The Denim Dom

Chapter Twenty-One

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

All day Thursday, she felt like crap. She didn’t text Tony that morning when she got up, and she didn’t hear from him at all.

Man, I fucked this up.

All she knew was that she had to try to find a way to fix it. It felt like a huge sinkhole had suddenly developed in her life.

Like a large piece of her had dropped out of existence.

Maybe this was just an arrangement to him, but she realized she couldn’t lie to herself about how important it was to more than just her series of articles.

She wanted Tony in her life. If the only way she could have him was for this short amount of time, she’d take it and be glad of it.

Late Thursday evening, she swallowed her pride, pulled up Tony’s number on her contact list, and dialed it.

By the third ring she was certain it would go to his voice mail. That was why it startled her when his voice came on the line. “Hello.”

“Um.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hi. It’s, uh, Shay.”

“I know. I saw your number on the screen.”

She realized he wasn’t going to lead her through this. She’d have to nut up and spit it out. “I wanted to call and say I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

She blinked, waiting. When he didn’t continue, she said, “Aren’t you sorry?” She regretted the words as soon as she said them.

“I’m sorry we fought, yes. And I apologized to you several times last night, if you’ll recall, for reading the letter and for doubting you. If you’re expecting an apology for me leaving when you started throwing a tantrum, I’m not going to apologize for a fight I didn’t escalate.”

She wanted to blast him, except for there being one teensy weensy problem with that.

He was right, and she knew it.

Dammit.

She let out a breath and tried again. “I’m really sorry, Tony. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Can I have another chance? Please?”

“I warned you that I’m not into drama. I don’t tolerate it at work, and I damn sure won’t tolerate it in my private life. I was doing you a favor. I don’t appreciate being called an asshole for my efforts.”

“I didn’t agree with you.”

“That’s fine. You have every right to disagree with me. Even to be angry with me. You can, however, be respectful when expressing your disagreement and anger. I’m not perfect. But I’m also not your ex and I don’t deserve to be treated like him just because you’re still not finished dealing with your pain and anger over what he did to you.”

Dammit. He was right.

Again.

“Look, I said I’m sorry. Please?”

She heard him let out what definitely sounded like a sigh on his end of the line. Although she didn’t know if it was one of aggravation or acceptance. “What do you want from me, Shayla?”

She felt a wave of dismay at him calling her Shayla instead of Shay.

Or pet.

“I told you. I want another chance.”

The pause before his answer seemed to last a year. “I usually don’t give second chances when disrespect is involved. I made that perfectly clear to you in the beginning. I thought we had the start of a really good dynamic going and you pull something like that. It makes me reluctant to want to invest more time in it.”

She felt like crap and took the plunge. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she softly said. “I have issues, all right? I warned you about that, too. Sir.”

This time he laughed. She hated that the sound made some place deep inside her feel good. “You don’t have issues. You have subscriptions.”

“Ha-ha, yes, pick on the vanilla chick who’s diving headfirst into all this. Very funny. I said I’m sorry.” She felt desperation setting in at the thought of never feeling his hand on the back of her neck again. In a whisper, she begged. “Please, Sir? May I have another chance?”

She didn’t realize she held her breath awaiting his response until she let it out when he finally replied. “Fine. No more chances after this one. Not for that. You have a problem, you handle it like an adult and not a brat. You code and talk to me. You don’t act out. You don’t be disrespectful. Yes, I screwed up. But when I’m standing there admitting I screwed up and apologizing for it, it’s time to back down and talk, not throw a tantrum.”

She struggled to hold back tears of relief. She spit it out before she lost her nerve. “I’m sorry, Sir. I was scared.”

That made him pause. “Of me?”

“No,” she softly admitted.

Another pause. “Tell me.”

“Can we please do this in person? It’d be a lot easier on me.”

The pause was deafening and felt like forever. “Do you think you can still trust me?”

“Yes. This wasn’t about you, it was about me. And you were right. I think there’s stuff I need help dealing with.”

“Seven o’clock tomorrow evening. Meet me at The Pig and Pint on Ringling. You know where it is?”

She could almost see the pub from her cubicle window at work. “Yeah, pretty sure I do.”

“What was that?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”

“Good girl. I’ll see you tomorrow evening, pet. Have a good night, pet.”

“Good night, Sir.”

She closed her eyes, trembling at the echoes of his voice in her head. His tone had changed, back to smiling and warm.

