It ripped at me.
"I love you," I said. "I mean it, you didn't do anything wrong."
"I love you, too. I promise I'll try harder." He sounded frantic, near panic.
"No, you're trying hard enough. I'm the one who needs to try harder. I need to take a step back for a little bit and figure things out, that's all."
He sounded so sad but I knew he'd never admit it to me even if I asked. "What do you want me to do until you come home?"
I forced myself to maintain a steady, level tone of voice. "I want you to go to work tomorrow like you normally do. I'll see you when I get home tomorrow night. I should be home around seven thirty or so, maybe eight. If it'll be later than that I'll try to call you."
"Okay."
No questions, no recriminations, no accusations.
Acquiescence.
"I love you," I said again."Be safe."
"I love you, too. I miss you."
That's when I nearly lost it. "I miss you, too. Now let me get off of here before my phone dies. I don't have my charger with me." I hung up before he could hear me sob.
I put myself back together before I met Tony downstairs in the restaurant. He cocked his head and watched me from across the table. "Feeling better?"
I shook my head. "Worse."
We were seated by ourselves in a corner booth. He clasped his hands and leaned in close, his voice low. "I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind, okay?"
I nodded.
He turned the full force of his green eyes on me. "If you could have your husband do one thing, what would it be?"
Without missing a beat I replied, "Have him take control and fuck me silly."
Tony smiled. "Then ask him."
"How's he supposed to do that?"
One eyebrow slid up. "I thought you had kids. You don't know how they get here?"
I laughed. "Duh. I mean, if he's playing sub, how's he supposed to take charge?"
He eyed me and I suspected I was about to learn a lesson.
"Does a general go out in the field and fight every battle personally?"
I wasn't sure where he was leading, but I followed. "No."
"Do field commanders call generals up every five minutes and ask for new orders?"
I frowned. "I don't think so."
"What does a general do?"
I shrugged. "Beats the fuck outta me."
He smiled. "A general gives a command. Is a general always in command over a lower officer?"
"Is this our Yoda moment?"
"Answer the question."
I nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, I guess so."
"Okay. But field commanders, they make 'in charge'
decisions, don't they?"
I shrugged again. "I guess."
He leaned back. "Do you ever tell your husband to make dinner?"
"Yeah, he does it all the time."
"Do you stand over him and tell him how every little thing is supposed to be done?"
"No. I'd do it myself if I had to do that."
"You give him a goal-oriented command and tell him to get it done, correct?"
I nodded, seeing his point.
"And does he do it?"
"Yeah."
"Just because he makes decisions in the process doesn't make him any less your sub."
"Right."
"So you tell him this is something you need. He can serve you by doing it. You get the best of both worlds."
I closed my eyes, feeling like a fucking moron. It was one of those things that was so easy and clear that I'd totally fucking missed it because it was so simple.
"I think you just made the connection," he observed.
"Yeah. I did. So I can order him to be in charge and he's still my sub by taking charge."
"One of those little ironies that makes the lifestyle so interesting. You can have your cake and beat it, too."
It took me a second to realize what he'd said, then I laughed.
We had a good brunch. We didn't just talk about that, although he let me get my thoughts on the table and offered his insight. He never told me I had to do one thing or another.
Before we ended our discussion four hours later, he looked at me. "Any more questions?"
"How do I go home and explain why I did this?"
He shrugged. "You're his Mistress. You don't have to tell him anything if you don't want to."
"I'm also his wife. Don't I owe him an explanation?"
"Do you? Why?"
"Because I love him."
"Show him you love him. Be honest, have communication, but you can't sit there worried about what hasn't happened yet. Just be honest. Maybe he'll surprise you."
Miracle of miracles, I didn't have a seat mate on the return flight home. I stared out the window at the alien landscape as it slipped by below us, thousands of feet away.
How would he greet me?
I still wasn't sure what my next step would be. Should I consider ending this "game" once and for all? I loathed myself. I hated that I could rip into him emotionally, even in as minor a way that I did, and hurt him. I didn't want that power.
I feared it.
The sun was dipping into the Gulf of Mexico as our plane banked over Tampa Bay, landing from the south. An hour later I sat in my car and pondered my next step.
What would await me?
I gave him no instructions when I told him about my flight.
Would he be home? Would he be watching TV or working?
Would he be sitting there, naked, only wearing his collar?
Would he be there at all?
I personally feared and felt I deserved the last.
Yes, he'd asked for this lifestyle. I tried, but no matter what, I couldn't deny that there were needs I had that this game ran totally contrary to. I needed him, his strength. I needed his support.
Could I reconcile what I needed and still give him what he craved?
That was. The longest. Fucking. Drive. Of my life.
Period.
I sat in our driveway for a moment, his car was there.
Lights were on inside.
With a deep, nervous breath, I gathered my things, locked my car, and stepped inside.
The smell hit me first, rolling out the door like a luscious cloud. He'd been cooking. Considering my last meal was a bagel off the hotel's continental breakfast bar twelve hours earlier, saying my mouth watered wasn't an exaggeration.
The lamp in the living room was on, but the rest of the kitchen and dining room were bathed in candlelight.
Stunned, I couldn't move. I was vaguely aware of something soft and jazzy on the stereo. I'd envisioned many homecomings, but nothing like this.
He stuck his head out of the kitchen and raced over to me.
Naked.
Well, except for his collar.
He threw his arms around me and I barely had time to put down my stuff before he swept me into his arms, his face buried in my hair.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he kept repeating.
I think that made me feel worse.
I let him hold me, hugging him back, closing my eyes and trying to live in the moment. Obviously he wasn't upset with me for my sudden departure.
"You didn't do anything wrong," I whispered.
And, of course, he hadn't.
We made it to the couch. When he tried to sit on the floor in front of me I refused to let go of him until he was seated next to me, on the cushions, his arm around me.
I couldn't look him in the eye. "We need to have a talk," I managed.
He kissed the top of my head. "Okay."
I'd planned this talk all day. Somehow, the words failed me. Every line I thought I'd memorized went right out the fucking window.
"What did Tony say to you on the phone?" I asked.
I felt his body tense a little. "He told me you were having a normal reaction and that you needed a little time to think things through."
"What else?"
I felt him shrug.
"I didn't sleep with him. That's not why I went out there.