9
Her New Reality
While Riley showered, Ashe made breakfast, a full English fry-up. It was too much oil for his current diet, consisting of fried eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, baked beans, and mushrooms, but if anything reminded him of home other than his mother’s shepherd pies that he loved so much, it was a breakfast like this. He was happy sitting across from Riley, watching her enjoy his greasy home cooking as they talked about everything and anything that came to mind. He loved watching her hands move about when she talked, especially when she was excited about something. Ashe would never try to change anything about her.
Have you noticed how my slave no longer uses her hands when she speaks? They are always on her lap now, palms up in supplication, ready to serve me. One day you will learn how to curb their behavior and make them do your bidding, whatever it may be.
The memory that came jarred Ashe and he had to steel himself for the visions that followed. Dominants and their submissives, masters and their slaves, daddies, and mommies and their littles. The list went on, the dynamics varying from couple to couple or sometimes groups. It had been his first time inside Club Fet then, curious to see where Catriona spent most of her time whenever he was working late or filming on location. By then Ashe had been seeing her for two years; though she’d begged him to move in with her, he’d always refused. He and his friends, Ben and Lance, shared a small flat in Hackney; although he stayed most nights at Catriona’s, he never lived with her until the last two years, his bedroom then used by Hazel whenever she was in London.
Ashe never imagined he’d like the things he’d seen that night, but he had to admit that he did. It awoke something inside him that had long been dormant. When he stepped into the Romper Room, Club Fet‘s inner sanctum and the base of operations for Mistress Cat, it was like stepping into a dream world.
Here Mistress Cat ruled the dungeon where bankers, barristers, and men with titles allowed her to humiliate them. They gave their consent to be spanked, whipped, ordered to lick her boots and denied orgasms. He learned so much that night: about harnesses and the different qualities of leather, of rope and pressure points to avoid; most of all, he learned that he liked what he saw and strove to find an experienced Dominant to guide him.
He learned something else: he would never allow himself to be dominated, not by anyone, even Catriona.
Will you be next? she had asked him one night as he watched her instruct a blindfolded banker, his cock and balls in a metal locking cage, to hold a painful position.
I will never be anyone’s submissive, not even yours; but if you want me to be your Sir, then by all means let me know.
I may just take you up on that, she murmured.
Wouldn’t that go against the grain for the Dominatrix that I see in front of me?
Catriona had smiled then, lowering her voice as she whispered in his ear: For you, I will become anything you want, Sir Ashe; even your slave.
“Do you need any help?” asked Riley from behind him, and Ashe almost dropped the plate he’d been holding. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d come out of the bedroom. She brought her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his back. “You’re tense. Is everything okay?”
“Of course it is,” he said, setting the plate on the table. “These dishes demand my utmost concentration.”
Riley laughed. “Oh, please! You can make them with your eyes closed, although I don’t think it’s recommended. Why don’t I make the coffee?”
As she unwrapped her arms from his waist, Ashe turned to face her. “Move in with me, Riley.”
“But what am I going to do with my place?”
“You could sublet it.”
“What if you want to be alone?”
“I’ve got three bedrooms, a den and a living room, Riley,” Ashe said, smiling. “There’s enough room for the three of us in here.”
She frowned. “Three?”
“Miss Bailey.”
“Oh, yes,” she laughed. “She’s more like a half, but three will do. Thank you for considering her.”
“Of course,” Ashe said, cocking his head toward the cat tree. “That thing in the corner won’t climb itself, you know. It’s waiting for Miss Bailey, on a permanent basis.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Mind you, if you want me to be your sex slave or something like that—”
“Riley!”
“—I’ll have to think about that part, too. I’d probably need a job description.”
Ashe laughed and shook his head. “No sex slaves need apply, petal. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
After breakfast they put on their warmest clothes and took a walk outside, inspecting the snow and even having a snowball fight in the park. Then they spent the rest of the afternoon snuggled in front of the fire, looking through Riley’s picture book as she expounded on each page; she told him about what she’d done as a child that inspired each rhyme and set of pictures, of the events that led to this or that day. This time she didn’t break down, nor did she read the lines aloud, which was fine with him. Ashe didn’t know if he could handle another breakdown without wanting to punch something out of frustration at his helplessness.
There was still one more thing to do, and as much as he hated to pass on this information, Ashe didn’t feel justified in withholding it. Was it really true? Well, why would Sid say it if it weren’t? He’d never bothered to hide his dislike of Riley, his feelings evident in every conversation Riley had had with him over the phone. Why can’t you be like your sister?
“We need to talk,” said Ashe as Riley closed her mother’s picture book and set it on her lap. “It’s about something your father told me.”
“Oh. What did he say?” asked Riley, gazing down at the book before turning to look at him again. “It’s obviously troubling you.”
“He told me you’re not…” He paused, resenting that he had to be the one to utter the words. “He said that you’re not his daughter.”
She didn’t speak for a few moments. “Why would he say that?”
“I’m afraid my meetings with him weren’t cordial.”
“Meetings? You met him more than once, and you never told me?”
“I wanted to surprise you with this book,” said Ashe. “My first meeting with him didn’t go very well, and I returned to apologize.”
“Was this apology before or after he gave you the book?”
“Before,” replied Ashe. “I made the mistake of asking him why he was so hard on you, and why he still blamed you for your mother’s death.”
“And he gave you the book anyway, when he could have told me that he had it.” Riley ran her hand over the book and set it aside. “Are you sure that’s what he said about me?”
Ashe nodded. There were no more words left; he’d realized what a mistake it had been to tell her. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t, he thought as he caught Riley’s hand. She pulled away.
“Are you sure you didn’t mishear him?”
He saw confusion, anger, and fear on her face, and realized that Riley was now questioning her whole identity. Worse, the memories of her mother that she held dear were now tainted.
Ashe cursed under his breath. “Bloody hell, Riley, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, closing the space between them as he got up from the couch and gathered her in his arms. He didn’t care whether she protested or not. A fresh bout of sobs were muffled against his chest as she shouted out her frustration, her fists pounding against his shoulder blades. She could have pushed him away but she didn’t.
Suddenly Ashe’s busy schedule and his petty worries paled in comparison. Even the trouble looming on the horizon by the name of Catriona seemed trivial, for nothing she could do or say about him and his past could match the trauma that Riley was now going through. At least Ashe knew who he was. He was the only son of a sheep farmer and a schoolteacher, uncle to his deceased sister’s daughter, and boyfriend to a barista named Riley Eames. He loved her, and there was no way he would let her go through this alone.
Not now. Not ever.