Good girl.

Pet.

Part of her hated what those words, and the way he said them, did to her insides.

And the rest of her loved it.

Craved it.

Needed it.

Dammit.

Tony hung up with her and let out a long, relieved breath.

Thank god she broke down first. If he hadn’t heard from her by Sunday, he’d planned on calling her and asking for a sit-down. And at that point he was going to take the chance and admit his feelings for her. Either get things out in the open, or get the finale over and done with.

Either way, it would be a resolution.

Now, at least, they could step back into their dynamic and let it continue. After their time was up, if they made it that long, he would confess to her how he felt and let things shake out however they would.

He’d hated fighting with her, but he’d recognized the sharp, shrill edge of panic in her voice when things blew up last night and knew anything else he said then would only make things worse.

The landmine he’d stepped on had blown up in a huge way. Yes, she had major triggers regarding her ex and what he did to her. He just hadn’t realized how big they were.

Or how she obviously hadn’t faced her grief over the issue.

She needed an out. She needed permission to face her demons, grieve, and move on.

She needed a safety valve.

He’d seen it before and suspected with events so fresh and raw in her mind, combined with the sudden move and now all of this, that it had festered to a point she didn’t want to process it.

He was pleasantly surprised when he received a text from her just a few minutes later.

Good night, Sir.

He smiled as he read it before he replied, Good night, pet. Sweet dreams.

Seconds later, her reply.

Thank You, Sir.

He didn’t miss that she capitalized the Y.

He arrived at the pub early only because he’d managed to catch every light green from Bradenton. She walked in a couple of minutes after he got there, and still twelve minutes before their agreed-upon time.

I wonder if I point at the floor if she’d kneel? If she’d give me our greeting here in front of all these people?

From the desperate look on her face he suspected she would. Which was all the more reason he remained seated and kept his fingers laced together on the table in front of him.

She sat across from him. He patted his hands on the table. When she held out her hands, he laced his fingers through hers and looked into her eyes.

“I’m very sorry, pet. I’m sorry I violated your privacy, and I’m sorry I questioned your motives. There will be times I screw up. And I screwed up.”

Her lower lip trembled and a tear spilled from her left eye. “I’m sorry I blew up, Sir,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I called you names. I’m sorry, I…” Her head dropped and her eyes closed as she softly cried.

He quickly switched seats and tucked her against his chest, his arm around her shoulders as she cried. She took off her glasses and laid them on the table after he pressed a napkin into her hand.

“Shh, it’s all right, pet. We’ll get through it together.”

“I trusted him,” she whispered, her pained voice ripping at his heart. “I believed him. Why would he do that to me? I gave him a second chance and it’s like he didn’t care.”

“I don’t know, pet. Some men are just assholes.” At least she snorted a little laughter through her tears.

She finally looked up at him. “How do I get over this? How do I know I won’t screw up somewhere down the line and misjudge someone again like that?”

He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t have an answer for you there, pet. Sometimes, people suck. Fortunately, not everyone is like your ex.”

“But what if they are?”

“I’m not.” He made her look at him. “I feel horrible about the other night. I feel rotten that I made you feel bad. And I hate that we fought.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“But.”

She wore an expression of anticipation.

“You were disrespectful. I think punishment is in order, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“We can move on from this point, but there will be punishment. Tomorrow, not tonight because you’re too upset, before we go to dinner and the club. You have to understand that I don’t mind disagreements or anger or any of that, as long as it’s handled in a respectful, drama-free manner. You need a reminder of that. Deal?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Good girl.”

They talked for over an hour before they ate. She managed to pull herself together, but he still sat on the same side as the booth with her, allowing her to sit cuddled against him, his arm around her.

After dinner, he followed her back to her apartment where she quickly stripped and put her collar back on before giving him their greeting.

And she received a spanking over his lap on the couch.

Followed by three orgasms.

And another round of tears he held her through.

Before he left, he gave her instructions for the next day. “I want you to wear your hair in a ponytail tomorrow. Be at my house promptly at two, understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sundress, no panties. Sandals. Punishment will happen first and then we’ll move on and put this behind us. I also promise I will not violate your privacy again. But you have to promise to talk to me and not blow up. Code and talk. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

When she finally crawled into bed Friday night, emotionally drained but happy, she was almost asleep before she remembered she hadn’t checked her mailbox since Wednesday.

Dammit. Add that to the list of things to do tomorrow.