The past week has been an absolute dream. I took time off work at Xander’s suggestion, so I could go shopping for everything to fill our new home. He handed me his black credit card and told me to spare no expense, get anything my heart desires.

We both decided we wanted all brand new furniture. We wanted our home to be a fresh start, somewhere with none of our past attached to it. And as anxious as I was to fill the house with a beautiful bedroom suite and overstuffed couches and all matching kitchen appliances, there was one room I couldn’t possibly wait to complete.

The nursery.

It was finished before the painted details even dried in any other room. I’d had a vision of my dream nursery since the moment Xander professed his desire to have children someday, back when I was still his student. And as I look inside our baby’s bedroom from where I lean against the doorjamb, I beam with pride at how perfectly my vision came to fruition.

The dark cherry circular crib is the focal point of the room, with a white canopy hanging above it, framing it like a throne awaiting its ruler. Would it be a little prince or princess to fill the spot? I have no preference; the only thing that matters to me is that our baby is healthy. I have more hopes of them looking like their father than I care whether it’s a boy or girl.

The nursery also contains a changing table, a rocking chair, and a wardrobe, all in the same dark cherry wood as the crib. I kept everything else gender-neutral, with cream bedding. There are decorations here and there, using a houndstooth pattern and little Scottie dogs wearing red collars. I’ve always loved the look of houndstooth, but never felt I was classy enough to pull it off. After all, I spend my days in scrubs. But this child will be treated like royalty, a future king or queen, so I finally felt I could fill a space with my favorite pattern.

I also enjoyed working on our living room downstairs. Xander had wasted no time hiring movers to pack up all of our belongings that wasn’t furniture and having it all delivered here. It was so relaxing, almost meditative, opening each box of our books and filling the built-ins with the titles. We had duplicates of several, and it made me smile knowing we could’ve been reading identical books at the same time throughout the years of our separation.

I didn’t want a TV in the living room. We so very rarely watched it anyways, so I decided to have the only one in the house upstairs in the space I’d made into the entertainment room. Instead, I filled the rest of the living room with two giant, cream-colored L-shape couches put together to make a U, with a huge ottoman in the center. I covered it in tons of colorful throw pillows.

On the one wall without windows or shelves, I painted my favorite quote, Emily Brontë’s “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” And on the one-foot tall space between the top of the bookcases and ceiling, I scrawled, George R. R. Martin’s “A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.” Xander had practically tackled me to the fluffy couch when I’d uncovered his eyes with my hands and he took in the elegant calligraphy, kissing me over and over and telling me how absolutely perfect it was.

Finally, something I absolutely adored because it was all Xander, just outside the living room, by the staircase leading to the second floor, was a metal suit of armor. It stood there, tall and proud, looking like a guard ready to defend our castle. Unfortunately, with it being an antique, it had been slightly damaged in the move from Xander’s old place to here. Nothing major, it could be easily fixed. The little screw that held the knight’s staff in place was now loose inside its hole. A couple times now, the staff has fallen. I have been meaning to get a new screw, one that isn’t stripped, to replace the old one, but with all the other things to worry about, it hasn’t been high on my priority list. Already, I’m having to jot things down in order to remember them. Pregnancy brain is already in full effect.

One thing I don’t have to write down is my lunch date with my dad. I haven’t seen him in quite some time, both of us always working. He was an English professor on Xander’s campus. Soon after I took the pregnancy test, I expressed to Xander that we needed to tell my dad the happy news. His face had lost all its color, and I’d giggled and told him it would be fine. We were all adults now, so my dad certainly wouldn’t hurt Xander for impregnating his daughter, even if it was out of wedlock.

Hurrying out the door and locking it behind me, I hop in my car and make my way to where I’m meeting my dad. I wait in the downtown café, staring dreamily out the window I’m seated beside. It’s a rainy day, but that’s the best kind. Darkness consumed me since the day I met Xander at eighteen, and it is where I always find myself wanting to be.

