Broken Submission

Going Home

It would hurt to give up the club, but when she stopped paying the membership fee, she would be able to afford some food, turning the electricity back on. Maybe even TV if she was really careful. She was pulled out of her train of thought as Derek finished up with the salve and stood.

She followed him down the hall to Sam's recovery room. Everything after that was a blur, her nap only taking the edge off her exhaustion. But when Derek tried to arrange her in the passenger seat of a car that she didn't recognize, she snapped out of it.

"Wait, this isn't my car—"

"I'm driving you home."

The image of him walking her through her dilapidated apartment complex into a living room containing nothing but a ratty couch she'd found on the curb and a handful of half melted candles flashed through her mind like a cheap horror film.

"Like hell you are!" It's slipped out before she could self-edit, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to cover her gasp. His expression darkened, and she died just a little inside.

Derek had been able to see that she was dropping hard. Sam had given him the go-ahead to drive her home, and Amelia hadn't even looked like she was processing the information. And while he was glad to see her come out of her shell a bit, he did not appreciate the expletive or the challenge that accompanied her statement.

It was clear that it had been entirely unintentional, and he barely felt the need to chastise her for it, seeing as the mere sight of his displeasure was causing something in her to crumble. She wasn't the most emotional sub, in fact, watching her from the sidelines and listening to her doms had sometimes led him to wonder if she really only craved impact play, with few other submissive tendencies.

But he could see now how sensitive she was, how badly she desired to please. He grew grim as it occurred to him that her closed-off nature—her dislike of intimacy—might in fact be learned behavior. A sensitive, submissive type was very easily abused, especially outside of the scene. He forced himself to put that train of thought aside however, as his increasingly darkened mood caused her to hunch in on herself.

He reached out, and she flinched. He paused, then continued to brush her hair from her face.

"I would like to drive you home. You are exhausted and in no condition to be driving. If that makes you uncomfortable though, I can call you a cab."

He didn't want to put her in a cab. He wanted to take her home and tuck her in bed and maybe crawl in beside her.

Amelia didn't want to go in a cab. She didn't want to go at all. She wanted to click her heels three times and be in bed, face washed and pjs on. But she also wanted to make up to him for her earlier indiscretion, and she could tell that he really didn't want her in a cab. She would just have to keep him somehow from walking her to the door.

She had a brilliant thought. There was a really nice apartment complex just a few blocks from hers. Even if he walked her to the door, it would be the door of a lobby, so she could just walk in and leave him at the entrance. It wasn't perfect—he'd probably wonder how she could afford that when she couldn't afford food, but it was better than him seeing her actual living conditions.

Besides, she wouldn't be seeing him again after tonight. The thought weighed heavily on her, but she did her best to shake it off as she murmured a thank you and slid into the passenger seat.