Tymber Dalton - Domme By Default

"No, honey, I—"

"Never. Mind." I knew I growled it, because he flinched.

I snatched the vice grips from his hand and stomped out to the garage, spied the Channellocks on the bench right next to the tool bag—he'd had to take them out of the bag—and threw the locking pliers in without caring where or how they went.

He'd started to follow me and dodged out of my way as I stormed past him through the living room and down the hallway.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

I wheeled around. I had to whisper, because if I spoke any louder I'd be screaming. "Don't. Just stay. The fuck. Out of my way."

He flushed red. I felt like shit and alternately glad that I'd hurt his feelings. This wasn't his fault, not really. I thought I could handle this. On top of everything else, I thought I could do it.

I was wrong.

I didn't speak to him, didn't look at the bathroom doorway although I sensed his presence as he stood and watched while I swapped out the tank guts. Twenty minutes later it was back together and the water on. No leaks.

I left all the tools and old parts on the bathroom floor, washed my hands, and pushed past him.

"Clean that up."

He jumped to it.

I wanted to sob.

He was taking care of that while I changed clothes and quickly threw a few things into an overnight bag. He was still out in the garage putting my tools away when I walked out the front door, bag, purse, cell phone, and laptop case in hand.

I thought I'd calm down before I reached Tampa International, but I didn't.

When the captain announced we were touching down in Denver, I buckled my seat belt and wondered how many messages I'd have on my cell phone when I turned it on. It was eight hours later. My husband had to be worried.

I'd checked my overnight bag. I turned on my cell while waiting in baggage claim.

Ten messages.

Each sounded more worried than the last. The final one, three hours earlier, nearly broke my heart. I wanted to drop to my knees right there and cry.

"Please call me. I'm so sorry I disappointed you. I want to do better, I promise I'll try harder." Desperate. Pleading.

I sat in my rental car and considered my next move. I didn't know if Tony would be at work or not. I opened my laptop and used the aircard to log in to IM.

He was there.

Hey there, he greeted me.

I need to talk to you.

What's wrong?

I mean, I need to talk to you. Can I please meet you somewhere?

There was a long gap before his reply. You're in Denver?

The airport.

What happened? Do you have your cell?

I sent him the number. Seconds after I did, my phone rang from a number I didn't recognize.

The deep, smooth, soothing voice almost immediately calmed me. "What happened?"

I broke down sobbing, hating myself for doing this, imposing on someone I really didn't know that well and running from my responsibilities.

I never did get the story out. I was too busy crying. When he got me calmed down he gave me directions. I dug a notepad out of my laptop case and wrote them down.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised. "I've got to finish up a couple of things, you'll probably beat me there by at least twenty minutes. Just get a table, leave your name with the hostess."

"Thanks, Tony," I sniffled.

"It's okay," he said, soothing me. "I'll see you shortly."

I found the restaurant without any trouble. There was a decent hotel across the street, so at least I wouldn't have far to go late at night.

I sat there nursing a rum and Coke when I noticed a man walk in. Dark brown hair, dressed neatly in khaki slacks and a chambray shirt. He talked to the hostess, who pointed me out.

Maybe it was knowing who and what he was. Maybe it was my nerves.

Maybe it was my second rum and Coke.

But I felt it. The secure confidence. No swagger, no strut.

Just a quiet self-assurance he wore like a cloak. He could have been a computer programmer or a graphic artist or even a lawyer.

I had to look like hell and wished I'd at least taken a shower before running away from home.

He stopped across the table from me and smiled, kind and gentle, concerned. I wanted to burst into tears right there.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded.

He walked around to me and leaned in, hugged me. "It's okay," he whispered in my ear. "You're not losing your mind."

He took his seat across from me as I harshly laughed.

"Sure fucking feels like it."

The waitress walked over and took his drink order. I noticed he ordered coffee.

When we were alone again he reached across the table and placed his hand over mine, gently squeezed. "What do you need from me?"

I didn't know. To be honest, I hadn't thought that far ahead. All I knew was that I had to get away for a while. I needed to get my fucking head on straight before I did something and hurt my husband, literally or figuratively.

When I looked up I realized his eyes were an incredibly deep shade of green. Combined with his quiet power, it felt impressive to me. He waited for my answer.

"Tell me how to get my head on straight."

He smiled, full of kindness. "Why don't you start from the beginning?" he suggested. "What happened?"

I took a deep breath and started from the beginning. The waitress interrupted me for our dinner order. I wasn't hungry, but I knew if I didn't eat something I'd need Tony to pour me into the check-in desk across the street. I ordered fettuccini Alfredo, hoping they couldn't screw it up and figuring it would be easy to choke down.

He listened without interrupting. When I finished about the time our food arrived, he studied me for a minute before speaking.

"You don't have to do this, you know. You can sit him down and tell him you need things to go back to the way they were. It has to be a two-way street."

I shook my head. "You don't see the look in his eyes when we play. It's like he's a new man. I can't take that away from him. He enjoys it so much."

"But you're not having fun." He looked at me. "Are you?"

I thought about it. "Sometimes," I admitted. I thought about it longer when Tony didn't reply. "I enjoy that he enjoys it. I like that I can make him feel that good. That part I really enjoy."

"It's a powerful feeling, isn't it?" he quietly asked.

I nodded.

"Everyone's in it for their own reason. But being able to make someone feel like that," he said, his voice low but still somehow strong, "is very powerful. To fulfill someone's desires, to give them the feelings they want to experience, to in essence, make their dreams come true."

I snorted. "Fairy fucking godmother."

He laughed, a low, warm sound that stirred something inside me I knew should remain dormant.

He wore no wedding ring and I stupidly realized for the first time I'd flown halfway across the country to meet with a man who was practically a stranger, and no one knew where the hell I'd gone except Delta, American Express, and Avis.

Proving yet again why he was the more experienced Dom, he studied me. "You didn't come here for a play date." It was a statement, not a question.

I shook my head.

"I didn't think so. I'm glad to hear it, because frankly, I couldn't have given you that right now anyway."

I breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled again.

"You're safe. Although I might need to see you to your hotel."

I laughed, feeling the buzz of the rum course through me.

No, I wasn't driving anywhere anytime soon.

I'd put my phone on silent and glanced at it halfway through the meal. The restaurant was open twenty-four hours, and it was now after ten local time.

Was my husband sitting on the couch with the phone in his hand, praying I'd call? Was he waiting on the bed for me, hoping I'd walk through the door any minute?