CHAPTER 8
Patience, Derrick. Don't screw this up. You're too close now. You've waited too long for this moment.
He calmed his racing thoughts and kept his movements slow as he carried their breakfast to the table where Sandra was seated. She looked perfectly at home — wearing his clothes, hair still slightly tousled even after her shower, fresh and natural. The only thing that could make the scene better was if she'd just come from his bed.
Soon.
He set the plate in front of her and saw her eyes light up, a slow, pleased smile blooming on her face.
"My favorite," she said, voice thick with delight.
He grinned. "Of course. You didn't think I'd serve you anything else? Waffles drenched in syrup and swimming in butter. Dig in. I'll grab the milk and bacon."
She gave a soft sigh. "I do love them, but I can't eat them often. Too many calories."
He returned with their drinks and a plate full of crisp bacon. "There's nothing wrong with how you look, Sandra. You're flawless—from that gorgeous hair to those perfect pink-painted toes."
Her cheeks flushed to match the color of her toes.
"I don't know what to make of this shift between us," she said, fidgeting. "It's throwing me. Just yesterday, I was preparing to let go of you, like I had to let go of Clement. And now—"
She lifted her hands, then dropped them in her lap, helpless.
"That wasn't happening," he said calmly. "You might've thought you were letting me go, but I wasn't going anywhere. I'd have waited as long as you needed. I wasn't going to push. You just happened to take the first step."
He watched her think, brows furrowing slightly. She was still sorting through everything that had changed between them. When she finally looked down, her thoughts went quiet.
She started eating, and he watched her with quiet satisfaction. She approached breakfast like she did everything—naturally, unselfconsciously. She didn't hide her enjoyment, and he planned to give her a lot more reasons to feel good than just waffles.
"You asked how this would work. What exactly do you mean?"
Her fork froze midway to her mouth. She hesitated, then lowered it.
"You must know by now that this is all new to me. I've told you the things I want, but you haven't said what you want. What are your expectations? What will you want from me? What will you do to me?"
Her voice dipped on the last question, a tremor of anticipation running through it. He hoped her imagination was already running wild—and that it thrilled her as much as it did him.
"The better question is: What do you want me to do with you?"
Frustration sparked in her eyes.
"Derrick, come on. Don't play games. This matters."
His expression grew serious. He leaned in, gaze intense.
"This isn't a game, Sandra. What I feel for you? What I want from you? It's real. It's everything."
"Then help me," she said softly. "I need clarity. I need your honesty."
"Then let's move to the living room," he said gently. "I want to hold you when we talk about this."
"And what if I don't even know what I want yet?"
He could sense her tension, her uncertainty. No matter how much he wanted to rush in and claim her, he knew he had to tread carefully. She was on the edge, and she needed reassurance.
"Last night, you were crystal clear about your desires. Just because it's me now doesn't change them. If anything, you should feel safer. Freer. I want to know everything you're thinking. And I'll give you everything in return."
She stood abruptly, nerves and restlessness radiating from her. "Then let's talk. I need to understand. I have to."
He reached out, gently pulling her to his side. His fingers brushed her cheek, and he saw her eyes soften. She saw him now.
He guided her into the living room and settled onto the leather couch, pulling her down beside him. She hesitated at first, but then relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
He breathed her in, recognizing the scent of his shampoo in her still-damp hair. He liked it on her. If he had his way, she'd carry his scent all the time. She'd be his. Fully.
She looked up at him, surprising him when she traced his jaw with a feather-light touch. It lit him up inside. Her fingertip burned a path straight to his core.
"Tell me the truth, Derrick. What does it mean to belong to you? What will you expect from me? What will I have to do?"
"It means everything," he whispered. "You'll be mine, Sandra. Only mine. I'll give you whatever you need—everything you could ever want. All I ask is your submission. I'll treasure it. Protect it. And spoil you in every way."
She arched a brow. "Sounds like a pretty good deal—for me. What about you? What do you get out of it?"
"You," he said. "Just you. That's all I've ever wanted."
Her eyes shimmered with longing, and it gutted him.
"And how will you show that dominance? Is it only in bed? Or will it be outside the bedroom, too?"
"That depends on what you want," he replied.
She gave him a firm look. "I already told you what I want. Now I need you to tell me what you want. Don't hold back."
He nodded. "I want everything, Sandra. Complete obedience—in and out of bed. I'll make the decisions. And I know that sounds controlling, but believe me, you'll be the most loved, most pampered woman alive."
She drew in a sharp breath.
"You're asking about the physical side too, right?"
She nodded, cheeks pink.
"I want total access to your body. Bondage, spankings—I enjoy giving pain that brings pleasure. I want to mark you, see your skin blush under my hands. I want to tie you up and show you what it means to be completely mine—but gently, always."
Her pupils dilated, desire unmistakable.
He touched her jaw, then her lips, reverently.
"More than that, I want your heart. Your trust. Your emotional surrender. That's the real gift. That's what makes this more than physical. I don't take that lightly."
She looked stunned, emotions swirling in her eyes. "How do you know all this? How can you understand what I've only just begun to understand myself?"
"Because I want the same thing," he said. "And now that I know I can have you, I'm not rushing anything. We'll go slow. This will be a gentle journey—one I'll savor."
"You act like I've already decided."
"Haven't you? Maybe you haven't said it yet, but your eyes told me everything this morning. And I nearly cheered like a kid who just got everything he ever wanted."
She smiled faintly, then glanced at the clock in alarm.
"Oh no, I promised Karla and Sophia I'd call. If they haven't heard from me by now, Karla might've called the police!"
Derrick laughed. "Call them. Let them know you're safe. Tell them you're in good hands. The rest can wait."
She surprised him by cupping his face and kissing him full on the mouth. He let her take the lead, feeling her passion and giving her space to explore.
When she pulled back, her eyes were bright and full of heat. She saw him now—not just as a friend or support system, but as the man who'd always wanted her.
And she wanted him back.
He'd always remember this moment. There would be challenges ahead, but they'd face them together. He'd make sure of it.
"I'll be right back," she said, voice rough with emotion. "I need to call them. I'll explain later. For now, I'll just tell them I backed out of The House. Sophia will be relieved."
"She's worried about you," he said.
"Yes. And she has every reason to fear what she does. Her past taught her to fear control, dominance, abuse. She's scared I'll end up powerless. Just like she once was."