The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner.
Kiss me damn it! I implored her but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by her. I was staring at Megan Pete's exquisitely sculpted mouth, mesmerized, and she was looking down and me, her gaze hooded, her eyes darkening. She was breathing harder than usual and I stopped breathing altogether. I'm in your arms. Kiss me, please. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and gave me a small shake of her head as if in answer to my silent question. When she opened her eyes again, it was with some purpose, a steely resolve.
"Beyoncé, you should steer clear of me. I'm not the woman for you," she whispered. What? Where was this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frowned up at her and my head swam with rejection.
"Breathe, Beyoncé, breathe. I'm going to stand you up and let you go," she said quietly and she gently pushed me away.
Adrenaline spiked through my body, from the near-miss with the cyclist to the heady proximity to Megan, left me wired and weak. No. My psyche screamed as she pulled away. She had her hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm's length, watching my reactions carefully. The only thing I could think was that I wanted to be kissed, which made it pretty damn obvious, and she didn't do it. She doesn't want me.
"I've got this, " I breathed, finding my voice. "Thank you," I muttered awash with humiliation. How could I have misread the situation between us so utterly? I needed to get away from her.
"For what?" She still hadn't taken her hands off me.
"For saving me."
"That idiot was driving the wrong way. I'm glad I was here. I shudder to think what could have happened to you. Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?" I just wanted to go. All my vague, unarticulated hopes were dashed. She doesn't want me. What was I thinking? I scolded myself. What would Megan Pete want with me? I wrapped my arms around myself and turned to face the road and note with relief that the green man had appeared. I quickly made my way across, conscious that Pete was behind me. Outside the hotel, I turned briefly towards her but I couldn't look her in the eye. "Thanks for the tea and doing the photo shoot."
"Beyoncé... I..." she stopped, the anguish in her voice demanded my attention, so I peered unwillingly up at her. Her brown eyes were bleak as she ran her hand through her hair. He looked torn, frustrated, her expression stark, all her careful control had evaporated.
"What Megan?" I snapped irritably after she said nothing. I just wanted to go. I needed to take my fragile, wounded pride away, and somehow nurse it back to health.
"Good luck with your exams," she murmured. Huh? This was why she looked so desolate? This was the big send-off? Just to wish me luck on my exams?
"Thanks." I couldn't disguise the sarcasm in my voice. "Goodbye, Ms. Pete."I turned on my heel, vaguely amazed that I didn't trip, and without giving her a second glance, I disappeared down the sidewalk toward the underground garage.
Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light, I leaned against the wall and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? Unwelcomed tears pooled in my eyes. I sunk to the ground, angry at myself for this senseless reaction. I drew up my knees and folded in on myself. I wanted to make myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain would be smaller as I got smaller. I placed my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I was crying over the loss of something I never had. I was mourning something that never was - my dashed hopes dashed dreams and soured expectations.
