Page 8 of Piece Us Together
“No.”
“I will not lose you! Do you fucking understand me?” His body is trembling so hard the headboard he’s pressed against is subtly bumping against the wall. “I will not survive losing you, Nolan. I can survive a lot, but not that. I don’t want toeverhave to survive that.”
I crawl into his lap, knowing he needs reassurance before we can even begin to tackle what’s wrong with his line of thinking. He immediately wraps his arms around me, holding me tight to his chest and burying his face in my neck.
“Shh.” I run my fingers through his hair, knowing that usually relaxes him. “I’m not going anywhere, Mais. You’re not going to lose me.”
“If I can’t make you happy—”
“Youdomake me happy. God, Mais, you make me so fucking happy it’s almost disgusting.”
He laughs, but the sound is hollow and coated in sadness. His arms tighten around me. “You need to submit.”
“Not as much as I need you.”
“But what if you could have both?”
“Maison—”
“No,” he says quickly, stopping me before I can argue. He pulls his head back until we’re looking into each other’s eyes. His expression is different than I expected. Almost hopeful. “Hunter said he could help. He’s good, Nolan. Like, really fucking good at being a dom. He’s well-respected locally and online and travels all over for workshops and shit. He has this blog where he gives advice and teaches skills and he has thousands of followers. If anyone can help us, it’s him. He said he’d figure out a way.”
I push down the hope inside of me. It’s too dangerous. I can’t trust it. “I already told you I’m not letting you change yourself to be what I want you to be. Even the thought of that makes me sick, Mais.”
“He said the same thing—that he would never help me do that. So, if he has an idea, it’s something else.” He cups my face, a small—but real—smile playing along his lips. “What if he has an answer for us, Nol?”
My stupid heart skips in my chest.
What if he does?
“Then…” I take a moment, really considering if I want to poke this hornets’ nest of possibility again. It hurt so bad to try before, only for things to fall apart. I’ve worked hard on accepting that I won’t be a submissive again. I haven’t fully achieved it yet, but…I’ve made progress.
What if letting in this hope destroys me?
But what if letting in this hope is what gives us an answer?
“Then I want to hear it,” I decide, releasing a breath that takes at least a hundred pounds off my chest. “If he has an answer, let’s hear it. Let’s try.”
According to Maison, Hunter had sounded happy that we wanted to meet with him. Maison also said, though a little bitterly, that the man hadn’t even seemed surprised.
“Be prepared for that,” Maison had grumbled in a pouty sort of way I found both fascinating and amusing. “He’s, like…all-knowing. It’s annoying.”
I hadn’t broken the news to Maison that someone like me finds that comforting in a dominant. If you’re going to trust yourself completely to someone, it helps to feel confident they know what’s best for you. I figured that’d make the pouting worse so I’d just promised to keep an eye out for that instead.
Since we both agreed it’d be best to keep this whole…situationto ourselves, we made up an excuse about going to check out some fancy cooking store out of town to explain why we’ll be out of the house for so long—and why the guys are on their own for dinner. I try not to overthink my outfit and hair for the evening. It helps that Maison is on the bed watching me get ready, and I don’t want him to think I see the evening as some sort of date. There’s no way he’ll want to let Hunter help us if he sees Hunter as competition, and I can’t blame him for that. Not that anyone could ever be competition to him. Dominant or not, Hunter isn’t Maison, and Maison is a man I am deeply fucking in love with.
The anxiety I was already starting to feel about all of this only grows when we spend the entire drive to Hunter’s in tense silence. I want to say something reassuring, but my head feels like it’s full of cotton. Not nice fluffy cotton either, but cotton that’s been dunked in poisonous black tar, all sticky and vicious.
Maison pauses when we reach the door, turning to me and cupping my cheek. His lips are feather soft as he brushes them against mine in a kiss. It’s short. A reassurance more than anything. I place my hand over his before he can pull it away, bringing my lips to his for a second kiss. It’s just as short. Hopefully just as reassuring.
“You and me,” he whispers. “No matter what, yeah?”
“You and me.” I manage a smile. “No matter what.”
With a stuttering breath, he turns back to the door and knocks.
We only have to wait a few seconds before the door swings open. A man stands before us, backlit by the warm glow of his house lights. He’s dressed in dark, expensive jeans and a casual white shirt with the top two buttons open and the sleeves rolled up. His gaze is dark and assessing as he drags it leisurely over Maison, his smile slow-growing until it reaches his eyes and brightens his entire face. My stomach quakes at the sight. It feels like I’ve seen him before, despite knowing for a fact I haven’t.
It feels like Iknowhim.