Something felt different when I woke up the next morning.
On the outside, nothing had changed. Etienne was still curled next to me, His strong arms pulling me close against His chest and His soft sleeping breath ruffling my hair. My leg was still fragile, my body and soul were still healing.
But still, something was different.
I shifted gently against the bed, letting out a little groan as I realized that, regardless of how tender Etienne had been with me the previous night, my body was unused to being used in such an intimate way. My pussy felt swollen, almost bruised. Etienne had been gentle, and His touch had been so strong...I blushed as the more detailed memories of last night flooded back into my head.
Carefully, I turned over to get a better look at this Man as He slept beside me. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and ran my fingers gently over His cheek. His dark red beard was so familiar against my skin; the curve of His mouth that so often met mine did something odd to my heart as I caressed it next.
What had happened to me that I could have forgotten how much He loved me? It was more to Him than what He could get from me; His attraction and desperate need for me did not come from some dark place within where Dominance was an excuse to steal every ounce of humanity from my spirit and leave me crushed and battered in a corner. It never had been, not with Him.
Dominance from Him was about what He could give to me; submission was my gift to Him, in return. It was mutual respect, mutual adoration.
My entire body was tingling, my mind was in a passionate whirl. Before I could stop myself, I leaned forward and gave Him the gentlest of kisses. My lips barely brushed against His, my fingers resting against His neck as I caressed His skin and allowed myself to melt against Him.
I felt Him wake up, felt Him react to my touch. His body pressed into mine as He gathered me into His arms.
This was what felt different. This is what was different.
Had one night changed so much? Had something as simple as two bodies joining at the hip done so much in one night?
No. Because it wasn't simple.
It was more than just the friction of two connected bodies. It was the start of my submission, all over again. It was trust – me learning to let go of the past and embrace His future, and Him learning how to teach a frightened little girl heart inside a twenty-somethings body how to beat again.
That kiss was the seal. The collar, the pleasure, the connection, the kiss. It was all connected into something bigger.
Things were changing, and they were changing fast.
He broke our kiss and caressed my face, gentle fingers brushing my hair out of my eyes and gazing into them.
"I love you, Isabeau. My Isabeau."
His face broke into a smile as He formed the last words again.
"My Isabeau."
I curled my fingers into His hair, reveling in the softness of His dark red locks around my hands.
"I love You, Etienne. My Master...my Etienne."
///
Very little was said in the early hours of that morning, though much was communicated. After bathing, dressing, and breakfast, I set about doing the dishes in a moment of quiet contemplation.
After my previous fright, Etienne had offered to take over all kitchen duties for me so that there was no risk of another flashback. But I knew I had to work through this, even in some small way. And so I continued washing and carefully stacking the dishes, waiting for Him to enter the room and pick up the dishtowel as He always did.
But soon all the dishes were washed and He had not appeared. I picked up the towel myself and slowly began to dry them, and still He did not appear. I was too short and too unsteady on my feet to put the plates and cups away in their high cabinet, so I simply kept them stacked on the countertop.
It was not until they were entirely arranged in neat piles that I heard His voice down the hall, calling my name.
"You finished with the dishes, Iz?"
I nodded before I realized that He couldn't see me. Feeling slightly foolish, I called out, "yes, I just finished the last one, Love."
I blushed instinctively as the word slipped out of my lips and into the room. Calling Him "Love" had once been second-nature to us both; I had not done it since I had returned to Him, and it had not crossed my mind until that moment. Perhaps things were changing even more rapidly than I thought.
He stepped into the room, leaning against the doorframe a bit.
"Turn around. Put your hands on the sink and look straight ahead, little one."
His voice was low, confident, and so powerfully gentle. I felt a cool prickle of something shivering down my spine. Could fire be cold? Because this was something powerful I felt, not fear or alarm. No, this was something else – something wonderful.
Slowly, I obeyed. My hands gripped the cool steel of the sink, and I shivered as I fought the urge to close my eyes. And I waited.
It was barely a moment before I felt His gentle hand on the small of my back. I knew He was there already, and so the touch did not alarm me; rather, it excited me. I felt His hands trailing over my body, up over my stomach before settling on my breasts, one hand on each side. His powerful fingers began to lightly tug at my nipples; the material of my shirt was thin, and His fingers were manipulating me in such a way that I felt them harden into small pebbles in barely an instant.
"I saw the way My girl reacted to Me last night when I spanked her. The way her body arched the sounds she made when My hand connected with that perfect, beautiful ass."
His voice was the most beautiful growl against my ear, His fingers never ceasing their ministrations. I felt His hot breath on the back of my neck; He stopped His caresses of my breasts just long enough to sweep my hair to the side, pressing His lips over and over to my soft right at the top of my spine.
"I'd forgotten...I didn't think you'd still have that fire within you, Iz."
His hands were on my nipples still, tightening their grip until a slow aching pain had started burning in my breasts and coursing down through my belly, lodging itself in my carefully hidden clit and making it throb. I ached my neck back against His shoulder with a barely suppressed moan.
I felt His smile. I could not see it with my back to Him and His face in my neck, but I felt it caressing my soul and melting me like candlewax.
My skirt was suddenly lifted and swept aside; when had His hands left my breasts? He placed a hand on my stomach and guided me so my hips were arched out, my bare bottom pressed out toward Him in the style of an old-fashioned pin-up girl, minus any traces of modesty. Slowly, His strong hand traced a smooth path over the skin of my ass.
I felt myself starting to pant in desire, soft breaths escaping my lips which had parted at some point and were now allowing every gasp of desire to be heard by His attentive ears. It was in that moment that I realized that there was no small amount of slick moisture starting to gather between my thighs. Maybe there were things that even my captor could not have erased from my soul.
Then I was in His arms as He carried me from the kitchen, down the hall, up the stairs and into our room. His stride was steady, but rapid; I felt myself smiling as I realized that He was as eager as I was, if not more so.
The door to our room closed, sending fresh waves of erotic intimacy coursing through my veins. This was the start, I knew, and I was ready.
More than ready.
Etienne's eyes were glowing as they gazed into mine. His voice was a low whisper, almost as though His need was sapping away His ability to speak.
"Strip, Mine."
I did not know my hands could move so fast. The blouse was over my head in a moment, and my skirt was slipping over my hips as though I had four hands to help me undress myself. In that moment, I wanted to be naked for Him. I was afraid, but I wanted Him to see me this way. Vulnerable and fully, completely His.
When I raised my eyes to His, I realized that His shirt was gone, as were His pants. I caught my breath at the sight of His strong, muscular chest, traced with thin scars from various incidents, some of which were unfamiliar to me. His hair was also loose, not pulled back into a ponytail the way He normally chose to keep it contained, falling thick and red over His shoulders.
He looked angelic – not in the innocent and white-winged way, but strong and powerful, like some Seraphim from Heaven come down to protect and to save the innocent.
My Angel, my Wolf, my White Knight, my Master.
The Man I loved.
Oh, He was so much to me.
With a slow smile, Etienne held a hand to me.