When I asked my father to meet me here, he’d been surprised, asking me what was wrong. I’d laughed his worry away, telling him I had some good news I wanted to tell him in person. But now, as I touch my still-flat stomach, knowing our baby is growing inside, I find myself slipping into a bit of nervous jitters. No one in my life ever knew about Xander. I never made friends after I fell in love, because I was consumed with Xander. I didn't need nor did I desire to make any. They wouldn't have understood. No one will, and I suppose my father won’t either.

It’s not just Xander’s mature age; it’s also the fact that he and Dad were colleagues before he retired. My knee twitches under the table. I wore jeans and boots today; my cream, loose-fitting sweater hangs off my right shoulder, and the thin strap of my tank shows. My hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail cascading down my back in loose curls. I take a small sip of my hot tea when I see my father appear at the entrance. He looks around a little and I wave when his eyes find me.

His hair is all gray now, even his mustache he recently started sporting in his retirement. As he gets closer, his warm brown eyes lift with his gentle smile. My dad and mom were the only friends I truly had. When my mother first died of ovarian cancer, he and I relied heavily on one another, because we both lost our prized best friend. But then he drifted, and I was too lost to figure out how to bring him back.

“Baby girl. How are you?” We exchange kisses on the cheek and I take a seat, watching him adjust into his before I respond.

“I’m good, Daddy. Just busy with work. How are you? How’s retirement?” I smirk, sliding him his black coffee I ordered.

Smiling, he nods, taking two sugar packets from the bowl on the table and ripping them open. “Still new. I am adjusting to it, though.”

“That’s good. It feels like the year went by fast,” I respond, lifting the tea to my lips and taking a sip.

“I always thought it was just a stereotype, but it’s not. I do, in fact, golf a lot.” He chuckles, and the sound is warm. I truly love my father. I laugh along with him, but it dies down as I remember what I’m here for. I don’t want to upset him.

“What is it, baby girl?” He notices my worry, and that may be the one thing my father, Dennis, has always been the best at.

“Dad, I—”

“Dad? That’s a little formal for us. What’s going on, little one?” He reaches across the table and places his slightly wrinkled yet strong hand over mine. I wait a moment and watch the scene in front of me. I say a silent prayer to my mother above and ask that she guides me through this. “Daddy, I have wanted to tell you about this for years, but it didn't seem right. I don’t want to hurt you, and I want your acceptance.” I close my eyes and see Xander in my head, his defined face giving me courage. It’s as if he is here in front of me. His face is stoic, but there is a slight smirk playing at his lips, and his blue eyes are piercing. Everything behind him is gone and it’s just white. I drown in that for a moment, submerse myself in him, before opening my eyes again. Met with my father’s worried face, I know I need to confess everything and stop the waiting.

“Daddy, I’m pregnant. I’m in love.”

His hand flexes on mine and his face is a mix of happiness and hurt. “Wow. Well, I am happy for you, sweetie, but a little confused that you didn't tell me that you’re seeing anyone. Aren't we closer than that?”

It’s my turn to comfort him. That was by far more painful to hear than what I thought his disapproval would have been. “Oh, Daddy, yes, of course we are. We are close; it’s just… you knew him, and the way we started and when we started is something I knew you wouldn't be okay with.” He swallows and tilts his head, urging me with his gaze to continue. “I was eighteen when we met, and I fell in love. But we ended after a few short months. I won’t go into detail, but we recently reconnected, and it happened so fast. I really didn't know when to tell you without upsetting you.” I leave out the details about why we ended and how we reunited. There is a side of me that I will never let anyone see—anyone but my Xander.

“Who is he then, sweetie?” he pushes.

“Please don’t be upset with me,” I whisper, dropping my head.

“Tell me, Lizith Morrison,” he demands, suddenly less patient.

