The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) by Deena Ward Page A

had he reached over that wall to me?
    I sketched in silence, focused on the angle of his neck, the
planes of his cheeks, the fall of his hair. If I couldn’t touch him with my
hands, I could touch him with my eyes, let my pencil stroke his shoulders, line
the sensitive lobe of his ear.
    His eyes, wide, dark and mysterious. What was he thinking as
he stared off past me? I couldn’t get those eyes right. Twice I had to rub them
out and begin again.
    He reaches out to you, I thought. Do you reach out to him?
    I had, yes, more than once. But not of late. I’d been
afraid, more afraid of a negative answer than weary of uncertainty. As I
attempted once more to capture the gleam in his eyes, something shifted inside
me. I couldn’t stand aside forever, always watching, hanging back, as I’d done
every day since Michael betrayed me. Every day.
    Even here, in the safety zone of the estate. At the picnic.
I haunted the edges. Watching. Timid. Afraid of being seen. Recognized.
    It had to be enough. At some point, I had to step forward.
Maybe now?
     
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
    I took a deep breath. If I were going to do it, now was the
moment, when I had him here, with me, alone.
    I lowered my pencil and steeled myself for potential
disappointment. “Do you think you can ever want me again, Gibson?” I asked, my
voice surprisingly steady and firm. “Want me the way you did before everything
happened?”
    His gaze shifted to me and he appeared startled, but not
surprised. He didn’t answer right away and my heart thudded several heavy beats
in my chest as I waited.
    When his answer came, his voice was even and sure. “I’ve
always wanted you. You know that.”
    As soon as he said it, I realized it was true. I should have
known it. But fear hid the truth from me. He wanted me and always had.
    And yet.
    “Yes,” I said, “but, the way it was before, we were heading
somewhere, weren’t we? It was more than just sex, I thought.”
    “Much more.”
    “So where was it heading? I mean, a relationship right?”
    “That was my hope.”
    “It was your hope. But that has to have changed,
because I’m not the same.”
    His eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t follow.”
    I willed myself to say it simply and firmly, no backpedaling
allowed. “Anyone who sees me now, anyone who watched those videos, they’ll
think differently of me. They couldn’t help it. You must think differently, not
see me as the same woman I was before.”
    He stood up and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
    I lay down my pencil, and went to him. He took my hand and
led me out of the studio and into the largest of the living rooms in the
cottage. He stopped in front of the big oval mirror that hung on a wall,
positioning me in front of him.
    He looked over my shoulder and met my gaze in the mirror.
“Do you remember when I had you look at yourself naked and tell me what you
liked about your body and what you didn’t?”
    I nodded. I could never forget that.
    “It’s my turn now,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I see. And
this isn’t about your body. Surely, I’ve made it clear that there’s nothing
about your body that I don’t like.”
    He had, but I still got a small thrill hearing him say it.
    “You were right,” he continued, “about being different now.
I see it in you. Sadness. Insecurity. Hesitancy. And fear. It’s different from
what I saw before.”
    His hand rested on my shoulder and I stared at it in the
mirror. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this kind of honesty. No. There it was again.
The fear. Hell.
    “Okay, but that’s not what I meant. I meant, am I someone
you can be with, in public, be proud of? I was in a porno. I’m ... dirtied,” I
said.
    Gibson’s brows lowered and his hands tightened on my
shoulders. “You’re not dirtied. I don’t know why you would think that. If you
believe that I’m ashamed of you, you’re mistaken. I’ve always been proud to be
with you. Anyone would be.”
    “But the videos.