed in her ears and shrunk her area of vision. Darkness crept inward from the edges and hovered threatening to enclose her in a murky cocoon of darkness.

  Slade's clean male scent engulfed her as he took her small trembling hand in his large steady one. His touch was gentle as his thumb caressed the soft skin where her thumb joined her palm. For a reason Kara didn't understand the familiar touch provided a small measure of calm. She used the calm to help her focus on taking the deep slow breaths that she hoped would keep the hovering blackness away.

  She breathed deep and slow purposely slowing down everything in her mind. As if in slow motion she noticed the long white wedding dress she wore felt sticky where it touched her sweaty legs. She sucked in the scent of roses that filled the air. She heard the rustle in the pews behind her as people shifted in their seats. She felt the gentleness in Slade's touch as he continued to caress her hand.

  She heard the preacher's voice and Slade's calm, assured responses as if they came from a great distance. She noticed but didn't focus on the nausea that rose in the back of her throat.

  Somehow she managed to murmur, “I do” at the right times, yet when the ceremony ended Kara scarcely knew what she had promised. She felt sick and shaky and alone.

  Breathe.

  Slowly.

  Deeply.

  In.

  Out.

  Relax.

  She coached herself through the familiar breathing ritual again and again as she fought the tide of painful memories and the frightening images from the internet that painted themselves on the future.

  The words, “You may kiss the bride,” penetrated the heavy cloak of wooziness and spiraling memories. Her mind screamed at her to run; yet she was absolutely numb as if her being was held in distant limbo, unable to move of its own accord.

  She was only marginally aware as Slade tilted her chin and kissed her. The kiss was soft. Gentle, she observed from some distant other worldly place. He smelled of some spicy brand of soap she couldn't place and tasted of mint.

  She was vaguely aware of turning, of Slade's hand settling at the small of her back as they turned to walk back up the aisle. Mostly though, she focused on containing the roiling waves of nausea that expanded within her threatening to break through her iron control at any second.

  "Are you okay?” Slade asked in a whisper as they reached the rear of the sanctuary.

  "I think I'm going to be sick,” she muttered miserably as she swallowed back another tide of nausea. “I need a restroom."

  Kara was barely aware of being hustled along
the tiled hallway. “Will you be okay in there by yourself? You're not going to pass out on me are you?” Slade asked as he pushed open a door marked women.

  Yes. No. She didn't know. Kara nodded. She'd be okay. She didn't know about passing out, but she knew the last thing she needed was for Slade to hover over her as she heaved.

  In the end, she didn't throw up. She stood with her head pressed against the coolness of the wall as roils of nausea rose and fell in giant waves. She gagged, swallowing back the hollowness as she tried to rein in the nausea. She took deep breaths, counting slowly to four as she gulped in air and counting to four again as she released it. The familiar exercise helped her focus and push through the nausea.

  "Kara, are you okay?” Slade asked through the door.

  "Yes,” she answered. “I just need a minute more."

  "Take your time,” he answered.

  His voice was gentle. Patient. Kind, she marveled.

  She dampened a paper towel with cool water and sponged off her face. She was feeling better, though not a lot. She hadn't slept much since she had agreed to marry Slade. The nightmares that had troubled her when she was younger had returned, sharper, more sinister, the danger seeming more real than it had before. She hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch. She felt woozy and her head was pounding but at least the nausea had receded.

  At last she opened the door and feeling shy and weak rejoined Slade.

  "Better?” he asked as she left the restroom. He eyed her carefully, taking in her pale complexion and the dark circles just visible under what remained of her makeup. He wished not for the first time that day, that he had taken things more slowly and that he had made time for them to become better acquainted before the wedding.

  She nodded. “I'm better but I'd kill for some Tylenol."

  "Headache?"

  She nodded again. “Thank you for helping me find the restroom."

  "Not a problem Kara.” He took her hand. She looked at the floor, her eyes vacant as if she had slipped into some distant place he couldn't see. “Kara, look at me please,” he used his Master voice, purposely lacing the commanding tone with the concern he felt.

  She raised her gaze gradually, her eyes slowly climbing his chest until her gaze locked with his. She was afraid of him, he could sense it in the slow testing way she met his gaze, yet she was doing what he'd asked.

  "Try to relax. I'm sure you're scared shitless marrying someone you don't know very well but your life with me will be good. I promise."

  She dropped her gaze from his. He felt sure she didn't believe him, although he didn't understand why she found it so difficult to trust him.

  The idea of marrying her in exchange for not filing charges against her brother had sprung into his mind and he'd acted on it. He'd seen something he wanted intensely when he'd met Kara and he'd pushed her, not taking time to consider what she might want or need. As uncharacteristically selfish as the move had been he had been up front and straight with her about what he wanted in a wife and she had agreed to the marriage.

  He didn't understand why she found it impossible to trust him, but he blamed himself for her distrust and the unhappiness that clung to her. He hoped once the reception was over and they were alone together he'd be able to begin to repair some of the damage his selfish manipulation had caused.

  Chapter 4

  The wedding was over. The reception was over. All that remained to get through was the honeymoon and a year of being his wife.

  Slade opened the SUV's door for her and waited until she was inside and had her seat belt fastened before he shut it.

  The thought of being alone with him terrified her. She had barely gotten through the wedding and being alone in the cabin would be far worse. There would be nothing to provide a buffer between her and his desire for sex.