“I have been in love with Xander Stine for some years now, Daddy. I’m so sorry, but please don’t be upset.” And just like that, I watch the color drain from his face. Mortification. He is mortified. “Daddy?”

“Um.” He coughs and clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Lizith. How? When? I mean, honey, this is not good.” My body shudders and my eye twitches. I feel my Master’s favorite side of me trying to break free, and I fear she may if my dad says that again. Xander and I are all things that are better than “good.” We are all that is right in the world.

“I love him. Nothing you say will change that or stop me. Nothing,” I say with a chilling tone, and pulling my hand free from his on the table, I regain my posture and I stand tall, defending what’s mine. My love, my Xander.

I watch my father shake his head in disbelief, and I see something in his eyes that I can’t place, but it looks like pure fear. “I need to go. We will talk later. I need a minute to think about this.” And with that, I let him leave, not ready to explain Xander further. This is the bubble I never wanted anyone inside, and this is one of the main reasons. No one will understand Xander. No one but my mother, because I know in the afterlife, those we love can feel everything we do from love, all the way to pain, and I’m sure my mother can feel inside my heart exactly what I feel for Xander.

I close my eyes and sit up straight. Breathing deep through my nostrils, my eyes open and I focus on centering myself again. I cannot break character in front of people. It wouldn't end well. Do I feel remorse and regret for hiding this from my father? Yes. But at the same time, I’m a woman now. A successful woman who can make a life of her own without having to ask permission or approval from anyone.

I grab my jacket and throw it on before taking my tea and heading out to the Tesla. Xander let me have it to play with today, and I plan to take it for a short joyride. I need a second to collect myself. I don’t know what I will tell Xander about my father, but for now, I know I will do whatever is needed to stay loyal and by my keeper’s side. My father will forgive me; he has to, and with the time he has requested, I will let him come to terms with our relationship on his own.

Speeding onto the highway, I get lost. I drive farther out of the city and deeper into my mind. I am losing control of my own body. Right then, I see a deserted grassy field on the side of the road on the outskirts of town and decide to stop there. I need a minute to breathe, and no matter how deep my foot digs the pedal and the notch on the dash rises with the speed, I can’t control myself.

I don’t want to hurt my father, but I also hate that he just left without even asking me more. Even worse, he ran out of there as if he were on fire. I take a few long breaths when the phone rings through the car speakers. I see Xander’s name on the dash and my heart rate kicks into overdrive. I debate ignoring it, but the last thing I want to do is upset my master.

“Hello, handsome.”

“And where would my little bird be going in the opposite direction of me, and so goddamn fast?” he growls.

“How do you know where I’m going? How do you know I was speeding?” I look around outside the car, seeing the cars sporadically pass by me.

“Do not answer my questions with a question, little one. You trying to leave me? Did your daddy tell you to leave me? I thought I told you I would always know where you are and I would never let you leave me.”

I smirk, my wings extending. I love when he gets this way over me. “Is that why you let me drive your nice toy, Master? So you could keep watch over me? I would never leave you, Xander. Only if I had a death wish by my own hands,” I whisper, bringing my hand up to my neck, where I feel it dampening from the arousal coming over me. My Xander was tracking me, hunting me, and his deep, smooth voice telling me so has my body lit on fire with renewed desire.

“You are breathing deep, Lizith. I know you aren't touching yourself without me. Don’t you remember the rules? Are you fucking begging for a punishment, little bird?” he bites, and I grin. I want that punishment, because he hasn't given me one in weeks.

“Oh, Xander,” I moan, my hand trailing into my jeans and past my lacy panties. I find my clit, my hand restrained in the confines of my tight jeans, but the friction is incredible.

“Lizith. You better not touch yourself without me. You are being very bad, little thing. Very fucking bad.”

I bite my lip and circle my clit harder. “Oh, fuck. It feels so good,” I groan louder.

“Goddammit. Enough.” In my mind’s eye, I see the veins protruding in his neck.

