Page 48 of Gideon
“You wish,” she teased, rolling her eyes dramatically.
“In all seriousness, I would start things off completely differently. If you’re interested in going down this path with me, I want to start you off right,” I explained.
“What does that look like?” she reiterated.
“It’s all about teaching you the truth about submission.” I waited, watching how her eyes seemed to sparkle with interest. She wanted this. Or at least, she wanted to want this. “The truth about submission is that it is only real submission if it is freely given. Submission cannot be forced. It cannot be taken. Not by a Dominant. Not by anyone.”
“That’s a complete one-eighty to how things are in Zion,” she murmured, as though she didn’t believe it.
“Fuck Zion. This is the truth. It’s only submission if you choose to willingly give it. It’s a gift. And in return, dominance is given. It’s the job of a Dominant to take the reins, but only those the submissive has agreed to give,” I continued.
“It’s an exchange,” she stated, understanding dawning in her eyes. “And if I said I wanted the dominance, but I didn’t want the ropes?”
“Then ropes would be off the table forever, unless you said otherwise,” I quickly responded.
“After explaining my reasoning?” she asked. She was testing the boundaries, pushing against them to discover where they were and where her safety was. Soon, she would learn that she was safe in all things. She was safe with me.
“No questions asked. If you want to explain, I’m all ears. But you set those boundaries and I will adhere to them. No matter what.”
“So it’s all about my wants,” she sighed, almost happily this time.
“Not exactly. It’s about putting it all on the table. Taking off the things each of us is against. Discussing what’s left and deciding what works for the two of us. It’s about communication,” I explained.
“And trust,” she added, and I simply nodded. She was starting to get it.
“And trust,” I agreed, giving her a full smile and feeling myself relax, finally.
“I don’t know how I feel yet,” she began, and I nodded my understanding. “But…”
That glint of hope flickered anew.
“But I think I want to find out. I think Ineedto find out,” she said with an air of understanding, more of herself than of anything.
“Then I would be happy to show you. I want you to sleep on it first, though. We will talk about it more tomorrow, okay?” I asked her, brimming with joy when she nodded with a smile. “Should we head to bed, then? I think we’ve both had a lot to digest tonight and sleep would do us both a world of good.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” she agreed. I walked over to her, offering my hand as she stood up. The feel of her small hand in mine, combined with the story she had told me, made her seem so small and fragile.
“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, or out on the boat if you’d rather. I’m sure you’ll want your space,” I offered, wanting only to make her as comfortable as possible. She squeezed her hand around mine, refusing to let go.
“Come to bed, Gideon.” Such a simple statement. Yet, it held such power, especially now. Especially with what I now knew. It took me aback, the way this woman could trust anything at all after all she had been through.
“Alright. If you’re sure. Let’s go to bed,” I agreed, squeezing her hand back.
We made our way up the stairs slowly, in no rush at all. Both of us stayed silent, quietly readying ourselves for bed as we processed the events of the night. Not just the night, the events of the last two days. It had been a whirlwind of ardent bickering, abhorrent miscommunications, emotional admissions, and passionate interactions.
As we each got comfortable under the covers, I couldn’t help but pull her to me, needing to touch her. I needed to feel the physical act of protection I could offer her.
“Gideon?” she murmured, settling into my embrace as I held her to me, her back pressed firmly against my chest, with my arms wrapped around her protectively.
“Yes?” I murmured into the skin of her shoulder. She smelled like the rain. Like rain and thunder and something mysterious I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Don’t tell your brothers,” she muttered quietly, scooting down further into the pillow as she spoke.
“What?” I questioned, not understanding.
“Don’t tell your brothers about me. Please,” she reiterated. I could hear the soft plea in her voice.
“Why?” I asked, needing to understand her reasons. My brothers would want to know — theyneededto know.