  She closed her eyes, the images she'd pulled up on the internet when she'd searched for information on dominance and submission taunting her. She was trapped. Either she had to open her soul and share the horror of her past, and hope he'd leave her alone, or she had to find a way to endure his sexual demands.

  Both options filled her with despair. She didn't want to talk about what had happened to her, didn't want to open herself to the pity that was always there when people knew her history. She didn't want to hear again how she should get counseling, as if somehow the horror she had been through could be erased with a little talk therapy.

  As much as she detested talking about what had happened to her the panic attacks were worse. She hated the thundering of her heart, the dizziness, the puking. She detested being weak and feeling helpless. It was bad enough she had to endure the attacks when she was alone but she absolutely loathed having other people see her in that defenseless pathetic state.

  The slamming of the driver's side door startled her from her thoughts. “How's your headache?” Slade asked when he was seated in the driver's seat with the engine running.

  "It still hurts,” she answered, thinking that hurt was an understatement. It pounded, the pain almost blinding in its intensity. She needed caffeine and food and probably sleep too.

  "I'll stop and get you some Tylenol before we get on the highway."

  "Thank you,” she sighed leaning her head back against the headrest and closing her eyes against the pain in her temples. “Thank you for being nice to me today."

  "Of course, I've been nice to you. I take good care of what belongs to me.” He maneuvered the car into the traffic.

  His voice was calm, matter of fact. Her head spun and she felt nauseous. She didn't want to belong to him, or to anyone else. She wanted her nice, safe, lonely little life back. She wanted to work at the vet clinic and come home in the evening and decide what to fix for dinner.

  She didn't want to belong to him. She didn't want to have to try to be obedient when everything in her cried out that she should run.

  He drove into the convenience store parking lot, brought the car to a stop, and killed the engine. Turning toward her he traced the line of her cheek with a gentle hand. She fought the urge to draw away.

  "Why don't you forget about everything else and for now; just work on trusting me? I promise you that everything else is going to fall into place."

  "I'll try,” she said softly, doubting that things would fall into place as smoothly as he thought they would. There were too many skeletons in her closet and too much in her past that rendered her incapable of being a wife.

  "I guess that's all I can ask,” he said stroking her cheek again. “Do you want something to drink with the Tylenol?"

  Kara nodded. Caffeine, she thought greedily. “A Mountain Dew would be really nice."

  "In a bottle or from the fountain?"

  The question threw her for a moment. No one had ever asked her if she wanted a drink from the fountain or from a bottle before. “From the fountain, with lots of ice?” she asked hopefully.

  He quirked a smile. “Done, if that's what you want."

  She watched his long-legged, self-assured saunter as he walked into the store. He was tall and broad shouldered. Strong, she realized. His size and strength should have made her feel vulnerable yet his attentiveness had made her feel cared for and safe.

  The kindness with which he had treated her during the day had left her feeling strangely confused. That he cared what she wanted, especially about something as minor as whether her drink came from the fountain or from a bottle, only added another layer of confusion.

  He'd talked to her about dominance and obedience the day he'd asked her to marry him. He'd told her what he wanted in a wife. He'd been gentle enough and understanding enough of her uncertainty but he'd not asked her what she wanted in a husband or from marriage in general.

  His behavior had left her convinced that he would be the one in charge, the one who would make the decisions and she would be expected to acquiesce. He'd left little doubt that there would be consequences if she didn't bend to his will. Though he hadn't been specific about the consequences the internet h
ad filled in the gaps.

  She watched him through the store window as he took out his wallet and paid for the purchases. Her gaze followed as he ambled back to the SUV, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket as he walked.

  He opened the door. “Mountain Dew, lots of ice, and Tylenol,” he said handing the items to her. He climbed into the driver's seat and waited while she opened the bottle and tapped four tablets into her palm.

  "Thank you,” she breathed feeling inexplicably warm and temporarily safe as she swallowed the medicine.

  They had been back on the highway for several minutes before Slade spoke again. “What do you know about the lifestyle of dominance and submission, Kara?” he asked.

  The question threw her and she debated momentarily whether to tell him what she'd learned about it on the internet. For some reason she couldn't really identify she decided to keep her internet research to herself. “Uu—h not much really, except for what you said the day you asked me to marry you. I know what the words mean generally but I don't have any—experience. I told you that before."

  "I know you did,” he glanced at her, “but you seem ... surprised ... every time I do something nice. I'm just trying to figure out if you're expecting me to behave like a jerk because of the dominance and submission or if there's something else."

  He glanced at her, taking in the soft waves of dark hair that fell around her face and the soft doe brown eyes that avoided him.

  "I-I don't know really. You never said anything about being nice, except for taking care of me financially."

  Damn. He thought he'd painted a clearer picture.

  "You talked about wanting me to be submissive and obedient and—h-hitting me if I wasn't."

  He winced, His jaw clenching. No wonder she was jumpy and skittish if she was constantly expecting him to haul off and hit her if she wasn't suitably submissive.

  "I—uhm—I don't really know what to expect. You've been nice, but—” Her voice was laced with weariness. She sounded sad. Defeated.

  "God, Kara, I did not talk about hitting you. I talked about spanking you. They're two very different things.” His voice was sharper than he intended, and the level of frustration he felt surprised him.