Mace
* * *
What the hell just happened?
I pace inside my office, going through not just the two words Autumn uttered but the previous fifteen minutes before them.
She meant those words. They slipped out of her subconscious mind, revealing a piece of her I had no way of knowing about.
Autumn is submissive.
Maybe I shouldn’t jump to such a conclusion simply because she called me Sir, but I am. I’ve known her for four years. Though I have only interacted with her half a dozen times, never once has she called me Sir. It’s not some polite interaction her father insisted on.
Yes, both he and I were in the military. Yes, we are familiar with the intent in such a setting. But Burke was not strict with his daughter like that. He didn’t treat her as though she was a subordinate in the Army. Never.
No… Autumn used a different tone. The word Sir was capitalized and reverent. It came from a place of submission. She has experience with Dominants.
I’m certain of it because she was instantly mortified to have used the honorific. She knows exactly what she said and how she meant it. What it tells me is that in her exhausted state, she wasn’t able to filter her choice of words. She fell into a comfortable place of submission, as she would in the presence of a Dom.
I used a commanding tone with her several times this morning. I couldn’t help myself. Apparently, she couldn’t control her response, either.
Now, I have a million questions. First of all, where did she learn about submission? Who taught her what she knows? I’m insanely jealous of the Dom or Doms who have come before me. Or hell, perhaps even Dommes.
She’s twenty-two. She just graduated from college. From my perspective, she’s led a fairly sheltered life. I wasn’t aware of her partying while she was attending the university. Her father spoke of her often and fondly. She lived at home the entire four years. James always said she was so “good” that it worried him. He laughed about it. What sort of father was concerned that his child was too well-behaved?
Did Autumn have a secret life? One she kept from her father? And why does that make my skin crawl?
For four years, I’ve thought about this woman often. I never intended to act on it. Under no circumstances could I have ever mentioned my feelings to her father.
But now she’s here in my home. Her father is gone. She needs me.
And she’s submissive.
Who the hell has seen that side of her? I kind of want to strangle the unknown Dominants who have been lucky enough to spend time with my girl.
My girl?
Fuck.
Fuck me.
She’s in my bed. She obviously felt dominated by me. Did she feel nurtured? Did my Daddy side come out too strong?
I fucking dried her gorgeous auburn hair and brushed through it for far longer than necessary. I’ve dreamed of doing exactly that many times. I wanted to braid it, too. So badly that I even voiced my thoughts. She must have found my suggestion to be batshit crazy.
Or maybe she didn’t. Only minutes later, she called me Sir.
Just because she’s submissive doesn’t mean she has any knowledge of or experience with age play. But if she belongs to any fetish clubs, it’s possible she has witnessed age play. Perhaps it’s even intrigued her. In any case, she would have some idea.
But holy shit.
I couldn’t have seen us in this awkward, precarious existence even an hour ago. Our universe is shifting around us. Is there some freaky, remote possibility that being with Autumn could be more than a fantasy? Could she be a woman who craves the sort of submission I would require of her if she were mine?
It’s too soon to think such things. Plus, there are more pressing issues.
Her father was mysteriously murdered last night. Fuck.
Before I started pacing, I snagged the contents of the manila envelope and dropped them on my desk. I need to calm my racing mind and focus on this far more important task. Some motherfucker dared to kill one of the best men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Whoever it is will not live a long and happy life.