Things Made Right by Tymber Dalton

promised.
    She lay curled up on the couch, her head in his lap. Ross stroked her hair with one hand, the fingers of his other hand laced through hers, tapping that three-beat rhythm.
    “What?” she asked.
    His sigh sounded weary, world-worn. “I’m not exactly a normal guy, Lor. Not when it comes to what I want, what I need in life.”
    “Are you gay?” she quietly asked.
    “What? No. Why did you ask that?”
    “You never made a move on me before, so I just wondered.”
    He finally chuckled. “No, I’m definitely not gay.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ve always wanted you.”
    She looked up at him. “Then why didn’t you say anything before?” Maybe if he had, she wouldn’t have ended up at that stupid party in the first place—
    No. This isn’t his fault.
    “Because it’s not easy to open myself up. Not about this.”
    She sat up and looked at him. “Then tell me.”
    His gaze seemed to search her face, examining every inch of her as if he was worried this might be the last time he’d see her. Finally, he stroked her cheek. “I’m the kind of guy that I need a woman who will submit to me.”
    She felt her heart sink a little. “What do you mean?”
    He tucked her hair behind her ears, as if stalling for time. “I need to be in control,” he quietly said. “In bed, and out of it.”
    “Like, you’d tell me what to do?” Then again, after what happened that night, hadn’t she let him do exactly that? Ever since then, Ross had taken control of her life, gently steering and guiding her. Taking care of her.
    “Sort of. Not to be a doormat. I don’t want that.” He gently clutched her hands in his, brought them to his chest.
    A feeling of peace and calm settled over her.
    Safety.
    Being loved. Cared for.
    “You know how in the 1950s, how women ran the home, and they did what their husbands said, and they had traditional roles?”
    She nodded.
    “Sort of like that. Only…not.”
    “That doesn’t make sense.”
    He smiled. “I know. It’s hard to explain. I want you to finish school and get your degree. I want you to have a job, to work, if that’s what you want.”
    Her heart skipped, racing as she realized he was speaking as if they were together.
    “But,” he continued, “while we will discuss things, while I’ll ask your opinion, there might be times you don’t like my decisions. I will still expect you to abide by them. And if you disobey me, I might spank you.”
    An image flashed through her mind, of his hand stroking her bare ass before bringing his palm down against her flesh. Of her writhing over his lap while he kept one hand fisted in her hair and spanked her with the other.
    She wanted it.
    “And there might be times I spank you because I want to,” he added. “I’m a sadist.”
    A chill settled in her. “You like to hurt people?”
    “Only if they want it. Not like…not that .” He stroked her cheek, so softly, so tenderly, she couldn’t ever imagine his hands hurting her. “But see, that’s the problem. I’m the way I am. There are lots of people who want a partner who is like me. I don’t want to force someone to be what I need them to be. It needs to be inside you already. You need to want to drop to your knees in front of me. You need to have that desire to serve me.”
    Dropping to her knees would be easy. She’d already thought that before, that she wished she could do just that.
    Hold onto him, never let him go.
    She’d been through hell and back. A little pain?
    Easy.
    “What if I say I want it?” she whispered.
    “I wish I could believe that. I think you think you want it. But is it something you can be for the rest of your life? I’ll never force you to stay. But I plan on getting married for life and staying that way. So if you can’t give yourself to me and understand that I will be in charge, that I will have the final say, that I will be the head of this household, then don’t make me a promise you can’t keep.”
    “Is it all about