A Quiet Kind of Dominance novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Nine P.M.

Hank turns up at her office unable to sleep and asks her to tell him what to do.

At nine that night I was still at my desk in Lawrenceville, and someone knocked on the street door downstairs.

It was not a loud knock.

I almost didn't recognize it.

I went down past the dark bakery counter and opened the door.

Hank Dombrowski stood on the sidewalk in a black jacket and jeans.

His hair was down.

It made him look like someone else.

"It's late," I said.

"I know."

"The kitchen is open until eleven."

"Lena has it. She's better at it than me."

He put his hands in his pockets and took them out again.

"I couldn't be in there. I can't be in a room with sound in it."

"Come up."

I climbed the stairs ahead of him and heard him breathing behind me, slow and careful.

My office was small and warm, with one lamp and a leather chair and a couch against the wall.

He stopped in the doorway.

"Sit," I said.

"Where?"

"The chair."

He crossed the room and sat in the leather chair.

I went back to my desk and picked up my pencil.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"Working."

"Should I-"

"No. Sit there."

I turned a page.

I read three lines of a depreciation schedule and did not take in a single number.

I could feel him over there, not moving, so still that the silence itself had weight.

One minute went by.

His foot began to tap.

"Stop," I said.

It stopped.

Another minute.

His breathing got slower, and deeper, and then it shook a little on the exhale.

I put the pencil down.

"Tell me why you came," I said.

"I wanted to hear it again." His voice was hoarse. "When you said please, in that voice."

"Yes?"

"Nobody has ever spoken to me like that."

"Like what?"

"As if I would do it."

"You did do it."

"I know. That's the part I can't stop thinking about."

He rubbed his face with both hands.

"I'm thirty-seven. I've yelled at people since I was nineteen."

"And?"

"And all that time, I only wanted someone to tell me what to do."

I stood up.

I walked around the desk and stopped in front of his chair.

He looked up at me with all of it open on his face.

"Hank," I said. "I'd like to put my hand on your shoulder. Is that all right?"

"Yes."

"Say it properly."

"Yes, please."

I put my hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes.

His muscle was as tight as rope under the jacket.

I moved my thumb along the top of it, slowly, and felt it start to give.

"Breathe out," I said.

He did.

"Again."

He did.

I slid my hand up the side of his neck, under his hair.

His head tipped into my palm.

"Look at me."

He opened his eyes.

"I want to kiss you," I said. "Slowly."

He nodded.

"I want your hands on your knees the whole time. Can you do that?"

His throat moved.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Audrey."

I had not told him he could use my first name.

I liked it more than I expected to.

I bent down and kissed him.

His mouth was warm and dry and a little rough.

He made a small sound against mine.

I kept it slow.

I kissed his lower lip, then the corner of his mouth, then his jaw.

His hands gripped his knees so hard the knuckles went white.

"Good," I said, against his ear. "You're doing that very well."

He shuddered all the way down.

"Say it again."

"Good."

"Again."

"You're good, Hank. Stay just like that."

I climbed into his lap, one knee on either side of him.

His hands lifted off his knees before he caught himself and put them back.

"Is that allowed?" he whispered.

"Not yet."

"Right. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Obey."

His head went back against the chair, and I saw the muscles of his throat work.

I kissed him again, harder this time, my fingers in his hair, and he opened his mouth under mine and gave me everything.

My blouse came untucked.

I could feel him through his jeans, thick and hard against me, and I rocked once, slowly, to see what he would do.

He made a noise I'd never heard a man make.

"Audrey. Please."

"Please what?"

"Please touch me."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Where you want."

"That's a lazy answer."

"My cock," he said, and his face went red under the stubble. "Please touch my cock."

"Thank you for telling me."

I slid back and put my palm flat over the front of his jeans, and he jerked under my hand.

I stroked him through the denim, one slow press with the heel of my hand.

Then a tighter grip.

His breath came apart.

"Look how hard you are," I said.

"Because of you."

"Because you've wanted this a long time."

"Yes."

"Tell me how long."

"Since you took the knife out of my hand."

"That's only this afternoon."

"It's been a long afternoon."

I laughed, quietly, and he looked at me.

I undid his belt and opened the button of his jeans, and he lifted his hips so I could pull the zip down.

His cock sprang into my hand, hot and heavy, wet at the tip.

I ran my thumb through it, and his whole body bowed.

"Do not come," I said.

"I'll try."

"Do better than try."

"Yes, Audrey."

I stroked him slowly, base to tip, and watched his mouth fall open.

His hips began to lift, and I stopped with my hand still around him.

"Stay still."

"I can't."

"You can. Look at me. Breathe."

He looked at me.

He breathed.

His cock throbbed in my fist and he held still, shaking, with his hands clamped on his knees and sweat on his forehead.

"There," I said. "That's what I wanted. You can hold still for me."

"Please let me. Please."

"Not tonight."

I felt him break a little, in a place that was not about sex.

I let go of him, gently, and tucked him back in his jeans and closed the zip, and he flinched at every touch.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought-"

"You did exactly right."

"But you didn't-"

"I'm not finished with you."

I smoothed his hair off his forehead.

"There are rules to write first, and you're going to help me write them. Wait here."

I climbed off him and went to my desk.

I took out a yellow legal pad and a pen, and I wrote at the top of the first page:

YES.

On the second page I wrote NO.

On the third, MAYBE.

I came back and put the pad in his lap.

"Homework," I said. "Write what you want, what you never want, and what you aren't sure about."

"Okay."

"Be honest. Be specific. I'll read it Thursday."

He looked at the pad in his hands.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"You're not going to-"

"No. Go home. Sleep if you can."

"I can't."

"Then lie down in the dark and think about me telling you to."

He stood, slowly.

At the door he turned around.

"Audrey."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

I touched his face once, and let him go.

I listened to him go down the stairs.

When the street door closed, I sat on the couch and put my hand over my mouth.

I was shaking too.

I had never wanted anything so much in my life, and it had never been so quiet.

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