“You aren't here to stop me, keeper,” I entice him, pushing him past angry. I want him enraged and untamed. I want him to punish me tonight, and maybe then I can settle back down, because right now, I can’t seem to forget the pain in my father’s eyes and what I fear is waiting around the corner. What that is, I don’t know.

I hear him slam his fist on something in the background, and I can't tell what it is. But I do know it fuels me on. “I can’t stop. Because I know it’s upsetting you and I want you mad. But you are too far to get to me,” I tease him.

“Oh, little bird, you are going to regret this.”

I start to add more pressure and listen to him growl under his heavy breath, and all it makes me do is try harder and my moans thunder through the car. Then I hear the line go dead without another word, but I can't stop. I am in the thick of it, on the cusp of coming to the idea of my Xander mad with a belt in his vascular, twitching hand.

“Xander!” I scream, and right as I’m about to explode, there is a loud, demanding rap on my window. I hurry and pull my hand from my jeans and look out the tinted window, and that’s when I see hell above me. The dark shadow of my Master.

“Xander?” He looks angry, and suddenly my blood drains from my face. I gulp, my body heat simmering and fear setting in. I roll down the window, and with smooth, calculated, and slow movements, he leans in. “How did you get here?” I look in the rearview mirror and see his personal driver he uses on rare occasions drive away. I swallow, answering my own question.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he looks completely collected and held together. Eyeing me over, he stops when he reaches my eyes, and his are far darker than I have ever seen. I know that look. I feared it at first.

My jaw goes slack and I open my mouth to speak, but fear grips my tongue and renders me speechless.

Xander laughs deep in his chest, a sound so frightening I feel it in my bones and goosebumps erupt over my skin. When he stands back finally, I watch in slow motion as he removes his expensive Italian black leather belt with a simple sleek silver buckle. When he pulls it from the belt loops, he steps back and makes room.

“Get out. Now.” Shaking my head, I stare up at him in fear. I have seen him go black, but never this intensely.

“Out of the car. Now!” That vein in his neck becomes noticeable, and the heat in his veins shades the skin red and I jump into action. Stepping out of the car with my tail between my legs, I do what he says. “Don't play with me, Lizith. You know what to fucking do.”

I nod, knowing what to do, but unsure if he will do what he usually does—a little spanking then a lot of hard fucking.

I turn and drop the back of my hands to the curve of my ass, touch my wrists together in a light kiss, and wait. When it’s clear of cars and the highway goes quiet for a moment, he binds me with his belt, his thick fingers making quick work of his task.

I breathe heavily, my chest rising and falling as my heart beats so rapidly I feel it may leave my body and run away. “Xan—”

“Quiet.” Taking my elbow roughly, he walks me around the front of the car, my steps wobbly and uneven as I trip a few times. If it weren't for Xander holding me so tight to his side, I would have fallen on my face, unable to catch myself with my arms trapped behind me.

Opening the door on the passenger side, he puts me in the car and buckles me in, my hands still bound and digging into my back, wedged lightly between me and the white leather of the seat.

I watch as he slams the door, walks around the front of the car, and then sits in the place I occupied moments ago. I keep my head down, knowing I have no right nor room to speak, because I awoke the keeper and he is not happy with my games.

“You got what you wanted, Lizith. I am going to take you home and fucking ruin you. Hope you enjoy your next thirty minutes of sitting comfortably, because in a few short hours, you will be lucky if you can walk. Hell, you will be sleeping on that fucking stomach for a week.”

With that, my eyes water at the fear inside me, still scared, but his little bird is flourishing inside and coming alive. I haven't been ruined in our special way since we came back together, and now I’m overwhelmed with knowing what’s about to happen.

“Don’t cry, little bird. I broke you enough to prepare you for this,” Xander murmurs, and I stay silent, watching the minutes on the screen of his car slowly tick by and draw me closer to what I need most.

My keeper to bring me back to my beautiful, unstable psychosis.